Okay, so Riley Coyote had his moment in the spotlight, now it’s Jacob Jingleheimer’s turn. I don’t know why I didn’t post this a month ago…probably because Kendal and I posted it on Facebook. But anyway, it’s good…you should watch it.

(Who’s a proud momma? This gal right here.)

Happy birthday to Riley Coyote.

Nine years ago right now, my husband and I were probably getting kicked out of the BirthCare Center for false labor. An hour later, Kendal’s coworkers would be amazed that he had returned to work after getting a phone call that morning that he was on his way to the hospital. It wouldn’t be for another 12 hours that our little bald bundle of joy with huge hands decided it was time to meet mom, dad and big brother.

Riley Coyote is definitely his momma’s boy. He tells me EVERYTHING (whether I’m actually listening or not). He holds my hand when we cross the street (or even the parking lot). He is the pickiest eater on the planet (no doubt something he inherited from me). But he’s also smart, quiet and deliberate, like his dad (which isn’t always a good thing). He’s courteous and respectful like his brother (thanking us for anything and everything). Perhaps he inherited too much of my sensitivity and too much of his father’s impatience and too much of his brother’s dramatics, but he’s just the right amount of perfect (even with constantly dirty glasses and messy hair).

Happy birthday Riley Coyote. Even at nine years old, you are still my baby!

So…today is Mother’s Day. This day always makes me feel like a big moocher, since my birthday was just a week ago. But, for the second week in a row, my kids showered me with gifts and cards and even made breakfast for me. And I appreciate it all, I really do. I have really great kids who seem to think they have a really great mom (at least for now) and that is truly the best gift in the world.

But secretly, I’ve always hated Mother’s Day. If you’ve known me for any time, or have ever read this blog, then you know my own mother died when I was 4. In grade school, the teachers always geared up the week before Mother’s Day by having the class make tissue paper flower bouquets, handmade cards or decorative flower pots. And I was forced to participate in these crafts. Oh sure, the teachers assured me that I could make the cards for my aunt, or my dad, or depending on the year – a stepmom, or whoever I wanted to give a gift to, but it didn’t matter. I knew that the person opening my card come Sunday wouldn’t be my mom. And that just…sucked.

This morning all those feelings quickly came back after reading updates on Twitter and Facebook. All my friends were talking about going to breakfast with their moms, spending the day with their moms or just announcing how great their moms are. Yea…I was a little jealous.

I don’t know why it bothered me so much more this year. Nothing has really changed. And there’s clearly nothing I can do about the situation anyway. I’ve lived without my mom for 30 years. This isn’t new to me. I barely remember her, for goodness sake. And yea, I’ve had stepmoms, and I currently have a stepmom. But, there has never been, and there will never be, another woman that I call “Mom”.

I hear I look like her. I have her nose. My oldest son has her nose. I hear she loved to sing. I love to sing. My oldest loves to sing and does so very well. Sadly, I don’t know if there’s anything about my youngest son that I can attribute to my mom. I just didn’t know her very well or for very long.

But that sure as hell doesn’t keep me from missing her.

Scene: My little family of four in the kitchen

Jacob Jingleheimer: (singing) I like big butts….
Riley Coyote: You mean like moms?
Kendal: (laughing hysterically) That’s my boy!

And then I killed all 3 of them.

End scene

Dear Kendal,

I was 19 when we married.
That was 14 years ago.
Our oldest son is almost 12.

Those numbers seem almost unbelievable to me. Obviously, we did things the ‘fast and furious’ way back then. Which is rather remarkable because you are the most deliberate, indecisive individual on the planet. But I don’t think I’d change a thing. (Well…I don’t think it would have killed us to have at least one picture of our wedding day…)

So today we celebrate 14 years together. We’ve been through a lot in 14 years. It hasn’t all been good. We’ve been poor. We’ve experienced some not-so-wonderful things. We’ve done and said some terrible things to one another. But, it hasn’t all been bad. We’ve lived in some amazing places. We’ve shared some amazing experiences. We have 2 amazing kids.

