Soph reported to me that she had a "problem" today and that she sat on the "peace" rug.
Here's how the story goes.
Soph: Mom. I had a problem today and went to the peace rug.
Me (hesitantly): Oh yeah? Tell me about it.
Soph: Well, Isabel wouldn't tell me it was ok.
Me: Hmm. Wouldn't tell you WHAT was ok.
Soph: She wouldn't say, "I accept your apology."
Me (worried): What did you apologize for?
Soph: I called her fat.
Long pause so I could collect my thoughts and address the issue as a calm, skillful parent.
Me: YOU DID WHAT!? SOPHIE GENE WE NEVER NEVER EVER CALL PEOPLE FAT! DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?! EVER! THAT IS NOT KIND. DON'T YOU EVER EVER DO THAT AGAIN. I WILL SPANK YOUR BARE BUTT IF I EVER HEAR YOU CALLED SOMEONE FAT AGAIN!
Soph (in tears): But mom, you told me that you're fat. Grandpa Ray says his belly is fat.
Me (contemplating my eternal suckitute at parenting): Ok. You're right. But it really hurts people's feelings when OTHER people say they're fat.
Soph: But she is fat.
Me: Sometimes we don't say things even when they're true. We need to protect other people's feelings. Why did you tell Isabel that she's fat.
Soph: She got stuck in a chair.
Me (biting a hole in my cheek, trying to prevent myself from laughing): Well. Bodies are all different sizes. Some are big and some are little. Everyone is different. That's ok. I want you to be really really nice to Isabel, ok?
Soph: Mom. There are too many rules. I don't want to go to school anymore.
So, after Soph went to bed, I called her teacher. Mrs. E explained to me that actually, the "fat calling" incident happened a week ago. She didn't even know about it. Then today, Soph started kind of crying quietly. After digging a bit, Mrs. E found that Soph was feeling really really hurt that she kept apologizing to Isabel, and that Isabel wouldn't accept her apology. So the three of them sat down on the peace rug and talked it out. Big sigh.
I'm feeling equal parts responsible, sad, angry, and really, slightly amused. The thing is, "fat" is a description. Its connotation, obviously, is negative, but none-the-less, it is just a little ol' adjective. Of course, in our place/time, fat, when used to describe a person, = bad. Very, very bad. Kids read, "The fat cat sat," and it's fine, but call someone fat (particularly ME) and the shit will hit the fan. No more to say really. I'm going to sleep on this one.
Today's best thing about being a mom:
Well, I never become overly cocky.
Today's worst thing about being a mom:
Having a walking, talking conscience.
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Saturday, September 23, 2006
Haiku Hodge-Podge
Draw a circle first
Dots for eyes and lines for legs
Add a smile--Voila!
Six-thirty a.m.
Thirty six degrees and dark
We're waiting for what?
Auntie Shannon's COLD!
Grandma keeps wrapping me up,
And mom says "Say Cheese"?!
Photo op again?Grandma says Mom deserves her
picture taken too.
I found my friend mom!
We'll catch you guys later. What?!
We can't go alone?!
2 hours of waiting
Shivering, nose wiping, hell
Was worth it for this.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
The Neighborhood of Make-Believe
You see, I don’t WANT to blog about getting fatter and sleepier and less interested in, well, pretty much everything. I don’t want to talk about going to bed pretty much immediately after getting Soph tucked in (at 7:30). I don’t want to talk about the 2 pairs of pants that fit me, and money being tight-ish, and so not having the desire or the means to go buy more. I don’t want to talk about getting to school, late (again) and sitting here, forcing myself to do the minimum—the bare minimum--to keep my classes afloat, fighting off sleep every second, every second, and then giving into the urge to close my eyes and feeling sleep creep through my brain, settling for a 2 second sitting-up nap, though it would so prefer to climb under the covers and sleep, ahh, sleep all all all day.
I don’t want to. But on the other-hand, I don’t want to let the blog go completely. It’s been part of my life for more than a year now, quite considerably more, actually. That’s an investment. I still want SOMETHING to be there when I wake up some day. Maybe I’ll just blog about what I wish I was doing and feeling instead of what I’m actually doing and feeling.
Woke up at 5:00 this morning and went to the gym. Did an hour of step aerobics and a half hour of yoga. Man, that new size 6 sweat suit I bought from “Not made in a sweat shop by 10 year old South American children, and not made with materials or dyes from any endangered plants and animals or that compromise the habitat of any endangered plants and animals, and not involved in anyway with global corporations who are responsible for mass murders and wars in the Congo or Somalia or any other African country over some random mineral necessary to make electronics, and not shipped using any fossil fuels which are ruining the planet for all humankind, especially your daughter” is certainly comfortable. After my workout, I came home and fixed a lovely organic breakfast and Soph, E, and I all sat down together over our whole grains and lean proteins. After breakfast, Sophie dressed herself, brushed her own teeth, and thanked me for getting rid of the TV because she much prefers interactive activities that are good for her cognitive and motor development to 90 minutes of Playhouse Disney each morning. When I arrived at work, looking very smart, slender, and professional, I might add, I arranged the differentiated learning activities, and prepared to be a facilitator who inspires and guides her students toward learning.
Why not? Soph seems to be able to live in her own little fantasy world with no particular trouble. Lately, she talks not only about her imaginary friend, but her imaginary friend’s immediate and extended family. We went to see the hot air balloons of the Sky Festival early one morning over the weekend, and she informed all assembled, in much seriousness, that her imaginary friend’s grandfather has a hot air balloon and that he takes her for rides in it all the time. I’m charged with strapping the imaginary baby sister into her imaginary car seat each time we go anywhere in the car, and also am expected to carry the imaginary baby seat into the store, and secure the imaginary baby sister in the shopping cart. Every now and then, Soph shrieks that her baby has fallen out of the cart, and I then rescue IBS (Imaginary Baby Sister, not Irritable Bowel Syndrome) from the floor, and strap her back in.
Her imaginary world extends to school as well. Apparently, the teacher had to sit Soph and 2 of her cronies down and ask them to stop playing their imaginary games (based, I think, on The Nightmare Before Christmas, Soph’s current fave) in the classroom, because they were getting way too rowdy and interrupting the work of the other students. As reported to me by the teacher, Soph sat, nodding, listening, seeming to get the idea. At the close of the little chat, the teacher asked, “Do you understand girls? Do you have any questions?” Soph’s little arm popped into the air, and when called on, she asked, “Um. Mrs. Esplin? Could you be the witch?”
Today’s best thing about being a mom:
It forces you to get out of bed in the morning.
Today’s worst thing about being a mom:
It forces you to get out of bed in the morning.
I don’t want to. But on the other-hand, I don’t want to let the blog go completely. It’s been part of my life for more than a year now, quite considerably more, actually. That’s an investment. I still want SOMETHING to be there when I wake up some day. Maybe I’ll just blog about what I wish I was doing and feeling instead of what I’m actually doing and feeling.
Woke up at 5:00 this morning and went to the gym. Did an hour of step aerobics and a half hour of yoga. Man, that new size 6 sweat suit I bought from “Not made in a sweat shop by 10 year old South American children, and not made with materials or dyes from any endangered plants and animals or that compromise the habitat of any endangered plants and animals, and not involved in anyway with global corporations who are responsible for mass murders and wars in the Congo or Somalia or any other African country over some random mineral necessary to make electronics, and not shipped using any fossil fuels which are ruining the planet for all humankind, especially your daughter” is certainly comfortable. After my workout, I came home and fixed a lovely organic breakfast and Soph, E, and I all sat down together over our whole grains and lean proteins. After breakfast, Sophie dressed herself, brushed her own teeth, and thanked me for getting rid of the TV because she much prefers interactive activities that are good for her cognitive and motor development to 90 minutes of Playhouse Disney each morning. When I arrived at work, looking very smart, slender, and professional, I might add, I arranged the differentiated learning activities, and prepared to be a facilitator who inspires and guides her students toward learning.
