As I type this, my 20-month-old-as-of-yesterday is throwing a screaming fit on the floor. Instead of making me feel upset, I find that it's really actually very funny. She's stretched out to the absolute limit of her fingers and toes, lying face-down on the carpet and screeching. Seeing someone so small behave in such a large manner can't help but elicit a snicker or two. I'm sorry, but I can't help it. Chalk it up as a tick mark in the Bad Mommy column.
When Sporty would throw fits like that as a toddler, I would always be reduced to a bundle of nerves almost immediately. No laughs there; believe me. And then, within about 5 minutes I'd be screeching right back at her. Before long, we'd have both reached a fever-pitch and then there would be an almost audible *pop* in the tension level and everything would deflate. Hopefully without any lasting damage to the psyche of my then two-year-old child. To be fair to myself... I was working a full-time job in addition to parenting, so my stress level tended to be maintained at a higher altitude than it does now. And Sporty was a most determinedly vociferous child... actually, she still is, come to think of it. Tick.
Even with Posh, who could hardly be bothered to throw a fit about anything, who was so much easier-going than my passionate oldest child, it was hard to know if I was doing right by her. When your children are like that, you start to feel like you forget about them sometimes (squeaky wheel and all that). Sometimes their needs don't seem to take priority. And then when they do throw a giggy... you react badly because you're not used to the fuss. Tick. Tick.
Now, with Baby... she's sort of an odd mix of the two temperaments of her older sisters. She's very mild-tempered, in general (in fact~ as a newborn, she was so quiet that we weren't really sure she knew how to cry for about 2 months). And when she does throws a fit, it's almost like someone whispered to her that that was what she was supposed to do. So she gives it her all for about 5 minutes, and then she starts looking over her shoulder to see if you're watching her. If you look at her with any sympathy, she goes right back to screaming~ then she'll check again in a few minutes. Stinker. After awhile, once she's good and forgotten what it was she was screaming about in the first place, she just fizzles out. And then she's all smiles again. Today, for example, she was relieved of a mostly-empty Sprite can that she found on the coffee table. For all the bellowing the event elicited, it must have been the worst thing that has happened to her all week. But true to form, she's now perfectly happy and playing with her big sisters. And, yes, I am a rather slow typist. Too busy chuckling to myself. Tick.
There are many joys in parenting... the obvious things like hugs and kisses, pride in your childrens' achievements, bedtime stories etc. etc. I also think that there is great joy in simply wondering what's going to come next. Not knowing who your children will be and how they will be different from each other, and not knowing how you'll react to those differences. It's true that I don't like some of the results that I've achieved along the way (hence the Bad Mommy column), but I still love the journey. I am always trying to be the sort of parent who can do the right thing for each of my children. Even if it's not always the same thing I did for the others. And with each child that's come along, I like to hope that I've been traded in for a new and improved model of myself. One who can handle adversity with more patience, understanding and good humor, and who doesn't need to roar at a toddler to diffuse a very loud situation. But my methods are always being tested against my own rigorous standards, and they'll never live up to those. Oh well. Tick.
Friday, July 13, 2007
Saturday, July 7, 2007
Cheating at Cakes
I have many heroes these days... a world of people that I look up to from the ground as I kowtow before them. One of my favorites, right now, is Duff Goldman, baker, chef, proprietor of Charm City Cakes in Baltimore, and star of Ace of Cakes. I watch that show in awe, all the while scheming and planning how I can do that (so to speak). There are many things I am sure I would never be capable of doing, but fondant is something I'm starting to get. What I've discovered about fondant is that the scariest thing about it is the ignorance factor. Once you get over that and learn how to handle it, it's actually pretty easy. Buttercream, on the other hand is a skill I don't think I'll ever master. Beautiful roses, basket weaving and scroll work... not my piece of cake. But, fondant is like cheating, to me. Mostly because I can do it. At any rate, I'm learning... and in the interest of constant practice and skills-honing, I've now made my third fondant covered birthday cake... and here it is (and no, the smudgy red part is a doctored image thing, not a cake decorating catastrophe)...
My sweet middlest Beauty, the Princess Posh, will be five years old tomorrow! Sniff... She is having her party at a kid's gym~ hence the ball pit and the monkey bars. I wanted to put another kid on the cake, but I ran out of skin tone fondant. Sniff (again). I am mostly happy with the result... but it was a serious amount of work. Luckily, it's worth it for the fun factor. The not-fun part is the part where there is confectioner's sugar in every nook and cranny of the kitchen, ground into the kitchen floor and coating each alveolus in my lungs. For some reason, I can't control the sugar from going everywhere when I decorate cakes. However, I've lucked out in another way, in that my dear hubby gamely cleans up the mess when I'm done.
At any rate, it was a long, sweet, sticky morning, but the end result is something that I hope Posh will remember for a long time. Happy Birthday to my Princess!
My sweet middlest Beauty, the Princess Posh, will be five years old tomorrow! Sniff... She is having her party at a kid's gym~ hence the ball pit and the monkey bars. I wanted to put another kid on the cake, but I ran out of skin tone fondant. Sniff (again). I am mostly happy with the result... but it was a serious amount of work. Luckily, it's worth it for the fun factor. The not-fun part is the part where there is confectioner's sugar in every nook and cranny of the kitchen, ground into the kitchen floor and coating each alveolus in my lungs. For some reason, I can't control the sugar from going everywhere when I decorate cakes. However, I've lucked out in another way, in that my dear hubby gamely cleans up the mess when I'm done.
At any rate, it was a long, sweet, sticky morning, but the end result is something that I hope Posh will remember for a long time. Happy Birthday to my Princess!
Friday, June 22, 2007
Just Call Us the Griswolds
Summer is in full swing in the R. house... just 5 days back from camping and we're gearing up for our second big summer thing. Tomorrow we're taking off for a week at my parents's cottage in the mountains, or, to anyone who lives near actual craggy, summit-in-the-cloud peaks~ tall hills. I guess, technically, they do qualify as mountains, but they're the little east coast kind that barely live up to their grandiose appellation. Beautiful, but not dramatic.
We're looking forward to a quiet, less-stress week, where the big events will be day camps for the kids (Sporty to horseback riding camp, and Posh to play camps), going to the pool and enjoying the unhindered time to do whatever the heck we want. This is something we really haven't ever done before. Whenever Chris is able to take time off from work, it's usually to go visit family up North or friends down South, or go places like Disney or family reunions. All of this R. together time should be a fascinating social experiment. Lucky for us, we'll be joined by my parental units towards the end of the week~ right about when we'll have all had just about enough of each other. Perfect timing.
It'll be a quiet week, here on the blog, as well... as there is limited internet access where we'll be... i.e. there's a 20 minute drive to the nearest open wireless network. I'll be on and off, but probably won't have a chance to post again until we get back. Just so you know. Hopefully the next time I post, I'll be so relaxed that I won't be able to type because of my jelly fingers. We shall see, I guess.
Later, gators!
We're looking forward to a quiet, less-stress week, where the big events will be day camps for the kids (Sporty to horseback riding camp, and Posh to play camps), going to the pool and enjoying the unhindered time to do whatever the heck we want. This is something we really haven't ever done before. Whenever Chris is able to take time off from work, it's usually to go visit family up North or friends down South, or go places like Disney or family reunions. All of this R. together time should be a fascinating social experiment. Lucky for us, we'll be joined by my parental units towards the end of the week~ right about when we'll have all had just about enough of each other. Perfect timing.
It'll be a quiet week, here on the blog, as well... as there is limited internet access where we'll be... i.e. there's a 20 minute drive to the nearest open wireless network. I'll be on and off, but probably won't have a chance to post again until we get back. Just so you know. Hopefully the next time I post, I'll be so relaxed that I won't be able to type because of my jelly fingers. We shall see, I guess.
Later, gators!
Monday, June 18, 2007
As promised, more pictures...
One of my nightmares of the trip was that I took over 400 pictures with the wrong setting on my camera. So all of the pictures came out too dark, too bright and/or too blue. I spent all of yesterday doctoring the pictures on the computer to fix them up. I seriously wanted to cry the whole time. There are some great shots, but some of them look downright funny, because the color or light is off. I can't stand it, and I deleted over half the total pictures I took. I don't want to talk about it anymore... but here are a few more of the survivors:
You Can't Really Call it Camping...
Once again we have survived a trip to the Great Outdoors. With the exception of a few skin cells from a few knees that got left behind in the woods, we are relatively intact. And the whole family had a fantastic time. For those of you who haven't been keeping up with all one of my previous posts that has dealt with this event... this was the trip we make every year with 10 other families from the neighborhood.
I'd like to say that we spend the weekend communing with nature, when we go on this annual foray out of the air conditioned environment we occupy on a daily basis. But we don't. For us, the trip is about communing with each other and our friends and moving the Block Party/Happy Hour to a new location for a few days. You could hardly call what we do roughing it. We more or less turn the campground into an outdoor house, complete with bedrooms, kitchen, dining room and living room (with a fireplace). If the "house" was closer to home, we could make a killing selling it on the real estate market.
Come see this idyllic and charming eleven bedroom home, with a large, open floor plan, fireplace in the living room, soaring ceilings, dining room that seats 50, and gourmet kitchen with 8 burner stove. Sorry, no running water, or central air, but the home is only a stone's throw from a lovely lake with sandy beach, not to mention the beautiful songbirds that will be your alarm clock each day. Side note: woodpeckers start looking for food EARLY. You will love the bucolic setting, with gorgeous 100 year old trees and nearby nature trails.
The kitchen always produces meals worthy of any gourmet kitchen... chili with spaghetti, hot dogs, macaroni and cheese, fajitas with grilled veggies and all the fixin's... scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, and pancakes for breakfast. Food always tastes better when it's cooked outdoors over an open Coleman stove fire. Especially since cooking in the great outdoors seems to require larger amounts of testosterone, so it's mostly the men who do the work. Score! The beer and margaritas are freeflowing, and the children have 30 other kids for playmates. So they stay out of the way. And there are 20 other eyes, besides your own, keeping watch over the flock. Score again!
Saturday is Beach Day... and this year, we had a the perfect beach-going day. The temperature was only in the low 80's and there was a nice breeze, so sitting in the shade was really comfortable. The water was chilly, and all of the kids had blue lips, but they really couldn't have cared less. In 5 hours, they only came out of the lake to eat lunch and ice cream sandwiches under the umbrellas. You can always recognize our group from the line of closely-clustered Costco beach umbrellas that take up half the beach. And the beach carts. We've all got those too. Something like 90% of the stuff we have to cram into the car for this 48 hour trip is for the beach day.
We really couldn't have asked for a better weekend... except for the disgustingly trashy people that we had the misfortune to be parked near (a whole other story that would be completely inappropriate to post on this blog~ leave me a comment if you want to hear it). I'll make another post with more pictures, but here's one more of my tired girls on the way home... exhausted, but already looking forward to next year!
I'd like to say that we spend the weekend communing with nature, when we go on this annual foray out of the air conditioned environment we occupy on a daily basis. But we don't. For us, the trip is about communing with each other and our friends and moving the Block Party/Happy Hour to a new location for a few days. You could hardly call what we do roughing it. We more or less turn the campground into an outdoor house, complete with bedrooms, kitchen, dining room and living room (with a fireplace). If the "house" was closer to home, we could make a killing selling it on the real estate market.
Come see this idyllic and charming eleven bedroom home, with a large, open floor plan, fireplace in the living room, soaring ceilings, dining room that seats 50, and gourmet kitchen with 8 burner stove. Sorry, no running water, or central air, but the home is only a stone's throw from a lovely lake with sandy beach, not to mention the beautiful songbirds that will be your alarm clock each day. Side note: woodpeckers start looking for food EARLY. You will love the bucolic setting, with gorgeous 100 year old trees and nearby nature trails.
The kitchen always produces meals worthy of any gourmet kitchen... chili with spaghetti, hot dogs, macaroni and cheese, fajitas with grilled veggies and all the fixin's... scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, and pancakes for breakfast. Food always tastes better when it's cooked outdoors over an open Coleman stove fire. Especially since cooking in the great outdoors seems to require larger amounts of testosterone, so it's mostly the men who do the work. Score! The beer and margaritas are freeflowing, and the children have 30 other kids for playmates. So they stay out of the way. And there are 20 other eyes, besides your own, keeping watch over the flock. Score again!
Saturday is Beach Day... and this year, we had a the perfect beach-going day. The temperature was only in the low 80's and there was a nice breeze, so sitting in the shade was really comfortable. The water was chilly, and all of the kids had blue lips, but they really couldn't have cared less. In 5 hours, they only came out of the lake to eat lunch and ice cream sandwiches under the umbrellas. You can always recognize our group from the line of closely-clustered Costco beach umbrellas that take up half the beach. And the beach carts. We've all got those too. Something like 90% of the stuff we have to cram into the car for this 48 hour trip is for the beach day.
We really couldn't have asked for a better weekend... except for the disgustingly trashy people that we had the misfortune to be parked near (a whole other story that would be completely inappropriate to post on this blog~ leave me a comment if you want to hear it). I'll make another post with more pictures, but here's one more of my tired girls on the way home... exhausted, but already looking forward to next year!
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Planning for the Great Outdoors
I'm currently in the throes of pulling it together enough for the family to go camping this weekend. It's the annual neighborhood camping trip where eleven families take off on a long weekend adventure together and come back still being friends. That, in and of itself, is probably a minor miracle. This whole adventure is probably the best microcosm I can think of for a world where "we can all just get along". It's a hellacious amount of work, but always worth it in the end.
The adventure starts with a summit meeting about a week before the trip. The summit always involves a LOT of wine, grand gestures and ann/pro-nouncements, shouting, giggling and some serious negotiations. For example, the question of who brings the bagels and in what format is an issue of utmost importance. Or who's bringing steak and who's bringing chicken for the fajitas on Saturday night. Or whether the eggs should be cooked in bacon grease or not. The fact that the NSA or CIA or TSA or some other $%A is not involved in the resolution of these issues is remarkable. It just goes to show that warrior states can resolve their issues without bloodshed. Or at least without more than a minor flesh wound. And I'd go so far as to say that none of the members of this group are Switzerland.
