The Things You Learn in College

Just before Mitchell's 19th birthday, I sent him a care package.  And because this year he's living in an apartment with a kitchen and not a dorm room, I sent him most of the ingredients (sans the eggs and oil) so he could make and enjoy his favorite birthday cake .

This is his favorite cake:

I'm sure you've tried it.  It's a chocolate cake with caramel and condensed milk inside, topped with cool whip and crumbled toffee bars.  Yes, you know the one.

All these years I've never called the cake by its real name.  Instead, I've been calling it "Toffee Cake".

Mitchell was excited to get his birthday box in the mail and he went to work making the cake to share with his roommates.  When we called him on his birthday he thanked me for the package and then he said, "Mom did you know the cake is really called, 'Better than Sex Cake'?"

To which I simply said, "Yes I did."

"Really?" he replied, "you knew?"

"Yep."  Then I added,  "I know, it's a little shocking that I was actually trying to be appropriate for once."

"Yeah," he echoed, "I'm shocked."

So from the sound of things I guess my son is learning a lot in college--namely the real and salacious name of his favorite cake AND the fact that his mother can restrain herself from time to time from impropriety.  I was hoping he was learning more math and science but I guess learning something is better than nothing at all.

Blog Bashing & Care Package Wars

Apparently as my children grow up and move out of the house they consider the best part of their new found independence to be the freedom from the tyranny of my blog.  They realize that the farther away from home they are the less likely they are to be embarrassed by the scandalous postings that oppressed them back at home. And now, apparently, they have each experienced the same earth shattering epiphany: they have discovered their own voice and have decided to turn on me with their own blogs!  Imagine that.

Recently Cheyenne posted incriminating photos on her blog of some silly motorcycle stunts I attempted in the yard.  Then just a few days ago, Mitchell, (who calls himself "Justin" because, well, that's really his name and he's decided to use it again) wondering why he hadn't gotten his first college care package from home yet, decided to take it to his new blog! Can you believe that!  My own children mocking me on their blog! What's a parent to do when that happens?

...Well if you're me, you'd wipe a sentimental tear from your glistening eyes and blush with pride!   Indeed, it was surely
a proud moment when I discovered my children have realized how fun it can be to pester loved ones with their very own blog!

So Mitchell's recent blog post gave me a virtual smack down--albeit a hilarious one, on not promptly sending my poor "homesick" child a care package. [Nice move son. Your most impressive literary work to date.]  A move which was sure to heap such unbearable parental guilt that it was sure to quickly garner him a prompt shipment of tasty goods. Well done!  A quick read of his post and it appears as though his room mate Taylor had a sweet and loving family back at home who missed him so dearly that they were kind enough to send him a trove of treats to show they cared. And poor Mitchell, he was left with an empty dorm room mailbox.
[cue sad music--perhaps, "Everybody Hurts" by REM]

His sinister scheme seems to have worked, since I quickly shipped him off a box of his favorite goodies; microwaveable brownies, hot Cheetos, and Rice Krispie treats (sorry no diet coke, I've discovered the hard way that it doesn't take well to shipping and handling):

Then I studied the photo featured on his blog of his room mate Taylor's care package and tried earnestly to send similar items,  
but with a more unique touch.

So instead of sending him a graphing calculator (any parent can do that), I decided to send him something that would make math more fun: Strawberry Shortcake Flash Cards...

Some unique school supplies like:

this giant eraser...

and instead of sending just an ordinary Popular Science magazine, I decided to mock up a special one just for my wiz-kid blogger of a son (click to enlarge):

His Roommate's Magazine:     Mitchell's Mock Magazine:

I also noticed Taylor's parents sent him a framed family portrait and thought I'd better send a family photo for Mitchell's desk too. But, of course, I just couldn't send a regular one:

Then, probably the most thoughtful and revered gift a college student could ever receive was lovingly placed inside his package:

Taco Bell Gift Cards

So there you have it.  Secret message received, care package sent!

Now...if I can just get the phone number for Taylor's parents so I can call them and insist they WARN me before they send another care package and spare me from being censured in another scandalous blog post by my pernicious progeny.

...Because that's supposed to be my job!

Shopping with Boys

Just a few days before school started I decided I'd better get serious about back-to-school shopping.  I'd put it off long enough,  which is a classic move on my part.  I always seem to wait to the very last minute to shop for school because I detest it so much. The reason?  This loathsome ritual is the horrific sign that the end of summer is near.  And while most parents loooove sending their kids back to school, I rather like having mine around and being free from school schedules that seem to get in the way of fun family adventures.

But school was just around the corner and some shopping needed to be done.