Why not? Soph seems to be able to live in her own little fantasy world with no particular trouble. Lately, she talks not only about her imaginary friend, but her imaginary friend’s immediate and extended family. We went to see the hot air balloons of the Sky Festival early one morning over the weekend, and she informed all assembled, in much seriousness, that her imaginary friend’s grandfather has a hot air balloon and that he takes her for rides in it all the time. I’m charged with strapping the imaginary baby sister into her imaginary car seat each time we go anywhere in the car, and also am expected to carry the imaginary baby seat into the store, and secure the imaginary baby sister in the shopping cart. Every now and then, Soph shrieks that her baby has fallen out of the cart, and I then rescue IBS (Imaginary Baby Sister, not Irritable Bowel Syndrome) from the floor, and strap her back in.
Her imaginary world extends to school as well. Apparently, the teacher had to sit Soph and 2 of her cronies down and ask them to stop playing their imaginary games (based, I think, on The Nightmare Before Christmas, Soph’s current fave) in the classroom, because they were getting way too rowdy and interrupting the work of the other students. As reported to me by the teacher, Soph sat, nodding, listening, seeming to get the idea. At the close of the little chat, the teacher asked, “Do you understand girls? Do you have any questions?” Soph’s little arm popped into the air, and when called on, she asked, “Um. Mrs. Esplin? Could you be the witch?”
Today’s best thing about being a mom:
It forces you to get out of bed in the morning.
Today’s worst thing about being a mom:
It forces you to get out of bed in the morning.
Monday, September 11, 2006
Been a long night
The good: Sophie and I watched The Sound of Music—kind of.
The bad: She LOVES, with a burning, burning passion the puppet/yodeling scene, and refused to watch the movie past that point. Yodel, rewind, yodel, rewind, yodel, rewind, “Lay-ee-yodle-lee-ee-yodle-ay—Whew!”
The ugly: I’ve had terrible insomnia the last 3 nights. As I lay in bed, unsleeping, for hours, that fucking song runs through my head over, and over, and over again. If I ever chance to meet that one little girl in a pale pink coat or that son-of-a-bitching goatherd, I will strike down upon them with furious vengeance. With a baseball bat. With nails in it.
Now then. The Soph update:
She’s back in school and loving it. The morning of her first day back, she was slightly nervous. She kept telling me all the things we do and don’t do at school—kind of reminding herself of the rules. When I kissed her good morning: “Mommy, we don’t kiss at school. Only hug.” When she lay down on the couch to watch her morning show: “Mommy, we don’t lay down under the table at school.” When she was helping pack her lunch, and I put in some (bad Mommy) chocolate frosting for her to dip her graham cracker sticks: “Mommy, we don’t bring candy to school. But frosting is ok. Is it Mommy? Is frosting ok?” When I called her a silly-pants for sneaking the frosting out of the fridge and eating it with her fingers while I had a shower: “Mommy, we don’t call names at school. Rennin called me a pee-pee noney. Will Rennin call me a pee-pee noney today Mommy?” When I asked her to put her toys away: “Mommy, we don’t play at school. There are no toys. We do WORK Mommy. But the work is fun Mommy. It’s LEARNING fun Mommy. But we can play OUTSIDE Mommy.”
This weekend it seemed to be her goal to have as much of the surface area of her body on my body as possible. She didn’t want to just be BY me, she wanted to be ON me.
Her vocabulary continues to be hilariously astounding. Last week she jumped in my mom’s hot tub and announced, “Wow! I’m pretty buoyant!” Later the same day, she came to me with a toothache (Damn. Still need to make that appointment with the pediadontist) and reported, “I have such an affliction.”
Me update:
Well, I don’t want to talk about that, do I? Thus, the not blogging for several days. I’m fine. Fine. Fine. Fine.
Today’s best thing about being a mom:
This morning at 5:30 (She woke up at 5:15! I don’t want to talk about that either.) we waltzed together to her “Kid Songs” DVD.
Today’s worst thing about being a mom:
This morning at 5:30 (She woke up at 5:15! I still don’t want to talk about it.) we waltzed together to her “Kid Songs” DVD.
The bad: She LOVES, with a burning, burning passion the puppet/yodeling scene, and refused to watch the movie past that point. Yodel, rewind, yodel, rewind, yodel, rewind, “Lay-ee-yodle-lee-ee-yodle-ay—Whew!”
The ugly: I’ve had terrible insomnia the last 3 nights. As I lay in bed, unsleeping, for hours, that fucking song runs through my head over, and over, and over again. If I ever chance to meet that one little girl in a pale pink coat or that son-of-a-bitching goatherd, I will strike down upon them with furious vengeance. With a baseball bat. With nails in it.
Now then. The Soph update:
She’s back in school and loving it. The morning of her first day back, she was slightly nervous. She kept telling me all the things we do and don’t do at school—kind of reminding herself of the rules. When I kissed her good morning: “Mommy, we don’t kiss at school. Only hug.” When she lay down on the couch to watch her morning show: “Mommy, we don’t lay down under the table at school.” When she was helping pack her lunch, and I put in some (bad Mommy) chocolate frosting for her to dip her graham cracker sticks: “Mommy, we don’t bring candy to school. But frosting is ok. Is it Mommy? Is frosting ok?” When I called her a silly-pants for sneaking the frosting out of the fridge and eating it with her fingers while I had a shower: “Mommy, we don’t call names at school. Rennin called me a pee-pee noney. Will Rennin call me a pee-pee noney today Mommy?” When I asked her to put her toys away: “Mommy, we don’t play at school. There are no toys. We do WORK Mommy. But the work is fun Mommy. It’s LEARNING fun Mommy. But we can play OUTSIDE Mommy.”
This weekend it seemed to be her goal to have as much of the surface area of her body on my body as possible. She didn’t want to just be BY me, she wanted to be ON me.
Her vocabulary continues to be hilariously astounding. Last week she jumped in my mom’s hot tub and announced, “Wow! I’m pretty buoyant!” Later the same day, she came to me with a toothache (Damn. Still need to make that appointment with the pediadontist) and reported, “I have such an affliction.”
Me update:
Well, I don’t want to talk about that, do I? Thus, the not blogging for several days. I’m fine. Fine. Fine. Fine.
Today’s best thing about being a mom:
This morning at 5:30 (She woke up at 5:15! I don’t want to talk about that either.) we waltzed together to her “Kid Songs” DVD.
Today’s worst thing about being a mom:
This morning at 5:30 (She woke up at 5:15! I still don’t want to talk about it.) we waltzed together to her “Kid Songs” DVD.
Sunday, August 27, 2006
Call me Mommy
The story of my life has become significantly less than gripping.
This weekend I had planned on getting caught up on the laundry, sweeping and mopping the floors, that kind of stuff. Trying to get any work done with Soph around is just such a pain in the ass. I know she misses me during the week. I know she just wants some face time during the weekend. BUT, if I don't get the bedding washed, the Department of Child and Family Services is going to come and take her away. Seriously.
So yesterday, I had just sent her, Janz, and E over to the elementary school playground to play, and filled up the mop bucket to get down to business when there was a knock at the door. Long story short, I ended up with Soph's friend Emily and her little sister Isabo all afternoon, (couldn't say no--as their mom has been taking Sophie two days a week until pre-school starts) thus moving decidedly BACKWARD in the house mucking-out plans.
Today, I've had the other best friend--Addison--whose mom had been my Friday savior. Now, please don't get me wrong. I love these little girls, I love their moms, and I love for Soph to have someone to play with, but damn. Working all week only to babysit and clean all weekend is kind of a grind though. I need some cocktails and loud music; maybe even some dancing. Oh well. I suppose a little Guitar Hero (Have you played it? Embarrassingly fun.) and wine in a box will have to do me.
Today's best thing about being a mom:
Writing with sparkly silver gel pens on black construction paper.
