So Now Daylight Is A Problem?


Daylight Savings Time is actually an 'issue', did you know that? Apparently, the evidence supporting the idea that it saves energy is spotty and it might actually give people the green light to drive later and longer, sucking up gas and polluting the environment. Um...I have headlights on my car. Daylight doesn't influence my decision to get behind the wheel of my car. Last time I checked, moonlight exposure isn't dangerous. I hate to sound like a cranky bitch but for those who DON'T like DST, "GET A LIFE. If daylight is a problem for you, its time to start sleeping in a coffin and drinking blood. Be happy that Walmart and Seven-Eleven are twenty-four hour establishments and will gladly ring up your purchases in the middle of the night." The rest of us actually like being able to see across the street during our waking hours without a flashlight.

Some parents are concerned that DST screws up their kids sleep cycles. I can understand this. I have two children who can't understand why they suddenly have to go to bed when the sun is still up. My answer: Because you are a child and I'm the mom and I said so. Period. If the light itself is a problem, go buy a blackout shade for the window. They're cheap. Basically, deal with it because if it wasn't the daylight issue keeping your kids up, it would be the LACK of light or the boogeyman or thirst keeping them awake.

Here's the thing...more daylight means more time for the kids to be outside playing in the fresh air instead of holed up in a dark corner with a Nintendo DS (not that I don't like the DS, I so totally would love one of my own but can't justify it). When my kids are outdoors, nobody is complaining that they're bored or hungry. Nobody is destroying the playroom and leaving me with an incredible mess. They actually sleep better for it (there goes the sleep cycle argument at my house). The television stays off. This is not a bad thing.

More daylight means I am a much nicer mommy. Natural light boosts serotonin and dopamine levels, meaning less need for antidepressant medication. It also gives the average Joe more time to get out and take a walk (exercise boosts the mood, too!) I get to be happy, lose weight and lower my cholesterol and I don't need a prescription to do any of it! Nobody messes with my dopamine,people, so for the love of Pete, find something-anything-else to complain about. I happen to like LIGHT.

Throw Mama Under The Bus!

Last Friday, Sophie hopped into my car after school and dropped a sheet of green paper on my lap. Aside from that, she didn't acknowledge my presence...not a huge leap to figure out she was pissed about something. There is nothing like the silent treatment from a nine year old...I thought I had at least two to three years before we went down that road. I was wrong.


Turned out, when she decided to veto the practice spelling test listed on her homework sheet, it was a detention-worthy act. Apparently, the words "Due Friday" meant something entirely different to Sophie. Either she thought the teacher wouldn't notice the homework packet was missing this assignment or maybe she thought it was optional, I'm not sure. What I am sure about is that I nagged her from 2:30 until after the dinner dishes were done and put away on Thursday night and she failed to get busy.

I decided to let her suffer the consequences. We never do that. We beg, we plead, we bribe, we threaten, we jump up and down and cluck like chickens if that's what it takes to get her to do her homework. This one night, I just didn't have it in me, anymore. So I turned on the television and she wound up with no recess  the next morning. Don't you just hate consequences? Well, my little darling wasn't about to go down alone. Oh no, she was going to do her darndest to throw her mother under a bus (and her dad) on her way down. Can't say that I blame her for trying, but jeez, the little traitor!

I sent an email to the teacher, letting her know that I supported Sophie receiving a green slip and detention and that this had been my hope as we'd been having a few days of homework-related rebellion. The reply I got almost knocked me off my chair:

"Dear Mrs. Black, Sophie told me that she was unable to do her practice spelling test because neither you, nor Mr. Black, had time to quiz her as you were busy watching American Idol and didn't want to be interrupted."

Technically, I did give up on homework just about the point we were sitting down to watch a little television. At eight o'clock (her bedtime). I was amazed that our little angel, the one who is as honest as the day is long, managed to manufacture an excuse on the spot, while still telling the truth. I was torn between feeling amused and betrayed.

I emailed the teacher back and reminded her that American Idol doesn't begin until approximately 6 hours AFTER school, which should have provided Sophie ample time to complete her practice test. I didn't receive a reply. To add insult to injury (not to mention adding to my amusement) was that Monday morning, Friday's spelling test came home, graded. I was expecting to a see a paper full of red check marks due to a lack of 'practice'....not the 100% scrawled across the top.
Sophie got the last laugh. I'm still licking my wounds...being thrown under the bus by your precious child hurts a bit. She is talking to me, now, though, so that's a plus.