I didn’t grow up surrounded by many successful marriages. My mom and grandparents all died young. My dad remarried a few times. Even my friends’ parents were divorced. As a kid, I didn’t have terribly high expectations about my own marriage. And even today I’m not sure I’m doing it right. But I do know that I love waking up next to you every morning. I love knowing that you’ll make me laugh out loud several times each and every day. I love talking to you and I love hearing you talk. I love hanging out in the kitchen with you or just snuggling on the couch with you. I love that it’s painfully obvious that our 2 kids are our 2 kids and they have good and bad features/traits/habits from each of us. I hope we have managed to set an example for our boys as to what a happy, successful marriage is.

You are my best friend, Kendal. And I feel so blessed that you have chosen to spend the past 14 years with me.

I love you. Happy Anniversary.

(It is today, right?)

Every now and then, any one of the beautiful women whom I follow on Twitter will post a public apology for the fact that she is running late and was forced to face the world with no makeup on. This morning, as I was driving Jacob Jingleheimer to his technology team meeting before school, it occurred to me that perhaps I should be apologizing for running around with no makeup. Am I hideous? Do small animals and children run for cover at the mere sight of me?

So, when I got home, I snapped a picture. Damp hair, no makeup, sloppy sweatshirt…

Then, just before I took Riley Coyote to school and headed off to work, I snapped another picture. Hair dry, teeth brushed, eyelashes curled, cosmetics-laden…but still clad in the sweatshirt because, well, that’s just what I’m wearing.

Overall? I don’t think I look that different. My nose is in serious need of rhinoplasty, I have no eyebrows, and my naturally dark hair is so fried that it’s now blonde, but that’s true whether I have makeup on or not.

So…how ’bout it ladies? Let’s see YOUR before and afters!

I left you all hanging on my first post about “Billy” and now I can’t stop talking about the kid. But this is the last time, pinky swear.

I was to and fro around the school building this morning because I had to find some picture order forms that Riley Coyote was missing, I had to talk to one of the teachers about the upcoming Valentine’s Day parties, and I had to talk to Jacob Jingleheimer’s teacher about math homework.

Anyhoo, I was standing out in the hallway with Jacob Jingleheimer’s teacher discussing fractions and decimals. We eventually finished our conversation and I started to leave, when I saw Billy walking towards us. He had a gold medal around his neck and the biggest smile I have ever seen. Billy won the “Cool Cat” award, which is an award given by the teachers each week to one student in their class. Billy held up his medal, “I’m a Cool Cat! I’ve never been a Cool Cat!”, he said. I oohed and aahed over Billy as the teacher hugged him.

I just hope his momma hugs her Cool Cat tonight.

As I was leaving the school this morning, I saw “Billy” just as his mom dropped him off. No tears this time, but he was tardy. He said “hi” to me. I smiled at him, and told him to hurry on into school because the bell had already rang.

And then I realized that I never said another word to ya’ll about the situation I witnessed a few weeks ago. * smacks forehead *

First off, I want to thank everyone for their comments and input. They helped immensely. I finally convinced myself to say something after I retold the story to my husband and started crying. I obviously felt strongly about what I saw. I obviously had to say something.

I e-mailed Billy’s teacher and the school principal. The principal e-mailed me back right away, thanking me for bringing the situation to her attention. She assured me she would keep her eyes open and would discuss the situation with Billy’s teacher. His teacher e-mailed me later that evening and said pretty much the same thing.

The following morning, I was at the school early to accompany Jacob Jingleheimer to his Technology Team meeting to help them with their new blog. As I walked past the Assistant Principal, she stopped me and thanked me for my e-mail the day before. Evidently the principal had forwarded it to her. She said she and the principal had met with Billy’s teacher the day before. Just then, Billy’s teacher walked by and joined our conversation.

I won’t go into detail, but I’m convinced that there is no history of abuse as far as Billy is concerned. Furthermore, I’m satisfied that the school took my e-mail very seriously. That’s all I can ask for.

I still don’t think Billy’s mom handled herself well that morning. And after seeing her drop Billy off late this morning and drive away, I’m still worried that Billy doesn’t get the warm, fuzzy attention from his mom that a 5 year old (or 15 year old or 50 year old) should. But at least I can smile at him and tell him to have a good day and hope it makes a difference.

