Wow. I haven't done one of these for a while. Let's see if I remember how.
Saturday: E drove up to Salt Lake for the day to visit Janz. I don't really know what has happened to the plan for him to move back. I thought that would have happened by now. But--I'm on a need to know status on that one, and apparently, I don't need to know. Soph and I spent a nice morning together. Apparently, whatever was causing her to be the biggest brat in all the land, be it spiritual, physical, or just temperamental has passed. Other than the occasional 4 year old crap, she's doing much better.
We babysat (of course) her pal Addison most of the day. We had a picnic, played with some play dough (colored with Kool-Aid. It makes it smell nice.), and did other assorted messy stuff. Those two girls just want to boss the pants off of each other. They are both only kids, and both are used to calling the shots. We had a few breakdowns, but nothing too serious.
Saturday night we went to a little Halloween party. Soph rocked as Scooby Doo, and Aunt Katy made me up into a pretty bitchin' pirate. I was tired and grumpy and menstruating, so we didn't last too long.
Sunday: What a total waste of a day. Not bad really, but I was tired as hell, and so was Soph. We stayed in our pajamas pretty much all day, watched too many movies, ate too much ice cream, and accomplished less than nothing.
So, as I said earlier, Soph's doing better. Good thing too, or the shit was going to hit the fan in a major way.
So ends this boring post.
Today's best thing about being a mom:
Hugs
Today's worst thing about being a mom:
So, tomorrow at pre-school, they're having international children's day. The kids are supposed to dress up as a kid from a foreign country, preferably from our family's heritage, and bring a food from same country. I get that this is a fun thing to do without having to deal with Halloween costumes and candy, but sheesh. Now I have to come up with ANOTHER costume. We're pretty much Danish, with a bit of English and German tossed into the mix. How the hell do I dress my kid up like a Dane? A Viking helmet? Plus, the Danes eat a lot of fish--a lot of salted and pickled fish. Not a favorite treat among the under 5 crowd.
So, the plans I'm kicking around in my head are: 1) Make up a Danish costume with no attention paid at all to authenticity--maybe a little apron and a garland of flowers in her hair or something and sent her with some cubed Havarti on toothpicks or 2) Forget the family heritage thing and go Greek--wrap her in a quick toga and grab some baklava at the store to send with her. Votes? Other ideas?
Monday, October 30, 2006
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Take this job and shove it.
Woot!
I've found a rogue computer here in the computer lab where I help/babysit my one independent study class that will let me log on to blogger. Sweet.
Know what? My daughter is a big spoiled brat pain in my ass.
That's right. You heard me. She's a brat. She's spoiled. She's a pain. The pain resides in my ass.
She's not sleeping. She's throwing huge screaming bawling fits every time she doesn't get her way, which is often, as she constantly wants to do things like take the eggs out of the refrigerator and make "egg sauce" (wtf is egg sauce anyway?) in the middle of the living room floor. The last 2 mornings have been tortuous. Tortuous like, "I'm so glad you are going to preschool and that those sorry saps there can deal with you instead of me. I'll be at work all day. See ya!" rather than "Oh my sweet love. Mommy hates to go to work and leave you because I love you so...oh the guilt" tortuous.
Every time she yells at me, I'm giving her a 3 minute time-out in her room. This morning she had 3 time outs between 6:30 and 7:30. The last one was because I wouldn't stop blow drying my hair to tie her up on a chair with her rainbow jump rope while saying "heh, heh, heh."
Night before last she got up like 5 times, the last being at 2:00, and she refused to go to back to bed. I'm talking screaming, kicking, and generally going to bits. Finally at 4 she fell asleep on the couch, exhausted with herself.
Now lately, I am a total skeptic to all things spiritual/religious/whatever. (This IS related to the above. I promise.) But over the last few weeks, the energy (I know--mumbo jumbo) in my house has been bad. Ugly bad. Like I pick up Soph and we both don't really want to go home. It's not just the filth, though that's part of it. After a night of no sleep at all, I was feeling desperate. So yesterday I picked Soph up from school, and we went to The Wizz, the local store for everything from hemp soap to glow in the dark skulls to fairy tarot cards. I consulted with the owner, Sally, and ended up buying a sage smudge stick (bundle of sage tied together.) I went home, lit it up and got it smoking, and feeling very silly, went from room to room, spreading the "sacred smoke," blessing my house, asking that only the "good, pure, and peaceful" remain. Then I put the smudge out in a bowl of salt, and sprinkled the salt around my house, repeating the blessing. I also bought a little dream catcher and hung it above Sophie's bed.
Did it work? I don't know. She slept better, but that may be due to the adult dose of benedryl I gave her before bed. She was back to being her bratty self at 5:30 this morning.
Today's best thing about being a mom:
Nothing. Nothing at all.
Today's worst thing about being a mom:
It sucks.
I've found a rogue computer here in the computer lab where I help/babysit my one independent study class that will let me log on to blogger. Sweet.