Today's worst thing about being a mom:
Finding boogers
This weekend I had planned on getting caught up on the laundry, sweeping and mopping the floors, that kind of stuff. Trying to get any work done with Soph around is just such a pain in the ass. I know she misses me during the week. I know she just wants some face time during the weekend. BUT, if I don't get the bedding washed, the Department of Child and Family Services is going to come and take her away. Seriously.
So yesterday, I had just sent her, Janz, and E over to the elementary school playground to play, and filled up the mop bucket to get down to business when there was a knock at the door. Long story short, I ended up with Soph's friend Emily and her little sister Isabo all afternoon, (couldn't say no--as their mom has been taking Sophie two days a week until pre-school starts) thus moving decidedly BACKWARD in the house mucking-out plans.
Today, I've had the other best friend--Addison--whose mom had been my Friday savior. Now, please don't get me wrong. I love these little girls, I love their moms, and I love for Soph to have someone to play with, but damn. Working all week only to babysit and clean all weekend is kind of a grind though. I need some cocktails and loud music; maybe even some dancing. Oh well. I suppose a little Guitar Hero (Have you played it? Embarrassingly fun.) and wine in a box will have to do me.
Today's best thing about being a mom:
Writing with sparkly silver gel pens on black construction paper.
Today's worst thing about being a mom:
Finding boogers
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
'Nuff Noir
Thanks for all the feedback on the film class. I'm continuing to work on this one, and will keep you, faithful reader (ha) updated on how the kids respond. That said, I have noticed that nearly all of the films suggested by others, and by me, have male protagonists. So now I'm on a search to fill in a few of the slots with films with sistas.
Now then--Soph stuff. When we were visiting the Krauses, Mand mentioned a bumper sticker she read that said, "Meat is murder. Delicious, delicious murder." Last night, my dad cooked us up some phat cheese burgers. I took a bite, and announced to the table, what else, "Meat is murder. Delicious, delicious murder." For some reason, Soph liked the sound of it, and today while waiting in the doctor's office (which was filled to the brim) walked around chanting, "Delicious, delicious murder." That, combined with the fact that she was barefoot, had drawn all over herself with a ballpoint, and was wearing a filthy white t-shirt, contributed to more than a few questionable looks by others to yours truly.
Her preschool doesn't start for another week and a half, so she's been doing, and will continue to do the Sophie Shuffle for a bit. Luckily, she's a resilient little cuss, and has been having a pretty good time. Today she stayed home with Dad, and tomorrow is a playdate with her pall Emily.
It's really too late to do a birthday update, but suffice it to say, that girl CLEANED UP. Just off top of my head, presents for which I'm now trying to find room include the following: Easy Bake Oven, a Cabbage Patch Baby, Floam (awful, gooey, disappointing crap), Don't Break the Ice, 5 new DVDs, a Care Bear art set, fishing pole, pink feathery fan (thanks Kods), and about a million other things.
School is ok, but the stress is landing smack in my back, and really exacerbating the Epstein Barr. Hopefully another week or two will see me back in the groove. The blog is going to suffer for a bit, I think, but don't desert me. I'll be around as much as possible.
Today's best thing about being a mom:
I was so proud of her today. She was at school with me drawing on the white board, and figured out how to draw people. She was even prouder of herself than I was, I think. I'm too lazy to pull the picture off my camera just now, but soon. Soon.
Today's worst thing about being a mom:
She wants me to pick her up, all the time, all the sudden.
Now then--Soph stuff. When we were visiting the Krauses, Mand mentioned a bumper sticker she read that said, "Meat is murder. Delicious, delicious murder." Last night, my dad cooked us up some phat cheese burgers. I took a bite, and announced to the table, what else, "Meat is murder. Delicious, delicious murder." For some reason, Soph liked the sound of it, and today while waiting in the doctor's office (which was filled to the brim) walked around chanting, "Delicious, delicious murder." That, combined with the fact that she was barefoot, had drawn all over herself with a ballpoint, and was wearing a filthy white t-shirt, contributed to more than a few questionable looks by others to yours truly.
Her preschool doesn't start for another week and a half, so she's been doing, and will continue to do the Sophie Shuffle for a bit. Luckily, she's a resilient little cuss, and has been having a pretty good time. Today she stayed home with Dad, and tomorrow is a playdate with her pall Emily.
It's really too late to do a birthday update, but suffice it to say, that girl CLEANED UP. Just off top of my head, presents for which I'm now trying to find room include the following: Easy Bake Oven, a Cabbage Patch Baby, Floam (awful, gooey, disappointing crap), Don't Break the Ice, 5 new DVDs, a Care Bear art set, fishing pole, pink feathery fan (thanks Kods), and about a million other things.
School is ok, but the stress is landing smack in my back, and really exacerbating the Epstein Barr. Hopefully another week or two will see me back in the groove. The blog is going to suffer for a bit, I think, but don't desert me. I'll be around as much as possible.
Today's best thing about being a mom:
I was so proud of her today. She was at school with me drawing on the white board, and figured out how to draw people. She was even prouder of herself than I was, I think. I'm too lazy to pull the picture off my camera just now, but soon. Soon.
Today's worst thing about being a mom:
She wants me to pick her up, all the time, all the sudden.
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
More Movies
So--I've gotten downright formulaic with the movie thing. I've decided to set the class based on genre and film elements, and then work with them in pairs. For each set, we'll study 2 films, preferably one pre-1980 (not a magic year, just kind of in the middle) and one post. Here's what I've come up with so far. What do you think? Please keep in mind that I'm trying to choose movies against which my students won't totally revolt.
Genre: Drama/Element: Screenplay
Genre: Drama/Element: Screenplay
- To Kill a Mockingbird OR Rocky
- Dead Poets' Society OR Straight Story
Genre: Musical/Element: Art Direction
- Singin' in the Rain
- Moulin Rouge
Genre: Sci Fi-Fantasy/Element: Special Effects
- Star Wars
- Harry Potter and the Sorcer's Stone
Genre: Thriller/Element: Direction
- Rear Window
- ??? Ideas? Quality PGish thriller in the last 20 years with exceptional direction?
Genre: Action Adventure/Element: Editing
- King Kong 1933
- King Kong 2005
Genre: Noir/Element: Cinematography
- Maltese Falcon
- ??? Ideas? Again, a quality noir film from the last 20 years with exceptional cinematography?
Genre: Western/Element: Score
- Magnificent Seven
- Silverado
Genre: Animation
- Snow White
- The Nightmare Before Christmas
Genre: Martial Arts/Element: Foreign Language Film
- Seven Samuari
- Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon
For documentaries, I'm thinking
- When We Were Kings (Tons of my guys are into boxing)
- Rize (Boys of Baraka is R. Thppt.)
- Whatever short documentaries I can track down
- Winter of the Dance (A pal of mine knows these guys, and participated in Winter of the Beard, which I hope will be out by the end of the year. I may be able to get the director and producer in town to chat with us.)
So, what I'm lacking is comedy. (In so many ways.) Ly suggested Bringing up Baby, but I don't know if my kids will stick with that one. Maybe. What "film element" would fit well with comedy? I'm kind of thinking either acting or production, since, well, that's what's left.
School starts tomorrow! Wish me luck.
Monday, August 14, 2006
Help!
Long story short:
Our art teacher left over the summer. We now have no fine arts classes to offer. Our principal and counselor informed me on FRIDAY that I'm going to be teaching an intro to film class, as, according to NCLB, it's the only fine arts class that, as an English teacher, I'm "highly qualified" to teach. Guys--school starts on THURSDAY!
Now--I did a mini unit on film for my applied communication class, but a year? Can't fake that.
So--put yourself in my shoes. Help me out. If you found out you were going to be teaching an intro to film class in, you know, a few days, what would you do? Would you structure the class chronologically or by elements of film? Or maybe in terms of specific directors, producers, etc.? What films would you show? What kind of assessments and goals would you have for your kids? How would you justify the class to parents who don't want their kids to "watch movies"?
