At 7:15 am, the Entertainer headed outside, and then ran right back in. "Mommy!!!!!!!!!! It's COLD outside, that means I can go play!" The Captain and the Adventurer grabbed their shoes and ran right after him, jumping up and down with excitement.
I run around the house opening every single window so we could finally let some fresh air in, my skin prickling with joy that it's not beading with sweat for the first time since the end of April.
When I go outside to tell them it was time for school, the Captain tells me, "mommy, you weren't alive 40 years ago."
"Nope. I wasn't."
"Well that was the last time it snowed in Florida. I am so excited!" He blows into his hands to keep his fingers from getting chilly.
He is still rubbing them together when we get into the van, and I giggle when I see that the temperature reading is a bone-chilling 70 degrees.
I think they've acclimated.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
The Three-Year-Old Mind
As I drove the kids to school this morning, I turned on the radio. Now, as my kids get to be better listeners, they have been hearing what people are singing, so I've had to become very careful about what we are listening to.
When Jason Marz's I'm Yours came on, I figured I was safe. And I was, until about half way through the song when he belts out, "open up your plans and damn your free," and the Entertainer starts giggling in the back seat.
Oh great, now we are going to have to take on the d-word, I'm thinking to myself.
"Hey mommy, guess what the man said!" His little 3-year old voice chirps from the backseat. "He said 'open up your pants.' Ha ha. That's funny."
And suddenly I'm lost in the world of how-far-should-I-explain-this...
When Jason Marz's I'm Yours came on, I figured I was safe. And I was, until about half way through the song when he belts out, "open up your plans and damn your free," and the Entertainer starts giggling in the back seat.
Oh great, now we are going to have to take on the d-word, I'm thinking to myself.
"Hey mommy, guess what the man said!" His little 3-year old voice chirps from the backseat. "He said 'open up your pants.' Ha ha. That's funny."
And suddenly I'm lost in the world of how-far-should-I-explain-this...
Friday, August 28, 2009
...
Tuesday my oldest boys started back to school. I played with the Entertainer and Lilly, took a nap, watched What Not to Wear, had my normal 3 cups of coffee, and started experiencing the strangest tingling sensation in my arms and feet.
By Wednesday, these feelings had increased.
On Thursday, I began to think I might be dying.
It wasn't until Friday that I was able to identify the inexplicable oddness that was now pulsing through my entire nervous system. It was energy.
By Wednesday, these feelings had increased.
On Thursday, I began to think I might be dying.
It wasn't until Friday that I was able to identify the inexplicable oddness that was now pulsing through my entire nervous system. It was energy.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Daily Happenings...
This week, my boys started school.
The Captain nervously headed off to second grade. He head-nodded every kid as he walked down the hall and they all said, "Hi Captain!" "Hey Captain!" all the way to class. He didn't want me to leave his class, and I reminded him of the tiny heart I'd kissed and given him to keep in his pocket, just incase he needed me. (He'd kissed one for my pocket too, without lipstick.)
But I guess when you have the youngest, blondest, prettiest teacher in school, things work out pretty well for you. When he got home, he kept asking how many more hours until he could go back. By dinner time he was dancing around the kitchen, singing, "only 14 more hours till school starts, only 14 more hours!" And when I tucked him into bed, he handed me a tiny pink card covered in hearts that he had made for his teacher. It said, "I like you, love the Captain." He made sure that was in his pocket when he left for school today. So cute!
The Adventurer has been a little cooler about the whole idea of Kindergarten. After a day of class and the joy of only a very short nap-time at school, I thought he'd be happier about returning. Just before bedtime he told daddy, "My teacher spends WAY to much money on us!" Daddy asked, "what do you mean?" "Well, she takes us all out for breakfast AND lunch at the cafeteria!" Once we explained that Mrs. wasn't paying, he was more comfortable with the situation. It might be a couple more days before he starts writing love notes.
The Entertainer came home with me and Lily. He sat down at the counter, and I asked him if he wanted to learn how to read. He said, "Yes!" So I wrote down some words on flashcards. That was yesterday at lunch time. Today at lunch time, he had memorized 26 flashcards. So far he can read: Car, tomato, banana, cup, yogurt, spoon, melon, baby, Mommy, Entertainer, bed, animals, blanket, pillow, rug, violin, toothbrush, toothpaste, ect. I would pat myself on the back and say that I finally cracked the "reading" code, but instead I'm pretty sure that he is just a genius. I asked if he was, but he said, "no mommy, I'm just a normal kid." (Ya, because all the kids I know who just turned three can decipher between "genius" and "normal"...) Today he'd only take a nap because I told him I'd teach him how to play the violin when he woke up.
Lilly learned to bark like a dog today. Hey- that's pretty impressive for a 13 mo old, right? She also started saying: Get up, Let's go, bye-bye, please, drink, stinky, and of course, cookie. There are several more she's learned, but let's face it, that covers most of her bases. She has also mastered the art of chasing her brothers around the house with her little baby-walker. Which is pretty darn adorable.
Another summer passed, another school year begun, I am so proud to see my little ones springing up!
The Captain nervously headed off to second grade. He head-nodded every kid as he walked down the hall and they all said, "Hi Captain!" "Hey Captain!" all the way to class. He didn't want me to leave his class, and I reminded him of the tiny heart I'd kissed and given him to keep in his pocket, just incase he needed me. (He'd kissed one for my pocket too, without lipstick.)
But I guess when you have the youngest, blondest, prettiest teacher in school, things work out pretty well for you. When he got home, he kept asking how many more hours until he could go back. By dinner time he was dancing around the kitchen, singing, "only 14 more hours till school starts, only 14 more hours!" And when I tucked him into bed, he handed me a tiny pink card covered in hearts that he had made for his teacher. It said, "I like you, love the Captain." He made sure that was in his pocket when he left for school today. So cute!
The Adventurer has been a little cooler about the whole idea of Kindergarten. After a day of class and the joy of only a very short nap-time at school, I thought he'd be happier about returning. Just before bedtime he told daddy, "My teacher spends WAY to much money on us!" Daddy asked, "what do you mean?" "Well, she takes us all out for breakfast AND lunch at the cafeteria!" Once we explained that Mrs. wasn't paying, he was more comfortable with the situation. It might be a couple more days before he starts writing love notes.
The Entertainer came home with me and Lily. He sat down at the counter, and I asked him if he wanted to learn how to read. He said, "Yes!" So I wrote down some words on flashcards. That was yesterday at lunch time. Today at lunch time, he had memorized 26 flashcards. So far he can read: Car, tomato, banana, cup, yogurt, spoon, melon, baby, Mommy, Entertainer, bed, animals, blanket, pillow, rug, violin, toothbrush, toothpaste, ect. I would pat myself on the back and say that I finally cracked the "reading" code, but instead I'm pretty sure that he is just a genius. I asked if he was, but he said, "no mommy, I'm just a normal kid." (Ya, because all the kids I know who just turned three can decipher between "genius" and "normal"...) Today he'd only take a nap because I told him I'd teach him how to play the violin when he woke up.
Lilly learned to bark like a dog today. Hey- that's pretty impressive for a 13 mo old, right? She also started saying: Get up, Let's go, bye-bye, please, drink, stinky, and of course, cookie. There are several more she's learned, but let's face it, that covers most of her bases. She has also mastered the art of chasing her brothers around the house with her little baby-walker. Which is pretty darn adorable.
Another summer passed, another school year begun, I am so proud to see my little ones springing up!
Thursday, August 6, 2009
.
There is a lizard who visits us for dinner every night. Last night we had the most awesome Eggplant Parmesan I've ever made. Sure enough, about half way through dinner, he was peeking in the window, and the Adventurer saw him. "Hey look, I think he is hungry for some...." there was a long pause while he scaned the eggplant and garlic bread. "Ummmm... maybe he just likes the way the table looks."
While I was stifling laughter on the outside, I was very proud of my 5-year-old little man.
While I was stifling laughter on the outside, I was very proud of my 5-year-old little man.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
A lesson in Civics
Last week we went to the library. Now I know for some moms this is no biggy.
Not for me though.
I'd rather go to....
wait for it...
the post office with all 4 kids, than the library.
Something about trying to keep kids, (1,3,5,7) quiet and close to me, while simultaneously trying to keep an eye out for all those sex-offenders posted in the front hall, while trying to pick out books, while also putting back all the books my kids are pulling off the shelves. Just in case you are tired like me and you haven't had time to do the math, 4 kids= 8 arms, and let me tell you, an octopus would do less touching in a library than my curious-Georges do. And did I mention the whole quiet part?
Anyways, we needed to return some almost-due library books, and after the $40 late charge I got slapped with last time, I wasn't taking any chances.
So, we picked our books, checked them out, and made it out of that place in record time.
On our way out, a man was just setting up a table. He asked me, "ma'am, would you like to sign my petition?"
Now, I should have known that anyone who asks a woman with a wiggly one-year-old in one arm, and 10 Junnie B. Jones books in the other, who is trying to use one foot to corral a 3-year old from walking into the road, and the other to stay upright, to sign a petition... well, I should have realized that he just might not be "all there."
Normally I walk past and shake my head. But I thought, "this will be a good lesson in civics."
So I asked, "What is it for?"
He got excited. "It's for gerrymandering and unfair voting practices! Here you go, sign it!"