Uncle Mike Rocks Career Day

Sophie announced recently that she was chosen as Student of The Week. This entitles the child to bring to school a collection of photos and favorite things to share with the class. A family member is also invited to come to the class to talk about his or her job. This is where Sophie was having the problem. She didn't mean to hurt our feelings, but she didn't think it would be any fun if I came, as I'm "JUST" a mom who works at her school sometimes and her dad "JUST" sits in his office all day on the computer. "What's so great about that?" I totally understood where she was coming from. Our neighborhood has its share of Navy Fighter Pilots, and their children are Sophie's classmates. We have firefighter dads and policeman dads, and a dad who's a principal and one who's a doctor. How could we possibly measure up? She asked for Uncle Mike, instead. Smart girl, she'll be the most popular kid in school as a result. Let me explain... "Uncle Mike" is Kevin's brother and he's very charasmatic. Social. People do tend to gravitate toward him and this includes his nieces. He's also the bass guitarist for a metal band. One that is actually quite popular in our neck of the woods. Their songs are on the radio pretty regularly and the kids go bananas when we turn on the local news and there is Uncle Mike: Tattoos, Mohawk, pierced eyebrow and a goatee braided down to his chest. It's part of the job and something Kevin and I don't really notice at this point...the girls think their Uncle Mike is the coolest thing since the North Pole, and every aspect of his personal style is something to worship.

Imagine, if you will, the number of rungs Sophie ascended on the social ladder (such as it is at nine years old) by arranging for Uncle Mike to give a presentation to her class....he even brought his music awards! He blew doors off the ex-fighter pilot speaker, the dairy guy, the real estate sales lady... even the cop and the firefighter, and considering one carries a firearm and the other carries a fire hose, that's saying a whole lot. All the kids know a cop or a fireman. Not a single one of them know a rock star. Sophie was just as awed by the whole thing as the other kids, so it wasn't like she was bragging (okay, she was probably bragging a little but only because she thinks he's soooo cool!)


The only sticky part was when a kid asked if Mike's band could be found on the internet. Mike looked, for just a millisecond, like it was a trick question. He didn't quite nod, but changed the subject. This piqued my interest so I hit YouTube and searched for 'six ounce gloves'. You'll have to search for yourself, but I know now why Mike changed the subject....I suspect the shot glasses in some of the photos were not filled with iced-tea. Let me just say, though, that Sophie's guest kicked the azzes of every other student in class. Not that it was a competition. Just sayin. Thanks Uncle Mike, Aunt Manda and Baby Phoenix for making the trip. We were thrilled to have you!

Allie's 'Gettin Ink Done'

Allie and the Red Pen

Allie's in the doghouse. She got a little carried away with a red felt tip pen. This is not the first time. This time it was her clothes instead of her finger and toe nails. The time before that it was her feet. Waaaay back in 2007-ish, it was a permanent GREEN marker all over her body (see photo). I do understand her need to decorate herself. My only concern is that if we're not careful, we're going to find ourselves with a fifteen year old addicted to tattoos. We've already had to tame the lipgloss beast that emerges each morning before preschool, at least that's washable. Ink and tattoos...well...not so much.

In any case, she walked into the room with her pajama pants rolled up like shorts. I thought it looked a little weird but with Allie, it might just be a fashion statement, so I didn't comment on it. An hour later, when the pants were STILL rolled up, I got curious. It couldn't have been very comfortable to have those giant rolls around her thighs. Kevin finally asked her what the deal was. She explained that she'd 'accidently' gotten 'a little' red ink on her pajama pants. This admission sent us into an immediate red-ink-pen panic. Where had she found it? What else had she used it on? Did she put the cap back on when she was done? Where had she left it? She needed to unroll those pants legs, NOW.

She was hesitant to comply with the unrolling. She just said it really was an 'accident'. Kevin told her to get busy unrolling. One entire leg of her pink bottoms was covered in red stripes and doodles and dots and zig-zags. The only way it had been an accident would have been if she'd done it while sleepwalking, nobody could accidently do that much damage. Then, I got a brief flash of our future. In it, she would be wearing a sleeveless blouse to show off her tattood arms and she'd be holding a can of spray paint that she'd used to decorate the brick wall behind her. I'm deeply afraid my daughter is a graffitti artist in training.

I hope we don't have to use her college fund for bail money or anything like that if she gets caught. I'm going to hide all the paint and all the ink in our house so as not to encourage her. In the meantime, its back to the old timeout to think about why she wrote on her clothing .