Know what? My daughter is a big spoiled brat pain in my ass.
That's right. You heard me. She's a brat. She's spoiled. She's a pain. The pain resides in my ass.
She's not sleeping. She's throwing huge screaming bawling fits every time she doesn't get her way, which is often, as she constantly wants to do things like take the eggs out of the refrigerator and make "egg sauce" (wtf is egg sauce anyway?) in the middle of the living room floor. The last 2 mornings have been tortuous. Tortuous like, "I'm so glad you are going to preschool and that those sorry saps there can deal with you instead of me. I'll be at work all day. See ya!" rather than "Oh my sweet love. Mommy hates to go to work and leave you because I love you so...oh the guilt" tortuous.
Every time she yells at me, I'm giving her a 3 minute time-out in her room. This morning she had 3 time outs between 6:30 and 7:30. The last one was because I wouldn't stop blow drying my hair to tie her up on a chair with her rainbow jump rope while saying "heh, heh, heh."
Night before last she got up like 5 times, the last being at 2:00, and she refused to go to back to bed. I'm talking screaming, kicking, and generally going to bits. Finally at 4 she fell asleep on the couch, exhausted with herself.
Now lately, I am a total skeptic to all things spiritual/religious/whatever. (This IS related to the above. I promise.) But over the last few weeks, the energy (I know--mumbo jumbo) in my house has been bad. Ugly bad. Like I pick up Soph and we both don't really want to go home. It's not just the filth, though that's part of it. After a night of no sleep at all, I was feeling desperate. So yesterday I picked Soph up from school, and we went to The Wizz, the local store for everything from hemp soap to glow in the dark skulls to fairy tarot cards. I consulted with the owner, Sally, and ended up buying a sage smudge stick (bundle of sage tied together.) I went home, lit it up and got it smoking, and feeling very silly, went from room to room, spreading the "sacred smoke," blessing my house, asking that only the "good, pure, and peaceful" remain. Then I put the smudge out in a bowl of salt, and sprinkled the salt around my house, repeating the blessing. I also bought a little dream catcher and hung it above Sophie's bed.
Did it work? I don't know. She slept better, but that may be due to the adult dose of benedryl I gave her before bed. She was back to being her bratty self at 5:30 this morning.
Today's best thing about being a mom:
Nothing. Nothing at all.
Today's worst thing about being a mom:
It sucks.
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Thanks, but no thanks
It looks like this year we’ll be heading up to
When I say extended, do I ever mean extended. They have to reserve the church to have room for everyone. My mom has 6 brothers. With one exception, they all have at least 4 kids—I think. I quit keeping track of my cousins a decade or so ago. Now that the grandkids have started procreating, the numbers have reached fairly ridiculous proportions. I honestly have no idea how many 2nd cousins I have. Something like 10 or so.
I haven’t been to
So, my dad was in the Navy, and nearly every summer, whether we were living in
When I was little, I loved these trips. Cousins, cookouts, trampolines, and my grandma’s homemade strawberry jam. As the years went by, though, they became more, well, torturous. I grew boobs, lost my faith in the LDS church, and realized that just because people are related to you, it doesn't necessarily make them nice. I suddenly felt like the blackest of black sheep. Then I remembered the basement incident.
So, why am I going to
Family is family I guess. None of my uncles, aunts or cousins have met Sophie, and I’d like (some) of them to. Plus, there are a handful of 2nd cousins just her age, and I’m sure she’ll have an absolute ball running through the halls of the church with them. My girl LOVES cousins. She misses the Krause kids like crazy, and absolutely adores the Jorgensen cousins. For Soph, playing with cousins is better than Disneyland. When I tell her that we’re going to meet new cousins—a whole building full, she’s going to flip.
Those little bastards better be nice to her, or I will loose my shit.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Bock Bock?
So, my brother-in-law is currently undergoing chemotherapy for a brain tumor. (He had surgery a few weeks ago and the surgeon removed most of it. The prognosis is pretty positive.) You’d think that would be the topic of my post, wouldn’t you? Well, it’s not. Somehow it doesn’t seem my story to tell.
Why, then, do I bring it up? Well, soup. Soup and chickens.
When I asked Mike what he could keep down, he said soup. Actually, he said. “Well, brothy soups don’t seem to make me hurl too bad.” So Sophie and took it upon ourselves to make him a pot of the most delicious, nutritious, non-hurl-able chicken noodle soup in all the land.
I’m actually a pretty kick-ass chicken-soup maker. For this one, I threw a nice big fresh chicken, some onion, carrot, celery, bay, peppercorns, and a little garlic in my big stock pot to make the broth, cook the chicken, and get the soup ball rolling. When the chicken was cooked, I took it out of the pot, let it cool, and commenced to remove the meat from the bones.
Soph was sitting on the counter, as is her usual MO when I’m cooking. Now, my girl has eaten a lot of her chicken in her day, but I think this was the first time she saw an actual whole cooked chicken. Her chicken usually appears in nugget or drumstick form. She looked at the chicken for a while and said, “This isn’t a real chicken. Right Mommy?”