"Well," I said, "What is gerrymandering?"
"It's unfair voting practices, here, sign it." He briskly tries to pass the pen to me- unsuccessfully looking for my third arm. A group of high school girls pass; he is flustered that I am costing him more signatures.
"Why are they unfair?" I ask. I know my boys are going to have 1,000 questions in the car.
"Because of the land owners- and the district splits, they let the people with the power keep the power, and we need the power for the people, and it's gerrymandering!"
"Hmmm, but what is gerrymandering?"
"It's unfair voting practices!" He is flabbergasted that he's had to tell me three times now.
"I guess I'm just not understanding why they are unfair. What specifically are you hoping to gain through this petition?"
"We need to get rid of gerrymandering! Here," he says wildly waving the pen in my face, "sign it."
"I'm sorry, I just can't sign something that I don't understand," I say.
By now he is VERY exasperated. "Why not? I signed it! It's not like it's a big deal. No one even-" he stops short of finishing the rest of his sentence. I'm guessing it was "even cares about these petitions." Instead his mouth clamps shut as we walk away.
It ended up being a different sort of lesson in civics, I guess. But it did make me want to start asking a lot more questions...
Not for me though.
I'd rather go to....
wait for it...
the post office with all 4 kids, than the library.
Something about trying to keep kids, (1,3,5,7) quiet and close to me, while simultaneously trying to keep an eye out for all those sex-offenders posted in the front hall, while trying to pick out books, while also putting back all the books my kids are pulling off the shelves. Just in case you are tired like me and you haven't had time to do the math, 4 kids= 8 arms, and let me tell you, an octopus would do less touching in a library than my curious-Georges do. And did I mention the whole quiet part?
Anyways, we needed to return some almost-due library books, and after the $40 late charge I got slapped with last time, I wasn't taking any chances.
So, we picked our books, checked them out, and made it out of that place in record time.
On our way out, a man was just setting up a table. He asked me, "ma'am, would you like to sign my petition?"
Now, I should have known that anyone who asks a woman with a wiggly one-year-old in one arm, and 10 Junnie B. Jones books in the other, who is trying to use one foot to corral a 3-year old from walking into the road, and the other to stay upright, to sign a petition... well, I should have realized that he just might not be "all there."
Normally I walk past and shake my head. But I thought, "this will be a good lesson in civics."
So I asked, "What is it for?"
He got excited. "It's for gerrymandering and unfair voting practices! Here you go, sign it!"
"Well," I said, "What is gerrymandering?"
"It's unfair voting practices, here, sign it." He briskly tries to pass the pen to me- unsuccessfully looking for my third arm. A group of high school girls pass; he is flustered that I am costing him more signatures.
"Why are they unfair?" I ask. I know my boys are going to have 1,000 questions in the car.
"Because of the land owners- and the district splits, they let the people with the power keep the power, and we need the power for the people, and it's gerrymandering!"
"Hmmm, but what is gerrymandering?"
"It's unfair voting practices!" He is flabbergasted that he's had to tell me three times now.
"I guess I'm just not understanding why they are unfair. What specifically are you hoping to gain through this petition?"
"We need to get rid of gerrymandering! Here," he says wildly waving the pen in my face, "sign it."
"I'm sorry, I just can't sign something that I don't understand," I say.
By now he is VERY exasperated. "Why not? I signed it! It's not like it's a big deal. No one even-" he stops short of finishing the rest of his sentence. I'm guessing it was "even cares about these petitions." Instead his mouth clamps shut as we walk away.
It ended up being a different sort of lesson in civics, I guess. But it did make me want to start asking a lot more questions...
Dunked
Soooo... it turns out cell phones don't get reception after they have been dunked into luke-warm coffee that mommy ends up drinking anyway because she REALLY needs the caffeine...
T-Mobile should really come out with the "Mom Phone." The slogan could be "The Mom Phone: It'll survive your kids, so that you can too."
Call me. It's for sale for the right price.
OH WAIT!
You can't.
Turns out phones don't go as good with coffee as donuts do.
T-Mobile should really come out with the "Mom Phone." The slogan could be "The Mom Phone: It'll survive your kids, so that you can too."
Call me. It's for sale for the right price.
OH WAIT!
You can't.
Turns out phones don't go as good with coffee as donuts do.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
I'm Shrinking!
My husband is a wonderful guy. But, his wonderfulness doesn't usually extend to doing laundry. And I'm fine with that. He lets his clothes pile up on his side of the bed, and I ignore them. Or at least I try to, until they trip me while I'm making the bed and start to suck me into their swaths-vortex. When he runs out of things to wear, he will start one load of laundry. And then he'll let it sit there in the washer until I move it to the dryer, fold it, and leave it in a nice neat pile on the bed for him to put away. (Which he normally doesn't. They just end up on the floor, back on his side of the bed.
He does this for two reasons. First, he thinks he is pretty tricky. He knows I wont pick his clothes up and put them away for him, but he secretly believes that he is tricking me into folding his clothes for him What he doesn't know is that I would happily wash and dry and fold his clothes, if he just put them in the hamper.
Secondly, he believes that I will destroy all his clothes. This comes from a couple of unfortunate laundry accidents during our first year of marriage, NINE years ago. But I still can't live it down.
So, yesterday he decided the pile of clothes had gotten large enough to warrant starting a load in the washer. Kindly, he moved the recently washed load I had already started, to the dryer, and started it.
I was so impressed all day long, that he continued to move clothes from the washer to the dryer, and continue to keep the laundry moving for the whole family. At least, that's what I thought each time I walked past the laundry room and heard the soft hum of the dryer.
It was 10 pm when I realized that the dryer was still going, and there wasn't any clean laundry yet.
"Baby, when did you start the dryer?" I asked, glancing at the odd drying setting the dryer was on.
"Ummmm, I guess it was about 11 am this morning. Why?"
I gasped as I ripped the door open, and discovered that Lilly now has a wonderful new wardrobe! Because 11 hours of drying left my clothes, well, um, to scandalous for me to wear! The Entertainer also inherited a whole new wardrobe from his big brothers. And the new jeans I've been waiting to buy just went from a desire to a necessity. The saddest part was that my skinny pants, the ones that finally fit for the first time in FOUR years, were in that load. Lilly will look FANTASTIC in them when she starts kindergarten. sighhh.
But on the upside, I guess he can't complain about a couple of shirts that shrunk and a pair of undies that turned pink NINE years ago anymore.
(And maybe publicly outing the pile on his side of the bed will be the motivation he needs to start using the hamper he forced me to buy for his clothes...)
He does this for two reasons. First, he thinks he is pretty tricky. He knows I wont pick his clothes up and put them away for him, but he secretly believes that he is tricking me into folding his clothes for him What he doesn't know is that I would happily wash and dry and fold his clothes, if he just put them in the hamper.
Secondly, he believes that I will destroy all his clothes. This comes from a couple of unfortunate laundry accidents during our first year of marriage, NINE years ago. But I still can't live it down.
So, yesterday he decided the pile of clothes had gotten large enough to warrant starting a load in the washer. Kindly, he moved the recently washed load I had already started, to the dryer, and started it.
I was so impressed all day long, that he continued to move clothes from the washer to the dryer, and continue to keep the laundry moving for the whole family. At least, that's what I thought each time I walked past the laundry room and heard the soft hum of the dryer.
It was 10 pm when I realized that the dryer was still going, and there wasn't any clean laundry yet.
"Baby, when did you start the dryer?" I asked, glancing at the odd drying setting the dryer was on.
"Ummmm, I guess it was about 11 am this morning. Why?"
I gasped as I ripped the door open, and discovered that Lilly now has a wonderful new wardrobe! Because 11 hours of drying left my clothes, well, um, to scandalous for me to wear! The Entertainer also inherited a whole new wardrobe from his big brothers. And the new jeans I've been waiting to buy just went from a desire to a necessity. The saddest part was that my skinny pants, the ones that finally fit for the first time in FOUR years, were in that load. Lilly will look FANTASTIC in them when she starts kindergarten. sighhh.
But on the upside, I guess he can't complain about a couple of shirts that shrunk and a pair of undies that turned pink NINE years ago anymore.
(And maybe publicly outing the pile on his side of the bed will be the motivation he needs to start using the hamper he forced me to buy for his clothes...)
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Summer Time...
Summer got you feeling a little frazzled? (Ooh, ooh, if I had enough energy, I'd raise my hand...)
Well, I've figured out that there are two ways to make it through busy, fun days of entertaining 4 happy, active, well rounded children... (err, I mean there are 2 ways to survive raising 4 wild monkeys!)
#1, Get everyone on a well-rounded scedual, that is balanced with reading, practicing math facts, exploring "big" ideas, and fun out-door activities. It should include a rest time, when each child is simotaniously tucked into their little beds. Older children can listen to a great piece of lititure on tape, while little ones can sweetly dream of the fun activities the day still holds. And you are able to quietly put your feet up, and sip some cool lemonaid while leafing through your favorite magazine.
#2, Turn on Sponge Bob, brew yourself a giant mug of expresso, and pass out on the floor while you wait for it to take effect, letting your kids climb all over you like a jungle gym...
Aaah!! I gotta run. Sponge Bob is about to start, and my hot-water is ready...