Once the major issues of the summit are resolved, we all go our separate ways for a week or so, to prepare our families in our own way. For me, it's the perfect opportunity for my inner OCD to come out. I'm the one who makes a new Excel Spreadsheet every year to list the categories, packing receptacle and transportation position (in or on top of the car) of each and every item we're going to take with. Right down to the goggles, hand soap and camera batteries. This year, my spreadsheet is color-coded. And there are multiple sheets in the workbook. Food and Food Related Items, Gear, and Personal Use. I'm blushing a little while I'm typing this, but the truth is, I'm also a little proud of my spreadsheets. Do you think the R. family has ever left home without the one thing we need, but don't have? The camping trip motto is: Better to be looking at it than looking for it. Seriously.
That being said, we are really trying to pare down this year. Last year, when we packed up the minivan, there was barely enough room left for the children. In fact, they whined so much on the way up due to the squooshy conditions, that we sent Sporty back in a friend's car (which had more space). So this year, we are taking the bare minimum. At last count: 164 individual items. This is us taking less. It seriously actually takes us longer to pack it all then we spend at the bloody campsite. But our car couldn't possibly handle the burden of what we'd have to pack for a longer trip. We'd have to leave one or more of the carpet monkeys on the carpet at home.
Anyone who knows me has already realized where this is going. The following is being said in stage whisper: I don't like the great outdoors. There's a reason why this trip always happens on Father's Day weekend (other than the fact that it's when the trip always happens, due to reasons beyond my own control). In my case, it's because my hubby loves the great outdoors, and it's more or less the only time in the year that he gets to be out in it. Happy Father's Day, honey!
Now, don't get me wrong... the trip is always fun (even for Great-Indoorsy-and-Room-Servicy me). I love being with my family and friends... the (cheesball alert) camaraderie that is fostered on this trip is amazing. And we've never NOT had fun. But the part I love for my own selfish reasons is the planning. Not so much the packing, set-up or takedown. Happy Father's Day, again, honey. But I love the planning. I should join the UN. Lots of planning but not so much action. I wonder if they could use my spreadsheets to help with the next UN peacekeeping mission. Probably not. Oh well.
But I digress... I know I'm the one who can take the fun out of getting ready for any big event like this one. But at least we'll have everything we need while we're on the trip... and hopefully actually USE every single item we take with us. I know you can't plan for everything, but there's nothing to stop me from trying, right?
The adventure starts with a summit meeting about a week before the trip. The summit always involves a LOT of wine, grand gestures and ann/pro-nouncements, shouting, giggling and some serious negotiations. For example, the question of who brings the bagels and in what format is an issue of utmost importance. Or who's bringing steak and who's bringing chicken for the fajitas on Saturday night. Or whether the eggs should be cooked in bacon grease or not. The fact that the NSA or CIA or TSA or some other $%A is not involved in the resolution of these issues is remarkable. It just goes to show that warrior states can resolve their issues without bloodshed. Or at least without more than a minor flesh wound. And I'd go so far as to say that none of the members of this group are Switzerland.
Once the major issues of the summit are resolved, we all go our separate ways for a week or so, to prepare our families in our own way. For me, it's the perfect opportunity for my inner OCD to come out. I'm the one who makes a new Excel Spreadsheet every year to list the categories, packing receptacle and transportation position (in or on top of the car) of each and every item we're going to take with. Right down to the goggles, hand soap and camera batteries. This year, my spreadsheet is color-coded. And there are multiple sheets in the workbook. Food and Food Related Items, Gear, and Personal Use. I'm blushing a little while I'm typing this, but the truth is, I'm also a little proud of my spreadsheets. Do you think the R. family has ever left home without the one thing we need, but don't have? The camping trip motto is: Better to be looking at it than looking for it. Seriously.
That being said, we are really trying to pare down this year. Last year, when we packed up the minivan, there was barely enough room left for the children. In fact, they whined so much on the way up due to the squooshy conditions, that we sent Sporty back in a friend's car (which had more space). So this year, we are taking the bare minimum. At last count: 164 individual items. This is us taking less. It seriously actually takes us longer to pack it all then we spend at the bloody campsite. But our car couldn't possibly handle the burden of what we'd have to pack for a longer trip. We'd have to leave one or more of the carpet monkeys on the carpet at home.
Anyone who knows me has already realized where this is going. The following is being said in stage whisper: I don't like the great outdoors. There's a reason why this trip always happens on Father's Day weekend (other than the fact that it's when the trip always happens, due to reasons beyond my own control). In my case, it's because my hubby loves the great outdoors, and it's more or less the only time in the year that he gets to be out in it. Happy Father's Day, honey!
Now, don't get me wrong... the trip is always fun (even for Great-Indoorsy-and-Room-Servicy me). I love being with my family and friends... the (cheesball alert) camaraderie that is fostered on this trip is amazing. And we've never NOT had fun. But the part I love for my own selfish reasons is the planning. Not so much the packing, set-up or takedown. Happy Father's Day, again, honey. But I love the planning. I should join the UN. Lots of planning but not so much action. I wonder if they could use my spreadsheets to help with the next UN peacekeeping mission. Probably not. Oh well.
But I digress... I know I'm the one who can take the fun out of getting ready for any big event like this one. But at least we'll have everything we need while we're on the trip... and hopefully actually USE every single item we take with us. I know you can't plan for everything, but there's nothing to stop me from trying, right?
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Borrowed Dog
We're not getting a dog. Let me just make that clear from the get-go. But we're not above borrowing one every so often... as long as they fit into the compact category and the circumstances are right. Meet our current borrowed pooch, Peque:
Peque is our friend's baby. She brought her for a visit from California to another friend's house. There was a problem with the household doggie politics over there, though, and I couldn't resist poor little Peque's charms. She's the sweetest little thing... just doesn't play well with other dogs. I guess she never went to kindergarten. She loves people, though and is an old hand at dealing with kids. She's great for me as well, because she sleeps in the middle of our bed and willingly takes the blame for stealing all the covers from my devoted spouse. She's endlessly entertaining for the girls, and has been taken for more "walks" in the last 24 hours than probably in her whole life put together. We'll really miss her when she has to go home... but for a few days at least, we can pretend to be a doggied family.
Monday, June 4, 2007
Long Time No See
It's been a long time since my last post... Sorry to all two of my devoted fans. It sounds so cliche, but the plain truth of the matter is that it's been crazy busy for the last 5 days or so. I know I don't have the monopoly on a busy life, but I beg your understanding anyway. The comedy that is MY life continues. And it's not going to get any better for the next few days at least, but in the interest of not going an entire week without a post, here I am.
Here are some highlights from the last week:
Wednesday, May 30th I attempted to volunteer in Sporty's second grade class. Attempted is the operative word, because I was forced to take Baby with me (due to an overwhelming dearth of babysitting availability), and she refused to sit still. So I spent 15 minutes chasing her around the 2nd and 3rd grade Pod while I was supposed to be listening to the children read to me, before I threw in the towel and asked the teacher to be excused. After that, I took Posh and Baby on the preschool field trip to our local farm park. We picnicked in the 87 degree sun and walked through the barns and finally went on an exceedingly sweaty wagon ride through the park:
Hot as Hades on the wagon ride. It was fun, but ay caramba!
On to: Thursday, May 31st: Happy Birthday Mom (my mom not me)! Relatively quiet, except for the mad cleaning burst getting ready for the arrival of Chris's parents for a long weekend visit... oh and an evening sit for a friend. I actually had a chance to get some reading in. YAY! So, I guess really only that part was quiet. The rest was a little desperate.
Friday, June 1st: Rabbits, rabbits rabbits! Drop off at school, pick up at school... visit, visit, visit (not complaining... this was very nice!)... desperate trip to the mall (notice the theme?) to find a bathing suit that actually fit, for a pool party on Saturday. I found one, but if I tell you what I had to pay for it, you'll die, so I won't. Fast forward to evening: Stamping meeting... very fun new project. Seriously it was just what I needed to re-motivate myself in my stamping doldrums. I've been so unmotivated to stamp anything... it ends up falling into the same category as this blog. Something I love to do, but always set on the back burner. Bummer.
Saturday, June 2nd: Woke up completely crabby. Sorry to all and sundry who had to put up with me for the day. Blush. I do reserve the right sometimes to be a crank, but I always feel like a heel afterwards. Stupid hormones. Anyway... part of the reason I was so crabby was because I had to drag all three kids to the soccer field by myself. Not so heinous, but I hardly ever have to do it, so I was sort of bummed about it. And it was hot again. Been there, done that, soaked a tshirt. And I felt guilty for not wanting to do it, because plenty of mommies do it all the time and really I'm very spoiled in that regard. But I still reserve the right to be crabby about it. The game went well. Sporty made a few good moves, and Posh and Baby ran around with all the other tag-along siblings. All in all it went pretty well... then the coach declared that he had seen not one but TWO ice cream passes (pass pass goal) and he promised to buy all the girls an ice cream. Very sweet of him... but that left bitchy me in a little pickle. No lunch yet... three whiny girls... and a sugar rush. Oh well. Off to the frozen custard place we went. We ended up milling around for about 15 minutes because the place wasn't opened yet. That good old desperation started to kick in a little again. Finally we got in there and everyone got their ice cream... except Her Highness, Baby Spice, who threw a fit when I tried to put the ice cream in her mouth. Oh well.
That afternoon we went to a very lovely pool party for Chris's sister's boyfriend's birthday. His parents had kindly agreed to host it at their home, where they have a beautiful pool.
We all had a great time... a few minor injuries aside. The last injury brought back our old friend Mr. Crank, but can you really blame me? Baby could have gotten a concussion. Enough said, as there was no concussion. But, I was very grateful for my nice soft bed that night, let me tell you.
Sunday, June 3rd:
Rain. And rain. And more rain. Probably just as well. We had a nice quiet day in the house, except that Sporty got to go to a birthday party for her friend from school. The whole day was nice, because it was so laaaaaaaazzzzzzyyy, and then in the evening, Chris and I got to (drumroll, please).... go to the movies. I almost feel like I have to whisper that phrase. It sounds like sacrilege to my ears. For a pair of people who used to go to the movies at least once a week, this once a year thing really sucks! Thank you, Chris's parents for taking charge of the girls for us while we saw POTC: At World's End. Very confusing sometimes, but extremely funny and ahhhh yes... the eye candy was worth the three hour tour (for both of us, I think). The ship wrecked a little at the end (SPOILER ALERT) when my eye candy had to walk into the sea for a 10 year tour aboard the Flying Dutchman. What a waste of pure male yumminess~ ferrying the dead to the Other Side. There better be a sequel. I'm (still) feeling a little verklempt about it. Waaaaaahhhhh.
So, now that you can see for yourself that I wasn't any busier than you (only whinier about it)... the saga-of-an-excuse as to why I have been MIA is done. Hopefully things will go better this week. Wink. Later alligator.
Here are some highlights from the last week:
Wednesday, May 30th I attempted to volunteer in Sporty's second grade class. Attempted is the operative word, because I was forced to take Baby with me (due to an overwhelming dearth of babysitting availability), and she refused to sit still. So I spent 15 minutes chasing her around the 2nd and 3rd grade Pod while I was supposed to be listening to the children read to me, before I threw in the towel and asked the teacher to be excused. After that, I took Posh and Baby on the preschool field trip to our local farm park. We picnicked in the 87 degree sun and walked through the barns and finally went on an exceedingly sweaty wagon ride through the park:
Hot as Hades on the wagon ride. It was fun, but ay caramba!
On to: Thursday, May 31st: Happy Birthday Mom (my mom not me)! Relatively quiet, except for the mad cleaning burst getting ready for the arrival of Chris's parents for a long weekend visit... oh and an evening sit for a friend. I actually had a chance to get some reading in. YAY! So, I guess really only that part was quiet. The rest was a little desperate.
Friday, June 1st: Rabbits, rabbits rabbits! Drop off at school, pick up at school... visit, visit, visit (not complaining... this was very nice!)... desperate trip to the mall (notice the theme?) to find a bathing suit that actually fit, for a pool party on Saturday. I found one, but if I tell you what I had to pay for it, you'll die, so I won't. Fast forward to evening: Stamping meeting... very fun new project. Seriously it was just what I needed to re-motivate myself in my stamping doldrums. I've been so unmotivated to stamp anything... it ends up falling into the same category as this blog. Something I love to do, but always set on the back burner. Bummer.
Saturday, June 2nd: Woke up completely crabby. Sorry to all and sundry who had to put up with me for the day. Blush. I do reserve the right sometimes to be a crank, but I always feel like a heel afterwards. Stupid hormones. Anyway... part of the reason I was so crabby was because I had to drag all three kids to the soccer field by myself. Not so heinous, but I hardly ever have to do it, so I was sort of bummed about it. And it was hot again. Been there, done that, soaked a tshirt. And I felt guilty for not wanting to do it, because plenty of mommies do it all the time and really I'm very spoiled in that regard. But I still reserve the right to be crabby about it. The game went well. Sporty made a few good moves, and Posh and Baby ran around with all the other tag-along siblings. All in all it went pretty well... then the coach declared that he had seen not one but TWO ice cream passes (pass pass goal) and he promised to buy all the girls an ice cream. Very sweet of him... but that left bitchy me in a little pickle. No lunch yet... three whiny girls... and a sugar rush. Oh well. Off to the frozen custard place we went. We ended up milling around for about 15 minutes because the place wasn't opened yet. That good old desperation started to kick in a little again. Finally we got in there and everyone got their ice cream... except Her Highness, Baby Spice, who threw a fit when I tried to put the ice cream in her mouth. Oh well.