Oh--keep in mind that you're limited to G, PG, and PG-13 movies, and that most of your students are at-risk teenagers who read and write at about a 5th grade level.
Report on Soph's bday party soon.
Our art teacher left over the summer. We now have no fine arts classes to offer. Our principal and counselor informed me on FRIDAY that I'm going to be teaching an intro to film class, as, according to NCLB, it's the only fine arts class that, as an English teacher, I'm "highly qualified" to teach. Guys--school starts on THURSDAY!
Now--I did a mini unit on film for my applied communication class, but a year? Can't fake that.
So--put yourself in my shoes. Help me out. If you found out you were going to be teaching an intro to film class in, you know, a few days, what would you do? Would you structure the class chronologically or by elements of film? Or maybe in terms of specific directors, producers, etc.? What films would you show? What kind of assessments and goals would you have for your kids? How would you justify the class to parents who don't want their kids to "watch movies"?
Oh--keep in mind that you're limited to G, PG, and PG-13 movies, and that most of your students are at-risk teenagers who read and write at about a 5th grade level.
Report on Soph's bday party soon.
Saturday, August 12, 2006
Jump
Bounce! Pounce! Skip! Spring! Sproing!
Sprinkler squirt, splash, sputter, spray
Turning four kicks ASS!
Thursday, August 10, 2006
Guess who broke a sweat today?
That would be me folks.
See, Sophie's across the street friend, Bianca, has a trampoline. An old, huge, dangerous trampoline with exposed, broken springs, a fucking LADDER to get on it, and no safety enclosure.
Soph and I have been doing battle about that trampoline. I don't want her on it. She loves it. I let her jump with Bianca, but check on her like every 3 minutes and then make up some excuse to get her the hell away from that broken arm waiting to happen.
So, as Soph's birthday is coming up (the 12th, remember?) I ordered her this. Notice the included safety enclosure? Notice how it has no springs, just nifty elastics? Notice how it is close enough to the ground for her to climb on and off of by herself--no rusty old ladder required? Sweet.
I put the order in on Monday, and it arrived today. How's that for speedy?
When I arrived home from my NEVER ENDING beginning of school meetings today, 2 boxes were waiting for me at the front door. The instructions said that in order to assemble the trampoline and enclosure, one needed 3 "able bodied" adults. Piffle! Pashaw! I put that bitch together myself in under 2 hours.
Soph loves it, and we jumped and jumped. My leg muscles are sore! So is my neck, for some reason. I'll probably be slightly miserable tomorrow. I think it'll be worth it, though.
Pictures soon, I promise.
Today's best thing about being a mom:
That great big shit-eating grin she gets on her face when something VERY cool is going down.
Today's worst thing about being a mom:
This was my first day away from her all day in a long time. It kind of sucked.
See, Sophie's across the street friend, Bianca, has a trampoline. An old, huge, dangerous trampoline with exposed, broken springs, a fucking LADDER to get on it, and no safety enclosure.
Soph and I have been doing battle about that trampoline. I don't want her on it. She loves it. I let her jump with Bianca, but check on her like every 3 minutes and then make up some excuse to get her the hell away from that broken arm waiting to happen.
So, as Soph's birthday is coming up (the 12th, remember?) I ordered her this. Notice the included safety enclosure? Notice how it has no springs, just nifty elastics? Notice how it is close enough to the ground for her to climb on and off of by herself--no rusty old ladder required? Sweet.
I put the order in on Monday, and it arrived today. How's that for speedy?
When I arrived home from my NEVER ENDING beginning of school meetings today, 2 boxes were waiting for me at the front door. The instructions said that in order to assemble the trampoline and enclosure, one needed 3 "able bodied" adults. Piffle! Pashaw! I put that bitch together myself in under 2 hours.
Soph loves it, and we jumped and jumped. My leg muscles are sore! So is my neck, for some reason. I'll probably be slightly miserable tomorrow. I think it'll be worth it, though.
Pictures soon, I promise.
Today's best thing about being a mom:
That great big shit-eating grin she gets on her face when something VERY cool is going down.
Today's worst thing about being a mom:
This was my first day away from her all day in a long time. It kind of sucked.
Monday, August 07, 2006
That time of year
It's that time of year; the time when I review the summer months, and realize I didn't do a god damn motherfucking thing. Somehow, "that time of year" always coincides with "that time of the month." Funny that.
Anywho'syourdaddy, I have exactly 3 days left of summer vacation. Three. This Thursday and Friday we have our big faculty planning meetings when we discuss our school wide "DRSLs" (Desired results for student learning), and size up the new faculty members, and brag or (in my case) lie about all the shit we did this summer. Then I get a weekend to sweat and stew. Then, on Monday, all the teachers in the district get to sit in an auditorium and first listen to the superintendent give an inspirational-as-ass speech and then get all fired up as he and the district office staff huck the new inspirational t-shirts out to us stadium style while "We Will Rock You" or some such nonsense crackles through the speakers. After THAT display, we have to sit and listen to some paid education expert and/or inspirational speaker inspire us even further. Then, we plod to our classrooms, and reality hits us, or in my case, bitch slaps me in the face.
I've been going into school a couple hours a day for the last week or so. The thing is, my school is not even a red-headed-step-child. It's the imaginary friend of the red-headed-step-child. We don't have a custodian. We have a sweeper. The sweeper comes in after school, vacuums the floors, gives the bathrooms a lick and a promise, and that's it. Most schools get a total rehaul over the summer. Paint, carpets cleaned, desks scrubbed, white boards whitened, bathrooms sanitized. Kids--I'm not even sure my garbage was taken out on the last day of school. The paint on the outside of the building is peeling off in huge chunks. The toilets are, just, eww. And generally, the place looks like shit.
So today, Janzen, Sophie, and I are going to go and do what we can to clean it up. Well, Janz and I will be cleaning. Sophie will be doing her damnest to make new and improved messes as fast as we can clean them.
Oh, I got sidetracked. Here is the shit I didn't do this summer.
1. Go to yoga. I think I went twice.
2. Exercise. Instead I gained about 10 more pounds.
3. Take Sophie on fun and exciting mommy daughter fieldtrips.
4. Paint the interior walls of my house.
5. Work on my yard.
6. Write.
7. Write a grant for laptops for my classroom.
8. Dejunk my carport.
9. Detail the cars.
10. Anything productive.
What did I do?
Well, I played a shit load of spider solitare. I watched a lot of tv. I read a lot of blogs.
I suck.
Anywho'syourdaddy, I have exactly 3 days left of summer vacation. Three. This Thursday and Friday we have our big faculty planning meetings when we discuss our school wide "DRSLs" (Desired results for student learning), and size up the new faculty members, and brag or (in my case) lie about all the shit we did this summer. Then I get a weekend to sweat and stew. Then, on Monday, all the teachers in the district get to sit in an auditorium and first listen to the superintendent give an inspirational-as-ass speech and then get all fired up as he and the district office staff huck the new inspirational t-shirts out to us stadium style while "We Will Rock You" or some such nonsense crackles through the speakers. After THAT display, we have to sit and listen to some paid education expert and/or inspirational speaker inspire us even further. Then, we plod to our classrooms, and reality hits us, or in my case, bitch slaps me in the face.
I've been going into school a couple hours a day for the last week or so. The thing is, my school is not even a red-headed-step-child. It's the imaginary friend of the red-headed-step-child. We don't have a custodian. We have a sweeper. The sweeper comes in after school, vacuums the floors, gives the bathrooms a lick and a promise, and that's it. Most schools get a total rehaul over the summer. Paint, carpets cleaned, desks scrubbed, white boards whitened, bathrooms sanitized. Kids--I'm not even sure my garbage was taken out on the last day of school. The paint on the outside of the building is peeling off in huge chunks. The toilets are, just, eww. And generally, the place looks like shit.