Good luck! H
Well, I've figured out that there are two ways to make it through busy, fun days of entertaining 4 happy, active, well rounded children... (err, I mean there are 2 ways to survive raising 4 wild monkeys!)
#1, Get everyone on a well-rounded scedual, that is balanced with reading, practicing math facts, exploring "big" ideas, and fun out-door activities. It should include a rest time, when each child is simotaniously tucked into their little beds. Older children can listen to a great piece of lititure on tape, while little ones can sweetly dream of the fun activities the day still holds. And you are able to quietly put your feet up, and sip some cool lemonaid while leafing through your favorite magazine.
#2, Turn on Sponge Bob, brew yourself a giant mug of expresso, and pass out on the floor while you wait for it to take effect, letting your kids climb all over you like a jungle gym...
Aaah!! I gotta run. Sponge Bob is about to start, and my hot-water is ready...
Good luck! H
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Silence
Today I started thinking about all the different types of silence:
Prolonged silence
Agonizing silence
Ominous silence
Deafening silence
Sweet silence
Perfect silence
Persistent silence
Allusive silence
Awkward silence
Heavy silence
Mandated silence
Eerie silence
Unpredictable silence
Customary silence
Relentless silence
Unremarkable silence
Deathly silence
Aggrivating silence
Uncharacteristic silence
Overwhelming silence.
What's the most remarkable, is that we hear nothing so differently.
(For my compleate list, keep reading...)
There is prolonged silence, agonizing silence, destructive silence, determined silence, devious silence, ominous silence, deafening silence, sweet silence, perfect silence, persistent silence, and preoccupied silence.
Silence can also be delayed, utter, total, complete, antagonistic, persuasive, allusive, leading, fishing, breathtaking, and flabbergasted.
It can be uncertain, encompassing, choking, heart-stopping, fearful, awkward, hurtful, evasive, heavy, historical, deliberate, petrifying, mandated, or presumptuous.
It can be painstaking, eerie, contemplative, unpredictable, hostile, or customary.
There is relentless, continuous, dumbfounded, pneumatic, echoed, unremarkable, impenetrable, lasting, deathly, baseless, unjustifiable, deliberate, and agreeable silence.
There is forced, heavy, arbitrary, calculated, explosive, aggravating, embellished, empowering, oppressive, impressive, courteous accommodating, or conditional.
It can be contractual, looming, compulsive, aggravating, intense, unprecedented, uncharacteristic, unencumbered, incremental, controversial, earnest, effective, emerging, diminished, undeniable, collaborative, irrelevant, passive, tangible, hostile, or tense.
Prolonged silence
Agonizing silence
Ominous silence
Deafening silence
Sweet silence
Perfect silence
Persistent silence
Allusive silence
Awkward silence
Heavy silence
Mandated silence
Eerie silence
Unpredictable silence
Customary silence
Relentless silence
Unremarkable silence
Deathly silence
Aggrivating silence
Uncharacteristic silence
Overwhelming silence.
What's the most remarkable, is that we hear nothing so differently.
(For my compleate list, keep reading...)
There is prolonged silence, agonizing silence, destructive silence, determined silence, devious silence, ominous silence, deafening silence, sweet silence, perfect silence, persistent silence, and preoccupied silence.
Silence can also be delayed, utter, total, complete, antagonistic, persuasive, allusive, leading, fishing, breathtaking, and flabbergasted.
It can be uncertain, encompassing, choking, heart-stopping, fearful, awkward, hurtful, evasive, heavy, historical, deliberate, petrifying, mandated, or presumptuous.
It can be painstaking, eerie, contemplative, unpredictable, hostile, or customary.
There is relentless, continuous, dumbfounded, pneumatic, echoed, unremarkable, impenetrable, lasting, deathly, baseless, unjustifiable, deliberate, and agreeable silence.
There is forced, heavy, arbitrary, calculated, explosive, aggravating, embellished, empowering, oppressive, impressive, courteous accommodating, or conditional.
It can be contractual, looming, compulsive, aggravating, intense, unprecedented, uncharacteristic, unencumbered, incremental, controversial, earnest, effective, emerging, diminished, undeniable, collaborative, irrelevant, passive, tangible, hostile, or tense.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Issue #4,763
Some of our dear friends in New Mexico decided that when it came to the discussion of "boy parts" with their little boys, they would use the anatomically correct terminology.
Well, their boys translated the official terminology into the term "peanuts," and the phrase stuck.
So when my very impressionable, highly linguistic 18 moth old son heard the term, he decided that it was his phrase of choice for the all-important boy-part discussions that somehow seem to come up every single day in our house.
So you can imagine the confusion that ensued when someone gave us a "Curious George Visits the Zoo" last year. In this book, The Man with the Yellow Hat buys George a bag of peanuts. George then goes on to feed the peanuts to the lions, and the giraffes, and the seals, until the zoo keeper freaks out and tells George to stop giving his peanuts to the animals. Poor George is sitting on the bench feeling very badly, until the missing zoo-bird swoops down and snatches the peanut George was holding, right out of his hands. In the end, George and his peanuts save the day.
The Entertainer has always had a funny look on his face when we read that book. But here's the worst part: I didn't even make the connection until TODAY.
We were sitting at lunch eating our peanut butter sandwiches, when the Entertainer asks, "Mommy, will I eat peanuts when I go to the zoo?"
"Sure buddy," I mindlessly respond.
"Really?" He asks. I glance up to see that his face is lost in bewilderment.
And that is when I realize that for the last year and a half, I have been giving my youngest son "issues".
I can just immagine the conversation with his therapist in 20 years. "Well my mother always read me this book about Curious George and his peanuts, only I thought she was saying penis..."
Good golly, what will happen when his first grade class takes a field-trip to the zoo for the first time? (Mental note, I better make sure to chaperon on that one... )
Oh the issues are going to run deep! My poor scarred boy, I am giving this post a number, so that you can easily pull it up when you start therapy, to work through you "peanut" issues.
Oy. It's a miracle they survive at all.
Ahh! I just had a horrible thought!!!
What does he think peanut butter sandwiches are made out of?!?!
Well, their boys translated the official terminology into the term "peanuts," and the phrase stuck.
So when my very impressionable, highly linguistic 18 moth old son heard the term, he decided that it was his phrase of choice for the all-important boy-part discussions that somehow seem to come up every single day in our house.
So you can imagine the confusion that ensued when someone gave us a "Curious George Visits the Zoo" last year. In this book, The Man with the Yellow Hat buys George a bag of peanuts. George then goes on to feed the peanuts to the lions, and the giraffes, and the seals, until the zoo keeper freaks out and tells George to stop giving his peanuts to the animals. Poor George is sitting on the bench feeling very badly, until the missing zoo-bird swoops down and snatches the peanut George was holding, right out of his hands. In the end, George and his peanuts save the day.
The Entertainer has always had a funny look on his face when we read that book. But here's the worst part: I didn't even make the connection until TODAY.
We were sitting at lunch eating our peanut butter sandwiches, when the Entertainer asks, "Mommy, will I eat peanuts when I go to the zoo?"
"Sure buddy," I mindlessly respond.
"Really?" He asks. I glance up to see that his face is lost in bewilderment.
And that is when I realize that for the last year and a half, I have been giving my youngest son "issues".
I can just immagine the conversation with his therapist in 20 years. "Well my mother always read me this book about Curious George and his peanuts, only I thought she was saying penis..."
Good golly, what will happen when his first grade class takes a field-trip to the zoo for the first time? (Mental note, I better make sure to chaperon on that one... )
Oh the issues are going to run deep! My poor scarred boy, I am giving this post a number, so that you can easily pull it up when you start therapy, to work through you "peanut" issues.
Oy. It's a miracle they survive at all.
Ahh! I just had a horrible thought!!!
What does he think peanut butter sandwiches are made out of?!?!
Thursday, June 4, 2009
War
Last weekend, Brandon rented "Bride Wars" for me. He is so sweet- but I do think that it is funny that when he picks up a chick flick for me, it is usually the MOST estrogen-laden/crazy woman logic movie available. And then he rolls his eyes all the way through it.
But this movie deserved it. If you haven't seen Bride Wars, don't bother. Save your money. Save your time. Save your marriage. It was so bad, that I dreamed I was fighting with my husband while I slept that night.
It was so bad that even Lifetime won't be airing it- they passed it off to the The Victims Network (AKA Oxygen.)
Anyways, the Adventurer asks the next day, "Mommy, how was your movie?"
"Ugg. It was AWFUL!" I reply.
He pauses to think. "Mommy, is Bride Wars like Star Wars, only with girls?"
I start laughing uncontrollably. "Ya, pretty much, but worse. In fact, I'd rather watch Star Wars 100 times instead of watching Bride Wars once. And I don't even like Star Wars!" (At all. I REALLY don't like Star Wars. I wont say "hate" because I HATE Bride Wars. And my distaste for Star Wars isn't remotely in the same category...)
He replies, "Ohhhhh. I see. That's why it was so bad!"
Insightful for a 5-year old. Maybe he'll be a judge yet.
(P.S., he clarified that he thought Obama is the Judge of the United States. When I told him no, that he was the president, he replied, "Oh. I want to be the Judge of the United States. The Entertainer can be president still." And then the Captain piped up and said that he still wants to be a police man, but that he won't give me any tickets for driving to fast in school zones. Sweet kids, I tell ya!)