That afternoon we went to a very lovely pool party for Chris's sister's boyfriend's birthday. His parents had kindly agreed to host it at their home, where they have a beautiful pool.
We all had a great time... a few minor injuries aside. The last injury brought back our old friend Mr. Crank, but can you really blame me? Baby could have gotten a concussion. Enough said, as there was no concussion. But, I was very grateful for my nice soft bed that night, let me tell you.
Sunday, June 3rd:
Rain. And rain. And more rain. Probably just as well. We had a nice quiet day in the house, except that Sporty got to go to a birthday party for her friend from school. The whole day was nice, because it was so laaaaaaaazzzzzzyyy, and then in the evening, Chris and I got to (drumroll, please).... go to the movies. I almost feel like I have to whisper that phrase. It sounds like sacrilege to my ears. For a pair of people who used to go to the movies at least once a week, this once a year thing really sucks! Thank you, Chris's parents for taking charge of the girls for us while we saw POTC: At World's End. Very confusing sometimes, but extremely funny and ahhhh yes... the eye candy was worth the three hour tour (for both of us, I think). The ship wrecked a little at the end (SPOILER ALERT) when my eye candy had to walk into the sea for a 10 year tour aboard the Flying Dutchman. What a waste of pure male yumminess~ ferrying the dead to the Other Side. There better be a sequel. I'm (still) feeling a little verklempt about it. Waaaaaahhhhh.
So, now that you can see for yourself that I wasn't any busier than you (only whinier about it)... the saga-of-an-excuse as to why I have been MIA is done. Hopefully things will go better this week. Wink. Later alligator.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Trading Spaces with Myself
The next big home improvement project is off and running. There's no turning back. I have finished priming and painting the first small section of chair rail and paneling in the family room. This was the experimental phase of the project... experimental because I wasn't sure whether the primer I was using would work, or that I would like the overall effect once it was done. Good thing for me, I love it. So Phase One of a Hundred is complete.
I have a grand plan to spend my spare hours this summer converting the family room from charm-less to charming. I'm not sure who thought manufactured "wood" paneling was a decorator's dream, but it speaks volumes to me about a severe general lack of good taste in the 70's and 80's. Ditto the nasty textured wallpaper that has to come off the wall above the chair rail and the paneling (see below). Ick.
I already know, from experience, that the wallpaper comes off in about three layers. I say about, because the paper has been on the wall for so long that in sections it actually comes off in four layers (i.e. the top layer of the drywall comes off with it). It took me about 3 days of sporadic work to get the paper off the 8' x 6' section of wall that's already complete (not including the time it took to spackle and paint). Once the wallpaper is down and the wall is painted (Phase 2), then I can move on to the rest of the trim and paneling. You can see below, what a huge difference a little paint makes. I can't wait for it to be done.
I still have to do the crown moulding, obviously, but I am going to wait for Chris to paint the ceiling before I do any of the crown. Which means I am also going to have to wait until we put in a new ceiling fan. Oh well... I did say that there were about a hundred phases to this project, right? Here's a run-down of the main components of the project:
Things we've already changed~ overhead lighting, carpet
Things we are definitely going to change~ wall, ceiling fan, crown moulding, chair rail, paneling (including behind the built-ins), baseboard, outlets and covers, and the interior of the back door
Things we might change~ fireplace mantel and crown moulding above the fireplace, rail between the kitchen and family room, fireplace doors
Things we definitely won't change~ built-in cabinets
Feel free to offer up any suggestions you might have, but not about the paneling and trim... too late to turn back on that. Definitely stay tuned throughout the summer for further updates. And if you take bets on how long it'll be before I hire someone else to finish the job, I want in.
I have a grand plan to spend my spare hours this summer converting the family room from charm-less to charming. I'm not sure who thought manufactured "wood" paneling was a decorator's dream, but it speaks volumes to me about a severe general lack of good taste in the 70's and 80's. Ditto the nasty textured wallpaper that has to come off the wall above the chair rail and the paneling (see below). Ick.
I already know, from experience, that the wallpaper comes off in about three layers. I say about, because the paper has been on the wall for so long that in sections it actually comes off in four layers (i.e. the top layer of the drywall comes off with it). It took me about 3 days of sporadic work to get the paper off the 8' x 6' section of wall that's already complete (not including the time it took to spackle and paint). Once the wallpaper is down and the wall is painted (Phase 2), then I can move on to the rest of the trim and paneling. You can see below, what a huge difference a little paint makes. I can't wait for it to be done.
I still have to do the crown moulding, obviously, but I am going to wait for Chris to paint the ceiling before I do any of the crown. Which means I am also going to have to wait until we put in a new ceiling fan. Oh well... I did say that there were about a hundred phases to this project, right? Here's a run-down of the main components of the project:
Things we've already changed~ overhead lighting, carpet
Things we are definitely going to change~ wall, ceiling fan, crown moulding, chair rail, paneling (including behind the built-ins), baseboard, outlets and covers, and the interior of the back door
Things we might change~ fireplace mantel and crown moulding above the fireplace, rail between the kitchen and family room, fireplace doors
Things we definitely won't change~ built-in cabinets
Feel free to offer up any suggestions you might have, but not about the paneling and trim... too late to turn back on that. Definitely stay tuned throughout the summer for further updates. And if you take bets on how long it'll be before I hire someone else to finish the job, I want in.
Thursday, May 24, 2007
These are the Days of our Lives in Digital
We got a new toy this week... A Canon Rebel XT (digital SLR) camera. You just can't take good pictures of a soccer game with a point-and-shoot. Of course, since I'm still learning how to use the SLR, we can't get good pictures of a soccer game with the new camera, either. But they're getting better. This picture was taken from across the field, on the SPORTS setting... so I was just holding down the shutter and continuously shooting. It's not even remotely as focused as I'd like. Someone's going to have to show how to do that better. But I love the action in the picture.
I LOVE this picture of Shorty. It was shot from across the room and I cropped out a bunch of stuff around her (yay 8 megapixels!) . She was trying to cute-bully me into letting her watch more "Blue's Clues".
My poor Middlest Beauty was sick as a dog when I took this picture (strep and 103 degree fever), but she still found a sparkling smile in her so Mommy could practice with the portrait setting.
And just for fun, a shot of a bellflower (which is approximately 1 cm from the top of the stem to the tip of the petals). A teeny little flower that I shot from 6 feet away. Again, nowhere near the focus I hoped for, but still a pretty picture, I think.
I guess there's no chance I'll ever give up my day job, but I figure there's no harm in trying to get great pictures, right? To quote one of the great philosophers of my generation: "Life moves pretty fast... if you don't stop to look around once in awhile, you might miss it." I want to remember it with as much clarity and color contrast as possible. So I guess I'd better start learning fast. Or I might miss it.
I LOVE this picture of Shorty. It was shot from across the room and I cropped out a bunch of stuff around her (yay 8 megapixels!) . She was trying to cute-bully me into letting her watch more "Blue's Clues".
My poor Middlest Beauty was sick as a dog when I took this picture (strep and 103 degree fever), but she still found a sparkling smile in her so Mommy could practice with the portrait setting.
And just for fun, a shot of a bellflower (which is approximately 1 cm from the top of the stem to the tip of the petals). A teeny little flower that I shot from 6 feet away. Again, nowhere near the focus I hoped for, but still a pretty picture, I think.
I guess there's no chance I'll ever give up my day job, but I figure there's no harm in trying to get great pictures, right? To quote one of the great philosophers of my generation: "Life moves pretty fast... if you don't stop to look around once in awhile, you might miss it." I want to remember it with as much clarity and color contrast as possible. So I guess I'd better start learning fast. Or I might miss it.
Monday, May 21, 2007
The Lazy Housewife Life
Ahh, the unexpected quiet of Monday afternoon. Quiet because all of my daughters are absent at the moment (one nap, two playdates). Unexpected because both the playdates were last minute deals and the nap should have been over an hour ago. I'm not quite sure what to do with myself. I think these little gifts of time are great. I'm sure there are a hundred things I could be doing, but why? I'd much rather do those things to the soundtrack of "Mommy can I have some juice?" "So-and-so stole the remote!"or, my personal favorite: "She hit/kicked/stuck-her-tongue-out-at me!". It's like I need the additional stress these phrases provide as incentive to move my butt. Or maybe when the girls are going on like that, I get loads of stuff done in order to avoid dealing with them in that moment. Hmmmmm...
I wish I had a good book to read. I've read all the ones currently in my possession... but wait, I've got an Iron Chef America stored in TiVo right now. Couch and remote, here I come. All I need now are the bon-bons. Buh-bye!
I wish I had a good book to read. I've read all the ones currently in my possession... but wait, I've got an Iron Chef America stored in TiVo right now. Couch and remote, here I come. All I need now are the bon-bons. Buh-bye!
Sunday, May 20, 2007
Lucky for Us~ We Saved $178.00 (Six and a Half Hours in Dishwasher Hell)
SUBTITLE:A blow by blow account of why the "experts" can get away with charging $178.00 to install something in your house:
Our dishwasher was recalled this week. Something to do with setting kitchens on fire. We had the option of getting it repaired for free... which I'm sure would have meant waiting 8-72 weeks for a part to come in... and then waiting an additional 5-87 days for the service guy to be able to get over and make the repair. All of this for free, while you have no working (safe) dishwasher for 61-591 days. The other option was to get a rebate on the purchase of a new dishwasher. We opted for this, because the old one was six years old anyway, so why not buy a new one, while we could get $300.00 off the price, right? So, (yay!) new dishwasher. I'm sure in retrospect my loving husband would like to murder me. Here's why:
We went to Sears to order our shiny new appliance. Chris chased the girls up and down the aisles while I closed the deal with the Sears dude. I had the Sears card, you see.
"When would you like it delivered? Is Friday good?" he asks.
"Oh yes, that's great!" I reply.
So that's fine, and the delivery guys would take away the old one (for $10.00). Great.
"When would you like it installed~ Monday or Tuesday?" he goes on.
"?!?!?" my brain says, while my mouth says "How much does that cost?".
"$178.00".
"!!!!!" my head yells, while I look around for my dear husband and say "Don't you think you could just install it, sweetie?"
Chris's face says "You're crazy", but his mouth says "Okkkkaaaayyyy."
Yeah. Lucky for me... my husband is a very patient man.
The dishwasher arrived with a fair amount of fanfare on Friday (that's a whole other story). The first thing we noticed, after getting the dishwasher uncrated and partially connected: we needed a single piece of copper connector (some kind of little adapter thingy~ that's a technical term) to connect the copper supply pipe to the water supply line for the dishwasher. Stupid pipe. FOUR trips (three to Sears and one to Lowe's) and 3 1/2 hours later, Chris was finally able to procure the right part (for free) from the sales guy at Lowe's. He actually had to take apart a kit to take the piece out that we needed. We'd send him a fruit basket, if we knew where he lived. He's our hero.
All the pipes, drain hose, power supply etc. were now in place (4 hours into the project and counting). We shoved the dishwasher into position. Or more accurately shoved, and shoved and grunted and shoved. And discovered that the counter and cabinets are not connected to each other on that end of the counter. And that there was a veritable geographic record of sedimentary-type layers in linoleum under our feet. Judging from the extreme ugliness of the bottom layer of lino, I'd say the house was built during the last Ice Age or maybe even the late Cretaceous period. More to the point, though, the many layers of flooring were making the gap under the counter a smidge too tight for the dishwasher to fit. Good thing the counter was a little loose from the cabinetry. We finally got it in there. And discovered that we couldn't level it due to the fact that the top layer of lino, which does not extend all the way into the cavity where the dishwasher goes, was in the way of one of the leveling feet. And also a piece of wood moulding was blocking the other side. Hard to describe, but the technical details don't really matter.
The bottom line is, we were forced to reverse-shove the dishwasher back OUT of the cavity (and cracked a little piece off the front of the cheap-o formica counter in the process), so that Chris could cut away a strip of linoleum and a piece of the moulding with a utility knife~ a job which required him to insert all 6 foot 4 inches of him into the space, which is the size of a dishwasher (go figure). Lucky for him, he did not lose any fingers (or eyes) in the process. We crammed the dishwasher back into position. At that point it was getting easier, because we almost had a system going. It was time to test the dishwasher's efficacy, with a 10 minute-rinse cycle. Five hours into the whole process and counting.
Five minutes into the rinse cycle (pardon my French, but SH*T SH*T...) water sprayed out of the drain hose at the top of the air gap under the sink. SH*T. Stop the cycle, stop the cycle! My husband managed to keep his sense of humor up to this point as he said:
"You know, the good news is that after all of this is done, we still have to do the dishes!"
We pulled the thing out (again) and discovered that the drain hose UNDER the dishwasher had leaked as well. Lucky for us, the Cretaceous (or maybe Jurassic?) period lino was curled enough that it acted like a bowl and contained the pint or so of water that had spilled out. Anyway, long story short (I know, too late)... Chris fixed the drain hose, we cleaned up the mess, retested the machine while it was still in the middle of the kitchen (no leaks) and grunted the bloody thing back under the counter (again). And did the dishes. So far so good. 6 1/2 hours and done.
$178.00 doesn't sound so bad now, does it?
Our dishwasher was recalled this week. Something to do with setting kitchens on fire. We had the option of getting it repaired for free... which I'm sure would have meant waiting 8-72 weeks for a part to come in... and then waiting an additional 5-87 days for the service guy to be able to get over and make the repair. All of this for free, while you have no working (safe) dishwasher for 61-591 days. The other option was to get a rebate on the purchase of a new dishwasher. We opted for this, because the old one was six years old anyway, so why not buy a new one, while we could get $300.00 off the price, right? So, (yay!) new dishwasher. I'm sure in retrospect my loving husband would like to murder me. Here's why:
We went to Sears to order our shiny new appliance. Chris chased the girls up and down the aisles while I closed the deal with the Sears dude. I had the Sears card, you see.
