Rules Schmules

"If you obey all the rules, you miss all the fun." ~ Katharine Hepburn

Not that I necessarily fancy myself some Rebel-Without-A-Cause, James Dean type...but I do think I have a tendency to buck authority now and then, and not always do what I'm supposed to. My kids are not the only ones in this family to blurt out "You're not the boss of me!" when frustrated with authority.
For the most part, I think I follow society's expectations of what a mother is supposed to be like.
I take care of my children ~ they're enrolled in activities, they're grounded when needed, and they don't show up with drugs in a Ziploc baggie to share at show and tell. Although in full disclosure, Chloe DID one time in bring two box cutters to school to show her class. The principal called me and explained that the school had a zero tolerance for bringing weapons to school and normally Chloe's actions would dictate an immediate three day suspension. However, since she was only in first grade, the school wasn't going to enforce it.
"Well, I can assure you Chloe had no intention of bringing in a weapon to cut someone," I tried to explain. "I think she just liked the designs on the outside of them."
Needless to say, we had to check Chloe's backpack a little more closely on show and tell days after that.
So when it comes to making sure my kids are being taken care of, I would say yes - I do follow the rules.
But when it comes to me, I guess I just don't like being told what to do and what to believe.
I like hip hop and really inappropriate dirty rap lyrics. I like doing shots at the bar. I like swearing. A lot.
I'm not proud of all of this, but in the words of Popeye: "I am what I am."
Not all my rule-breaking should be considered bad. When it came to getting a divorce, I knew that I didn't want a typical post-divorce antagonistic relationship with my ex-husband. He's my children's father and I will have a relationship with him until we are dead. I've seen too many couples go through a lot of unnecessary drama after a divorce and we didn't want our kids to feel that sort of conflict.
So sometimes we all have dinner together, or go bowling together, or attend their conferences and activities together. I'll post pictures of us on Facebook and once in awhile I'll get a message from someone: "Are you guys back together? You seem awfully friendly." No, we're not back together. I've even met his girlfriend and she seems lovely. Who says ex-spouses always have to spiteful with each other? As one of my girlfriends said wisely last year: "There are no rules in divorce, Vanessa. Do what works best for your family."
I'm not a rule breaker in all aspects of my life, however. When it comes to personal safety, I tend to be a stickler. I wear my seat belt all the time...it's automatic. I watch my kids like a hawk when we're at a beach, even though they're all incredible swimmers. I'm a sunscreen Nazi with them during the summer. I don't even like going in go-karts too much because I'm always afraid I'm going to crash.
A few nights ago I was on a date in Minneapolis. We met up in a parking lot in Uptown, and we were going to decide what to do and where to go.
My date showed up on a motorcycle. "Do you have your sunglasses with you?" he asked. "Let's go for a ride."
"But I don't have a helmet," I told Motorcycle Guy. "Do you have one for me?"
Motorcycle Guy shook his head. "Vanessa, no one on a Harley wears a helmet."
"That's not true!" I told MG. "My dad rides a Harley and HE wears one."
MG took a deep breath. "How about we just ride around the area? I won't go crazy fast, I promise."
I stood there, debating. I had my purse on one shoulder and my arms crossed in front of me.
"I'm not even sure how to get on one," I told him.
MG showed me where to get on, and where to put my legs.
"But what about the hot thing?" I asked him. "I think the last time I was on a motorcycle I burned my leg on some hot pipe."
He pointed it out. "Try not to touch this right here. If you keep your feet where I showed you, you should be fine."
I took a deep breath and said, "Ok, I'll go on a ride without a helmet. Just don't go too fast."
"Vanessa, the speed limit is like 25 miles an hour."
I tossed fear and caution to the wind and swung my leg around the bike. Instantly I felt a piercing pain on the inside of my lower leg.
"Mother trucker!" I yelled out. Or at least something close to that word. "I touched the hot thing!"
MG pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a deep breath. "Are you okay?" he asked.
"I guess," I replied. "Don't you have a bitch bar for the passenger seat? So I don't fall off?"
"Not with me," he said. "You'll be fine. Just hold on to me. The back seat slopes back a bit, so you might feel like you're slipping a bit, but you won't be."
That made me a more than a little nervous. "I'm not sure if you noticed, but I would like to point out my rear end is a bit bigger than average. You don't think the sheer velocity of us going down the road will cause me to fall off the back?"
MG assured me we'd be fine, so off we went.
Our first ride was six city blocks to a gas station, so my date could buy some gum.
I was terrified the entire time.
Once we stopped, I asked him how I did. "Well," he said carefully. "Be careful how you hold on. I don't want my guts filleted with your finger nails. Let's head over to Lake Calhoun. I'll stay off Hennepin so you're not so nervous."
For the next several blocks I was convinced death was imminent. Every oncoming car was a soon-to-be collision, every other motorcycle was a head-on threat.
Once we reached the beach, I was finally able to fully exhale.
"I think the last three blocks went pretty well, don't you?" I asked him. "I only screamed twice and I leaned the correct way on that turn."
MG nodded. "You did better, that's for sure."
"I have to confess something though," I told him. "My ankle also touched that hot thing, but I don't think it's as burned as my calf."
MG took another deep breath.
"Don't worry about it," I assured him. "My last date ended with me in Regions for 4 days, with surgery on a dislocated and fractured hip. As long as I stay out of the burn unit tonight, I will consider this date a success."
And we did have a very nice evening. At one point I asked him, "Are we always supposed to get on a motorcycle from the left side? Is it like getting on a saddle with a horse?"
He nodded.
"Have you ever been on a horse?" I asked him.
He shook his head. "No. Because that's like taking something as powerful as THIS," he said, pointing to his motorcycle, "and giving it a brain."
That made me laugh.
So even though I wasn't able to initially follow my personal safety rules with wearing a helmet, no one ended up in the back of an ambulance. We had a nice time, and my leg burn should heal within a week.
As much as I'd like to think of myself as a bad-ass soccer mom, I'm still wary of things. I don't think I'll be getting my own motorcycle anytime soon. But if I did, it would probably look like this:

Although, to be honest, once my dad reads this blog and finds out I was on a motorcycle without a helmet, I'll probably be the only 42 year old grounded in Pierce County.

Let the Wild Rumpus begin...

"Being a child at home alone in the summer is a high-risk occupation.  If you call your mother at work thirteen times an hour, she can hurt you."  ~Erma Bombeck

Three days left.
That's it. Just three more days of school and then summer vacation is upon us.
Ish.
It's every school kid's dream and most working parents' nightmare. Although, this year I'm not worrying so much about what happens during the summer hours as I used to. Due to me moving back home with my parents this year, my kids will be spending the majority of their summer vacation with Grandma and Grandpa.
There will be no Jersey Shore marathons (my parents don't have cable).
There will be no walking to Kwik Trip and blowing their allowance on Pixie Stix and Monster energy drinks (my parents live in the country).
There will be no five hour long Facebook log-in sessions (my parents are helping me impose computer time limits).
There will be no sleeping until noon and leaving bowls of cereal all over the house (my parents are helping me enforce my Chore and Responsibility Chart & Reward System that I started this week).
Luckily, there will also not be any $300 utility bills due to the central air being on non-stop. (my parents don't have central air... as they like to say, the butter needs to be melting on the kitchen counter top before the window units get turned on).
Interestingly enough, my kids are starting to get excited about some of Grandma and Grandpa's "projects" that they're going to work on. Like working in the garden and helping Grandpa up in the shop. And I know my parents...it's not like it's going to be all work and no play. My kids will be taken to plenty of pools and beaches. I think they'd be horrified if I told them how my cousin Jena and I used to have to cool off in the summer when we were kids:
In a cow tank. Yep, that big steel watering hole filled with cow's slobber...where we'd happily sit and play with our Barbies. Seriously, I don't like to remember that too much because it makes me dry heave.
With the summer beginning, it also fills me with a little trepidation as far as the summer wardrobe goes. Now that I'm single again, I need to focus on scaling down my tree trunk thighs and ghetto booty. My trainer, The Tin Man, should probably get a medal in putting up with my whining and complaining when it comes to working out.
One night this last week I met him at Como Park, so we could work out next to the lake. There is a walking path that goes around the lake, and some times people will come up to us and ask him: "Are you a trainer? Can I get your card?"
I guess this time of year makes everyone want to get into shape.
So a few nights ago at the lake, the Tin Man was trying to get me to stretch my obliques from a sitting position. Right away I started complaining: "But my surgeon said I'm not supposed to rotate to the right if my left hip is facing forward and not moving..."
He tried to explain how I wasn't going to be rotating, just carefully turning my upper body. Apparently my ADD was in high gear, because I still wasn't getting it. I could tell he was getting exasperated.
"Like this," he told me, getting behind me. He placed his arm around my neck, so it would stay still and face forward.
"Oh, I get it." I said. "I still don't like it. It hurts my stomach muscles and I'm really tired and kind of hungry..." My mouth went into automatic pilot whine mode.
The Tin Man leaned closer and started talking into my ear.
"Listen to me," he said in a low, even voice. "Right now, all people see when they walk by is a black man with his arm around the neck of a white woman. And that woman is starting to make noise. I swear to god, the cops will be here in two minutes if you don't STOP. RIGHT. NOW."
I tried not to laugh. As much as I wanted the exercise to stop, I didn't want my friend to end up in the pokey.
So now that I think of it... maybe this summer vacation won't be all that bad. My kids will get to experience a summer like what it was "in the old days". I can take them to some of the beaches I used to go when I was a kid, and they'll get to hang out with Grandma and Grandpa... in a house with melted butter on the counter tops and a list of chores that need to be done.
Yep, this summer might not be bad at all.