So today, Janzen, Sophie, and I are going to go and do what we can to clean it up. Well, Janz and I will be cleaning. Sophie will be doing her damnest to make new and improved messes as fast as we can clean them.
Oh, I got sidetracked. Here is the shit I didn't do this summer.
1. Go to yoga. I think I went twice.
2. Exercise. Instead I gained about 10 more pounds.
3. Take Sophie on fun and exciting mommy daughter fieldtrips.
4. Paint the interior walls of my house.
5. Work on my yard.
6. Write.
7. Write a grant for laptops for my classroom.
8. Dejunk my carport.
9. Detail the cars.
10. Anything productive.
What did I do?
Well, I played a shit load of spider solitare. I watched a lot of tv. I read a lot of blogs.
I suck.
Friday, August 04, 2006
Again with the birthdays! (But it's a good thing.)
All right cats and kittens (where did that come from?). It has come to my attention that we all missed the birthday of the sweetest lady on the internet.
So, because I adore Nicole, and because I can't come up with any new ideas, here is her birthday list. Unfortunately, I don't know Nicole as well as some, AND I'm not precisely sure how old she is, so here's the plan. I'll start the list, and y'all help me out by continuing it in my comment field. If you don't know Nicole "in real life" that's no excuse. If you DO know Nicole in real life, you are morally obligated to give us at least 5 lines on the list. Now then.
1. Her grandparents all have cute nick names.
2. She loves living in the city.
3. She is very hip in her music tastes, and has a thing for musicians (wink, wink).
4. She has an adversion to poop. (Well, don't we all, but I think hers is slightly more, um, emphatic.)
5. At 16, she went to see a rock band at CBGBs without her mothers knowledge.
6. Her hair has been been dyed, in her own words, "most of the shades of the rainbow."
7. She successfully quit smoking.
8. She likes to watch reality TV.
9. She never thinks her house is clean enough.
10. She's a bit of a worrier.
So, because I adore Nicole, and because I can't come up with any new ideas, here is her birthday list. Unfortunately, I don't know Nicole as well as some, AND I'm not precisely sure how old she is, so here's the plan. I'll start the list, and y'all help me out by continuing it in my comment field. If you don't know Nicole "in real life" that's no excuse. If you DO know Nicole in real life, you are morally obligated to give us at least 5 lines on the list. Now then.
1. Her grandparents all have cute nick names.
2. She loves living in the city.
3. She is very hip in her music tastes, and has a thing for musicians (wink, wink).
4. She has an adversion to poop. (Well, don't we all, but I think hers is slightly more, um, emphatic.)
5. At 16, she went to see a rock band at CBGBs without her mothers knowledge.
6. Her hair has been been dyed, in her own words, "most of the shades of the rainbow."
7. She successfully quit smoking.
8. She likes to watch reality TV.
9. She never thinks her house is clean enough.
10. She's a bit of a worrier.
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
The earth goes around the sun tra la! And Missuz J turns 31!
At Soph's school, on the kids' birthdays, they sing a little song. First, they put a big orange ball in the middle of the room. Then the birthday kid gets to hold a blown up globe. As the birthday kid slowly walks around the globe, the class sings, "The earth goes around the sun tra la. The earth goes around the sun. The earth goes around the sun tra la and (insert kid's name) turns 1!" Then the birthday kid says what he/she could do when sh/e turned one. (roll over, eat baby food, etc.) This song is repeated, year by year, until the class reaches the kid's current age. Then the kid and class list and celebrate all the things the birthday boy/girl can do now.
I think it's a pretty cool little activity. Unfortunately, having neither big orange ball nor globe nor gaggle of preschoolers at my disposal, I shall have to blog it instead of sing it. I'll skip years 1-30, for your anti-boredom convenience. Now then, ah-hem,
imaginary class: The earth goes around the sun tra la! The earth goes around the sun! The earth goes around the sun tra la! And Missuz J turns 31!
imaginary teacher: So Missuz J--what can you do now that you couldn't do a year ago?
Missuz J: Well, umm, nothing.
imaginary teacher (in a very nurturing and gentle tone of voice): Let's think about it together. You're getting to be a very big girl. Did you learn anything new?
Missuz J: Hmm. Well, just last week I think I invented a new cocktail. See, we were out of vodka, and I wanted a White Russian so I used some old coconut rum we had in the back of the freezer. I call it the White Jamaican. It's pretty delish. At least, I think I invented it.
imaginary teacher (an almost undetectable note of impatience in her still very sweet voice): Hmm. Well, that's nice, but let's keep thinking. Let's think about new things. Did you do anything new?
Missuzj J: Well, I grew two new chin hairs. But I guess that doesn't count. Hmm. I've got one! I watched the entire Buffy the Vampire series for the first time--in like 2 weeks! You should have seen the house. And smelled it. Damn. Have you seen Buffy yet? Want to borrow season one? You really have to give it until the second season for it to really heat up. Now, at first, you'll probably think that Angel is smoking hot, but just hold out. (SPOILER) Soon you'll see that he's just a vampire pussy with a soul who hides out in his apartment when Buffy is supposed to be killed by the Master. Just WAIT until Spike gets the chip put in his head by the initiative and starts tarting around with his shirt unbuttoned, and then, then, in Smashed, oh, my God, he has Buffy up against this wall and you can totally hear her unzip his pants and...
imaginary teacher (her impatience now noticeable): OK! I get the idea. There are young kids here you know. Now, other than cocktails and comic book TV, has ANYTHING happened this year that you're proud of?
Missuz J: Well, I didn't get skinnier, or smarter, or more patient, or more spiritual.
imaginary teacher (condoling): That's ok sweetie.
Missuz J: But you know, I think I am a little happier.
imaginary teacher: Now that's something to be proud of.
I think it's a pretty cool little activity. Unfortunately, having neither big orange ball nor globe nor gaggle of preschoolers at my disposal, I shall have to blog it instead of sing it. I'll skip years 1-30, for your anti-boredom convenience. Now then, ah-hem,
imaginary class: The earth goes around the sun tra la! The earth goes around the sun! The earth goes around the sun tra la! And Missuz J turns 31!
imaginary teacher: So Missuz J--what can you do now that you couldn't do a year ago?
Missuz J: Well, umm, nothing.
imaginary teacher (in a very nurturing and gentle tone of voice): Let's think about it together. You're getting to be a very big girl. Did you learn anything new?
Missuz J: Hmm. Well, just last week I think I invented a new cocktail. See, we were out of vodka, and I wanted a White Russian so I used some old coconut rum we had in the back of the freezer. I call it the White Jamaican. It's pretty delish. At least, I think I invented it.
imaginary teacher (an almost undetectable note of impatience in her still very sweet voice): Hmm. Well, that's nice, but let's keep thinking. Let's think about new things. Did you do anything new?
Missuzj J: Well, I grew two new chin hairs. But I guess that doesn't count. Hmm. I've got one! I watched the entire Buffy the Vampire series for the first time--in like 2 weeks! You should have seen the house. And smelled it. Damn. Have you seen Buffy yet? Want to borrow season one? You really have to give it until the second season for it to really heat up. Now, at first, you'll probably think that Angel is smoking hot, but just hold out. (SPOILER) Soon you'll see that he's just a vampire pussy with a soul who hides out in his apartment when Buffy is supposed to be killed by the Master. Just WAIT until Spike gets the chip put in his head by the initiative and starts tarting around with his shirt unbuttoned, and then, then, in Smashed, oh, my God, he has Buffy up against this wall and you can totally hear her unzip his pants and...
imaginary teacher (her impatience now noticeable): OK! I get the idea. There are young kids here you know. Now, other than cocktails and comic book TV, has ANYTHING happened this year that you're proud of?
Missuz J: Well, I didn't get skinnier, or smarter, or more patient, or more spiritual.
imaginary teacher (condoling): That's ok sweetie.
Missuz J: But you know, I think I am a little happier.
imaginary teacher: Now that's something to be proud of.