But this movie deserved it. If you haven't seen Bride Wars, don't bother. Save your money. Save your time. Save your marriage. It was so bad, that I dreamed I was fighting with my husband while I slept that night.
It was so bad that even Lifetime won't be airing it- they passed it off to the The Victims Network (AKA Oxygen.)
Anyways, the Adventurer asks the next day, "Mommy, how was your movie?"
"Ugg. It was AWFUL!" I reply.
He pauses to think. "Mommy, is Bride Wars like Star Wars, only with girls?"
I start laughing uncontrollably. "Ya, pretty much, but worse. In fact, I'd rather watch Star Wars 100 times instead of watching Bride Wars once. And I don't even like Star Wars!" (At all. I REALLY don't like Star Wars. I wont say "hate" because I HATE Bride Wars. And my distaste for Star Wars isn't remotely in the same category...)
He replies, "Ohhhhh. I see. That's why it was so bad!"
Insightful for a 5-year old. Maybe he'll be a judge yet.
(P.S., he clarified that he thought Obama is the Judge of the United States. When I told him no, that he was the president, he replied, "Oh. I want to be the Judge of the United States. The Entertainer can be president still." And then the Captain piped up and said that he still wants to be a police man, but that he won't give me any tickets for driving to fast in school zones. Sweet kids, I tell ya!)
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Sanity Wears Off
Last weekend, I got a call from Kristi, informing me that Girl's Night was coming up. Unfortunately, it was the same night that I was working until 11 pm.
But the idea of having some girl-time sounded like fun, so I threw back an energy drink, and spent about an hour and a half with some good friends.
I got home at about 1 am. I was just falling asleep when Lilly woke up to eat. An hour later, she was back in bed, and I was just falling asleep when the Adventurer woke up with a horrible cough. Some medicine, a drink of water, the humidifier, and a hot-water bottle later, I checked the clock and discovered that it was now 3 am.
I fell into bed, goaning about how tired I would be in 3 and a half hours.
But the next morning, the most horifing thing happened.
I didn't feel any different from any other day.
I think that is when I realized: I have been perpetually exhausted for the last 6 years.
No wonder I started throwing back Rock Star energy drinks when the Adventurer was about one. (It was really hard to get off the juice when we decided to try for the Entertainer. It's Liquid Speed, I tell ya, and I LOVE it!) But alas, the exhaustion has been a part of my life for so long, I am dismayed to realize that I have begun to think it is normal... Turns out you don't get less tiered with more kids, you just get crazier.
Disclaimer #1: I've never actually taken speed. But, as the side effects include weight loss and a lot of energy, I do wonder why it is illegal...
Disclaimer #2: I think that originally this blog post had a point, but given that I have now realized the extent of my perpetual exhaustion, I forgot where I was going with it, and I'm just giving into the crushing haze that is telling me I should probably go to bed.
I will return when the energy drink high kicks back in... (insert crazy-woman laugh! Mmmmwaahahaha!)
But the idea of having some girl-time sounded like fun, so I threw back an energy drink, and spent about an hour and a half with some good friends.
I got home at about 1 am. I was just falling asleep when Lilly woke up to eat. An hour later, she was back in bed, and I was just falling asleep when the Adventurer woke up with a horrible cough. Some medicine, a drink of water, the humidifier, and a hot-water bottle later, I checked the clock and discovered that it was now 3 am.
I fell into bed, goaning about how tired I would be in 3 and a half hours.
But the next morning, the most horifing thing happened.
I didn't feel any different from any other day.
I think that is when I realized: I have been perpetually exhausted for the last 6 years.
No wonder I started throwing back Rock Star energy drinks when the Adventurer was about one. (It was really hard to get off the juice when we decided to try for the Entertainer. It's Liquid Speed, I tell ya, and I LOVE it!) But alas, the exhaustion has been a part of my life for so long, I am dismayed to realize that I have begun to think it is normal... Turns out you don't get less tiered with more kids, you just get crazier.
Disclaimer #1: I've never actually taken speed. But, as the side effects include weight loss and a lot of energy, I do wonder why it is illegal...
Disclaimer #2: I think that originally this blog post had a point, but given that I have now realized the extent of my perpetual exhaustion, I forgot where I was going with it, and I'm just giving into the crushing haze that is telling me I should probably go to bed.
I will return when the energy drink high kicks back in... (insert crazy-woman laugh! Mmmmwaahahaha!)
Monday, June 1, 2009
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Sweet Nautiness
Normally, my kids go to bed around 7 pm. Truth be told, it's because I am a light weight. 6:30 rolls around and I am about to loose my ever living mind. So, since the Captain was a baby, our kids have gone to bed at 7. You know, on nights that we don't have t-ball or one of the other thousand things we have going on.
Anyways, they went to bed late last night, and then the little ones didn't take a nap today, so when Brandon announced that he'd be playing tennis for the afternoon, I decided that I would put every one to bed at 6:30.
My plan was simple. I would bribe them with Sponge Bob. Unfortunately, I was to worn out to realize that what I was planning was all backwards. I made three shiny little faces promise that they would go strait to bed, and stay in bed, if I let them watch Sponge Bob. It was the perfect plan. Lots of snuggling, early bedtime, a relaxing evening. Right?
Wrong.
Because apparently, mommy is a sucker. The night quickly spiraled into a string of, "mommy, I just wanted to let you know my tummy hurts really bad." And of course, "There was this thing that happened at school today..." Because what mother punishes little boys for sneaking downstairs to tell about tummy aches and school happenings? My boys are so good at seeking out and exploiting my weak spots.
At 8 pm, I told them that I would cancel movie night if I saw one of their sweet faces again. 10 minutes later, I heard a bumping and thumping overhead, so I made a stealthy but silent run up the stairs to spy on them.
What did I see?
Three little boys, naked as jay-birds prancing like unicorns around their bedroom. Their little sister, who is always the first to sleep, is watching and clapping! She barely has enough room to sit in her crib, it is so full of blankets and pillows and stuffed animals that her brothers have thrown in.
The boys are separated, Lilly is rescued, and 5 minutes later Brandon walks through the front door.
"So did you have a relaxing night?" He asks, while Lilly is clapping for her daddy and blowing kisses at him.
"The Naked Leprechauns doing their Prancing Pony interpretative dance was a little weird, but other than that, it was a nice night." I reply.
I'm smiling on the inside too, the sweet taste of chocolate is still on my tongue, it's medicinal effects soothing my nerves. It was a good move; chocolate melts in a much more soothing way than the ice cream.
Anyways, they went to bed late last night, and then the little ones didn't take a nap today, so when Brandon announced that he'd be playing tennis for the afternoon, I decided that I would put every one to bed at 6:30.
My plan was simple. I would bribe them with Sponge Bob. Unfortunately, I was to worn out to realize that what I was planning was all backwards. I made three shiny little faces promise that they would go strait to bed, and stay in bed, if I let them watch Sponge Bob. It was the perfect plan. Lots of snuggling, early bedtime, a relaxing evening. Right?
Wrong.
Because apparently, mommy is a sucker. The night quickly spiraled into a string of, "mommy, I just wanted to let you know my tummy hurts really bad." And of course, "There was this thing that happened at school today..." Because what mother punishes little boys for sneaking downstairs to tell about tummy aches and school happenings? My boys are so good at seeking out and exploiting my weak spots.
At 8 pm, I told them that I would cancel movie night if I saw one of their sweet faces again. 10 minutes later, I heard a bumping and thumping overhead, so I made a stealthy but silent run up the stairs to spy on them.
What did I see?
Three little boys, naked as jay-birds prancing like unicorns around their bedroom. Their little sister, who is always the first to sleep, is watching and clapping! She barely has enough room to sit in her crib, it is so full of blankets and pillows and stuffed animals that her brothers have thrown in.
The boys are separated, Lilly is rescued, and 5 minutes later Brandon walks through the front door.
"So did you have a relaxing night?" He asks, while Lilly is clapping for her daddy and blowing kisses at him.
"The Naked Leprechauns doing their Prancing Pony interpretative dance was a little weird, but other than that, it was a nice night." I reply.
I'm smiling on the inside too, the sweet taste of chocolate is still on my tongue, it's medicinal effects soothing my nerves. It was a good move; chocolate melts in a much more soothing way than the ice cream.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Changing Minds
Oh the difference two years makes!
Today I asked my boys (7, 5, and almost 3) what they wanted to be when they grew up and why. Here are their answers, verbatim:
The Captain: "I want to be a police man." (His current aspiration is to be a hall monitor next year. He'd be great at it. He loves telling everyone the rules.) "Because I could catch bad guys and drive around in a car all day. I'd leave at 7 in the morning and come back at 7 in the night, because that is when my kids will go to bed."
"Wont you want to play with you kids before they go to bed?" I ask.
"Ya, maybe for a little while, but then they would HAVE to go to bed at 8."
The Adventurer: "I want to be a judge when I grow up."
"Really?" I ask. (He'd be a great judge, but I didn't know that he even knew what a judge was.) "Why?"
"Because I have a really good mind and I'm good at remembering stuff. And I really like my name, and people could say it a lot."