"When would you like it delivered? Is Friday good?" he asks.
"Oh yes, that's great!" I reply.
So that's fine, and the delivery guys would take away the old one (for $10.00). Great.
"When would you like it installed~ Monday or Tuesday?" he goes on.
"?!?!?" my brain says, while my mouth says "How much does that cost?".
"$178.00".
"!!!!!" my head yells, while I look around for my dear husband and say "Don't you think you could just install it, sweetie?"
Chris's face says "You're crazy", but his mouth says "Okkkkaaaayyyy."
Yeah. Lucky for me... my husband is a very patient man.
The dishwasher arrived with a fair amount of fanfare on Friday (that's a whole other story). The first thing we noticed, after getting the dishwasher uncrated and partially connected: we needed a single piece of copper connector (some kind of little adapter thingy~ that's a technical term) to connect the copper supply pipe to the water supply line for the dishwasher. Stupid pipe. FOUR trips (three to Sears and one to Lowe's) and 3 1/2 hours later, Chris was finally able to procure the right part (for free) from the sales guy at Lowe's. He actually had to take apart a kit to take the piece out that we needed. We'd send him a fruit basket, if we knew where he lived. He's our hero.
All the pipes, drain hose, power supply etc. were now in place (4 hours into the project and counting). We shoved the dishwasher into position. Or more accurately shoved, and shoved and grunted and shoved. And discovered that the counter and cabinets are not connected to each other on that end of the counter. And that there was a veritable geographic record of sedimentary-type layers in linoleum under our feet. Judging from the extreme ugliness of the bottom layer of lino, I'd say the house was built during the last Ice Age or maybe even the late Cretaceous period. More to the point, though, the many layers of flooring were making the gap under the counter a smidge too tight for the dishwasher to fit. Good thing the counter was a little loose from the cabinetry. We finally got it in there. And discovered that we couldn't level it due to the fact that the top layer of lino, which does not extend all the way into the cavity where the dishwasher goes, was in the way of one of the leveling feet. And also a piece of wood moulding was blocking the other side. Hard to describe, but the technical details don't really matter.
The bottom line is, we were forced to reverse-shove the dishwasher back OUT of the cavity (and cracked a little piece off the front of the cheap-o formica counter in the process), so that Chris could cut away a strip of linoleum and a piece of the moulding with a utility knife~ a job which required him to insert all 6 foot 4 inches of him into the space, which is the size of a dishwasher (go figure). Lucky for him, he did not lose any fingers (or eyes) in the process. We crammed the dishwasher back into position. At that point it was getting easier, because we almost had a system going. It was time to test the dishwasher's efficacy, with a 10 minute-rinse cycle. Five hours into the whole process and counting.
Five minutes into the rinse cycle (pardon my French, but SH*T SH*T...) water sprayed out of the drain hose at the top of the air gap under the sink. SH*T. Stop the cycle, stop the cycle! My husband managed to keep his sense of humor up to this point as he said:
"You know, the good news is that after all of this is done, we still have to do the dishes!"
We pulled the thing out (again) and discovered that the drain hose UNDER the dishwasher had leaked as well. Lucky for us, the Cretaceous (or maybe Jurassic?) period lino was curled enough that it acted like a bowl and contained the pint or so of water that had spilled out. Anyway, long story short (I know, too late)... Chris fixed the drain hose, we cleaned up the mess, retested the machine while it was still in the middle of the kitchen (no leaks) and grunted the bloody thing back under the counter (again). And did the dishes. So far so good. 6 1/2 hours and done.
$178.00 doesn't sound so bad now, does it?
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
The Perfect Parent
I was lurking on a parenting web board today that I used to frequent quite a bit and one of the threads on there got me thinking. Mostly that I'm glad I don't post there anymore. The original post could be paraphrased as "I'm a bad mommy because I yell at my kids and I'm trying to stop, please help me." She actually said in the title "bad mommy alert". Insert MAJOR eyeroll here. Whatever. Since when does it make you a bad parent if you yell at your kids? I agree that using a raised voice for every little transgression will probably backfire on you in the long run on the discipine front. But sometimes you just can't get your child's attention any other way.
So... between hush-hush parenting, the spanking-is-abuse camp and the self-esteem police, most of us are apparently in big trouble and our children are destined to fail as human beings. I'm not saying that we should reverse whatever parenting archetype we are working with and put our kids down, or spank them or shriek at them every time they get out of line, but are we supposed to be our child's best friend? Repeat after me, gang: NO. We... are ... the ... parents. Granted, none of us is perfect and we all regret some of the things that we do with regard to our children. I'd even venture to say it's okay to feel guilty if you yell at your kids for no apparent reason (which I'm ashamed to say, I've done on more than one occasion). But we are human beings and we're raising humans not automatons. And human beings have emotions: good and bad.
This brings me to the gist of the thought process that this poor, idealistic (and somewhat deluded) mommy stirred up in my brain... the Perfect Parent. That's what we all set out to be. From even before we have kids, and through each step of parenthood (up until we actually have to live through a particular stage with all involved parties coming out alive) we have a set of rules (conscious and subconscious) that we think we are going to live by. Rules that will make us a better parent then our own were:
HAH!
is what I say to that.
You already know the rules. They started being invented when we were children ourselves.
1) I'll never make my kids eat brussel sprouts.
2) My kids will be allowed to stay up late every night and watch rated R movies.
These are the easy ones to laugh off, but as you got older, the rules got more complex:
3) I'll never buy a minivan like Mom's (complex because you won't know you want it until you need it, and by then you might need a church van).
4) I won't ever use the TV as a babysitter (yeah right...talk to me again after you havent showered for four days straight).
5) I'll never yell at my kids.
6) I'll never spank my kids.
7) I'll never.
8) I'll never.
I guess the point I'm trying to make is that we simply can't BE the perfect parent who lives up to all of these hare-brained rules. Like I said before... until you are in that moment, and living that particular situation, you can't possibly know what you will do. It's much better to treat the Perfect Parent rules that you set up like the Pirate Code... not so much of a code and more of a guideline~ if you dont know what I'm talking about you haven't been to the movies in far too long... but I digress.
The bottom line is: You can't call yourself a bad parent for undermining your sense of parenting idealism, by actually behaving like a human. And you can't let your Perfect Parent Code get in the way of actually parenting. And you're not going to hell for yelling at your kids every once in awhile.
So... between hush-hush parenting, the spanking-is-abuse camp and the self-esteem police, most of us are apparently in big trouble and our children are destined to fail as human beings. I'm not saying that we should reverse whatever parenting archetype we are working with and put our kids down, or spank them or shriek at them every time they get out of line, but are we supposed to be our child's best friend? Repeat after me, gang: NO. We... are ... the ... parents. Granted, none of us is perfect and we all regret some of the things that we do with regard to our children. I'd even venture to say it's okay to feel guilty if you yell at your kids for no apparent reason (which I'm ashamed to say, I've done on more than one occasion). But we are human beings and we're raising humans not automatons. And human beings have emotions: good and bad.
This brings me to the gist of the thought process that this poor, idealistic (and somewhat deluded) mommy stirred up in my brain... the Perfect Parent. That's what we all set out to be. From even before we have kids, and through each step of parenthood (up until we actually have to live through a particular stage with all involved parties coming out alive) we have a set of rules (conscious and subconscious) that we think we are going to live by. Rules that will make us a better parent then our own were:
HAH!
is what I say to that.
You already know the rules. They started being invented when we were children ourselves.
1) I'll never make my kids eat brussel sprouts.
2) My kids will be allowed to stay up late every night and watch rated R movies.
These are the easy ones to laugh off, but as you got older, the rules got more complex:
3) I'll never buy a minivan like Mom's (complex because you won't know you want it until you need it, and by then you might need a church van).
4) I won't ever use the TV as a babysitter (yeah right...talk to me again after you havent showered for four days straight).
5) I'll never yell at my kids.
6) I'll never spank my kids.
7) I'll never.
8) I'll never.
I guess the point I'm trying to make is that we simply can't BE the perfect parent who lives up to all of these hare-brained rules. Like I said before... until you are in that moment, and living that particular situation, you can't possibly know what you will do. It's much better to treat the Perfect Parent rules that you set up like the Pirate Code... not so much of a code and more of a guideline~ if you dont know what I'm talking about you haven't been to the movies in far too long... but I digress.
The bottom line is: You can't call yourself a bad parent for undermining your sense of parenting idealism, by actually behaving like a human. And you can't let your Perfect Parent Code get in the way of actually parenting. And you're not going to hell for yelling at your kids every once in awhile.
A Taste of Summer
We had some uncharacteristic (for May) close to 90-degree weather today, so I pulled out the old kiddie pool from the garage and let the girls splash around for awhile. By late this afternoon the water was quite warm, and they were in the pool for close to an hour. It was Shorty's first time in the splash pool, and she had a great time. (if the shrieks of protest when it was time to get out were any indication).
Thursday, May 10, 2007
"What Choice Had I?"
In honor of the impending National Day of Heroine Worship (aka Mother's Day), I figured it was incumbent on me, as a Practicing Mother, to go on a little bit about My Kind. I know I'm a few days early, but with any luck I'll be so busy being celebrated on the Big Day, that I won't have time to wax poetic about my choice to be a mother.
I'm currently reading Anybody Out There?, the latest offering from Marian Keyes... my favorite chick-lit author. There is a great quote in the book that I think sums the state of Motherhood up very well. After a near-death experience, the protagonist, Anna Walsh, calls her mother long-distance from New York to Dublin to thank her for giving birth to her. Her mother replies, very matter-of-factly: "What choice had I? You were in there, how else were you going to get out?" Mrs. Walsh meant this as a way to deflect her daughter's gratitude, but I think that the statement actually points out the main reason that we have to be grateful to our mothers.
I have no choice. You are part of me. I love you. New mothers are often overwhelmed by this inability to exercise their own will, but they'll get over it. They may not want to get up in the middle of the night to offer the squalling bundle in the bassinet yet more milk, but they do it. Later on, they may not feel like reading Green Eggs and Ham for the 900th time since breakfast, but they do that too. And later still, they may not want to part with 20K smackeroos to pay for the wedding to that jackass with the long hair and the tongue ring, but they screw up their faces, take some great anxiety meds and they do that too. Maybe not without a fuss, but they do it all. Of course, this doesn't mean that we should take our mothers for granted (nor God forbid, be taken for granted) just because they (we) do those things without really wanting to. This isn't an excuse to trod on her (or your) motherly deeds, saying: "My mother does these things because she has to, not because she chooses to."
On the contrary... I believe that mothers deserve even more respect for having surrendered their primary concern for themselves to an all-encompassing need to protect and nurture their offspring (It is, after all, possible to NOT do this~ childbirth does not necessarily a mother make). Especially in the case where protecting and nurturing those offspring means that they have to make allowances for things that they would not ordinarily choose for themselves... the tongue-ring, for example.
Without a doubt, on the day I had my first child, I gained a renewed sense of respect for what my own mother must have gone through, parenting a child such as myself. But there is a level beyond respect that I hadn't yet reached. It's like you have to make a decision to give up, in some ways. You are still YOU (or at least most of us are). However, your status as a mother means that the YOU that's in you has to take the back seat a lot of the time to the MOM that's taking up all the space in the front row. You have to accept this as part of the job and move on. Every child should look at their mom and consider her life from this point of view. I don't expect this for myself yet, as I am relatively green at this whole parenting thing... but I hope that I will be that kind of mom, enough of the time, that my kids will realize all of this too, someday. That will be my reward for a job well done.
I'm currently reading Anybody Out There?, the latest offering from Marian Keyes... my favorite chick-lit author. There is a great quote in the book that I think sums the state of Motherhood up very well. After a near-death experience, the protagonist, Anna Walsh, calls her mother long-distance from New York to Dublin to thank her for giving birth to her. Her mother replies, very matter-of-factly: "What choice had I? You were in there, how else were you going to get out?" Mrs. Walsh meant this as a way to deflect her daughter's gratitude, but I think that the statement actually points out the main reason that we have to be grateful to our mothers.
I have no choice. You are part of me. I love you. New mothers are often overwhelmed by this inability to exercise their own will, but they'll get over it. They may not want to get up in the middle of the night to offer the squalling bundle in the bassinet yet more milk, but they do it. Later on, they may not feel like reading Green Eggs and Ham for the 900th time since breakfast, but they do that too. And later still, they may not want to part with 20K smackeroos to pay for the wedding to that jackass with the long hair and the tongue ring, but they screw up their faces, take some great anxiety meds and they do that too. Maybe not without a fuss, but they do it all. Of course, this doesn't mean that we should take our mothers for granted (nor God forbid, be taken for granted) just because they (we) do those things without really wanting to. This isn't an excuse to trod on her (or your) motherly deeds, saying: "My mother does these things because she has to, not because she chooses to."
On the contrary... I believe that mothers deserve even more respect for having surrendered their primary concern for themselves to an all-encompassing need to protect and nurture their offspring (It is, after all, possible to NOT do this~ childbirth does not necessarily a mother make). Especially in the case where protecting and nurturing those offspring means that they have to make allowances for things that they would not ordinarily choose for themselves... the tongue-ring, for example.
Without a doubt, on the day I had my first child, I gained a renewed sense of respect for what my own mother must have gone through, parenting a child such as myself. But there is a level beyond respect that I hadn't yet reached. It's like you have to make a decision to give up, in some ways. You are still YOU (or at least most of us are). However, your status as a mother means that the YOU that's in you has to take the back seat a lot of the time to the MOM that's taking up all the space in the front row. You have to accept this as part of the job and move on. Every child should look at their mom and consider her life from this point of view. I don't expect this for myself yet, as I am relatively green at this whole parenting thing... but I hope that I will be that kind of mom, enough of the time, that my kids will realize all of this too, someday. That will be my reward for a job well done.
Tuesday, May 8, 2007
Would You Like a Little Rash With That Whine?