Monday, July 31, 2006
A Berry Happy Birthday--To You! (Too much Strawberry Shortcake!)
So many birthdays!
Erik's birthday is today--so although you like to stay incognito on my blog, tough titties baby! Here are 32 things ('cause, duh, he's 32) you may or may not know about my spouse.
1. He hates hates hates eggs. Really. With a burning passion. Even the IDEA of deviled eggs makes him gag. If Sophie wants him to eat something and he balks, she says, "But there's no debbled eggs in it Dad!"
2. He was an amazing radio DJ in college, as well as an amazing professional radio DJ for a couple years before and after we got married. In fact, he won a broadcaster of the year award, but we spaced the banquet because we didn't know it was in his honor. (Remember that time we did it on the desk at KBRE honey? GT.)
3. He loves his children with great, great, intensity.
4. He has apocalyptic nightmares several times a week.
5. He loves Dune. (I, however, do not.)
6. He never looks at other women--at least in my presence. Doesn't even mention who's hot in Hollywood when we're hanging out with friends. (I, however, do.)
7. He broke both arms in grade school. (They were playing Star Wars. He was standing on the jungle gym. When he was "shot" he flung himself backward, falling through the jungle gym.)
8. His 2 culinary specialties are fajitas and English muffin pizzas.
9. He loves wine spritzers.
10. He runs like, a million miles a day. Really, like 7 or 8.
11. He loves to play Madden football and some boxing game on the PS2.
12. Lately, he's into Entourage.
13. He loves gravy. Loves it.
14. He talks about fixing computers in his sleep.
15. He's dynamite in the sack.
16. He sometimes asks me if his pants make his head look to small. (Sorry babe. Had to mention it.)
17. He gives me a run for my money at Scrabble, even occasionally winning.
18. He travels hundreds of miles, literally, every week in order to be a father to his son/my stepson.
19. He has the most delicious shoulders I have ever seen.
20. He has now performed 3 karaoke numbers, IN PUBLIC. (Anarchy in the UK, Hit Me Baby One More Time, and You Give Love a Bad Name)
21. He's a Frisbee thrower extrordinaire.
22. He never puts his laundry away, but has a complex system of moving it among, like, 7 laundry baskets.
23. Although I refuse to do his laundry, he often will wash a load for me.
24. He often washes my hair for me.
25. He LOVES cartoons. In fact, when I was about 8 months pregnant, and asked him how he really felt about the fact that he was about to have a daughter, his answer was, "Well, we'll probably have to watch a lot of girl cartoons."
26. He gets down on the floor and really plays with Sophie, and the other kids in our life.
27. The only way he'll eat corn is on the cob. Period.
28. About this time of year, he starts helping with the dishes at my Mom's house (more than usual. That is, he always helps, but begins now to go the extra mile) because he's "saving up" for Thanksgiving--so he can eat and then sit on the couch and watch football without feeling guilty.
29. He's a gifted writer, particularly of fiction.
30. He brushes his teeth with Sophie's Barbie electric toothbrush.
31. His favorite clothes are full of holes.
32. He has a constellation of moles on his right forearm that look just like a puppy paw print.
Now then, on to Kodi. I totally totally forgot Kod's birthday which was like, 3 days ago. Add to that, I don't even know exactly how old she is. So in honor of Kodi, who I love like a sister, who I could not live without, who is one of the only people who I feel comfortable hanging out with in my messy house with no bra, here is my absolute favorite Kodi story.
In the LDS church, you're baptized at 8. After that--you have to stay sin-free (or repent like a mad man) to get into the highest level of heaven. So, sweet Kodi, on the night before her 8th birthday, figured she'd better get her major sinning out of the way. She pondered for a while, and then hit on the perfect, most sinful activity an almost 8 year old could engage in. She sneaked into the neighbor's yard and jumped naked on their trampoline. Yes!
So Happy Birthday to both of you.
Today's best thing about being a mom:
I love how Soph can get so excited about something so seemingly insignificant. A box of Backyardigan bandaids, her first maccaroon, a bottle of apple juice in the shape of, jump-back, an actual apple!
Today's worst thing about being a mom:
We went to the dentist to start having her cavities (that's right--plural) filled. Fuck, dude. What a tortuous nightmare. Long story short, we're going to have to take her to the pediadontist and have the rest of them done while she's asleep. Nightmare.
Erik's birthday is today--so although you like to stay incognito on my blog, tough titties baby! Here are 32 things ('cause, duh, he's 32) you may or may not know about my spouse.
1. He hates hates hates eggs. Really. With a burning passion. Even the IDEA of deviled eggs makes him gag. If Sophie wants him to eat something and he balks, she says, "But there's no debbled eggs in it Dad!"
2. He was an amazing radio DJ in college, as well as an amazing professional radio DJ for a couple years before and after we got married. In fact, he won a broadcaster of the year award, but we spaced the banquet because we didn't know it was in his honor. (Remember that time we did it on the desk at KBRE honey? GT.)
3. He loves his children with great, great, intensity.
4. He has apocalyptic nightmares several times a week.
5. He loves Dune. (I, however, do not.)
6. He never looks at other women--at least in my presence. Doesn't even mention who's hot in Hollywood when we're hanging out with friends. (I, however, do.)
7. He broke both arms in grade school. (They were playing Star Wars. He was standing on the jungle gym. When he was "shot" he flung himself backward, falling through the jungle gym.)
8. His 2 culinary specialties are fajitas and English muffin pizzas.
9. He loves wine spritzers.
10. He runs like, a million miles a day. Really, like 7 or 8.
11. He loves to play Madden football and some boxing game on the PS2.
12. Lately, he's into Entourage.
13. He loves gravy. Loves it.
14. He talks about fixing computers in his sleep.
15. He's dynamite in the sack.
16. He sometimes asks me if his pants make his head look to small. (Sorry babe. Had to mention it.)
17. He gives me a run for my money at Scrabble, even occasionally winning.
18. He travels hundreds of miles, literally, every week in order to be a father to his son/my stepson.
19. He has the most delicious shoulders I have ever seen.
20. He has now performed 3 karaoke numbers, IN PUBLIC. (Anarchy in the UK, Hit Me Baby One More Time, and You Give Love a Bad Name)
21. He's a Frisbee thrower extrordinaire.
22. He never puts his laundry away, but has a complex system of moving it among, like, 7 laundry baskets.
23. Although I refuse to do his laundry, he often will wash a load for me.
24. He often washes my hair for me.
25. He LOVES cartoons. In fact, when I was about 8 months pregnant, and asked him how he really felt about the fact that he was about to have a daughter, his answer was, "Well, we'll probably have to watch a lot of girl cartoons."
26. He gets down on the floor and really plays with Sophie, and the other kids in our life.
27. The only way he'll eat corn is on the cob. Period.
28. About this time of year, he starts helping with the dishes at my Mom's house (more than usual. That is, he always helps, but begins now to go the extra mile) because he's "saving up" for Thanksgiving--so he can eat and then sit on the couch and watch football without feeling guilty.
29. He's a gifted writer, particularly of fiction.
30. He brushes his teeth with Sophie's Barbie electric toothbrush.
31. His favorite clothes are full of holes.
32. He has a constellation of moles on his right forearm that look just like a puppy paw print.
Now then, on to Kodi. I totally totally forgot Kod's birthday which was like, 3 days ago. Add to that, I don't even know exactly how old she is. So in honor of Kodi, who I love like a sister, who I could not live without, who is one of the only people who I feel comfortable hanging out with in my messy house with no bra, here is my absolute favorite Kodi story.
In the LDS church, you're baptized at 8. After that--you have to stay sin-free (or repent like a mad man) to get into the highest level of heaven. So, sweet Kodi, on the night before her 8th birthday, figured she'd better get her major sinning out of the way. She pondered for a while, and then hit on the perfect, most sinful activity an almost 8 year old could engage in. She sneaked into the neighbor's yard and jumped naked on their trampoline. Yes!