The Entertainer: "I want to be a policeman and a judge too!" (Of course he does. His original blog name was the Parrot. I think I changed it prematurely.)
"No," says the Adventurer. "Maybe you could be the President. Do you want to be the President?"
"Yes. I want to be the President of Florida Mommy."
There is a lull in the conversation as we eat our sandwiches.
And then the Entertainer pipes up again. "Actually, I want to be a dog from outer space and wear a helmet on my head. Can I be that Mommy?"
"Sure buddy. You would be a good outer space dog when you grow up."
He smiles, confident with the good choice he's made.
Lilly just smiles, and slams some more applesauce. Based on how much fun she has chewing on my shoes, she is either aspiring to be a footwear designer or a dog, like the Entertainer...
Today I asked my boys (7, 5, and almost 3) what they wanted to be when they grew up and why. Here are their answers, verbatim:
The Captain: "I want to be a police man." (His current aspiration is to be a hall monitor next year. He'd be great at it. He loves telling everyone the rules.) "Because I could catch bad guys and drive around in a car all day. I'd leave at 7 in the morning and come back at 7 in the night, because that is when my kids will go to bed."
"Wont you want to play with you kids before they go to bed?" I ask.
"Ya, maybe for a little while, but then they would HAVE to go to bed at 8."
The Adventurer: "I want to be a judge when I grow up."
"Really?" I ask. (He'd be a great judge, but I didn't know that he even knew what a judge was.) "Why?"
"Because I have a really good mind and I'm good at remembering stuff. And I really like my name, and people could say it a lot."
The Entertainer: "I want to be a policeman and a judge too!" (Of course he does. His original blog name was the Parrot. I think I changed it prematurely.)
"No," says the Adventurer. "Maybe you could be the President. Do you want to be the President?"
"Yes. I want to be the President of Florida Mommy."
There is a lull in the conversation as we eat our sandwiches.
And then the Entertainer pipes up again. "Actually, I want to be a dog from outer space and wear a helmet on my head. Can I be that Mommy?"
"Sure buddy. You would be a good outer space dog when you grow up."
He smiles, confident with the good choice he's made.
Lilly just smiles, and slams some more applesauce. Based on how much fun she has chewing on my shoes, she is either aspiring to be a footwear designer or a dog, like the Entertainer...
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Dark Secrets Exposed!
Last night my husband had to stage an intervention. You see, it all began about a month ago, when I started watching "the biggest looser."
I know it isn't something that thin people are supposed to watch, but it quickly became my guilty pleasure, and I would secretly sneak into the office to watch episodes on line while my kids were sleeping.
It's interesting how quickly one guilty pleasure can lead to another. I was folding laundry and watching the finally when Helen walked out onto stage, weighing what I did when I graduated high school, and was playing sports and swimming 6 days a week. WHAT?!?! How the heck did that happen! The lady lost more than half her self over the course of the show! I was proud for her. But deep inside, I was depressed to know that despite a lot of Cardio DVD's later, a lady who was more than double my size, can now kick my butt in any arena.
There. I typed it out loud. I'm sad a woman I will probably never meet could destroy me in any physical challenge. I guess I'm just competive like that.
And that's when I pulled out the ice cream. I was half way through the box of "Chocolate-Chunk-Marshmallow" when my husband walked into the kitchen.
"What on earth would make you eat ALL of that?!?!" He exclaimed. "What are you doing?!? Stop!" (He's a good husband. Those are unsteady bridges for a man to cross, when he comes between a woman and her half-gallon of icecream.)
"I'm only eating the melty parts." I justified. Besides, I was saving myself work by only having to wash a spoon, and we all know that it is really hard to scrape the last melty parts out of a bowl. It is wasteful to rinse it down the drain.
The truth is, I normally do my icecream eating in privacy- only when the kids are in bed and he's not home. The fact that I displayed my secret obsession so openly when he was there to witness it does prove that I have a problem.
Sigh.
I will have to throw my depression into something else. Maybe cookies. Maybe strait up chocolate. I haven't decided yet. But I am leaning towords chocolate, because it is easier to hide, and no one can smell it baking, so I won't have to share. Ya. Chocolate. It has anti-oxidents. It will be a much healthier alternative to icecream.
Oh and by the way, Good Job Hellen. What you did is beyond remarkable. AND I'm pretty confident that I could beat you in an ice cream eating contest. You know, if you're up to the challenge and all.
I know it isn't something that thin people are supposed to watch, but it quickly became my guilty pleasure, and I would secretly sneak into the office to watch episodes on line while my kids were sleeping.
It's interesting how quickly one guilty pleasure can lead to another. I was folding laundry and watching the finally when Helen walked out onto stage, weighing what I did when I graduated high school, and was playing sports and swimming 6 days a week. WHAT?!?! How the heck did that happen! The lady lost more than half her self over the course of the show! I was proud for her. But deep inside, I was depressed to know that despite a lot of Cardio DVD's later, a lady who was more than double my size, can now kick my butt in any arena.
There. I typed it out loud. I'm sad a woman I will probably never meet could destroy me in any physical challenge. I guess I'm just competive like that.
And that's when I pulled out the ice cream. I was half way through the box of "Chocolate-Chunk-Marshmallow" when my husband walked into the kitchen.
"What on earth would make you eat ALL of that?!?!" He exclaimed. "What are you doing?!? Stop!" (He's a good husband. Those are unsteady bridges for a man to cross, when he comes between a woman and her half-gallon of icecream.)
"I'm only eating the melty parts." I justified. Besides, I was saving myself work by only having to wash a spoon, and we all know that it is really hard to scrape the last melty parts out of a bowl. It is wasteful to rinse it down the drain.
The truth is, I normally do my icecream eating in privacy- only when the kids are in bed and he's not home. The fact that I displayed my secret obsession so openly when he was there to witness it does prove that I have a problem.
Sigh.
I will have to throw my depression into something else. Maybe cookies. Maybe strait up chocolate. I haven't decided yet. But I am leaning towords chocolate, because it is easier to hide, and no one can smell it baking, so I won't have to share. Ya. Chocolate. It has anti-oxidents. It will be a much healthier alternative to icecream.
Oh and by the way, Good Job Hellen. What you did is beyond remarkable. AND I'm pretty confident that I could beat you in an ice cream eating contest. You know, if you're up to the challenge and all.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Jail Ponderings
Not to long ago, I heard a news report that a higher and higher percentage of women in jail are mothers. At first, I was shocked. How could a mother do something so awful that it landed her in jail?!? And then I started to think about it...
In jail, you don't have to do any laundry.
In jail, you never have to cook for picky eaters. In fact, your food is prepared for you, and you get to eat it while it is still hot!
In jail you get to sleep through the night. There are no babies, bad dreams, or random vomiting incidents to wake you up.
In jail you can watch an entire television episode uninterrupted.
In jail you can read a book. Not an 8 page kids book, no there is time to read a REAL book.
In jail you can take a shower every day.
In jail you can close the half door when you go to the bathroom.
In fact the more I thought about it, the more fun jail began to sound. So when I got pulled over by those crazy cops last week, there was a thought that flashed through my mind for a split second: if I just kept driving, and I led the police on a low-speed chase, I wonder if I could get sent to jail for a long weekend...?
My mom could pick up the kids, I could tell Brandon not to post bond until Monday, I could ask the judge to prolong my sentence a little.
And that is when I came up with a great idea: Voluntary Jail.
The add campaign could be that Gieco voice-over guy: "Feeling a little frazzled? Need some time off from being a mom? Come stay at jail for the weekend. Enjoy three days of hot meals, no laundry, peeing in semi-privacy... all at the state's expense."
I bet it would diminish mothers in jail for real crimes by 82%, because my secret suspicion is that they just need a break.
In jail, you don't have to do any laundry.
In jail, you never have to cook for picky eaters. In fact, your food is prepared for you, and you get to eat it while it is still hot!
In jail you get to sleep through the night. There are no babies, bad dreams, or random vomiting incidents to wake you up.
In jail you can watch an entire television episode uninterrupted.
In jail you can read a book. Not an 8 page kids book, no there is time to read a REAL book.
In jail you can take a shower every day.
In jail you can close the half door when you go to the bathroom.
In fact the more I thought about it, the more fun jail began to sound. So when I got pulled over by those crazy cops last week, there was a thought that flashed through my mind for a split second: if I just kept driving, and I led the police on a low-speed chase, I wonder if I could get sent to jail for a long weekend...?
My mom could pick up the kids, I could tell Brandon not to post bond until Monday, I could ask the judge to prolong my sentence a little.
And that is when I came up with a great idea: Voluntary Jail.
The add campaign could be that Gieco voice-over guy: "Feeling a little frazzled? Need some time off from being a mom? Come stay at jail for the weekend. Enjoy three days of hot meals, no laundry, peeing in semi-privacy... all at the state's expense."
I bet it would diminish mothers in jail for real crimes by 82%, because my secret suspicion is that they just need a break.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Friends
I was reminded yesterday just how refreshing old friends (ehm, long-term) friends are. It is so easy to hole up and get busy and overwhelmed, but having good friends who can see through the front we put on- they are priceless. Each one shapes us, encourages us, and keeps us from becoming 2-dimensional. May your life be full of beautiful friendships.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
The Other Me
On my old blog, I notified you all that I'd been chosen to be on Germany's Next Top Model. The picutures are in!