Juniper bushes are not very nice. The only good thing I can say about them is that they are the great-uncle of my favorite spirit, Gin. We have a gin-ormous monstrosity of a juniper bush in our front yard. It is at least seven feet tall, twenty feet long and about ten feet wide. I think it's meant to block the lights from oncoming car traffic, but it's hideous and I have always hated it. And I hate it even more now.
I was very proud of myself. Every year, I pay this company a gawd-awful sum of money to come and turn on the in-ground sprinkler system. Then I pay them another gawd-awful sum to drain it at the end of the season. Well... I've watched them turn it on enough times, that I figured "why pay them $100.00 to turn on a water switch and kick the dirt divits off the tops of the sprinkler heads when I can do it myself?" So I did it, with great success. Pat on the back.
Cue the stupid smelly juniper bush. The bloody thing had gotten so big it grew over the top of one of the sprayer heads and was completely blocking the spray. It's probably been like that for a couple of years and I never noticed because it's on the other side of the bush from the house. Did I say yet what a stupid bush it is?
I pulled out the clippers (which are actually meant to be wire cutters, but we've adopted them for branch trimming), and started trimming branches. And trimming. And getting sprayed. (why not turn off the water?~ you may well wonder: I wanted to see what branches needed trimming~ smooth move, eh?) But back to the story. I was trimming. And trimming. And (ouch) getting prickers in my hand (gardening gloves? Who needs 'em?) And trimming.
I now have a rash all over my hands and arms from the bush's prickers... and an only moderately unblocked sprinkler head. I am about to itch myself to death. Argghhh! Did I say I hate that bush? I'll give you $100.00 if you come and cut the thing down for me.
And yes, I am aware that the rash is all my fault. But it doesn't matter, because (and did I mention?) I hate that bush so it's automatically the bush's fault. The rash is probably the bush's payback for talking smack about it.
Now, please excuse me while I go and scratch myself silly.
I was very proud of myself. Every year, I pay this company a gawd-awful sum of money to come and turn on the in-ground sprinkler system. Then I pay them another gawd-awful sum to drain it at the end of the season. Well... I've watched them turn it on enough times, that I figured "why pay them $100.00 to turn on a water switch and kick the dirt divits off the tops of the sprinkler heads when I can do it myself?" So I did it, with great success. Pat on the back.
Cue the stupid smelly juniper bush. The bloody thing had gotten so big it grew over the top of one of the sprayer heads and was completely blocking the spray. It's probably been like that for a couple of years and I never noticed because it's on the other side of the bush from the house. Did I say yet what a stupid bush it is?
I pulled out the clippers (which are actually meant to be wire cutters, but we've adopted them for branch trimming), and started trimming branches. And trimming. And getting sprayed. (why not turn off the water?~ you may well wonder: I wanted to see what branches needed trimming~ smooth move, eh?) But back to the story. I was trimming. And trimming. And (ouch) getting prickers in my hand (gardening gloves? Who needs 'em?) And trimming.
I now have a rash all over my hands and arms from the bush's prickers... and an only moderately unblocked sprinkler head. I am about to itch myself to death. Argghhh! Did I say I hate that bush? I'll give you $100.00 if you come and cut the thing down for me.
And yes, I am aware that the rash is all my fault. But it doesn't matter, because (and did I mention?) I hate that bush so it's automatically the bush's fault. The rash is probably the bush's payback for talking smack about it.
Now, please excuse me while I go and scratch myself silly.
I Promise, I Have an Excuse (or 3 or 4)...
I am falling behind in my posts. But when I post a lot, I fall behind in my life. There is apparently no room for me to focus on any one thing in my life at any given time. So, please forgive me... I promise something new soon. But in the meantime, here is my list of excuses.
A Day in the Life (yesterday):
A Day in the Life (yesterday):
- Went to the store to buy a flower for the Big One's teacher (for teacher appreciation).
- Dropped Big One and the flower off at school.
- Realized that Middlest One was sick (cough, gunk, fever) and called in to her school.
- Dosed Middlest One with meds to help her feel better.
- Took Littlest Beauties to Michael's to get beads for the Big One's African Market Project.
- Took them to the grocery store to get veggies for dinner.
- Fed them lunch. Ate a yogurt.
- Emailed Big One's teacher to ask what she wanted for lunch on Tuesday (also for teacher appreciation).
- When Big One got home, drove to visit the 'rents for the afternoon.
- Went for a walk and had a tea party with the 'rents. Ate too many cookies and scones.
- Drove home.
- Cleaned up puke from kid, clothes, shoes, loveys, garage floor and front walk (poor Middlest Beauty).
- Dosed Middlest Beauty again.
- Cooked dinner (and had a drink).
- Ate dinner and tried to convince Shorty that Chicken and Dumplings was worthy of her discerning palate. More or less failed at that last.
- Went online and made reservations for a CRUISE to Alaska for next year... to celebrate Chris and my 10th anniversary which is actually THIS year. Woo-hoo!
- Kissed the family and went out to babysitting co-op meeting (really an excuse to drink margaritas).
- Came home and watched "Heroes" on TiVo.
- Finished cleaning up. Visited Parenting Web Board.
- Checked on Beauties.
- Went to bed.
Saturday, May 5, 2007
Where There's No Will, Oh What I'll Weigh
I'm sure that many of you are now aware that I am a weak woman. Not to sell myself short, because there are plenty of things that I'm actually pretty good at, but Will Power is so not one of them. One of the main things that I (apparently) have a real problem with is Butter Chicken.
I know, I know! You thought I was going to say something like Valium or chocolate or excessive alcohol. Well, I've never had a Valium, I only mildly like chocolate, and I can stop drinking any old time I want to. But get a container of Butter Chicken in the house and I'm in big whooey trouble. For those of you that don't know what the H-E double hockey sticks I'm talking about, you clearly haven't ever been introduced to Indian Food Heaven. Butter Chicken is chunks of chicken breast that are tandoori cooked and then served in this 2000 calorie per tablespoon-thick-creamy- tomatoey-deliciousness of a sauce. You eat said deliciousness with basmati rice (and my personal favorite, naan~ flat yogurt-based bread).
It's becoming a Friday night tradition. Chris gets home. We order pizza for the Girls. Then we order Indian Food for us, and Chris runs out to pick it up. The restaurant we order from sends way too much food (of course), so there's always plenty for the next day. So two helpings on Friday night, and two helpings for lunch on Saturday. Auggggh!
I have just finished the container. I swore to myself that I would only have ONE serving. But I left myself too many loopholes by not giving myself specifically worded instructions. Instead of saying to myself "Self, you will only have one helping of butter chicken!", I should have said: "SELF! YOU! WILL! ONLY! HAVE! ONE! SERVING of RICE, CHICKEN and SAUCE, and you will NOT under any circumstances go into the trash can to get the container of sauce out so that you can eat the rest of the rice with two more generous scoops of said sauce! YOU WILL NOT under any circumstances do something that gross!"
Yeah... well, hindsight is twenty-twenty, and I could say coulda-shoulda-woulda all day, but the fact of the matter is that I didn't tell myself any of those things, so here I am.
BLUSH. I need help.
I know, I know! You thought I was going to say something like Valium or chocolate or excessive alcohol. Well, I've never had a Valium, I only mildly like chocolate, and I can stop drinking any old time I want to. But get a container of Butter Chicken in the house and I'm in big whooey trouble. For those of you that don't know what the H-E double hockey sticks I'm talking about, you clearly haven't ever been introduced to Indian Food Heaven. Butter Chicken is chunks of chicken breast that are tandoori cooked and then served in this 2000 calorie per tablespoon-thick-creamy- tomatoey-deliciousness of a sauce. You eat said deliciousness with basmati rice (and my personal favorite, naan~ flat yogurt-based bread).
It's becoming a Friday night tradition. Chris gets home. We order pizza for the Girls. Then we order Indian Food for us, and Chris runs out to pick it up. The restaurant we order from sends way too much food (of course), so there's always plenty for the next day. So two helpings on Friday night, and two helpings for lunch on Saturday. Auggggh!
I have just finished the container. I swore to myself that I would only have ONE serving. But I left myself too many loopholes by not giving myself specifically worded instructions. Instead of saying to myself "Self, you will only have one helping of butter chicken!", I should have said: "SELF! YOU! WILL! ONLY! HAVE! ONE! SERVING of RICE, CHICKEN and SAUCE, and you will NOT under any circumstances go into the trash can to get the container of sauce out so that you can eat the rest of the rice with two more generous scoops of said sauce! YOU WILL NOT under any circumstances do something that gross!"
Yeah... well, hindsight is twenty-twenty, and I could say coulda-shoulda-woulda all day, but the fact of the matter is that I didn't tell myself any of those things, so here I am.
BLUSH. I need help.
Thursday, May 3, 2007
A Wii Confession
Here is my Confession for the Week:
As of today, I am not in the running for the Housewife of the Week Award. In fact, if I had a boss and a paycheck, I'd probably have been called into the office for a serious hand-slapping by now. Call it the home equivalent of spending the work day on the computer playing Solitaire, but I can't help it... I'm officially addicted to Wii.
I finally got my paws on a Wii system yesterday, after months of fruitless searching, and now I can't stop playing. My arms literally ache from playing Wii Sports (Bowling appears to be the family favorite). I actually broke a small sweat playing Wii Tennis yesterday. And today I bowled two games against Middlest Daughter and got roundly schooled by her Mad Skills. Seriously... she bowled a 162 on the second game (6 spares and a double strike in a single game). All the curve correction and stance strategy in the world can't compete with a 4.75 year old on a mission.
The only good thing that can possibly come out of this is that I may actually get some exercise by playing a video game. If the ache in my triceps is any indication, I should have great tank top arms within a few days. I may actually be able to wave goodbye to someone without having to do the Beauty Queen Parade wave. No more wrist palm wrist palm wrist palm for me.
The possibility of upper arm fitness aside, I am going to quit playing for today, before someone refers me to a 12 step program. The bathrooms really can't wait any longer for the attention they deserve. Not that they're going to get the scrubbing they really need today. I don't think my arms can take it.
Bad Megan, no biscuit.
As of today, I am not in the running for the Housewife of the Week Award. In fact, if I had a boss and a paycheck, I'd probably have been called into the office for a serious hand-slapping by now. Call it the home equivalent of spending the work day on the computer playing Solitaire, but I can't help it... I'm officially addicted to Wii.
I finally got my paws on a Wii system yesterday, after months of fruitless searching, and now I can't stop playing. My arms literally ache from playing Wii Sports (Bowling appears to be the family favorite). I actually broke a small sweat playing Wii Tennis yesterday. And today I bowled two games against Middlest Daughter and got roundly schooled by her Mad Skills. Seriously... she bowled a 162 on the second game (6 spares and a double strike in a single game). All the curve correction and stance strategy in the world can't compete with a 4.75 year old on a mission.
The only good thing that can possibly come out of this is that I may actually get some exercise by playing a video game. If the ache in my triceps is any indication, I should have great tank top arms within a few days. I may actually be able to wave goodbye to someone without having to do the Beauty Queen Parade wave. No more wrist palm wrist palm wrist palm for me.
The possibility of upper arm fitness aside, I am going to quit playing for today, before someone refers me to a 12 step program. The bathrooms really can't wait any longer for the attention they deserve. Not that they're going to get the scrubbing they really need today. I don't think my arms can take it.
Bad Megan, no biscuit.
Tuesday, May 1, 2007
A Shorty Says... What?
The two Littlest Beauties went to my friend Laura's house to play this morning while Chris and I went to a meeting. When I got back to pick them up, Laura commented to me on how communicative Shorty is getting lately. She hasn't got a lot of words, but she gets her meaning across, through various means. And she's very polite too... 'please' and 'thank you' are becoming key parts of her (less than extensive) vocabulary. I'm not quite sure how, but the child has manners. And bless Laura for noticing what we've been hoping was the case all along. Shorty can talk, even if she can't talk very well, just yet.
We've been working with her for ages on baby sign language, which I really believe has helped bridge any gap that existed in our efforts to communicate with her. She can say more, please, eat, and milk in signs, and she is learning more words and signs everyday. Her frustration levels seem to be minimal even though her verbal pronunciation is nearly impossible to decipher out of context. But, still, I think she's getting there. Our favorite things that she says (verbally) are "Lub u" (love you), "day u" (thank you) and "ah wah eye eem" (I want ice cream).
So... in her communicative-but-mostly-non-verbal way, Shorty brought me a book to read to her this afternoon. And by mostly non-verbal communication, I mean that she chucked the book at my head while shouting "boooooo". After the requisite lecture on the relative inappropriateness of chucking books at people, as well as a request for a "please" from her, I agreed to read the book and she plopped down next to me. And wouldn't you know that the book was not in English, although it did happen to be translated in the margins? I started reading the English translation to her. Moomintroll's bucket is BLUE. Snork Maiden lends him a YELLOW shovel.
SLAM!
The book closed on my fingers. So, just for fun, I read the title to her in the book's published language: Finnish. It must have made a lot more sense to her that way because she somehow made me read the whole book to her (four times) in Finnish.
Does that count as communication?
Note: I do not speak Finnish. I studied it once a long long time ago in a galaxy far far away. Suffice it to say that if there had been any Finnish persons present during my oration of 'Moomintroll's Colors', they would have been mortally offended. My sincerest apologies to Finns everywhere.
We've been working with her for ages on baby sign language, which I really believe has helped bridge any gap that existed in our efforts to communicate with her. She can say more, please, eat, and milk in signs, and she is learning more words and signs everyday. Her frustration levels seem to be minimal even though her verbal pronunciation is nearly impossible to decipher out of context. But, still, I think she's getting there. Our favorite things that she says (verbally) are "Lub u" (love you), "day u" (thank you) and "ah wah eye eem" (I want ice cream).