This year's Back-to-school shopping quest was quite different because I had no daughters with me--this time it was just the boys. Four of them in all.

• Mark (playing the part of 'mature parent')
• Nick (cast in a supporting role as 'helpful friend')
• Connor (playing 'the little brother' in this scenero)
• Mitchell (cast as the lead as the 'college bound student who is in desperate need of some new jeans').

• Oh yeah, and me (playing the part of 'woman perilously trapped shopping with F-O-U-R boys')

Our first stop was for, of course, for jeans.

No sooner had I zero-ed in on the size we were looking for and had forced Mitchell into a dressing room with a pile of pants to try on, I begin to hear a ruckus coming from somewhere in the store.  Naturally I ALREADY KNOW who's probably behind all the noise and I go to investigate. This is what I find:

Nick ('supportive friend') is outfitting Connor and making him pose with the store mannequins.  Mark ('mature parent') decides he's not letting Nick outfit him in real clothes but eventually agrees to try on the entire mannequin by posing behind the headless ones. By the time Mitchell found the right jeans Nick had Connor in several outfit combinations and paraded him around the store to pose by the remaining mannequins and scare the customers.

Then we were off to the shoe store.  How much trouble can you get in there??

The answer is:  A LOT.  We weren't even in the store for more than two minutes when this debacle happened:

The pairs that fit Mitchell's enormous feet were
a wee bit too high up for Mark to reach:

And instead of him smartly asking Nick

who stands at 6'4" and CAN reach the box...

 (apparently Nick was too busy trying to get Connor 
to try on the goofiest looking shoes in the store.)

...Mark just tugs at the lower ones...

Mark spilled the entire stack of shoes!  Unfortunately my stealthy i-phone camera skills didn't reach the crime scene in time to capture all the shoes that fell to the floor. Mark had managed to stuff a few back before I got there because he knew I'd be coming with my camera. [These folks have been blogged too many times to let their guard down anymore-dang it!]

I may not have gotten the optimal photo shot but I did get the last laugh...

When we went to buy the shoes, the lady at the checkout, with a scoffing look, loudly told all the boys that 'this is the very reason why, when customers buy a pair of shoes, we always check that both shoes are the same size.' 

[secret message received.] 

After that crazy outing I made the boys take me out for some chocolate.  It was while sitting there eating chocolatey goodness amidst a pile of shopping bags I realized that while our summer adventures may be over, I've learned that if I'm really in the mood for an escapade,  and school's still in, all I need to do is take a bunch of boys shopping...and bring my camera.  Almost as entertaining as a summer road trip.

Creepy Hand

Mitchell may have left for college, but his stuff hasn't.  And although most of his stuff got packed up and stacked into a large pile of boxes in the corner of his room, he left behind two bizarre things that I'm not quite sure what to do with.

Take for instance this thingamajig:

Seriously, what it that? Okay, I know it's a wired marker taped to a test strip bottle but what the heck is it for? Dare I hook it up to a "C" battery and find out? I'm not sure I'm brave enough to try.

Then there's this:

Yes, you're seeing it right, it's a creepy hand.  Mitch got it as a "bonus" after doing some I.T. work over the summer for a medical company that makes braces for things like knees, backs, ankles, wrists, etc.  And along with one of his final paychecks, he was ever so thoughtfully awarded with a foam hand. 

The thing is really creepy.  So, as you can imagine, that has made it a prized possession around our house.

This thing has revolutionized our lives.  Here's just a few ways this remarkable gift is so darn handy:

• A great way to safeguard your leftovers in the fridge.
• Giving a gentle nudge to wake the kids in the morning.
• Creepy bookmark.
• Easy way to pet a MEAN cat without having to risk touching it and getting scratched.

• Holds Chloe's nail polish while she paints her nails.
• Giving your reach an extra stretch by using it to hand your change through a drive-thru window. 

The thing has provided so much entertainment that we're glad Mitchell left it behind.  And it just might come in handy  
if and when we decide to hook up that bizarre wired-up thingamajig to a battery.

How To Pack a Plane

Well, it's official.  Mitchell has left for college.

And it seems all his stuff left for college too.  All of it.  His room is cleared out. Two computers, three monitors, an enormous computer parts collection, tools, a modem (yes, the modem that used to get us on the internet here at home), and a bunch of other electronic gizmo thingamajigs that I have no clue what they're called.

I think the only thing he left at home was his clothes. He had very little space in which to fit all his worldly possessions and I guess his clothes were less important.

Here you see what looks to be a moderate stash of treasured goods that Mitchell intends to take to college.  The small red duffel bag in the very back of the truck there--that's his clothes.  The rest of it is computer related.