Imagine my surprise to find that they look nothing like me!
But the girl-on-the-other-side-of-the-world-with-my-exact-same-name sure wears it well! I wonder if she'd be willing to share her fitness plan with me?
Go Hannah, I'm routing for you!
Monday, May 11, 2009
Back-Seat Ponderings
The Adventurer (5) says to me, "Hey mom, I know the Presidents name!"
"What is it?"
"Barak Obama!"
"Good job, buddy. You're right!" I say.
Silence.
"Mommy, when I'm the president, will my name be 'Adventurer Obama'?" (Ok, except he used his real name, not his blogger code name.)
Maybe one day he will be president... "The Adventurer For President: 2048!"
"What is it?"
"Barak Obama!"
"Good job, buddy. You're right!" I say.
Silence.
"Mommy, when I'm the president, will my name be 'Adventurer Obama'?" (Ok, except he used his real name, not his blogger code name.)
Maybe one day he will be president... "The Adventurer For President: 2048!"
Thursday, May 7, 2009
The Price of Raising a Genius
So, post could be called "when you know your youth has expired," or "How I got a $300 ticket for going 6 mph UNDER the speed limit" (it was entrapment I tell you!) But instead, I've kept the original title that I just happened to be brainstorming WHEN I got pulled over.
You see, it all started at 7:20 am. The four kids and I hopped into the van and headed off for school. Since we moved, our commute is now 30 minutes instead of 10. We dropped the Captain off at about 8, ran a fast errand, then dropped the Adventurer off at 9. I got back into the van, only to find that it was dead, and spent the next 45 minutes begging someone to give me a jump. Why do these things happen when Brandon is out of town?!?!
We got home at 10:00, played for two hours, and then left to pick up the Adventurer, who gets out of school at 12:30, exactly 2 hours before the Captain.
We went to the Library. We went to the grocery store. We got to the Captain's school early and waited.
Now why do I bother to tell a long story about my new 5.5 hours of commuting?
For the very simple reason that the Entertainer, my two-year-old who looks like a 4 year-old, and has a gigantic vocabulary and equally large cranium, is still very much two. There had been 5 hours of questions: "Mommy, what are those buttons on the stearing wheal?" "They are for the cruise control." "No, but what do they say?" And I go through the list: Accelerate, Resume, Cancel, On, Off, Cruice, Reset, some 40 million times over the course of 5 hours in the car that day. Over and over.
So while I was at the store, before we got the Captain, I grabbed a soda, so that I could make it home.
We got the Captain, climbed back into the van, loathing the fact that we had to be ready for a baseball game in two hours, with 4 cranky, sick kids.
I took the slowest, most direct path home, setting my stinking cruise control at 29 mph, in a 35, let the bubbly taste of sugar and caffeine sooth away the headache, tuned out more steering wheel questions, back-seat-quibbling, and the sound of a SCREAMING baby who had past her limit of car time somewhere around hour 4- and let the bubbly taste of sugar and caffeine carry me away to my happy place. Where I began to make a mental note to blog about the fact that my two-year-old, who will surely turn out to be a genius, had just cost me a nearly calorie-perfect day.
And then, that's when OUT OF NO WHERE, a cop stepped into the road, his stinking radar gun pointed RIGHT AT ME!
Apparently I driving responsibly in a school zone, for some IMAGINARY school that I don't even know if it really exists. Sure enough, there was a crossing guard hiding in the bushes, waiting to help the IMAGINARY school children across the road.
Stupid revenue-generating government programs. I can just imagine that conversation. "The state is in a budget short-fall, because we can't figure out how to count. What should we do to raise money?" "Ooo! Ooo! ME! I Know! We should set up imaginary school zones, have a bunch of cops hiding in a parking lot, and bust people who AREN'T REALLY SPEEDING! It'll be awesome!"
Sure, paying absorbant speeding fines will re-boot the economy. Ug.
Though I do have to say that I was really proud of Lilly. She continued screaming bloody murder when I was pulled over, and the entire time the guy was writing me the ticket. In the end, he decided that I was only going 9 mph over the IMAGINARY school speed limit, wich cut my ticket in half.
I hope he told his wife when he got home, and she made him sleep on the couch. Eeesh. I hope he hasn't been able to sleep all week, just thinking about the poor, haggared mother he wrote a giant ticket for, while he was trying to catch IMAGINARY speeders.
Though there is a part two to this... but that will have to wait, because I've only compleated 4.45 of my mandatory driving hours today, and the Captian might be a little offened if I don't show.
You see, it all started at 7:20 am. The four kids and I hopped into the van and headed off for school. Since we moved, our commute is now 30 minutes instead of 10. We dropped the Captain off at about 8, ran a fast errand, then dropped the Adventurer off at 9. I got back into the van, only to find that it was dead, and spent the next 45 minutes begging someone to give me a jump. Why do these things happen when Brandon is out of town?!?!
We got home at 10:00, played for two hours, and then left to pick up the Adventurer, who gets out of school at 12:30, exactly 2 hours before the Captain.
We went to the Library. We went to the grocery store. We got to the Captain's school early and waited.
Now why do I bother to tell a long story about my new 5.5 hours of commuting?
For the very simple reason that the Entertainer, my two-year-old who looks like a 4 year-old, and has a gigantic vocabulary and equally large cranium, is still very much two. There had been 5 hours of questions: "Mommy, what are those buttons on the stearing wheal?" "They are for the cruise control." "No, but what do they say?" And I go through the list: Accelerate, Resume, Cancel, On, Off, Cruice, Reset, some 40 million times over the course of 5 hours in the car that day. Over and over.
So while I was at the store, before we got the Captain, I grabbed a soda, so that I could make it home.
We got the Captain, climbed back into the van, loathing the fact that we had to be ready for a baseball game in two hours, with 4 cranky, sick kids.
I took the slowest, most direct path home, setting my stinking cruise control at 29 mph, in a 35, let the bubbly taste of sugar and caffeine sooth away the headache, tuned out more steering wheel questions, back-seat-quibbling, and the sound of a SCREAMING baby who had past her limit of car time somewhere around hour 4- and let the bubbly taste of sugar and caffeine carry me away to my happy place. Where I began to make a mental note to blog about the fact that my two-year-old, who will surely turn out to be a genius, had just cost me a nearly calorie-perfect day.
And then, that's when OUT OF NO WHERE, a cop stepped into the road, his stinking radar gun pointed RIGHT AT ME!
Apparently I driving responsibly in a school zone, for some IMAGINARY school that I don't even know if it really exists. Sure enough, there was a crossing guard hiding in the bushes, waiting to help the IMAGINARY school children across the road.
Stupid revenue-generating government programs. I can just imagine that conversation. "The state is in a budget short-fall, because we can't figure out how to count. What should we do to raise money?" "Ooo! Ooo! ME! I Know! We should set up imaginary school zones, have a bunch of cops hiding in a parking lot, and bust people who AREN'T REALLY SPEEDING! It'll be awesome!"
Sure, paying absorbant speeding fines will re-boot the economy. Ug.
Though I do have to say that I was really proud of Lilly. She continued screaming bloody murder when I was pulled over, and the entire time the guy was writing me the ticket. In the end, he decided that I was only going 9 mph over the IMAGINARY school speed limit, wich cut my ticket in half.
I hope he told his wife when he got home, and she made him sleep on the couch. Eeesh. I hope he hasn't been able to sleep all week, just thinking about the poor, haggared mother he wrote a giant ticket for, while he was trying to catch IMAGINARY speeders.
Though there is a part two to this... but that will have to wait, because I've only compleated 4.45 of my mandatory driving hours today, and the Captian might be a little offened if I don't show.
Hot Stuff
The Adventurer tells me on the way home from school today, "Mom, the mean girls were REALLY nice to me today."
"Oh buddy, I'm so glad!"
"Ya, they must think I'm handsome." He smiles and shrugs.
He's right- he is pretty handsome, and it is amazing how mean girls are suddenly nice, when they notice a handsome boy.
Maybe women are more shallow than we like to think we are...
"Oh buddy, I'm so glad!"
"Ya, they must think I'm handsome." He smiles and shrugs.
He's right- he is pretty handsome, and it is amazing how mean girls are suddenly nice, when they notice a handsome boy.
Maybe women are more shallow than we like to think we are...
Monday, May 4, 2009
Homework
The Captains Homework: Use your spelling words in a sentence. All was going well until we got to the word, "bottom."
His sentence was, "My bottom stinks."
"Hmm," I say between giggles, "Maybe you shouldn't write that."
"How about, 'I can touch my bottom?'"
"No, don't write about your bottom."
"How about, 'I can touch your bottom."
"Never mind." I say. "You can write about your stinky bottom. That's not to bad."
His sentence was, "My bottom stinks."
"Hmm," I say between giggles, "Maybe you shouldn't write that."
"How about, 'I can touch my bottom?'"
"No, don't write about your bottom."
"How about, 'I can touch your bottom."
"Never mind." I say. "You can write about your stinky bottom. That's not to bad."
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Tweet-ist
Tweetist:
1. A person who "tweets"randomly sharing their inner most thoughts with a large group of people.
2. Kinda like a nudist, but a lot more revealing.
1. A person who "tweets"randomly sharing their inner most thoughts with a large group of people.
2. Kinda like a nudist, but a lot more revealing.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
The Bitter Demise of Garfield Blanket
I almost got away with it.