So... in her communicative-but-mostly-non-verbal way, Shorty brought me a book to read to her this afternoon. And by mostly non-verbal communication, I mean that she chucked the book at my head while shouting "boooooo". After the requisite lecture on the relative inappropriateness of chucking books at people, as well as a request for a "please" from her, I agreed to read the book and she plopped down next to me. And wouldn't you know that the book was not in English, although it did happen to be translated in the margins? I started reading the English translation to her. Moomintroll's bucket is BLUE. Snork Maiden lends him a YELLOW shovel.
SLAM!
The book closed on my fingers. So, just for fun, I read the title to her in the book's published language: Finnish. It must have made a lot more sense to her that way because she somehow made me read the whole book to her (four times) in Finnish.
Does that count as communication?
Note: I do not speak Finnish. I studied it once a long long time ago in a galaxy far far away. Suffice it to say that if there had been any Finnish persons present during my oration of 'Moomintroll's Colors', they would have been mortally offended. My sincerest apologies to Finns everywhere.
Monday, April 30, 2007
"A Naughty Little Breeze"
Tonight the Bigger Girls and their Grammie put on a little "play" with some little creature figurines and a few props. The Big One was the narrator and Middlest One was the figure-mover. All persons involved were the "naughty little breeze"... you can see them blowing the breeze (with the feather), and moving the little turtle into his place. Then Grammie singing and The Big One narrating while Middlest One creates the action.
Sunday, April 29, 2007
Off on an Ice Cream Adventure
Hi ho hi ho to Baskin Robbins they go...
The two bigger ones are off on a quest with Grammie and Grandpa Jack to find that Holy Grail of Kid-dom... the Ice Cream treat. Yum-o!
Saturday, April 28, 2007
The Soccer Mom Mystique
I am a Soccer Mom. For 5 1/4 seasons I have held this title (among others) along with millions of other moms around the world. And to those in the world who aren't Soccer Moms... there is this air of mystery about those of us who are. It's like all those anti-Soccer Moms out there are wondering how the hell they can avoid meeting the same fate. "My kid plays Little League and I spend all my time driving Davy to his games and practices, but at least I'm not a Soccer Mom (shudder)". Or even more frequently: "I'm never having kids because there's no way I'm going to ever be one of those!" Being a Soccer Mom is now as big of a cliche as being an 80's Yuppie in the world of the 2K-oughts. I know that sounds melodramatic, but think about it for a minute. Even I remember thoughts like these passing through my brain at various points in my life. I had similar thoughts about mini-vans. And yet, here I am.
There seems to be this idea that the woman whose kid plays soccer somehow lacks the feminine mystique, the je ne sais quoi, that other women possess (or at least think they possess). What we seem to represent is the total sellout to convention and old-fashioned expectations of women and mothers. We (apparently) cannot possibly be a Soccer Mom and still maintain the image of What We Used to Be. Take as an example a recent commercial for the Nissan Quest (I think it was). The bottom line was "if you want to be the cool soccer mom on the team, you need this car". As if there's no way you could achieve any level of hip-ness without it. Stifler's mom you are not.
And why is that? What's wrong with us Soccer Moms that women dread the day that they will be initiated into the fold, rather than enjoying the fact that soccer is (usually) fun for our kids and great for their bodies and minds? Heck, you might be nurturing the next David Beckham or Mia Hamm. Okay, probably not, but even if you're not... you're obviously a cool mom because you care enough about your kid that you are willing to be one of those in order to broaden his or her horizons. Doesn't that count for anything? It totally counts. And I have bad news for those of you who believe that you aren't One Of Us, just because your kid plays baseball or plays in the band or runs track or does drama.
The truth is that it doesn't matter what activity your kid does. If you are a devoted follower of that activity and your child's Number One Fan, you are a Soccer Mom. Soccer was just lucky enough to be picked as the activity to label the so-called "cliche" mom. Probably because most of us in White-Picket-Fence-ville have kids who have or will have played soccer at some point in their lives. It's the American way, right?
I think there's something about the Soccer Mom which elevates her to the next level in the parenting corporate structure. It's like getting promoted from mail clerk to mail manager or something like that. There's nothing wrong with being a mail manager and there's nothing wrong with being a Soccer Mom. As a Soccer Mom, you get to watch your kid do something that truly doesn't involve you. You can cheer them on from the sidelines, which as parents, we should do through the whole of their lives right? It's a step in the right direction... the way you want your kids to go. To live and play, with you right off to the side screeching encouragement. That's the way it should be...
We're all Soccer Moms.
There seems to be this idea that the woman whose kid plays soccer somehow lacks the feminine mystique, the je ne sais quoi, that other women possess (or at least think they possess). What we seem to represent is the total sellout to convention and old-fashioned expectations of women and mothers. We (apparently) cannot possibly be a Soccer Mom and still maintain the image of What We Used to Be. Take as an example a recent commercial for the Nissan Quest (I think it was). The bottom line was "if you want to be the cool soccer mom on the team, you need this car". As if there's no way you could achieve any level of hip-ness without it. Stifler's mom you are not.
And why is that? What's wrong with us Soccer Moms that women dread the day that they will be initiated into the fold, rather than enjoying the fact that soccer is (usually) fun for our kids and great for their bodies and minds? Heck, you might be nurturing the next David Beckham or Mia Hamm. Okay, probably not, but even if you're not... you're obviously a cool mom because you care enough about your kid that you are willing to be one of those in order to broaden his or her horizons. Doesn't that count for anything? It totally counts. And I have bad news for those of you who believe that you aren't One Of Us, just because your kid plays baseball or plays in the band or runs track or does drama.
The truth is that it doesn't matter what activity your kid does. If you are a devoted follower of that activity and your child's Number One Fan, you are a Soccer Mom. Soccer was just lucky enough to be picked as the activity to label the so-called "cliche" mom. Probably because most of us in White-Picket-Fence-ville have kids who have or will have played soccer at some point in their lives. It's the American way, right?
I think there's something about the Soccer Mom which elevates her to the next level in the parenting corporate structure. It's like getting promoted from mail clerk to mail manager or something like that. There's nothing wrong with being a mail manager and there's nothing wrong with being a Soccer Mom. As a Soccer Mom, you get to watch your kid do something that truly doesn't involve you. You can cheer them on from the sidelines, which as parents, we should do through the whole of their lives right? It's a step in the right direction... the way you want your kids to go. To live and play, with you right off to the side screeching encouragement. That's the way it should be...
We're all Soccer Moms.
Thursday, April 26, 2007
To Dog or Not to Dog... Yorkies are the Question
I'm not a fan of dogs in general. I like dogs, and I certainly don't mind being around them, but I'm not all that interested in all the stuff that goes along with having one. But lately, I've been having this sort of alien feeling that I need to have a Yorkie. I was talking about it with some friends last night, and one of them suggested that I go and pick up a dog from the animal shelter. I hope I didn't offend her when I said: "but I don't want a dog I want a Yorkie ". This brings up two important points in this inner battle I'm waging...
1) Do I not consider Yorkies to be dogs?
and
2) What is it about Yorkies that qualifies them over other breeds, to win a place in my heart?
The answer to both of these questions is the same... Yorkies are definitely dogs, but they are so small that they are like an eternal puppy, which is the state that I really enjoy in dogs. Small. And small means small poop, small piddles, small(er) food bills, small doggie slobber. And Cute. I never met a Yorkie that wasn't as cute as all get-out. Now there are other breeds out there that I have a definite fondness for, but I can't imagine choosing to add them to our family. It's all about what you want in a new family member. And that's where dogs have it over humans. Dog breeds have definite personality traits that make it easier for we humans to choose. There's no way to choose the personality of a new baby, but you can start heading down the right path with the right choice of dog. Of course, with dogs (as with babies)... you get what you get, you don't get upset (to quote from Middlest Beauty's preschool class mantra).
All that being said... it is incumbent on all of you people out there in Bloggerville to talk me out of my cute little poochy-poo. This is like a psychotic sort of baby fever for me... but like my dog-not-loving spouse says: "It's so much easier without a pet in the house". I'm with him on that. Really.
But the house is emptier too, if you know what I mean.
1) Do I not consider Yorkies to be dogs?
and
2) What is it about Yorkies that qualifies them over other breeds, to win a place in my heart?
The answer to both of these questions is the same... Yorkies are definitely dogs, but they are so small that they are like an eternal puppy, which is the state that I really enjoy in dogs. Small. And small means small poop, small piddles, small(er) food bills, small doggie slobber. And Cute. I never met a Yorkie that wasn't as cute as all get-out. Now there are other breeds out there that I have a definite fondness for, but I can't imagine choosing to add them to our family. It's all about what you want in a new family member. And that's where dogs have it over humans. Dog breeds have definite personality traits that make it easier for we humans to choose. There's no way to choose the personality of a new baby, but you can start heading down the right path with the right choice of dog. Of course, with dogs (as with babies)... you get what you get, you don't get upset (to quote from Middlest Beauty's preschool class mantra).
All that being said... it is incumbent on all of you people out there in Bloggerville to talk me out of my cute little poochy-poo. This is like a psychotic sort of baby fever for me... but like my dog-not-loving spouse says: "It's so much easier without a pet in the house". I'm with him on that. Really.
But the house is emptier too, if you know what I mean.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Thank Heaven for Recessed Lights
Before and After Shots of my Kitchen Light Project. Ignore the mess... I beg you. And the patchy drywall on the ceiling. Handyman Hubby has (justifiably) not had a chance to fix those yet... as the lights were only installed 22 hours ago. Unlike I, who have had plenty of time to clean up the mess and simply haven't.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Iron Chef Megan (Gross Out Warning)
Anyone who has ever watched Food Network... and more specifically Iron Chef America knows that there is a world of food out there that most of us had no idea was there. And could probably live our whole lives without knowing was there. Take this week's episode for example: The theme ingredient was garlic.... mmmm.... Delicious, sweet, pungent... essential to any good cook's kitchen, the ubiquitous staple of any cuisine. Yes. And apparently sucking the brains out of a roasted squab head is a tasty way to enjoy the flavor of garlic. Sorry for the visual, but that's what they did. Seriously. Kind of like slurping oysters.
Now ordinarily, I'm a big fan of ICA. I've even got a TiVo season pass to the show. I love to cook and what better way to learn new and interesting ways to spice up (no pun intended) the kitchen~ and quickly too? But, there's cuisine, and then there's just plain crazy. And yes, I'm being culinarily closed-minded, and a little bit of an anti-gourmand. But come on... ewww.
I pride myself on having a family that will eat just about anything I put in front of them (with the definite exception of Shorty, my finicky gourmet). And they always seem ready to try new things. If the main ingredient is something the girls recognize, they'll try it no matter how it's prepared. Chicken a la King, Chicken Piccatta, Chicken Pad Thai or Chicken Paprikash. "What's for dinner?" they say... and I reply "chicken"... "Yummy!"... and everyone is happy, even my little carnivore, Ms. Finicky. So, I like to think that they can stomach a slightly more high-brow level of cuisine. But, to quote Tim Curry, from one of the funniest movies of all time: "Monkeys' brains, while popular in Cantonese cuisine, are not often to be found in Washington D.C." Likewise, squabs.
I guess the kitchen's not in Kansas anymore, and most of the time that's fine with me. But I draw the line at brains, tripe and talons (yes, there was actually a talon gripping a clove of garlic on the plate). I especially draw the line at sucking things out of heads. I raise my glass to raising my children to be epi-curious individuals, but you won't find any squabs in my kitchen. And I hope I won't find any in yours... shudder...
The goal of cooking is that people will eat the food, right?
Now ordinarily, I'm a big fan of ICA. I've even got a TiVo season pass to the show. I love to cook and what better way to learn new and interesting ways to spice up (no pun intended) the kitchen~ and quickly too? But, there's cuisine, and then there's just plain crazy. And yes, I'm being culinarily closed-minded, and a little bit of an anti-gourmand. But come on... ewww.
I pride myself on having a family that will eat just about anything I put in front of them (with the definite exception of Shorty, my finicky gourmet). And they always seem ready to try new things. If the main ingredient is something the girls recognize, they'll try it no matter how it's prepared. Chicken a la King, Chicken Piccatta, Chicken Pad Thai or Chicken Paprikash. "What's for dinner?" they say... and I reply "chicken"... "Yummy!"... and everyone is happy, even my little carnivore, Ms. Finicky. So, I like to think that they can stomach a slightly more high-brow level of cuisine. But, to quote Tim Curry, from one of the funniest movies of all time: "Monkeys' brains, while popular in Cantonese cuisine, are not often to be found in Washington D.C." Likewise, squabs.
I guess the kitchen's not in Kansas anymore, and most of the time that's fine with me. But I draw the line at brains, tripe and talons (yes, there was actually a talon gripping a clove of garlic on the plate). I especially draw the line at sucking things out of heads. I raise my glass to raising my children to be epi-curious individuals, but you won't find any squabs in my kitchen. And I hope I won't find any in yours... shudder...
The goal of cooking is that people will eat the food, right?
A Sisterly Moment
Here are the Beauties enjoying a quiet moment watching Avatar on the computer. Shorty woke up from her nap yesterday and would have no one but The Big One. What a way to win over the big sister! Cuddles and Avatar.Sunday, April 22, 2007
Bonk Bang Bling
The last 24 hours have been rough on my Beauties. All three of them look like they've been through the wars. As their mommy, I suppose I should be more concerned, but I'm sitting here chuckling to myself. I'm thinking that, as much as a skinned knee stings or a bonked head aches, these scars-in-the-making are like badges of honor from kidhood. I hate to see my kids suffer, but the truth is that the fun they have while getting the booboos is what they will remember. The only memory they'll have of the ouch is the mark they will bear on their skin. We mommies can attest to this basic human trait. We tend to forget pain... but we remember the good things that come out of it.
