Swimming, my friends.

Take it from my little men… summer is all about swimming.

Pictures courtesy of Edward Winter Photography, aka, my baby brother.

My children are not babies anymore.  They are not toddlers.  They are not first graders.

Oh no, we are so past that.

To say that they are “growing” is such a cliche.  Yet, that is the only word that I can grasp right now to describe this incredible stage of development they are in.

Their needs are changing.  They don’t need me in that way anymore.

They don’t need me in the room to protect them from choking hazards. They don’t need me to pour them a drink or make them a snack. They can even get dressed by themselves and make their own beds. (That being said, brushing their teeth is still a stretch.  With males it is best to visually verify that this task has been accomplished or ewww… )

What they seem to need now is a little room and a little space to discover.  They need me to interact with them and appreciate them and help them to sort their emotions and reasoning out.  They need me to spend time talking and dreaming with them. They need me to admire their Lego model and investigate their hypothesis.  They need me to listen to them read their Goosebumps books and sing along to their favorite Big Time Rush and Selena Gomez songs.  They need me to corroborate that yes, in fact, Phineas and Ferb is one of the best shows ever made for television viewing.

In doing all of these things I am able to witness their evolution.

Like all stages in their lives so far, there are incredible moments that take my breath away.  More subtle than the “oh-my-gosh-did-you-see-him-walk!?” phase.  These moments are windows into their future selves.  The hint of sarcastic humor. The clear indication of a future passion. I am addicted to these moments.

Yes, it is true that my kids don’t need me in that way anymore.  Surprisingly, I don’t even care. Whatever way they need me is fine by me.

I’ve been married to the same man for almost 14 years.

I don’t mention that man very often on the blog because we’ve agreed on the fact that I won’t write about him without his knowledge and express consent.

Don’t judge. It keeps us happily married.

But today is different.  Today I am going to reveal all. Because I just realized that for the past 14 years, hubby and I have endlessly engaged in the same marital debates over and over and over again.  So annoying!

He thinks he is right.  I know that I am.  It is just that simple, of course.

The pressing issues consist of….

Fat Elvis Vs. Skinny Elvis: Look, I know that Elvis is “the king” and all but I personally DON’T THINK HE IS COOL.  I’ve heard the music. I’ve been to Graceland.  I only associate him with the fat, sweaty Elvis. Elvis the cliche. Elvis the peanut butter and banana sandwich eater. Elvis wearing those awful Vegas jumpsuits. Hubby’s brain, on the other hand, conjures up images of cool 1950′s leather wearing Elvis. He doesn’t understand how I don’t “get the whole Elvis thing.” Sigh. Forget it. Pass more fried pickles, babe.

To Celery Or Not To Celery: Celery is a vile nasty mutant vegetable that should be given only to rabbits.  My husband, on the other hand, believes that it should make an appearance in our diet and even accompany our (gasp!) tuna and egg salad.  Dear God!  Who is this man that I pledged my eternal love to?

Music Selection Or “Stick A Fork In My Eye Please”: I love my man. I swear, I do. He gifted me with a true appreciation of country music.  REAL country music like Johnny Cash and Kris Kristofferson. I admit it – I listen to country music. I’m a fan. My guy and I agree on country music and 80′s music. But that, my friends, is where we part ways. I like punk, heavy metal and massive guitar riffs and he, well, he tends to appreciate DIFFERENT music.  Ahem. That is all you need to know. When I listen to his music for more than 20 minutes I feel the tremendous urge to stick a fork in my eye.

Yes, You Can Clean The House Without Using A Label Maker Thankyouverymuch: This is where I admit to loathing the man that I am pledged to eternity with.  This man can accomplish cleanliness-type-things in our house 50x faster than I can. I don’t know WHY and I don’t know HOW but damn if he doesn’t do it faster and better than I do EVERY TIME.  Which ticks me off and makes me cranky… especially when it involves label makers.  My husband loves using label makers. If he had it his way, he would label the whole God-forsaken house.  He would even label ME. Which, depending on the day, might not be so appropriate for underage eyeballs if you know what I mean.  Why do we need to label the cabinet shelves with things like “soup” or “snacks” or “protein shakes?”  IS IT REALLY NECESSARY, HONEY?

Imagine 14 years of these type of debates.  I’m a saint.  Right?

What debates rage on it your home?

Image via Wikipedia

I’ve completely lost him.

He is gone.

Selena has him now.  My little nine year old is totally and completely over the moon for Selena Gomez.  I know that we’ve discussed this before and I really hate to harp on it but the level to which my son has taken this crush is so UNEXPECTED.

She is everywhere.

On the TV. My iPad. The wall. The ceiling.

He watches videos and he sings the songs.  He calls her “H O T.”  Repeatedly.  Which, of course, I am not pleased with at all.

Being a naturally inquisitive type of person (and a slightly horrified mother) I asked him this morning why he keeps calling her “hot.”  What exactly hot MEANS.  Why not “pretty” or “beautiful?”  Young Jedi says it is because hot means really, really beautiful. Duh. As opposed to JUST beautiful.  Um, okay then.

And get this, now he wants to celebrate Selena’s birthday on July 22nd.  He wants to have a couple of pals over and eat Rocky Road ice cream (her favorite) and listen to her songs.

Cute, right?  Cute AND disturbing at the same time.  Truth be told, I wasn’t expecting to be replaced this soon.

I’m clearly not taking this well.

What happened to my baby?

My 4th grader is studying government in school these days.  Which basically means that my husband and I are now studying government as well.  (Because, as you know, that is how it works with kids.) Truthfully, it is a nice refresher course for his mommy and daddy who have forgotten a couple of details about the whole election process.

I am a little concerned for the little guy though.  He has a test coming up and I am worried that he is  going to FAIL big time.  Why?  HE CAN’T EVEN PRONOUNCE THE WORDS.  I don’t care how many times I go over it with him – he can’t seem to get it right.  It is like he has a huge mental block prohibiting him from pronouncing it correctly.  If he can’t pronounce the words, how in the world is he going to remember what they mean?

Fail or no fail…. we are having a hilarious time studying.  I figured I would share a bit:

Politics has never been so hilarious!