As you all know (unless you live under a rock), yesterday was Valentine’s Day. My oldest, who is 12, came home from middle school with two roses - one she had purchased at school for me, and one that a boy in one of her classes had purchased for HER! Do you hear that sound? It’s the sound of my voice, screaming as we start to fly downhill, because it is ALL downhill from here.

This is how it starts, and soon she’ll be getting phone calls from boys and sneaking out behind the gym during her lunch period to make out. Boys will be ringing our doorbell - I’ll make pleasant conversation while Jim cleans his gun. Curfews will be set and broken, clothing choices will be approved, and too much makeup will be worn. Hearts will be broken, hands held, and I’ll be a nervous wreck through all of it.

And I thought potty training was hard.

I can’t believe I forgot to mention this. I’m the worst mother ever!

While we were in Amsterdam, an invitation came home to attend an art gallery put together by the school board. Matthew is a featured artist in the event, and the awards ceremony is tonight. We’ll be off in a bit to attend the gallery viewing, and the awards ceremony is tonight as well. He doesn’t even know what piece of art he’s got in the showing - isn’t that typical of a little boy? He told me though, with all the sincerity and seriousness he could muster, that he’s a great artist, and whatever they’re showing must be good.

It got to be 8:30 last night, and Matthew was still lounging on the couch, stalling before heading up to bed. I reminded him that it was bedtime, and of course he balked at the thought, despite how tired he was. As he headed up the stairs, he started making that little whiny noise all kids make, that sounds a bit like a bleating lamb.

“EHHHHHHHHHH!”

Keep in mind, he’s 8 and way too old for this nonsense. So I decided to use a little reverse psychology, and I whined right back at him. We exchanged a few whiny noises back and forth, and I could see that he was getting mad at me for mimicking him. The wheels were turning in his little head, wondering how he could best me. As he got to the landing at the top of the stairs, it came to him - he could say a really, horrible, awful word. That would teach me a lesson!

So from the top of the stairs, all the way down in the family room, I hear him say, “Penis!”

Did I just hear what I think I heard? Did my son throw down a pseudo-curse word at me? Yes, he did! He was so mad at me that he decided to shock me by saying penis, which in his mind, equals some of the four letter words only Mommy is allowed to say. I walked to the bottom of the stairs and looked up, and saw him smirking at me. He said it again, “Penis!” Meanwhile, I’m trying not to laugh, and heading upstairs to deal with my sorta foul mouthed little boy. As I reach the last step, he says it again - “Penis”, and heads into his room, slamming the door behind him.

I opened the door to his bedroom and replied, “VAGINA!” The look on his face was one of shock. Did his mom just come back to his penis retort with the V-word? Oh, yes she did! So he replied, “BALLS!” I one upped him with “Butt!” and he came back again with “Penis!” and collapsed onto the bed in giggles. I kissed him, told him our potty talk time was over, and it was time for bed. He let me tuck him in without arguing further.

And that folks, is parenting at it’s finest.

I awoke to screaming earlier this week. Matthew’s very loose canine tooth had finally popped out, and he was downstairs with a mouth full of blood. What a way to start the morning! Even after we got his mouth rinsed out and cleaned up, the tears persister. He trudged up the stairs ahead of me, saying, “I don’t WANT to go back to school!”

When I asked him why he was worrying about his return to school (which isn’t for another week!) he admitted it was because of his missing teeth. He’s missing both of his front teeth, and now the canine to one side. “I’m going to look like a bum, mommy. Or a hobo. Or a hillbilly!”

It’s too bad that Halloween is so far off. We could dress him in overalls and a funny hat, give him a little Daisy air rifle, and have our own little Hatfield or McCoy look alike in the house!

We attended Mass on Christmas Eve together, as we always do, but things were a little different this year. For the first time, all three of our children sang in the children’s choir, so Jim and I were kid-less for the first time ever during church! The children sitting around us made up for it though. Our neighbors were two rows in front of us with their 1 1/2 year old (who Catherine babysits) and he was quite vocal at times, reminding me of the days when Jim or I would need to go outside with a fussing, bored toddler.

There was a brand new baby playing the part of Baby Jesus during the Christmas pageant. He lay in a car seat on the altar, sleeping happily, unaware of the production going on around him.

Another friend and her husband sat in front of us with their three year old, who was amazingly patient, but also VERY busy during Mass. At one point she climbed on and off her father’s back, and told him, “Daddy! I’m on your back!” She’s a doll though, and even let me hold her a few times while I attempted to entertain her quietly. The baby on the altar made a great case FOR having another baby, but my three year old friend reminded me that even quiet babies grow up!

