<p>I actually enjoy hosting kids; so long as they are polite I will fall all over myself. We hosted some kids from an Ivy tennis team that was playing in our town. They were completely adorable. I was sad when they left. Especially because they engaged my two sons in conversation, hung out with them, watched Family guy, etc-- and it went a LONG way towards dismantling the snobby rep of highfalutin schools.</p>
<p>slugg, I had a very adorable french boyfriend long ago… but in truth I noticed that even though he took frequent showers he’d often have a little rank twinge about him. Then I saw him in the shower-- and he was literally clutching his arms around his chest like a straight jacket grip the whole time. Never did soap directly touch the armpits. So I explained, errrr, in THIS country we lift our arms over our heads, and then we lather up these areas… So I, for one, am buying the underwear stories.</p>
<p>Here’s my latest. TJFS bonked a PARKED car while executing a three point turn (Me: “It should have been a five point turn, you dork!”). He was all alone. Nobody saw it. AND… he left a note with phone number for the people. And he 'fessed up to me. They called effusively praising him for being so honest and bending over backwards to be reasonable. I was proud! :)</p>
<p>SBmom, ROTFLMAO!! Yes! That’s exactly right. “Rank twinge” is a more accurate description than, WHAT THE HELL?! which is what we used to say whenever we’d get within 15 feet (4.572 meters, mes amis) of this guy. DO NOT ask me to pinpoint the precise origin of the rank twinge. I may have to hork. :D</p>
<p>Mootie, it’s all good. Being blond and tall from Cali makes him a chick magnet just about anywhere in the Universe. This is why all boys have mothers, generally speaking, and are not hatched from underneath rocks. It is our job to remind college girls that although our sons may appear to be grown men with beards, pit hair, Sasquatch size feet, and tattoos of flying Italian serpents on their forearms, they’re still our Cutieface Babyukkums. A face piercing to the mother of a college son is no different than the time her three-year old Cutieface Babyukkum stabbed himself in the chin with the sharp tree branch that he was rolling end over end across the back yard. ;)</p>
<p>Only we mothers of sons are PROUD when our kids hit a car —because they tell us.</p>
<p>When my car was really new my son split the driving with me back from Santa Barbara. We pulled into the garage as he was saying, “See mom, I drove great.” SMASH. He drives the nose of the car right into the wall. Luckily it was actually more like <em>smash</em> and the dent was little and no paint was scratched, but STILL.</p>
<p>My S will also always be my baby so I didn’t kill him. </p>
<p>Although as I said on another thread despite being my baby he now gets mad when I call him Piglet at his soccer games. At least I have never cheered out loud - Go Piglet! Kill them Piglet! Yes Piglet way to go!</p>
<p>My S is on the other side of the world for a month, flying unaccommpanied to his destination. The day before he left I instructed him to email/call as soon as possible just so we’d know he’s OK as I was more than a little nervous about his solo transatlantic trip (I can count the times he’s left our state on my fingers and have some left over, not big travelers) </p>
<p>Today on the 9th day since he left (and the eight day since my hair started turning snow white from worry), I finally get an email. </p>
<p>It says “Hey Mom, just got my email working, thought you’d like to know I’m alive. I’m having a good time so far”.<br>
AARRRGGHH.</p>
<p>Haha. I never dated one but my friend did. I always remembered how he scowled at her when she reached for a second tart. Too controlling for me but she said he was…ooo la la between the sheets.</p>
<p>Enjoying hte amusement here. Goood thing the internet doesnt have a smell feature. </p>
<p>Cheers, You sound like a saint! A few years back my s worked at a summercamp where there were a lot of international counselors (England, Ireland, Australia, New Zealand, Tazmania, etc) He asked if he could bring a “few” of the counselors back to stay with us for a few days. I actually love this sort of thing (in small doses) so asked for a heads up as to how many might be coming, so I could prepare (though I always overbuy food anyway, so it probably didnt really matter). First the head count was 3, then 7… and then… 3 carloads arrived! We had 17! Not all 17 stayed the full 3 or 4 days that they were here, as a few were from our local area (though they stayed here 'cus it was more fun) and a few were from S. Fla, and headed on after the first day or so. It was a comedy of errors with some of the events and transportation issues (too long to go into here, but think parking tickets, dead batteries, stuff strapped to the roof of a car, and putting people on Greyhound busses at random hours of the night and day).</p>
<p>*** forgot to mention the “locked heys in the car” to the list of stuff that happened…</p>
<p>They had a blast and bought us a few bottles of wine as a thank you. The guy who bought the wine accidentally left the receipt in the bag. First thing on the receipt was box of condoms :eek: Hahaha</p>