So Happy Birthday to both of you.
Today's best thing about being a mom:
I love how Soph can get so excited about something so seemingly insignificant. A box of Backyardigan bandaids, her first maccaroon, a bottle of apple juice in the shape of, jump-back, an actual apple!
Today's worst thing about being a mom:
We went to the dentist to start having her cavities (that's right--plural) filled. Fuck, dude. What a tortuous nightmare. Long story short, we're going to have to take her to the pediadontist and have the rest of them done while she's asleep. Nightmare.
Thursday, July 27, 2006
RIP Kenmore
It took me a long time to finally let go. I've been clinging for months to the idea that it might get better. But today, I finally had to face up to the truth.
My dishwasher is dead.
Even my usual process of spinning around three times, saying the proper incantation, propping up the open door with my shin while gingerly loading the glasses in the broken top rack, praying it won't all fall to pieces has stopped working. It is officially twice as much work to load the dishes as to just wash them by hand. I surrender.
I LOVE my dishwasher. I put everything in it: light fixtures, plastic toys, storage bins. If it fits in there and needs washed, in it goes. But now, sigh, my dishwasher is dead.
So I climbed up on the counter and peeled my dish drainer off of the top of the cabinets, hosed it down (literally), and hand washed this morning's dishes. I'm seriously going to have to institute a one glass rule--every one gets one glass per day, and that's it. I swear it seems like Erik and Soph are in a contest to see who can have the most drinks from the most glasses.
I HATE doing the dishes. As far as household chores, it's the one I hate the most. Well, I really hate scrubbing the bath tub--but that's not an every day thing. In fact, it's embarrassing to tell you how often I do clean the bath tub, so I won't. Sweeping I hate, but mostly because I have to move all the rugs and can never find the dust pan. Vacuuming hurts my back so I can pawn that one off on Erik pretty easily. Laundry isn't TOO bad. I just hate lugging it up and down the stairs. Folding laundry is a nice excuse to watch trash TV without guilt. But dishes. Fuck dude. No TV. Smelly. My shirt gets wet. Soph always gets in some kind of trouble. Dishes also have such a time table. Skip for a day or two, and you're completely fucked.
My mom and dad made us start doing dishes at age 8. By the time all 3 "big" kids (sorry Katy) were 8, we had the dishes broken into 3 jobs. Clearing, rinsing, and loading. Clearing was the job we all wanted, and we were supposed to rotate, but somehow, my little brother Jon always ended up with that sweet job. He'd clear the table, one fucking fork at a time, keeping Mandy and I waiting until we'd just go and do it for him. The clearer was also in charge of counter wiping, but as that little fucker is in possession of a wiener, he never did that either. (Sorry, but really, most men just don't wipe off the counters. I'm sure all you metrosexuals do, but really, you're the exception.) Rinsing was the worst job, as it involved actual scrubbing and water. Plus, I think my mom mostly looked at the dishwasher as a sterilizer, and she insisted that the dishes that were loaded into it were basically clean already. Loading was ok, but you always ended up being the last one out of the kitchen, so that kind of sucked.
So--now I'm dishwasherless. Pity me.
Today's best thing about being a mom:
Having chocolate milk available to put in my coffee
Today's worst thing about being a mom:
Whining. And whining. And whining some more.
My dishwasher is dead.
Even my usual process of spinning around three times, saying the proper incantation, propping up the open door with my shin while gingerly loading the glasses in the broken top rack, praying it won't all fall to pieces has stopped working. It is officially twice as much work to load the dishes as to just wash them by hand. I surrender.
I LOVE my dishwasher. I put everything in it: light fixtures, plastic toys, storage bins. If it fits in there and needs washed, in it goes. But now, sigh, my dishwasher is dead.
So I climbed up on the counter and peeled my dish drainer off of the top of the cabinets, hosed it down (literally), and hand washed this morning's dishes. I'm seriously going to have to institute a one glass rule--every one gets one glass per day, and that's it. I swear it seems like Erik and Soph are in a contest to see who can have the most drinks from the most glasses.
I HATE doing the dishes. As far as household chores, it's the one I hate the most. Well, I really hate scrubbing the bath tub--but that's not an every day thing. In fact, it's embarrassing to tell you how often I do clean the bath tub, so I won't. Sweeping I hate, but mostly because I have to move all the rugs and can never find the dust pan. Vacuuming hurts my back so I can pawn that one off on Erik pretty easily. Laundry isn't TOO bad. I just hate lugging it up and down the stairs. Folding laundry is a nice excuse to watch trash TV without guilt. But dishes. Fuck dude. No TV. Smelly. My shirt gets wet. Soph always gets in some kind of trouble. Dishes also have such a time table. Skip for a day or two, and you're completely fucked.
My mom and dad made us start doing dishes at age 8. By the time all 3 "big" kids (sorry Katy) were 8, we had the dishes broken into 3 jobs. Clearing, rinsing, and loading. Clearing was the job we all wanted, and we were supposed to rotate, but somehow, my little brother Jon always ended up with that sweet job. He'd clear the table, one fucking fork at a time, keeping Mandy and I waiting until we'd just go and do it for him. The clearer was also in charge of counter wiping, but as that little fucker is in possession of a wiener, he never did that either. (Sorry, but really, most men just don't wipe off the counters. I'm sure all you metrosexuals do, but really, you're the exception.) Rinsing was the worst job, as it involved actual scrubbing and water. Plus, I think my mom mostly looked at the dishwasher as a sterilizer, and she insisted that the dishes that were loaded into it were basically clean already. Loading was ok, but you always ended up being the last one out of the kitchen, so that kind of sucked.
So--now I'm dishwasherless. Pity me.
Today's best thing about being a mom:
Having chocolate milk available to put in my coffee
Today's worst thing about being a mom:
Whining. And whining. And whining some more.
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Home Again, Home Again
Ok. Blogger sucks, as usual, and I can't get all the photos I want to download. So--here are a bunch, and I'll compose a second post to finish things up.
So--the Albuquerque trip.
I've already covered Wednesday and Thursday, travel day and zoo day, respectively. So, on to...
Friday was Madeline's birthday. I should say, Friday was Madeline's birthday EXTRAVAGANZA! After a night of swapping Zack's bed and the air mattress several times, Soph and I woke up feeling about as tired as we did when we went to bed, a process that was to be repeated pretty much daily during our trip. Madeline was very sweet, and like most birthday kids, didn't allow the slightest opportunity to pass without reminding friends, family, and strangers that it was her birthday.
We mobilized the kids and hit the road at about 10:00, destination: Build a Bear. We were there early enough to avoid a huge line. If you're not familiar with the build-a-bear process the kid picks a stuffed animal skin, then helps an employee stuff it, inserting a heart and some kind of annoying sound, if they want to. Then they give the animal an air bath, choose some expensive stuffed animal clothes to dress it in, use a computer to name the animal and print a birth certificate, and then, take the build-a-bear oath. It breaks down to about a 45 minute process that costs about 40 smacks per kid. Soph chose a rabbit, dressed it in a Sleeping Beauty dress, and named it, what else, Aurora. (She later decided that the dress was too scratchy, took it off, and renamed the naked bunny "Vanilla Icing.") Zach built a darling surfer monkey, and M
adeline built a pink birthday bear that sported a denim mini-skirt. Sweet.
After Build-a-Bear we let the kids ride the Carousel at the mall. This was a huge treat, and a chance for the moms and grandma to sit down.
From Build-a-Bear, we loaded the kids in the van and headed for the Mecca of 7 year old birthday parties everywhere, you guesses it, Chuck E. Cheese. Actually, it wasn't as painful as one would think. The place was surprisingly clean, and the rides and games were only 25 cents each.