And here's the space he has to transfer all his stuff to and fit somehow in this tiny airplane:

Mitchell's using his origami skills to make things fit...

If at first you don't succeed, take it apart and try try again...

hope nobody needs to move their seat back...

So somewhere out at a college near you, there's a naked freshman who brought all his electronics to school but had no room for his clothes.

Here's Mark and Mitchell taking off for school.  No room for me, the back seat was completely full.  Which left me on the tarmac taking video.

We're not sure if the wing tip was indeed an official "wing wave" or the overloaded plane having trouble with a takeoff. I'm betting on the latter...

Luckily they weren't so overloaded that they actually made it to campus.

...and naturally, before unpacking clothes, he unpacked his computers.

But really, so what if he is ill prepared to clothe himself adequately for foul weather and ends up freezing this winter at school...at least with all his computer stuff he'll be able to remote access my computer back at home to fix all my computer issues.  Frostbite will heal, the sting of computer trouble back at home, that could leave permanent scars.

Weening Myself From My I.T. Tech

I've been trying to ween myself off of my need for our official Skillman Family I.T. Tech. That would be Mitchell who unfortunately will be leaving for college this week. You know the old adage, "you don't know what you got till it's gone", well, quite sadly,  I DO know how good we have it around here with that boy and I bust up in tears that Mitchell will soon be gone.

Sadly, I'm not actually crying that my son is leaving for college. Secretly I'm excited about less laundry, having his room stay eternally clean, and not smelling Mitchell baking some satanically evil chocolaty goodness downstairs at midnight beguiling me into coming downstairs to enjoy a deliciously fatty a late night snack with him. No, I will not miss that.

What I am going to miss is the horrifying fact that I'll have no one to turn to amidst all my electronic and computer woes. The kid's a computer genius and he's always fixed all my problems--and all my friends problems too, for that matter. Case in point, the other day a good friend of mine had the nerve to call the house and when I answered she gave me a quick "how-do-you-do" and then asked for Mitch. She hadn't called for me. The next thing I know the kid is remote accessing her computer and fixing her dilemma in a blink of an eye.

I've been using Mitchell to solve all my technical tantrums for so long that I've become totally inept handling any electronic crisis on my own.  The past couple of months during his senior year of high school, my dependency on the kid almost got him kicked out of class.  Often in the middle of the day I would need some serious help with some sort of demonized electronic issue and so naturally I'd call my I.T. Tech. Unfortunately my I.T. guy happens to be in high school where it is strictly forbidden to answer your phone. But is it really my fault that my gadget guru is somewhere in the middle of a high school spanish or chemistry class? Noooo.  So since it's not my fault, I call him anyway.  I figure I pay for the kid's gas and insurance and in exchange he helps me with my computer woes. Shouldn't I be able to get in touch with him at anytime then? Yes, I think so-contrary to what his teachers say--after all, they're not paying his auto insurance premiums.

The poor kid started getting so many texts and calls from me during the day that the teachers finally gave in and let him take my calls.  I guess he explained that it was his mother was psycho and probably wouldn't stop calling until the problem got fixed.

My weekly (okay, sometimes daily) calls usually went like this:

Me: [pushing the speed dial for Mitch--he's the first one listed under "favorites", even before my husband Mark]

Mitchell: [whipering] "Mom, I'm in class right now. I can't talk."

Me: "I know but I have a really big problem."

Mitchell: [still whispering] "Mom, can I call you back after class? My teacher is looking at me."

Me: "Tell your teacher I have a very serious problem and that I need you for a second."

Mitchell: "Seriously mom."

Me: "I can't get my printer to print."

Mitchell: "Hold on mom." [long pause] "Okay, I'm out in the hall. But you have to make this quick. My teacher knows it's you on the phone and she said to hurry."

Me: "Okay I'll try and make this quick. My stupid printer isn't printing."

Mitchell: "Is it plugged in?"

Me: "What do you mean 'is it plugged in'? Of course it's plugged in! ...oh wait...uh yeah....oops...your right. Someone unplugged it from my computer. Okay. Uh thanks son."


Mitchell: "Seriously mom, you're gonna have to start figuring this stuff out on your own soon. You're gonna get me kicked out of class."

Me: "I know, I know. Thanks son."

Mitchell:  "Next time just text me okay?"

Now that he's leaving I've got an even bigger problem on my hands once September comes and he's safely tucked away in a dorm room somewhere and refuses to take my calls because he no longer lives at home where I can threaten to deprive him of gas money.