You see, it all began about 2 years ago, when my husband's mother bequeathed us a garage full of his childhood things.
Among them, was his old Garfield Blanket.
Let me start by saying that Garfield was threadbare when he came into my care. He snuggled my boys, went on a couple of picnics, and was a generally loved member of the family, despite his age, and despite being well-worn with love.
But this past weekend, while Garfield Blanket was taking a bath in my low-agitation-make-your-clothes-last-longer washing machine, he fell apart.
I looked him over carefully, wondering if I could stitch him back together, but alas, he was just to worn.
So I snuck him into the trash can. I took the trash out three days in a row, just to be safe. I figured a silent disappearance would be the lest painful departure. No one would miss him for a while, and then one day my husband would say, "where is Garfield Blanket?" And I would say, "Hmmm, I havn't seen him since the move..." And the mystery would never be solved.
Had the stars aligned differently I would have gotten away with it. But Trash Day just happened to coincide with Feildtrip Day.
Had it not been Feildtrip Day, Brandon wouldn't have been working at home.
Had it not been Feildtrip Day, the Adventurer would have been at pre-school.
Had it not been Feildtrip Day, the Entertainer would have run screaming inside, like he does every Tuesday when the Trash Truck comes.
Had it not been Feildtrip Day, Garfield Blanket would have exited without a voice.
But it was Feildtrip Day. Brandon was working at home, The Adventurer wasn't at school, the Entertainer wasn't afraid of the Trash Truck. So while they were playing outside, waiting to leave for the Feildtrip, the trashman came, lifted up the trashcan, and dumped Garfield Blanket into his truck.
The Adventurer came screaming inside, "Mooooooooommmyyyyyy! SOMEONE put Daddy's Garflied Blanket IN THE TRASH CAN!!!!"
Busted.
All I have to say is that atleast I never layed Garfield Blanket on the floor of the garage so that I wouldn't get the floor dirty while I was changing the oil. Like someone did to my beatuful flower comforter that I hand painted with glitter and was saving the daughter I would one day have.
No, that never happened to Garfield Blanket. Garfield Blanket had the opprotunity to live a full life, getting lots of snuggles and picnic lunches. Glittery-Flower Blanket never got any of those opprotunities.
But I'm not bitter. Well, maybe alittle. But Garfeild Blanket really did fall apart all on his own.
You see, it all began about 2 years ago, when my husband's mother bequeathed us a garage full of his childhood things.
Among them, was his old Garfield Blanket.
Let me start by saying that Garfield was threadbare when he came into my care. He snuggled my boys, went on a couple of picnics, and was a generally loved member of the family, despite his age, and despite being well-worn with love.
But this past weekend, while Garfield Blanket was taking a bath in my low-agitation-make-your-clothes-last-longer washing machine, he fell apart.
I looked him over carefully, wondering if I could stitch him back together, but alas, he was just to worn.
So I snuck him into the trash can. I took the trash out three days in a row, just to be safe. I figured a silent disappearance would be the lest painful departure. No one would miss him for a while, and then one day my husband would say, "where is Garfield Blanket?" And I would say, "Hmmm, I havn't seen him since the move..." And the mystery would never be solved.
Had the stars aligned differently I would have gotten away with it. But Trash Day just happened to coincide with Feildtrip Day.
Had it not been Feildtrip Day, Brandon wouldn't have been working at home.
Had it not been Feildtrip Day, the Adventurer would have been at pre-school.
Had it not been Feildtrip Day, the Entertainer would have run screaming inside, like he does every Tuesday when the Trash Truck comes.
Had it not been Feildtrip Day, Garfield Blanket would have exited without a voice.
But it was Feildtrip Day. Brandon was working at home, The Adventurer wasn't at school, the Entertainer wasn't afraid of the Trash Truck. So while they were playing outside, waiting to leave for the Feildtrip, the trashman came, lifted up the trashcan, and dumped Garfield Blanket into his truck.
The Adventurer came screaming inside, "Mooooooooommmyyyyyy! SOMEONE put Daddy's Garflied Blanket IN THE TRASH CAN!!!!"
Busted.
All I have to say is that atleast I never layed Garfield Blanket on the floor of the garage so that I wouldn't get the floor dirty while I was changing the oil. Like someone did to my beatuful flower comforter that I hand painted with glitter and was saving the daughter I would one day have.
No, that never happened to Garfield Blanket. Garfield Blanket had the opprotunity to live a full life, getting lots of snuggles and picnic lunches. Glittery-Flower Blanket never got any of those opprotunities.
But I'm not bitter. Well, maybe alittle. But Garfeild Blanket really did fall apart all on his own.
Monday, April 20, 2009
The View From My Mirror
The Captain has been having a hard time speaking kindly lately. (I promise this has a point, I'm not just tattling!) Anyways, it became enough of an issue that we sat down together to talk about it.
I read a wonderful book a couple years ago called "Don't Make Me Count to Three" by Ginger Plowman. (Thanks Aunt Tambra!) In her book, Plowman explains how Christian parents can speak scripture into the lives of their children. It is light and funny and an easy read; it is also very encouraging.
While I havn't even come close to remotly perfecting her technique, I have found it useful at times. So the Captain and I sat down and read Collosians 4:6, "Let your speach always be seasoned with grace." I thought the whole thing was going pretty well, especially since the only alternative I could think of was to yell at him for yelling at his brothers.
And then he looks at me and says, "But mommy, sometimes you speak mean to us."
I felt sick. Ginger defenantly did not discuse that in her book. After silently resolving to not start crying until after he was alseep, I apologized, and we agreed to encourage eachother.
Fastforward to this morning, when he had managed to loose his shoes again (it seems like they only get lost on school days), you would have seen me grouchily telling him to get his act together.
He turns around and says, "mommy, you arn't speaking with grace."
What I wanted to say was, "Darn it, I know I'm not! And you're not finding your shoes with grace either. How hard is it to put two shoes by the front door?!?!" Instead I swollowed hard and said, "You're right. I'm sorry." And then walked away as quickly as I could, because it stinks to get corrected. Especially when you know you are wrong.
As parents it is our job to corect and encourage our children. But being corrected myself reminded me how difficult it can be to hear corection, even when it is presented in a kind way. It gave me special insite into the minds of my little boys, who's worlds still revolve so much around mommy and daddy. How difficult for them to have a grouchy mommy, barking orders, and forgetting to demonstrate grace. No wonder the Captain was grouchy with his brothers.
I read a wonderful book a couple years ago called "Don't Make Me Count to Three" by Ginger Plowman. (Thanks Aunt Tambra!) In her book, Plowman explains how Christian parents can speak scripture into the lives of their children. It is light and funny and an easy read; it is also very encouraging.
While I havn't even come close to remotly perfecting her technique, I have found it useful at times. So the Captain and I sat down and read Collosians 4:6, "Let your speach always be seasoned with grace." I thought the whole thing was going pretty well, especially since the only alternative I could think of was to yell at him for yelling at his brothers.
And then he looks at me and says, "But mommy, sometimes you speak mean to us."
I felt sick. Ginger defenantly did not discuse that in her book. After silently resolving to not start crying until after he was alseep, I apologized, and we agreed to encourage eachother.
Fastforward to this morning, when he had managed to loose his shoes again (it seems like they only get lost on school days), you would have seen me grouchily telling him to get his act together.
He turns around and says, "mommy, you arn't speaking with grace."
What I wanted to say was, "Darn it, I know I'm not! And you're not finding your shoes with grace either. How hard is it to put two shoes by the front door?!?!" Instead I swollowed hard and said, "You're right. I'm sorry." And then walked away as quickly as I could, because it stinks to get corrected. Especially when you know you are wrong.
As parents it is our job to corect and encourage our children. But being corrected myself reminded me how difficult it can be to hear corection, even when it is presented in a kind way. It gave me special insite into the minds of my little boys, who's worlds still revolve so much around mommy and daddy. How difficult for them to have a grouchy mommy, barking orders, and forgetting to demonstrate grace. No wonder the Captain was grouchy with his brothers.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Monday, April 13, 2009
Dear Family:
I am filing an official document, recusing myself of ever having to deal with the question that starts, "Where are my...?" I know that you think I spend the day dancing around the house like a little elf, seeking out and hiding your personal items. But I promise, I don't.
I am also filing a subpoena for information regarding where my personal items are disappearing to. You will be legally required to answer my questions, as to the location of mommies things. And don't tell me it was the little elves...the only little elves I've swept out from behind the couch are cute little blond boys.
Love Mommy
I am filing an official document, recusing myself of ever having to deal with the question that starts, "Where are my...?" I know that you think I spend the day dancing around the house like a little elf, seeking out and hiding your personal items. But I promise, I don't.
I am also filing a subpoena for information regarding where my personal items are disappearing to. You will be legally required to answer my questions, as to the location of mommies things. And don't tell me it was the little elves...the only little elves I've swept out from behind the couch are cute little blond boys.
Love Mommy
Sunday, April 12, 2009
P90x Made Me Gain 40 lbs
About a year and a half ago, my husband ordered this fitness system called P90x. Maybe you've seen the late night info-infomercials of guys getting all bulky and ripped in 90 days. Apperntly one night while he was throwing back some fried chicken, he became convinced, and placed the order. Our total home fitness system was on its way.