I witnessed something at the kids’ school this morning that literally brought tears to my eyes.

I walked my kids to their respective classrooms, as I do every morning, and had just hopped back in my car when a car pulled into the Drop Off Lane in front of me. I was waiting for other cars to pass before I pulled out, so I stayed put for a while. I noticed the lady in the Drop Off Lane get out of her car, open the door to the backseat, grab a child, pull him out of the car and force his arms through his backpack. I recognized the child, Billy*, a kindergartener. His face was red and he was crying inconsolably. The lady was yelling at him and waving her arms towards the school building. Billy obviously didn’t want to go in. She grabbed him by the arm and pulled him to the sidewalk, then got back in her car. She had shut the driver side door and was about to pull away, when Billy ran back to the car and opened the drivers side backseat door (there was a child in a car seat on the other side). Billy got back into the car and shut the door. Now the lady is screaming, banging her hands on the steering wheel and mad as hell. And there’s no way she didn’t notice me watching her.

I watched her peel out of the Drop Off Lane and circle back around to park in the parking lot about 6 rows away from me. Eventually, I see her walking Billy, who is still crying, near the front entrance of the school. She’s wearing only a tank top and capris and has a baby in the car, so she’s clearly not interested in walking with Billy all the way into the school. Billy stands by the front doors of the school, crying, while the lady is yelling at him from the parking lot to “Go! Just Go!” By now I have had enough and decided I would see if I could console Billy enough to get him to go into the building. As soon as I walked by the lady in the car, she sped away. By the time I got to the doors of the school, another individual had already convinced Billy to go inside.

I don’t know Billy very well, but I see him at least once a week in the halls. He’ll hold the door open for me, or he’ll show me something he brought for Show-and-Tell or he’ll just say some random thing like he got a new eraser. He seems like a generally happy, good natured kid. It hurt me to see him so upset. So, I’m trying to decide if this is worth saying something about to Billy’s teacher or the school principal.

Maybe the lady was just having a bad day. Maybe she was running late. Maybe Billy had been giving her a hard time all morning. Maybe she had just gotten laid off work. Maybe she had just caught her husband in bed with another woman…or man. Maybe she’s not even Billy’s mom. Or…maybe Billy is treated like this all the time.

There was nothing physical going on, other than the lady pulling him out of the car and yanking him to the sidewalk. She was yelling at him, but goodness knows I yell at my kids all the time. But, even when I’m having a bad day and yelling at my kids, I never, NEVER let them walk into their classrooms without a kiss and a hug and an “I love you”.

So, is this any of my business? Should I say something to someone? If so, who?

* Name has been changed for privacy

Jacob Jingleheimer had a writing assignment due last week where he was to honor someone with a monument. He was to build his monument concept out of household items, then write a report about who he was honoring and what his monument was about.

Behold, my 11 year old’s report about me:

“I would like to honor my mother with a monument and park in her name.

My mom loves many things. She loves her family, she loves animals, she loves hearts and the color orange. So, I’m honoring her with a park where other moms can go to spend time with their kids and pets. The park has a swing set, four park benches, three teeter-totters and a sandbox. The park also features a monument of a heart, which has an elevator on each side to take visitors to the top.

The park and monument will be in Albuquerque, New Mexico. My mom loves the warm weather in the desert and being able to look east and see the mountains. So the monument will face towards the east.

My mom is a great woman and a hard worker. She has a job outside the home, but she’s always around to drive me to basketball practices, choir practices, technology meetings and school programs. She never misses an event! And she’s very involved in mine and my brothers education. She’s on different committees at school and does lots of nice things for the teachers.

When she was only 4 years old, my mom’s mom died. She grew up having to do many things on her own, like preparing her own breakfast and making her own lunch. Those are things that my brother and me wait for our mom to do for us. My mom grew up without having her mom’s shoulder to cry on or her mom’s lap to snuggle into or her mom to tuck her into bed each night. I think my house would be a very sad place without my mom.

Sometimes my dad teases my mom for walking my brother and me to our classrooms every single morning. My mom says she does it simply because she can.

My mom strives to be the kind of mom she wished she had grown up with. I think she’s done pretty good.”