<p>I need a peach-something or other…DS1 is taking his written test for his learner’s next week. Guess Who gets to teach him to drive! Am debating whether to start with the stick shift (smaller car) or minivan (automatic). I should color my hair first, however.</p>
<p>My “third son” (heading to college in the fall) has descended into the Cone of Silence. He told his mom: “I’m weaning you.” Ouch!</p>
<p>Here’s my one and only email from son who’s been gone almost 3 weeks with one more to go. “Still alive. snakes, mountain biking (injuries not severe) 2 story waterfall jump great. Cool people. AP scores?” This is, however, typical communication from him. At least this email had some punctuation.</p>
<p>I’m going to assume the injuries were from the mountain biking and not the snake.</p>
<p>D called to check in from Germany…was actually “chatty”! When she told me that one of her activities this past week was going to a karaoke bar, I asked her if she sang anything (laughing—this is NOT someone you’d ever expect to get up in front of anyone and sing)…and she says, “12 songs.” OMG. Of course, my next question of my teetotaler daughter was, “so how much did you have to drink?” … After a brief pause of surprise, she answered, “just a little”. Her youngest sister laughed until she cried at the idea of her sister singing, "Summer Lovin’ " in front of a group of people!!!</p>
<p>So, a round of Jagermeisters for everybody in SA, in honor of all our children spread all over the world. (I was relieved to find out that she agreed her “part” of the shot was as vile and nasty as I’ve always thought).</p>
<p>^^^watch out the children are lurking!!! ;)</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>^^^Counting Down, that depends… For example, if you’d like to go to pure white for a while, the teaching-to-drive ought to do it, no salon visit necessary.</p>
<p>:) Since we’re sharing - my D is in Russia - not much contact, but finally got a very fun e-mail:</p>
<p>Still alive.
My fourth was pretty fun. We had class as usual in the morning. I had told the administration of the school that I wanted to bake an apple pie for the kids, and since the dining hall didn’t have an oven, they took me to this fancy Georgian restaraunt in town that afternoon. (I was speaking with the owner in Russian–he was a really nice guy–and he was like “I’m from Georgia and I cook my national food here” and I was like “Oh, I’m from Georgia, too!” (He, of course, spoke regarding Georgia the country). Then he had me sit down and try his famous dishes and his famous wine, and then he scribbled like four recipes for me in Russian. Eventually, we actually got to the apple pie, which turned out very souplike because they didn’t know what shortening was (the transaltion my dictionary gave me was жир, meaning lard, but I elected not to go that route and used butter instead. I mean, I guess that’s what shortening is, but yuck.)
The kids liked the pie, though, and while it was baking the administration had ordered an American flag ice cream cake from Baskin Robbins… it was very hard to cut (and since it was my holiday, I got to make a mess sawing through the pieces). It was tasty, though.
After that, we had this gigantic bonfire where they roasted pieces of bread and potatoes instead of marshmallows (which I believe is why the USSR fell–could you imagine camping out and instead of marshmallows roasting potatoes?) That was fun, except when the director played guitar and had me sing “America the Beautiful…” eek. </p>
<p>So that was my fourth. Otherwise…
I am so sick of playing UNO. I brought it to teach colors and numbers (they don’t have it here), and the kids are always wanting to play it, and I’m just like GARG.</p>
<p>My younger son reminded me of Pigpen from Charlie Brown–but that nickname is too cruel, isn’t it?</p>
<p>Jymmie, you are going to heaven on a rocket. 17 kids? No possible way I could have coped. I’m not that nice.</p>
<p>I’ve had a series of great emails. The younger one tends to assuage his guilt with exclamation points: “Heya! I have been sooooo busy! But I promise to write that really long email soon!!! Tell everyone I love them!!!”</p>
<p>The older one wrote a goodie last week. He’s been traveling on the weekends with a girl from the volunteer house. “She’d be a lot less annoying if she wasn’t so overly flirtatious, haha.”</p>
<p>btw…Sons From Space who inquire about AP scores while on holiday are officially banned from the Space Club.</p>
<p>You guys are getting me all nostalgic here all over again. How did my baby boys, piglet and pigpen get to be all grown up? </p>
<p>My daughter also inquired about her AP scores (from Germany). Ha, I love it that she was so curious she gave us permission to open her mail! And the scores were good. So she is happy, can stop worrying now . . .</p>
<p>over30–your son’s email reads like a telegram! Did he think he was paying by the word? It also reads like a text message, which is a more likely training ground these days for brief communication habits.</p>