The warm weather has brought out the best in all of us. Our energy levels are soaring right now. The kids are having a blast getting filthy and sweaty in the summer-like sun. The bushes, trees and dirt are calling to all of us. To us adults they're saying: "Trim us.... plant us... water us!" To the kids (the true citizens of spring and summer) they make a more thrilling call: "Climb us... crawl under us... dig us up!" Who could resist that siren song? They can't, so they do it. And sometimes they get hurt in the process. And in a way, we hope that they do. Obviously, nothing too bad or lasting... we parents aren't sadists after all. Just the little ouchies that feel better after a little cleaning, and a little soothing and a SpongeBob Bandaid slapped on: the proof of time well-spent. These little booboos even have a small parenting bonus. They give us the chance to get those cuddles that we get less and less of as they grow up and away.
And speaking of growing up... my own Middlest Beauty made one of those choices I'm always going on about. She decided that she wanted to get her ears pierced. Since this is something I've never objected to, it didn't take her long to convince me that it was a good idea (about 45 seconds). I even told her that it would hurt a bit and she told me that it was okay: "I don't mind if it only hurts a little." Of course, my Mommy Gut was clenched in knots about it, but I knew this day was coming with my little Princess... so why not just get it over with? Soooo... after a brief consultation with the Princess's father, she and I took a trip to the mall. There were a few tears; that's true. But there are now two beautiful flower-shaped bits of bling in my daughter's ears. And she's very proud of herself for surviving.
The bottom line is: I think that "Ouch!" should be the name of the National Anthem of Childhood. It's not that I'm sitting here going "Oooh... Johnny should fall out of the tree and break his arm" or "yippee, Janie fell down and skinned her knee on the asphalt." But the true nature of leading a life is that those little ouches are bound to happen. It's what the kids come away with that counts. Whether it's simply a memory of fun that will last forever, a healthy constitution from leading an active life... or perchance, a bit of bling, our kids are rewarded for that small penance they pay in scrapes, bumps and bruises.
And we mommies and daddies can only hope that their reward will be great.
The warm weather has brought out the best in all of us. Our energy levels are soaring right now. The kids are having a blast getting filthy and sweaty in the summer-like sun. The bushes, trees and dirt are calling to all of us. To us adults they're saying: "Trim us.... plant us... water us!" To the kids (the true citizens of spring and summer) they make a more thrilling call: "Climb us... crawl under us... dig us up!" Who could resist that siren song? They can't, so they do it. And sometimes they get hurt in the process. And in a way, we hope that they do. Obviously, nothing too bad or lasting... we parents aren't sadists after all. Just the little ouchies that feel better after a little cleaning, and a little soothing and a SpongeBob Bandaid slapped on: the proof of time well-spent. These little booboos even have a small parenting bonus. They give us the chance to get those cuddles that we get less and less of as they grow up and away.
And speaking of growing up... my own Middlest Beauty made one of those choices I'm always going on about. She decided that she wanted to get her ears pierced. Since this is something I've never objected to, it didn't take her long to convince me that it was a good idea (about 45 seconds). I even told her that it would hurt a bit and she told me that it was okay: "I don't mind if it only hurts a little." Of course, my Mommy Gut was clenched in knots about it, but I knew this day was coming with my little Princess... so why not just get it over with? Soooo... after a brief consultation with the Princess's father, she and I took a trip to the mall. There were a few tears; that's true. But there are now two beautiful flower-shaped bits of bling in my daughter's ears. And she's very proud of herself for surviving.
The bottom line is: I think that "Ouch!" should be the name of the National Anthem of Childhood. It's not that I'm sitting here going "Oooh... Johnny should fall out of the tree and break his arm" or "yippee, Janie fell down and skinned her knee on the asphalt." But the true nature of leading a life is that those little ouches are bound to happen. It's what the kids come away with that counts. Whether it's simply a memory of fun that will last forever, a healthy constitution from leading an active life... or perchance, a bit of bling, our kids are rewarded for that small penance they pay in scrapes, bumps and bruises.
And we mommies and daddies can only hope that their reward will be great.
Saturday, April 21, 2007
Spiritual Enlightenment for the Struggling Housewife
For generations, women (and okay, a couple of men) have struggled to make things work in the home. And it is a struggle. For approximately 995 or 996 of the last 1000 generations, there was NOTHING to make this daily struggle easier. For 20,000 years, not much changed and all women had to fall back on at the end of the day was a belief in a higher purpose, a great reward at the end of all of their travails. It was only the deliverer of this great reward that varied...call Him Jehovah, Mohammed, Ganesh, Buddha or Good Ole' J.C. ... the result was the same. The human race saw The Point and kept the struggle alive.
The aforementioned deities have had (and still do have) a well-deserved place in our hearts. We are, by nature, a species that wants to band together. We want to believe. We want a community of people with beliefs in common and most of us want to be a part of it. That's great. Really. But, here's the part that would have gotten me burned at the stake in less enlightened times: I believe that the struggling housewife achieves spiritual enlightenment from a second source. That source is called modern convenience.
Technology has been gradually lifting the burden of work off of the backs of humans and into the circuit boards and engines of our friends The Machines. Now don't go all Terminator on me and forget what these Machines are good for. Would you be sitting there reading my masterwork if not for the magic of computation? Would it not take you a week to commute into the city for your job that now (thankfully-hah!) only takes 2-3 hours out of your busy day? And for those dear to my own heart... we Housewives... we don't remember the days when we had to beat our laundry on a rock with a stick. We don't remember the days when we had to sweep the whole house with a switch broom. We mommies certainly don't care to remember the days before epidurals, breastpumps and (oh my) Sitz baths.
I'll argue that the best modern convenience is one that most of us (but not me) haven't yet had the pleasure of enjoying. That would be The Robot that cleans the floor for you while you sip iced tea and lift your feet every once in awhile. This is the path to true spiritual enlightenment. We housewives no longer want to wait for the ever after. We're part of a society which wants our reward now. Instant gratification is the name of the game, Baby. Enjoy that iced tea and the calisthenics. The five loads of laundry, unmade beds, and germy bathroom floor can wait. Come to think of it...so can the kid's runny nose, spelling homework and escaping ants from the ant farm. We're busy reaping the benefits of living in the Modern World. The only thing most of us are missing is the deity herself. The Cleaning Lady. Oh no, wait... that's me:
The Domestic Goddess.
I guess I'd better get to work.
The aforementioned deities have had (and still do have) a well-deserved place in our hearts. We are, by nature, a species that wants to band together. We want to believe. We want a community of people with beliefs in common and most of us want to be a part of it. That's great. Really. But, here's the part that would have gotten me burned at the stake in less enlightened times: I believe that the struggling housewife achieves spiritual enlightenment from a second source. That source is called modern convenience.
Technology has been gradually lifting the burden of work off of the backs of humans and into the circuit boards and engines of our friends The Machines. Now don't go all Terminator on me and forget what these Machines are good for. Would you be sitting there reading my masterwork if not for the magic of computation? Would it not take you a week to commute into the city for your job that now (thankfully-hah!) only takes 2-3 hours out of your busy day? And for those dear to my own heart... we Housewives... we don't remember the days when we had to beat our laundry on a rock with a stick. We don't remember the days when we had to sweep the whole house with a switch broom. We mommies certainly don't care to remember the days before epidurals, breastpumps and (oh my) Sitz baths.
I'll argue that the best modern convenience is one that most of us (but not me) haven't yet had the pleasure of enjoying. That would be The Robot that cleans the floor for you while you sip iced tea and lift your feet every once in awhile. This is the path to true spiritual enlightenment. We housewives no longer want to wait for the ever after. We're part of a society which wants our reward now. Instant gratification is the name of the game, Baby. Enjoy that iced tea and the calisthenics. The five loads of laundry, unmade beds, and germy bathroom floor can wait. Come to think of it...so can the kid's runny nose, spelling homework and escaping ants from the ant farm. We're busy reaping the benefits of living in the Modern World. The only thing most of us are missing is the deity herself. The Cleaning Lady. Oh no, wait... that's me:
The Domestic Goddess.
I guess I'd better get to work.
Friday, April 20, 2007
I am Mower, Here me Roar
Just a quick addendum to my earlier post:
I did it. I mowed the lawn. Woo-hoo.
Not that I think I deserve a medal or anything, but I seriously haven't done that since I was about 16 or so. So you all can ignore me while I contort myself enough to pat myself on the back.
Now I'm going to go have a shower.
I did it. I mowed the lawn. Woo-hoo.
Not that I think I deserve a medal or anything, but I seriously haven't done that since I was about 16 or so. So you all can ignore me while I contort myself enough to pat myself on the back.
Now I'm going to go have a shower.
A Beautiful Day Makes a Beautiful Yard... (maybe)
Ahhhhh... the sun is shining! At last! The warm air has arrived. I couldn't be happier. I almost feel like I could head outside and mow the lawn. Almost, but not quite. It doesn't matter though because my body feels nice and warm for the first time in weeks. I'm truly grateful. I might even dance (but probably not).
This weekend promises to be perfect. Mid-70s and sunny. In short, gorgeous. So, FINALLY the big task has become MULCH the YARD. KILL the WEEDS. MAKE the yard BEE-YOOTiful. Really exciting stuff...but it will look good when it's done. There are 50 bags of mulch stacked up next to my house waiting patiently to be laid out. They've been there for more than month. With any luck, they will have killed the grass underneath them so I can make a new plant bed. I'm dreaming of peonies and lilacs and other beautiful flowers that I'm sure I'll kill within a week. But a girl can dream, right?
I just can't wait to get at it...mainly because I won't be the one who has to get the get-go going. If you think I've mowed a lawn in the last 15 years, you're crazy. I'm not even sure I know how to turn one on. That's how bad it is. If you think I am capable of dragging a 3 cubic foot bag of mulch across a yard, think again. Okay, maybe one, but no more. However, I must admit I'm a mean hand at killing those weeds. Squeeze, spray. Squeeze, spray. Spurge, clover, dandelions... tremble in fear. I'm on my way out... Hey, it helps, right?... Right?... Hello? Okay, fine, maybe not...
There comes a time in every housewife's life when getting the job done means delegation. If that means hubby humps the mulch bag, then great. Or if writing a check gets your lawn mowed, even better. I'm not ashamed to admit that while I'll do anything around the house, around the house is not my forte.
Here's rule number 2 in the Guide:
Housewives manage the house, but under no circumstances should they be expected to do everything. Delegate, delegate.
We must protect our manicures along with our offspring, right?
Who knows though? I just might mow that lawn anyway. What the heck?
This weekend promises to be perfect. Mid-70s and sunny. In short, gorgeous. So, FINALLY the big task has become MULCH the YARD. KILL the WEEDS. MAKE the yard BEE-YOOTiful. Really exciting stuff...but it will look good when it's done. There are 50 bags of mulch stacked up next to my house waiting patiently to be laid out. They've been there for more than month. With any luck, they will have killed the grass underneath them so I can make a new plant bed. I'm dreaming of peonies and lilacs and other beautiful flowers that I'm sure I'll kill within a week. But a girl can dream, right?
I just can't wait to get at it...mainly because I won't be the one who has to get the get-go going. If you think I've mowed a lawn in the last 15 years, you're crazy. I'm not even sure I know how to turn one on. That's how bad it is. If you think I am capable of dragging a 3 cubic foot bag of mulch across a yard, think again. Okay, maybe one, but no more. However, I must admit I'm a mean hand at killing those weeds. Squeeze, spray. Squeeze, spray. Spurge, clover, dandelions... tremble in fear. I'm on my way out... Hey, it helps, right?... Right?... Hello? Okay, fine, maybe not...
There comes a time in every housewife's life when getting the job done means delegation. If that means hubby humps the mulch bag, then great. Or if writing a check gets your lawn mowed, even better. I'm not ashamed to admit that while I'll do anything around the house, around the house is not my forte.
Here's rule number 2 in the Guide:
Housewives manage the house, but under no circumstances should they be expected to do everything. Delegate, delegate.
We must protect our manicures along with our offspring, right?
Who knows though? I just might mow that lawn anyway. What the heck?
Thursday, April 19, 2007
American Idol: Parenting 101
I just want to take a moment to talk about Sanjaya Malakar. But from a slightly different point of view. It's the simple truth that he's got minimal talent and just didn't belong on a show like American Idol...even if you remember past puppy dogs like Kevin Covais, John Stevens and Jasmine Trias. There's always one, every year.
However, I've never seen one of them inspire so much controversy as poor Sanjaya. People boycotted the show over him. WTH? For me, I watched every week in fascination as he continued to warble out his cheeseball song choices. And my personal admiration for him grew. At the beginning of the Top 12 competition, my heart bled, not for him, but for his mother. I cannot imagine how hard it must have been to watch him and then listen to the criticism he faced each week. It takes a strong momma to sit back and watch anyone belittle your child for any reason. And she had to watch the whole country turn him into a whipping boy. If it were me, I'd have been begging in my heart for him to get voted off the show.
The thing is though...he outlasted more criticism than any other competitor that I can remember. And he did it with his head held high. It's like the ultimate gauntlet run. On the one side you have the tomahawks and the bolas and whatever other weapons they choose to use. On the other side you've got the ones rooting you on, forcing you through the lineup. And he came out the other end. I'm sure he made his momma proud.
It's a perfect example of what we have to do...we have to let our children live their lives. No matter how hard it is for us. We may know in our hearts that they will fail (but even then they may surprise us). Or we may not be sure, but it's not up to us to make the choices for them. All we can do is hope we gave them the tools to make the right choices.
So, anyway. I say Sanjaya scored one on the masses. And he didn't have to win the competition to do it.
However, I've never seen one of them inspire so much controversy as poor Sanjaya. People boycotted the show over him. WTH? For me, I watched every week in fascination as he continued to warble out his cheeseball song choices. And my personal admiration for him grew. At the beginning of the Top 12 competition, my heart bled, not for him, but for his mother. I cannot imagine how hard it must have been to watch him and then listen to the criticism he faced each week. It takes a strong momma to sit back and watch anyone belittle your child for any reason. And she had to watch the whole country turn him into a whipping boy. If it were me, I'd have been begging in my heart for him to get voted off the show.
