mood rings and an apple

FavoriteSon has had to write a short story (aka a paragraph) the last few Mondays. He’s given the main theme for the story and then he has to incorporate 10 of the week’s spelling words. This week, he had to write about a fad, incorporating words which end in “ble” (able, ible). After spending WAY too much time researching fads, lamenting about the fact that he didn’t know enough about any to write a paragraph without learning (NO! Anything but THAT!), he finally agreed to write about my first suggestion: mood rings. He has a song on his mp3 player by Relient K called “Mood Rings” with the lyrics “Let’s get emotional girls to all wear mood rings, so we’ll be tipped off to when they’re ticked off . . . ” Here’s this week’s paragraph:

“Mood rings were a notable fad in the 1970’s. They were capable of changing colors depending on the wearer’s emotions. The color of the ring was as changeable as the wearer’s mood. A sensible person could look at a ring that somebody was wearing, and tell if they were approachable or not. The color of the ring was a visible sign of how the wearer was feeling. If the ring was the color blue, it meant that the person wearing it was calm or relaxed. If the color was blue, it was more probable that you would have a favorable encounter with that person. Mood rings are still available today. Do the responsible thing. Buy one for your sister today.”

(emphasis added)
Who’s he kidding? HE needs one. I need one.

PinkGirl on the other hand does NOT need one. She needs to eat something every 3 hours and she’s pretty easy. Unless someone deliberatly picks on her for entertainment. If she passes that 3 hour mark, we know what’s coming without the aid of any jewelry. A diatribe. I actually looked that up to see exactly what it means: thunderous verbal attack. That about sums it up. After years of not getting it, we finally made a connection. When she hasn’t eaten in a while, she melts down. After we started paying attention, we discovered the 3 hour limit. At first, we attempted to combat low blood sugar with a piece of candy. BIG mistake. We got immediate relief, but then (imagine the sound of a falling jet plane) CRASH. The aftershock was even worse. Finally, we figured it out: If it’s been three hours and a meal is not forthcoming, she needs to eat a complex carb or a protein (preferably both). We explained all this to the doctor and asked him if she could be tested for hypoglycemia. He said yes, but we’re talking blood tests (in a pretty small arm). He asked if we really needed an official diagnosis and suggested that as long as the treatment is working, we continue it. So far, it’s working. Hopefully, she will grow out of it, and maybe by then, she will have established healthy eating habits.

Every year, we buy a charm for PinkGirl’s charm bracelet for Christmas. It was Christmas eve, PinkGirl and dad were standing in line for Santa and FavoriteSon and I were in a jewelry shop behind them. FavoriteSon and I looked and looked and only came up with one charm that would represent something from the past year. I sent a text message to FirstHusband:

Me: “How about an apple for starting school?”
FirstHusband: “Not bad. It’s got the double meaning thing too. You know, a complex carb.”

FavoriteSon and I BURST out laughing in the store. A gold apple it is.

volcanoes and braids

Either I will get a call today telling me that FavoriteSon has been suspended because he brought explosives to school . . . or he will get an “A” on his Volcano Project.

Okay, I admit, I was just as dead set against a paper mache, baking soda and vinegar spewing volcano as FavoriteSon was. B O R I N G.

So after doing absolutely NOTHING on this project over the two week Christmas break, we found ourselves in Walmart on Friday night, with a working volcano due Monday morning. We are nothing if not consistent. FavoriteSon, PinkGirl and I are walking around Walmart looking for ideas. We quickly decided the basic structure of the volcano would be an upside down planter from the garden department. But what to spew? And how to spew it? FirstHusband, the engineer, is at work, so we keep text messaging him about when he will join us:

Me: What time will you be getting off work?

Him: What time will the kids be going to bed?

So. No help there. We wander aimlessly around Walmart. A paint pump? A fish tank pump? A garden sprayer? An air mattress pump? We really need to decide what we want to pump before we decide what KIND of pump to buy, so we quickly buy a compact squeegee for my van (nothing to do with the volcano, I just thought it was cool) and join FirstHusband for dinner at Carrabba’s to use our 2 year old gift certificate.

FirstHusband and I are talking about volcanos and I keep asking FavoriteSon questions to draw him into the conversation about HIS homework project. He keeps interjecting to ask if we can go to Gamestop after dinner. sigh.

We end up at Michael’s craft store with four packages of quick drying clay, a terra cotta pot and . . . a rocket engine. Yes. Michael’s sells rocket engines. FirstHusband is smiling and FavoriteSon is explaining how there really IS a type of volcano that explodes like that. PinkGirl and I go to look at the 70% off Christmas items.

The boys spend all morning Saturday wiring and soldering. Then they go into the backyard to test it before they make a terra cotta pot LOOK like a volcano. It works. It explodes. I look at FavoriteSon and say, “When you get sent to the office on Monday, give them your dad’s work number so he can explain how that’s perfectly safe.”

FavoriteSon spends hours rolling clay and attaching it to the pot and we go to bed. Sunday morning, the clay has cracked. A LOT. So after Sunday School there’s another trip to Michael’s for more clay and the cracks are filled with red clay to look like lava coming down. Then it’s tested again, this time adding sand to the top of the volcano so it shoots dirt up into the air and looks even more realistic. Again – either FavoriteSon will be suspended or he will get an “A” on this project. (It is cool.)

FirstHusband drove FavoriteSon to this morning school and we hope he made it into the classroom without dropping the volcano on the sidewalk.

Meanwhile, I had to drive PinkGirl to school (yes, same school) because she had “hairstyle issues” this morning. We were rushed. FirstHusband’s alarm clock didn’t get set last night and mine goes off at 6:30 a.m. so I asked PinkGirl if she could wear “PinkGirl Hair” today (that’s just straight down, no braids, no barrettes, no ponytails, no nothing).

“Please mom, that’s the yuckiest hair. I want two braids and then put them on top of my head.” So I braid faster than I ever have, and attach the braids to the top of her head with barrettes and she goes to look in the mirror while I hide, knowing what I’ve done. “That is the ugliest hair EVER!” Then tears. Since I HATE sending kids to school in tears, I tell FirstHusband to take FavoriteSon to school and I will take PinkGirl. (Lower school starts 15 minutes later than upper school.)

PinkGirl gets the “Braid Book” (WHY did I buy that thing?) and selects a different hairstyle. Now that the pressure is off, I actually make it look like the picture and PinkGirl is relieved that she doesn’t have “ugly hair” today. We drive to school, wave to daddy as he leaves campus and she confidently and happily goes to class.

My Monday Morning Mommy Work is done.

Added Later: He got an “A”