So when he recently spent a week up in Portland 'writing code' for some website (whatever that means) I decided that I would try to solve any electronic problem that creeped up--all by myself. To sort of practice my new Mitchell-free electronic life.   Here's a list of life-threatening techno tragedies that I was proudly able to solve all on my own:

• I reprogrammed a remote I for one I couldn't find. Though I must note that by the time I programmed said remote, it was too late to start the movie I was hoping to watch.

• My iphone's clock was 6 minutes behind the real time which was making everyone late for everything. After failing to fix the problem on my own,  I did what any reasonable person would do...I handed it to my 11-year old daughter Chloe and she fixed the problem for me. I'm not sure what the heck she did but all I know is that it tells the right time now.  And while Technically you might think I didn't solve the problem on my own, I disagree. I figured out, all on my own, HOW to solve the problem.  Which was to give the phone to Chloe and have her fix it for me. Problem solved.

But, once Mitch got home I had issues waiting for him that I could not solve:

• Namely, I couldn't get my ipad to relay video while I was trying to Skype.  After earnestly trying to "resolve my issues" on my own I finally yelled for Mitchell.  The kid had the gall to get it fixed in under two minutes and then handed it back to me without a word.  RUDE.  The kid could have at least held on to it for ten minutes to make it look like it was a serious and legitimate problem that took some time to solve.

As you can see, once this kid leaves the house, I'm dead.

Diabetic Rum Runner

My son's become a rum runner of sorts. The booty was just too good to pass up for Mitchell. He even lured his cousin Kyle into being his accomplice.

This particular scuttlebutt begins with  a confession:
Around our house we're big diet coke drinkers. Sad but true. But with three kids with diabetes sometimes the precarious haze of blood sugars we marinate in every day just won't let everyone have a snack at the same time. And when they all want to eat something but they can't, a glass of water seems like a final insult to their cancelled-out calorie cravings. So whats a family to do? Well this family turned to the drink, Diet Coke that is. All of us, diabetic or not, have become "drinkers of the diet". We call it that because it makes our little habit sound kinda shady, which it is--being DIET and all.  But these sorts of things are a slippery slope. Over the years Mitchell and Chey spun out of control and soon they were drowning their diabetic doldrums by drinking harder stuff like Diet Dr. Pepper. And soon it became their favorite among syrupy swigs.

So recently, when our local grocery store had this sign out front:

I knew I needed to send a picture text to Mitchell ASAP.

Now usually when I text this kid, it takes a while before I hear back. And sometimes my texts get ignored completely. But as you can imagine, he instantly text me back:

Mitchell: "huh?"

Me: "For real."

Mitchell: "really??"

Me: [picture text]

Mitchell: "Where??"

Mitch grabbed his cousin Kyle and headed for the store. They parked just yonder and eyed the booty--it was ALL DIET DR. PEPPER.  Not only that, it was late in the day and there was A LOT of soda left and as Mitchell said to me later, "There's just a small target market for this kinda stuff mom".

I don't even wanna know if they made a million discreet trips or if they just pulled up and loaded the car. There are some things a mother just shouldn't ever know. But what I do know is that the Rum Run ended with the sound of my garage door opening and my kid backing his car into the garage whereby conveniently locating the trunk end nearest the garage's refrigerator.

This is what I found in my garage:

And what ended up being stashed in my garage fridge:

And here's the younger cousins all enjoying a bit of bribed boot-er-y in return for their hushed silence on the matter:

A Rum Run for Diabetics.
Now go and brush your teeth!

What Would the Amish Think?

Okay, I admit it. My kids could never be Amish.

With just one week into summer the kids have run out of stuff to do. Thankfully this is not really a problem for me because I have trained my children not to ever ever utter the words "I'm bored". They know if they do, and I happen to hear them, they'll end up wearing rubber gloves and getting reacquainted with a toilet bowl scrubber. (Stealthy parenting, I know.)
So if in fact they are bored, they'll keep it to themselves like it's a dirty little secret.

Last night the teenagers at the house were looking for something to do--while avoiding at all costs mentioning the B-word.  After a while they disappeared and soon I heard an unusual commotion outside.

Away to the window I flew like a flash, 

tore open the shutters and threw up the sash...

blah, blah, blah...

to what to my wondering eyes should appear? 

But Mitchell and Nick out racing John Deere's!

Seriously, that was the scene, I kid you not. The teenagers were out on our driveway drag racing our two riding lawnmowers.

How bored do you have to be to think of that?

Must have been fun because they raced them again the next day.

This time Connor (who is now at long last heavy enough to weigh the seat down in order to engage the driving system) decided to get in on the contest.

So while other kids are making dirt forts, fighting pretend wars, and running in sprinklers...mine are racing grass cutting contraptions.

I'm wondering what the Amish would think.