The thing is though...he outlasted more criticism than any other competitor that I can remember. And he did it with his head held high. It's like the ultimate gauntlet run. On the one side you have the tomahawks and the bolas and whatever other weapons they choose to use. On the other side you've got the ones rooting you on, forcing you through the lineup. And he came out the other end. I'm sure he made his momma proud.
It's a perfect example of what we have to do...we have to let our children live their lives. No matter how hard it is for us. We may know in our hearts that they will fail (but even then they may surprise us). Or we may not be sure, but it's not up to us to make the choices for them. All we can do is hope we gave them the tools to make the right choices.
So, anyway. I say Sanjaya scored one on the masses. And he didn't have to win the competition to do it.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
This Teacher Didn't Teach
When I was a little girl, I used to pretend that I was a teacher and I used to dream that that was what I would do when I finally grew up. That was the only job I could think of that I wanted to do. I even taught my little sister how to read when she was four. We had a chalkboard and "lesson plans" and everything. To me teaching was the perfect job, because every kid knows...kids are awesome...so what better way to spend the day, than head to head with a room full of kids? The one thing I failed to see was that if I was going to be the teacher, I wasn't going to be one of the kids anymore. And as a grownup, it's a whole different ball of wax being in a room with 26 rambunctious youngsters. I admire and respect those hearty souls who do manage to do it, but I am the first to admit that it's not for me. This was the first serious career decision I ever made: nope, not going to be a teacher.
That being said, every so often, it's loads of fun to spend some time in the classroom. Especially if it's your own child's classroom. Take this morning, for instance...
First, a little explanation: There is an organization in our area that sponsors a supplemental art instruction program at the local schools. Each month a parent volunteer (or two) teaches a lesson on the work of a particular artist or genre. Then there is a project which goes along with the lesson. We do eight of these lessons per year in every grade at the Big One's school. This is my big chance to play teacher again. And the beauty of it is...it's outside the curriculum, so if all they take away from it is the name of the artist and maybe a memory of fun, then we as the "teachers" have done our job. It's the ultimate job for the teaching enthusiast-with-no-experience.
Back to today...this month's lesson was about ARCHITECTURE. I did not teach the lesson, but I was there to set up the project and help wrangle the heathens into submission. After a lovely presentation on the gothic, neoclassic and modern (among other) styles of architecture...the children came pouring out of their classroom into the pod. After a nearly futile ten minute scramble to organize the kids into groups of four (which, by the way, were already assigned before they came out of the class), we managed to get them settled down to their project: each group must design an elementary school~ front, back and two sides elevations. If you've never tried to explain an elevation to a second grader, it's much harder than you might think. Especially when you throw in the mix the plaintive cries of "all of our pencils are broken"... and "where can I put the pool table?"... and "can we draw whatever we want?". So much for the 20 minute presentation. Well, long story short...I don't think we've discovered the next Frank Lloyd Wright or Eero Saarinen, but it was still loads of fun seeing what the kids managed to produce.
Here's the point I want to make: Even though teaching is not something that I feel I would be good at...there is a level of satisfaction that comes from being part of the crazy mix in the classroom. Knowing the kids, letting them get to know you. Spending time admiring their work, correcting mistakes, guiding their creativity. It's more than satisfaction...it's a privilege to be able to be so involved. And the school/teacher spend all their time thanking me (what's that about anyway?). As a parent, there is so much to be gained from these little opportunities. It's allowing yourself the chance to take a peek into the world your child enters almost every day of her (or his) life. Just being a part of the class dynamic for an hour can give you more insight into your child's life than a weekend spent in their sole company. There is a chance to learn all sorts of things about your own child, about her friends, about her teacher, and about the school.
You can pretend all you want that you are the teacher, but the one who's really learning is you.
That being said, every so often, it's loads of fun to spend some time in the classroom. Especially if it's your own child's classroom. Take this morning, for instance...
First, a little explanation: There is an organization in our area that sponsors a supplemental art instruction program at the local schools. Each month a parent volunteer (or two) teaches a lesson on the work of a particular artist or genre. Then there is a project which goes along with the lesson. We do eight of these lessons per year in every grade at the Big One's school. This is my big chance to play teacher again. And the beauty of it is...it's outside the curriculum, so if all they take away from it is the name of the artist and maybe a memory of fun, then we as the "teachers" have done our job. It's the ultimate job for the teaching enthusiast-with-no-experience.
Back to today...this month's lesson was about ARCHITECTURE. I did not teach the lesson, but I was there to set up the project and help wrangle the heathens into submission. After a lovely presentation on the gothic, neoclassic and modern (among other) styles of architecture...the children came pouring out of their classroom into the pod. After a nearly futile ten minute scramble to organize the kids into groups of four (which, by the way, were already assigned before they came out of the class), we managed to get them settled down to their project: each group must design an elementary school~ front, back and two sides elevations. If you've never tried to explain an elevation to a second grader, it's much harder than you might think. Especially when you throw in the mix the plaintive cries of "all of our pencils are broken"... and "where can I put the pool table?"... and "can we draw whatever we want?". So much for the 20 minute presentation. Well, long story short...I don't think we've discovered the next Frank Lloyd Wright or Eero Saarinen, but it was still loads of fun seeing what the kids managed to produce.
Here's the point I want to make: Even though teaching is not something that I feel I would be good at...there is a level of satisfaction that comes from being part of the crazy mix in the classroom. Knowing the kids, letting them get to know you. Spending time admiring their work, correcting mistakes, guiding their creativity. It's more than satisfaction...it's a privilege to be able to be so involved. And the school/teacher spend all their time thanking me (what's that about anyway?). As a parent, there is so much to be gained from these little opportunities. It's allowing yourself the chance to take a peek into the world your child enters almost every day of her (or his) life. Just being a part of the class dynamic for an hour can give you more insight into your child's life than a weekend spent in their sole company. There is a chance to learn all sorts of things about your own child, about her friends, about her teacher, and about the school.
You can pretend all you want that you are the teacher, but the one who's really learning is you.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Bad Mommy Tuesday ?
I love Tuesday. It's my favorite day of the week. It's the one day of the week when I almost never have anything on the calendar...when the only thing I have to do is get the girls up, feed them breakfast and put the Big One on the school bus. But it's also the one day of the week when I feel like I earn my stripes as Household COO. And the Fly Lady be damned... because I do it all in my PJs... well, at least until I have to go out to the store (Trust me, Safeway's not ready for me to do my shopping like that). Tuesday is the day when you are most likely to walk in my house and smell that oh-so-fresh scent of recently mopped floors, clean (and~oh my~ folded) laundry, sparkling toilets and furniture that you can't leave a stripe on by running your finger over it. This is true, but please note that I said "most likely" not "sure"...
Ironically, the day that is my best Household COO day is also the day I chalk up as the worst Mommy day. Sometimes you have to make a choice, and when you have more than one responsibility, the one you really love can't always be the priority. And on Tuesday, the kids are not the priority. They are safe and fed... they have all their toys to play with. Sometimes they even have friends to play with. But they also spend more time watching the good old boob toob and playing computer games then on any other day of the week (The truth of the matter is that my kids spend too much time staring at screens, but that's a whole other post to be written). And that's not the main issue here. Because here's the rub: remember, I said that Tuesday is my favorite day. Does that mean I prefer cleaning and maintaining the house to playing with and entertaining my children? And if I do, does it mean I love my children less? The answers are yes, and definitely NO (in that order).
Does it make me a bad mother that I would rather mop the floor than play Candy Land with my daughter? No, I don't think it does. It's true, that quality time with your children is the most important thing we (as parents) should devote our time to. But the fact of the matter is...there are other things that need doing. It's all in how we choose to spend our time that makes the difference. Now, I'll admit that even though Tuesday is my worst mothering day...the others are no great shakes either. I've already said I'd rather clean the house than spend hours moving Pooh Bear from one end of a board to another... but...
It is my goal to raise smart, happy, healthy children with a realistic view of the world. I want them to love and be loved, to enjoy the company of others, and to be able to do the things that will make them productive members of society. In short, I want all the things for my children that any (good) parent wants for their offspring. That is one of my goals for this life that I've chosen (and, frankly, been lucky enough to be given). But, I'd be kidding myself if I said this was my only goal in life. I want to be a good mother. But I also want to be a good wife... and since I've chosen to be a Housewife... I want to be a good one of those too. Like any career chosen, I want to be good at what I do, and I want to like it, too. I may have a distance to go... but I'm getting there, I think.
Tuesday just gives me a chance to think about these things... it brings into focus what I think is a realistic way to look at stay-at-home parenting. I think it is unrealistic to think you can spend all your time at home playing with your children. We mommies (and yes, some daddies too) have a job to do... and managing a household is more challenging sometimes than managing a billion dollar corporation. That's what makes it the best career choice in my book.
And in case you're wondering... yes, I do play Candy Land, sometimes.
Ironically, the day that is my best Household COO day is also the day I chalk up as the worst Mommy day. Sometimes you have to make a choice, and when you have more than one responsibility, the one you really love can't always be the priority. And on Tuesday, the kids are not the priority. They are safe and fed... they have all their toys to play with. Sometimes they even have friends to play with. But they also spend more time watching the good old boob toob and playing computer games then on any other day of the week (The truth of the matter is that my kids spend too much time staring at screens, but that's a whole other post to be written). And that's not the main issue here. Because here's the rub: remember, I said that Tuesday is my favorite day. Does that mean I prefer cleaning and maintaining the house to playing with and entertaining my children? And if I do, does it mean I love my children less? The answers are yes, and definitely NO (in that order).
Does it make me a bad mother that I would rather mop the floor than play Candy Land with my daughter? No, I don't think it does. It's true, that quality time with your children is the most important thing we (as parents) should devote our time to. But the fact of the matter is...there are other things that need doing. It's all in how we choose to spend our time that makes the difference. Now, I'll admit that even though Tuesday is my worst mothering day...the others are no great shakes either. I've already said I'd rather clean the house than spend hours moving Pooh Bear from one end of a board to another... but...
It is my goal to raise smart, happy, healthy children with a realistic view of the world. I want them to love and be loved, to enjoy the company of others, and to be able to do the things that will make them productive members of society. In short, I want all the things for my children that any (good) parent wants for their offspring. That is one of my goals for this life that I've chosen (and, frankly, been lucky enough to be given). But, I'd be kidding myself if I said this was my only goal in life. I want to be a good mother. But I also want to be a good wife... and since I've chosen to be a Housewife... I want to be a good one of those too. Like any career chosen, I want to be good at what I do, and I want to like it, too. I may have a distance to go... but I'm getting there, I think.
Tuesday just gives me a chance to think about these things... it brings into focus what I think is a realistic way to look at stay-at-home parenting. I think it is unrealistic to think you can spend all your time at home playing with your children. We mommies (and yes, some daddies too) have a job to do... and managing a household is more challenging sometimes than managing a billion dollar corporation. That's what makes it the best career choice in my book.
And in case you're wondering... yes, I do play Candy Land, sometimes.
Monday, April 16, 2007
So Much Work, But So Much to Say
I really should be working. This is the refrain heard day in day out all around the world, in offices, homes, schools...you name it. And yes, I'm saying it right now. And I'll admit to a little bit of work today. The dishwasher has been emptied and reloaded. The children are dressed (for the most part). The white laundry is in on "whitest white" setting. Belurp, belurp. And lunch has been picked up off the floor (also for the most part).
But there is something preying on my mind right now, that is causing a huge mental block in my ability to accomplish anything more. It is the tragedy that is unfolding as I type this at Virginia Tech. The University is so far from here, but this feels like something close to home and I am grateful to myself for keeping my children in the nest today. There are no tragedies here (that I am aware of), but to be able to see my children and know that, right now, they are safe, is a huge comfort to me. It breaks my heart to think of all the pain that one person has caused in Blacksburg today. And so much worse...there is no justice to be had by the victims, because the shooter is dead by his own hand. Coward.
But, like so many of us, I can turn this around and make it about me. About my family. It doesn't even relate to me or mine, and yet at the same time, it does. We feed off this kind of news...as a society we can always make the drama about us. And this is drama of the highest order; Pain, death, shocking behavior... what a waste. For me... I want to learn from this. But what can I learn? That the only way to keep my children safe is to keep them by my side for always? That I should never turn psychotic and get my hands on an automatic weapon? I don't see any lessons here. None of this makes sense.
We're bringing up our children in a world gone mad: every generation has said it. And it will continue on long after we're gone. And for every one of us...the drama unfolds, but the work never goes away. And the job of making sense of the madness is at the top of the list.
My deepest heartfelt sympathy to all the victims of this tragedy.
But there is something preying on my mind right now, that is causing a huge mental block in my ability to accomplish anything more. It is the tragedy that is unfolding as I type this at Virginia Tech. The University is so far from here, but this feels like something close to home and I am grateful to myself for keeping my children in the nest today. There are no tragedies here (that I am aware of), but to be able to see my children and know that, right now, they are safe, is a huge comfort to me. It breaks my heart to think of all the pain that one person has caused in Blacksburg today. And so much worse...there is no justice to be had by the victims, because the shooter is dead by his own hand. Coward.
But, like so many of us, I can turn this around and make it about me. About my family. It doesn't even relate to me or mine, and yet at the same time, it does. We feed off this kind of news...as a society we can always make the drama about us. And this is drama of the highest order; Pain, death, shocking behavior... what a waste. For me... I want to learn from this. But what can I learn? That the only way to keep my children safe is to keep them by my side for always? That I should never turn psychotic and get my hands on an automatic weapon? I don't see any lessons here. None of this makes sense.
We're bringing up our children in a world gone mad: every generation has said it. And it will continue on long after we're gone. And for every one of us...the drama unfolds, but the work never goes away. And the job of making sense of the madness is at the top of the list.
My deepest heartfelt sympathy to all the victims of this tragedy.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