However, here at Chuckey's, I began to loose my cool. It all started with a popsicle. Those bastards have a fancy popsicle machine right at the exit. When it was time to go, Soph spotted it, of course. Because it was a party day, she had pretty much been getting whatever she wanted. So, when she asked for a popsicle, I kin
d of absentmindedly said sure, kind of forgetting that we were going to be eating cake and ice cream in 20 minutes. Of course, in a group of three kids, one can't have a popsicle without the other 2 getting one So, I bought popsicles all around. In my imagination, Mandy was pretty annoyed with me for doing this. Disapproval of any kind kind of throws me for a loop. I spent much of the rest of the afternoon imagining that I wa
s a terrible mother and aunty and that the popsicles had ruined the day. Dur.
Cut to the next morning. Mand had a long day of yoga, and grandma and I were taking the kids out on the town. Again, in my imagination, I was fucking up the plans--getting in the way, and generally not following the program that I somehow couldn't figure out. My paranoia snowballed until I was sure Mandy wanted me to get a hotel and take myself and my rowdy daughter the hell out of her house. Matters weren't helped by the fact that the kids were all pretty rotten, and that my mom was entertaining, I think, similar feelings to mine.
By the time we got home, having gotten lost for a while thanks to my navigation error, I was hosting my first, I think, official migrane. Lights flashing, nausea
a, and pounding, pounding pain. My sweet mom decided I needed some distance and alone time, and as soon as Mand came in the door, left to find me a hotel room. Sigh. Left alone with Mandy, I totally came unglued, spilling my guts, telling her how I felt totally in the way, like I was doing "something" wrong, etc. I don't think she'll mind my sharing her response. See, in HER imagination, I was still mad at her for leaving me, moving to Albuquerque in the first place. She felt guilty for being happy. For being happy without me. This lead to her putting distance between us, because she felt like she was betraying our friendship, our sistership, with her happiness. So--tears, hugs, and then mom arriving back with the hotel key.
I decided to go ahead and stay at the hotel for the night, which I think was a good decision. Soph and I watched Ice Age 2 together, and both slept in a real bed, which was a good thing.
Sunday was a down time day for everyone. Mom had a long nap at Mandy's while the sisters and their kids took the kids to the hotel pool. It was small, but we had it to ourselves, and it was very nice. Later we made a trip to Whole Foods to procure dinner fixins. Sigh. Cedar City has lovely things about it, but good shopping is NOT one of them. I'll be shopping at Whole Foods in my dreams. Dinner was roasted veggies on focaccia with goat cheese. Can you say yummy? I'm going to recreate that meal soon. We also played some Disney Princess Monopoly with Zack and Madeline after Soph went to bed. Zack rolled the dice for everyone, chanting "Sugar pop, sugar pop, give
me a sugar pop," each time before giving the dice a roll.
Continued Below.
So--the Albuquerque trip.
I've already covered Wednesday and Thursday, travel day and zoo day, respectively. So, on to...
Friday was Madeline's birthday. I should say, Friday was Madeline's birthday EXTRAVAGANZA! After a night of swapping Zack's bed and the air mattress several times, Soph and I woke up feeling about as tired as we did when we went to bed, a process that was to be repeated pretty much daily during our trip. Madeline was very sweet, and like most birthday kids, didn't allow the slightest opportunity to pass without reminding friends, family, and strangers that it was her birthday.
We mobilized the kids and hit the road at about 10:00, destination: Build a Bear. We were there early enough to avoid a huge line. If you're not familiar with the build-a-bear process the kid picks a stuffed animal skin, then helps an employee stuff it, inserting a heart and some kind of annoying sound, if they want to. Then they give the animal an air bath, choose some expensive stuffed animal clothes to dress it in, use a computer to name the animal and print a birth certificate, and then, take the build-a-bear oath. It breaks down to about a 45 minute process that costs about 40 smacks per kid. Soph chose a rabbit, dressed it in a Sleeping Beauty dress, and named it, what else, Aurora. (She later decided that the dress was too scratchy, took it off, and renamed the naked bunny "Vanilla Icing.") Zach built a darling surfer monkey, and M
adeline built a pink birthday bear that sported a denim mini-skirt. Sweet.After Build-a-Bear we let the kids ride the Carousel at the mall. This was a huge treat, and a chance for the moms and grandma to sit down.
From Build-a-Bear, we loaded the kids in the van and headed for the Mecca of 7 year old birthday parties everywhere, you guesses it, Chuck E. Cheese. Actually, it wasn't as painful as one would think. The place was surprisingly clean, and the rides and games were only 25 cents each.
However, here at Chuckey's, I began to loose my cool. It all started with a popsicle. Those bastards have a fancy popsicle machine right at the exit. When it was time to go, Soph spotted it, of course. Because it was a party day, she had pretty much been getting whatever she wanted. So, when she asked for a popsicle, I kin
d of absentmindedly said sure, kind of forgetting that we were going to be eating cake and ice cream in 20 minutes. Of course, in a group of three kids, one can't have a popsicle without the other 2 getting one So, I bought popsicles all around. In my imagination, Mandy was pretty annoyed with me for doing this. Disapproval of any kind kind of throws me for a loop. I spent much of the rest of the afternoon imagining that I wa
s a terrible mother and aunty and that the popsicles had ruined the day. Dur.Cut to the next morning. Mand had a long day of yoga, and grandma and I were taking the kids out on the town. Again, in my imagination, I was fucking up the plans--getting in the way, and generally not following the program that I somehow couldn't figure out. My paranoia snowballed until I was sure Mandy wanted me to get a hotel and take myself and my rowdy daughter the hell out of her house. Matters weren't helped by the fact that the kids were all pretty rotten, and that my mom was entertaining, I think, similar feelings to mine.
By the time we got home, having gotten lost for a while thanks to my navigation error, I was hosting my first, I think, official migrane. Lights flashing, nausea
a, and pounding, pounding pain. My sweet mom decided I needed some distance and alone time, and as soon as Mand came in the door, left to find me a hotel room. Sigh. Left alone with Mandy, I totally came unglued, spilling my guts, telling her how I felt totally in the way, like I was doing "something" wrong, etc. I don't think she'll mind my sharing her response. See, in HER imagination, I was still mad at her for leaving me, moving to Albuquerque in the first place. She felt guilty for being happy. For being happy without me. This lead to her putting distance between us, because she felt like she was betraying our friendship, our sistership, with her happiness. So--tears, hugs, and then mom arriving back with the hotel key.I decided to go ahead and stay at the hotel for the night, which I think was a good decision. Soph and I watched Ice Age 2 together, and both slept in a real bed, which was a good thing.
Sunday was a down time day for everyone. Mom had a long nap at Mandy's while the sisters and their kids took the kids to the hotel pool. It was small, but we had it to ourselves, and it was very nice. Later we made a trip to Whole Foods to procure dinner fixins. Sigh. Cedar City has lovely things about it, but good shopping is NOT one of them. I'll be shopping at Whole Foods in my dreams. Dinner was roasted veggies on focaccia with goat cheese. Can you say yummy? I'm going to recreate that meal soon. We also played some Disney Princess Monopoly with Zack and Madeline after Soph went to bed. Zack rolled the dice for everyone, chanting "Sugar pop, sugar pop, give
me a sugar pop," each time before giving the dice a roll.Continued Below.
Jiggity Jig
Where did I leave off? Sunday? My mom stayed at the hotel on Sunday night, which was good, because she'd been sleeping on the couch for 4 nights. Monday was mellow. A little more swimming for the kids, a trip to Target. The highlight of Monday, and maybe the trip, for me anyway, was going to a yoga class with Mandy that evening. Not only was the class great, but I got to visit the space and people that have become so important to Mandy, and by default, are important to me.
By Tuesday morning, Sophie was absolutely exhausted. She woke up tired and grumpy, and grumped her way through the rest of the day. We flew out at noon, and changed planes once. I ended up carrying all 50+ pounds of her through 3 airports. Luckily, she slept on both flights. When we arrived in Vegas, I rented a luggage cart, ignored the warning signs, and let her ride for a while. Then we got lost in Vegas for a while, then we came home.
The End.
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