I was nervous from the beginning. It looked way to hard for me, and I didn't want to get all bulky. But being a mother of 3, and struggling to loose the rest of the lbs the Entertainer packed on, I decided to give the "Lean Routine" a try.
We were sore just from doing the fit-test. And once I started doing the workouts, I could hardly move I was so sore. I used to colapse on the floor in a puddle of sweat. It was by far the hardest workout I've ever done.
I lost 5 lbs almost immediately, and things were beginning to tighten and tone. About 2 weeks in, I must have been looking pretty good, because much to our surprise, we discovered that baby #4 was on the way.
9 months and 40 lbs later, I gave birth to our gorgeous little girl.
If you've read my blog for any amount of time, you won't be surprised by our sweet Lilly.
But what I am happy to announce, is that while P90x made me gain 40 lbs (and the sweetest little girl in the world!) as of today, it has also taken those 40 lbs off.
In the last 9 months, I have worked out 2-3 times a week, doing cardioX, yogaX, and coreX, intermitently, running, walking with Kristi (Who looks frick'n AWESOME if you haven't seen her in person in a while!), and trying to eat 90% good, 10% chocolate. I can only imagine what 6 days a week would do.
So I guess this post should be called, "How P90x made me gain 40 lbs, and a daughter, and then helped me take it off again." And I'll take the oprotunity to gush, I love P90x!
See you at 5 am, Tony. I'll be bringing it!
HannahX
I was nervous from the beginning. It looked way to hard for me, and I didn't want to get all bulky. But being a mother of 3, and struggling to loose the rest of the lbs the Entertainer packed on, I decided to give the "Lean Routine" a try.
We were sore just from doing the fit-test. And once I started doing the workouts, I could hardly move I was so sore. I used to colapse on the floor in a puddle of sweat. It was by far the hardest workout I've ever done.
I lost 5 lbs almost immediately, and things were beginning to tighten and tone. About 2 weeks in, I must have been looking pretty good, because much to our surprise, we discovered that baby #4 was on the way.
9 months and 40 lbs later, I gave birth to our gorgeous little girl.
If you've read my blog for any amount of time, you won't be surprised by our sweet Lilly.
But what I am happy to announce, is that while P90x made me gain 40 lbs (and the sweetest little girl in the world!) as of today, it has also taken those 40 lbs off.
In the last 9 months, I have worked out 2-3 times a week, doing cardioX, yogaX, and coreX, intermitently, running, walking with Kristi (Who looks frick'n AWESOME if you haven't seen her in person in a while!), and trying to eat 90% good, 10% chocolate. I can only imagine what 6 days a week would do.
So I guess this post should be called, "How P90x made me gain 40 lbs, and a daughter, and then helped me take it off again." And I'll take the oprotunity to gush, I love P90x!
See you at 5 am, Tony. I'll be bringing it!
HannahX
Monday, April 6, 2009
Good Influences Gone Wrong
The Captain: "Hey Mom, if you eat really, really, REALLY healthy, is it ok if you smoke?"
Me (in shocked horror, who is teaching my son this?!?) "No! It's not! Smoking is really bad for your body!"
The Captain, "Then how comes Popeye does it? He's really strong, and he smokes a pipe."
When I think back, Popeye was dragging on that pipe of his more often than he was throwing back canned spinach... And suddenly a whole generation is explained.
Darn you Popeye! Teaching my kids they will be stronger if they smoke! And for ruining a perfectly tasty leafy-green for generations to come!
The marketing genius behind the mind that created a market for canned-greens: spinach and tobacco.
If I wasn't so sure that he has probably already croaked from lung cancer, I would bet he's still collecting royalty checks from the farming community.
No wonder TV doesn't air "classic" cartoons anymore. Eeesh.
The view from under the bus
We are on day 8 of daddy being out of town, and day 5 of mommy being sick. Yesterday I lost my voice, and am currently communicating with a squeak and a whisper.
Last night we went to my parents house, and just as we are finishing dinner, the Captain looks at me and says, "Mommy, maybe God let you loose your voice because you were yelling at us."
Bam! I don't even think the bus driver saw that one coming. He didn't even have time to slam on the breaks. It was a clean hit.
(In all fairness, I wasn't actually yelling, so much as I was speaking sternly with them about lieing about cleaning their room. As in they said they did, bu they really didn't - not the other way around. What kid does that?)
So here I am, under the bus, and I can't even yell for help.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
What do you do with four kids, when you are as sick as a dog and daddy is out of town? Why you go to library and check out all the kids videos, of course!
And when the librarian asks you if "you know that the library has books too, and would you like too check out any of those?"
You reply, No thank you, and I don't want any lip about it either, thank you very much.
Because right about now, we are just trying to survive the weekend.
And when the librarian asks you if "you know that the library has books too, and would you like too check out any of those?"
You reply, No thank you, and I don't want any lip about it either, thank you very much.
Because right about now, we are just trying to survive the weekend.
Friday, April 3, 2009
What'll you sell out for?
Not to long ago, I took one of those quizzes that evaluates how much you'd be willing to sell-out for.
My sell-out value was placed at about 1.2 million dollars. Not to bad I figured, but I was a little bothered that I could be bought, even for such a large dollar amount.
Well, I found out this week that my sell-out value is actually MUCH lower.
Apparently it is only $4.
About 6 weeks ago, I closed my facebook account; I was done with it. It is a time bandit and a narcissistic-hot-bed of boring attempts at vanity. I was done. I closed it, I left, I didn't open it back up.
Well, last week at the baseball game, one of the moms told us about a minor league game she is planning for the whole team to attend. And guess what? If you are facebook friends with the team, you can get $4 off your ticket!
I was a little heart broken that my true sell out value was only $4, but I was pretty quick to move on, becaue my ticket only ended up being $2. Turns out I'll sell out to save money pretty fast!
My sell-out value was placed at about 1.2 million dollars. Not to bad I figured, but I was a little bothered that I could be bought, even for such a large dollar amount.
Well, I found out this week that my sell-out value is actually MUCH lower.
Apparently it is only $4.
About 6 weeks ago, I closed my facebook account; I was done with it. It is a time bandit and a narcissistic-hot-bed of boring attempts at vanity. I was done. I closed it, I left, I didn't open it back up.
Well, last week at the baseball game, one of the moms told us about a minor league game she is planning for the whole team to attend. And guess what? If you are facebook friends with the team, you can get $4 off your ticket!
I was a little heart broken that my true sell out value was only $4, but I was pretty quick to move on, becaue my ticket only ended up being $2. Turns out I'll sell out to save money pretty fast!
Kissing Medicine
It seems like every time my husband goes out of town, we all get sick. This trip has been no exception. Sure enough, right around day three, the Spring Cold hit, and pretty much all I'm planning for the weekend is a lot of movies, a lot of juice, and a lot of snuggling.
Anyways, about an hour before bedtime, my two-year old started asking for "kissing medicine." (That's what he's decided cough medicine is called.) As I was telling him no for the third time, I happened to notice the children's benadryl, and well... I don' t think I have to spell out where my mind went.
It reminded me of a friend of ours who was one of 5 boys. The way he tells it, his mom used to make them a nice mug of warm liquor every Friday night after school; she woke them up for church on Sunday morning.
And that's when I realized that we should move to Europe, where family dinners include a little whine for everyone... just what the whole family needs at the end of a long week. I bet European Moms and Dads get to sleep in on Saturday mornings.
And maybe the Entertainer knows exactly what he's asking for- a glass of whine can be a nice start to a romantic evening...
Anyways, about an hour before bedtime, my two-year old started asking for "kissing medicine." (That's what he's decided cough medicine is called.) As I was telling him no for the third time, I happened to notice the children's benadryl, and well... I don' t think I have to spell out where my mind went.
It reminded me of a friend of ours who was one of 5 boys. The way he tells it, his mom used to make them a nice mug of warm liquor every Friday night after school; she woke them up for church on Sunday morning.
And that's when I realized that we should move to Europe, where family dinners include a little whine for everyone... just what the whole family needs at the end of a long week. I bet European Moms and Dads get to sleep in on Saturday mornings.
And maybe the Entertainer knows exactly what he's asking for- a glass of whine can be a nice start to a romantic evening...
April Fool
Well, it's official: I'm the biggest one of them all. Why, you ask? Well, because I introduced my kids to April Fool's Jokes. Three days later, the mayhem continues.
"Mommy, I broke my leg!"
"Really?"
"April Fools! That was a good one, I got you again!"
So, either my kids think I am the most gullable person on earth, or that thay are the best joke tellers. But one thing is for sure, I am the April Fool!
"Mommy, I broke my leg!"
"Really?"
"April Fools! That was a good one, I got you again!"
So, either my kids think I am the most gullable person on earth, or that thay are the best joke tellers. But one thing is for sure, I am the April Fool!
Monday, March 30, 2009
My two year-old has exactly seven shoes. Everyone of them is different. Normally he has seven pairs of shoes, but somehow, we are missing exactly half. To be more specific, we are missing 6 left-footed shoes, and one right-footed shoe, which means that when his little brown sandal disappears, we are out of luck...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)