I was snuggling with the boy on the couch last night, and gave him a big squeezy hug. “Ouch!”, he said. “You’re going to squish all of the juice out of me.”

I replied saying “Ooh, juice? I like juice…can we squeeze you and drink all of the juice?”

He gave me a look, the kind of look that says ‘exactly how stupid ARE you?’ and replied, “The juice inside of me is pee. And blood. Mostly blood. You can’t DRINK it!”

I don’t know about you, but the day and the weeks after Christmas always seem like a let down. After a month of preparation, it’s all over so fast!

Despite my bah humbug attitude today, our Christmas was quite festive. I received from Santa Jim:

• A gorgeous new red coat that will come in handy on vacation next month
• New Calphalon cookware - a dutch oven, a new griddle, and new pots
• Portable speakers for my iPod
• New pants from Express, and several new shirts from The Limited
• New drawers from Victoria’s Secret
• A new Family Guy DVD
• A new Tampa Bay Lightning hat, autographed by Martin St. Louis, #26

The kids gifted us with all sorts of handmade goodies, but Catherine also bought things at her school sale, and she got me a necklace with a butterfly charm on it. I was the lucky recipient of a Victoria’s Secret gift card in our sibling Secret Santa swap (thanks, Cheryl!) as well as assorted dachshund collectibles, ornaments, a book, and a Kohl’s gift card from my mother.

I gave Jim a new leather jacket, a Sirius radio, and a 6 month Sirius subscription gift card. In our own little Gift of the Magi twist, I also gave him a signed Tampa Bay Lighting jersey, autographed by none other than Martin St. Louis, #26! (Special thanks to my friend Melissa for the hookup!) He also got new clothes, new neckties, and a new warm up suit for hockey.

The kids…well, they got WAY too much stuff. Guitar Hero III, a skateboard ramp, tons of movies, clothes, books, a new bike for Gracie, board games, gift cards galore…they’ve already started writing their thank you notes.

And to think - the gift giving isn’t over yet! Tomorrow is my oldest daughter’s 12th birthday. The family will be over for pizza and cake at our home, and of course, more presents for Catherine!

I got this email last night - it was a joint collaboration from my 8 year old son, and my 10 year old daughter. I love that they email me, and then come to tell me they’ve emailed me, and that I should check my email and reply immediately.

HOW COME WE CAN’T CALL YOU MOM? DADDY LETS US CALL HIM DAD AND WE CAN’T BE YOUR LITTLE SNUGGLE BUNNY, SNUGGLE BEAR , AND SNUGGLE BUG FOREVER. WHAT I’M SAYING IS THAT WHEN CAN WE START CALLING YOU MOM? ALSO ALL OUR FRIENDS CALL THEIR MOM’S MOM. SO PLEASE TELL US WHE WE CAN START CALLING YOU MOM.

P.S: MAKE THE RIGHT CHOICE .

I love how they threw in a little threat at the end of the email!

My son and I were snuggling on the couch last night, and I poked him in the bellybutton. That led to a discussion on why he has a bellybutton, so I explained that before he was born, he was attached to me via the umbilical cord. I told him that when he was born, he was still attached to me, so the doctor handed my husband scissors and told him to cut the cord.

Matthew asked how big the cord was, and using my thumb and forefinger, I guesstimated. (It has been 8 years since I’ve seen one!) He said, “Wow, they must have some big scissors.” Well yes, hospitals generally don’t use the same ones that a 3rd grade class uses for art projects.

He then went on to say he didn’t know if he’d want to cut the cord if he got married, and if his wife had a baby. He thought about it for a moment, and said, “Well, maybe I will cut the cord. It might be my only chance to use the big scissors.”

I was just communicating with my son via the walkie talkies we have. He likes to use them when he’s playing outside, and I like to use them because I don’t need to scream his name out the front door when I want to talk to him. Anyway, we just popped in new batteries, so we wanted to test them out. He went outside, and I sat her, and started talking:

Me: Breaker, breaker, this is Big Momma, calling the Boy. Can you read me?

The boy: I can hear you. Uh, Mommy? You don’t need to talk like that. We’re not in the navy. But if you want to PLAY navy I will be Goose and you can be Maverick.

Me: 10-4, Roger Dodger, over and out. (If I’m Maverick, do I get to make out with Kelly McGillis?)

The next time he calls me on the walkie talkie, I’m going into pilot mode. “Uhh…..folks, please leave your seat belts fastened as we uhh….make our descent into Tampa. Uhh…..It’s been a pleasure serving you today, and we uhh….hope to see you again soon.” (I’m a natural, right?)