I answered her, “Well, yes. It is.”
She thought a while and asked, “But it never had a head. Right Mommy?” Warning bells began to ring on my mommy radar.
Deciding that honesty was the best policy, I told her, “Well, actually, yes. It did have a head.”
She sat for a while, and then asked the inevitable, “Where is the head now?”
Again, going with the honesty, and trying to head off further questions, I decided to give her the whole story. “Well Soph. This chicken was alive. And then somebody killed it and chopped of its head and pulled off its feathers and sent it to the store. We bought it at the store to make some soup for Mike.”
“Was it a bad guy?”
“Was who a bad guy?”
“The guy that chopped off the chicken’s head.”
“Nope. It wasn’t a bad guy. It was just a regular guy. Honey, when we eat meat, it means we’re eating an animal. The animal was alive once. Farmers raise animals for us to eat. That’s why there are farms. We need to be grateful for our food and not waste it, because the animals were alive once. Some people have decided that eating meat is not ok, and they are called vegetarians. That’s ok. But Mommy thinks it’s ok to eat meat. She just tries to be very thankful.”
“But not cows. Right mom? We don’t eat cows.”
“Well, yes. We do. Hamburgers are made from cows.”
Now the whole time we’re having this conversation, she’s been picking little bits of chicken out of the bowl I’m using and munching on them. At this point, she kind of looked at the piece of chicken in her hand, then sort of shrugged and popped it in her mouth.
This conversation is not unlike the one we had when Soph was just learning to talk. If I remember correctly, I was eating a chicken sandwich. She was curious, so I offered a little piece to her, asking, “Would you like to try some chicken?” She looked with horror at my offering, and asked, “Bock bock?”
It does seem weird that her whole life we’ve read books about farms, watched shows about farms, sang songs about farms, but never once have we talked about the fact that the animals on the farm are pretty much dinner walking around. It seems weirder that we do that to begin with. That is, personify our future food. Why do we romanticize farm animals so much?
This is the part where I should deconstruct the above, and wax all philosophical about it. But I don’t think I will.
Today’s best thing about being a mom:
It makes me think about things I should think about but don’t.
Today’s worst thing about being a mom:
There’s no denial allowed.
Why, then, do I bring it up? Well, soup. Soup and chickens.
When I asked Mike what he could keep down, he said soup. Actually, he said. “Well, brothy soups don’t seem to make me hurl too bad.” So Sophie and took it upon ourselves to make him a pot of the most delicious, nutritious, non-hurl-able chicken noodle soup in all the land.
I’m actually a pretty kick-ass chicken-soup maker. For this one, I threw a nice big fresh chicken, some onion, carrot, celery, bay, peppercorns, and a little garlic in my big stock pot to make the broth, cook the chicken, and get the soup ball rolling. When the chicken was cooked, I took it out of the pot, let it cool, and commenced to remove the meat from the bones.
Soph was sitting on the counter, as is her usual MO when I’m cooking. Now, my girl has eaten a lot of her chicken in her day, but I think this was the first time she saw an actual whole cooked chicken. Her chicken usually appears in nugget or drumstick form. She looked at the chicken for a while and said, “This isn’t a real chicken. Right Mommy?”
I answered her, “Well, yes. It is.”
She thought a while and asked, “But it never had a head. Right Mommy?” Warning bells began to ring on my mommy radar.
Deciding that honesty was the best policy, I told her, “Well, actually, yes. It did have a head.”
She sat for a while, and then asked the inevitable, “Where is the head now?”
Again, going with the honesty, and trying to head off further questions, I decided to give her the whole story. “Well Soph. This chicken was alive. And then somebody killed it and chopped of its head and pulled off its feathers and sent it to the store. We bought it at the store to make some soup for Mike.”
“Was it a bad guy?”
“Was who a bad guy?”
“The guy that chopped off the chicken’s head.”
“Nope. It wasn’t a bad guy. It was just a regular guy. Honey, when we eat meat, it means we’re eating an animal. The animal was alive once. Farmers raise animals for us to eat. That’s why there are farms. We need to be grateful for our food and not waste it, because the animals were alive once. Some people have decided that eating meat is not ok, and they are called vegetarians. That’s ok. But Mommy thinks it’s ok to eat meat. She just tries to be very thankful.”
“But not cows. Right mom? We don’t eat cows.”
“Well, yes. We do. Hamburgers are made from cows.”
Now the whole time we’re having this conversation, she’s been picking little bits of chicken out of the bowl I’m using and munching on them. At this point, she kind of looked at the piece of chicken in her hand, then sort of shrugged and popped it in her mouth.
This conversation is not unlike the one we had when Soph was just learning to talk. If I remember correctly, I was eating a chicken sandwich. She was curious, so I offered a little piece to her, asking, “Would you like to try some chicken?” She looked with horror at my offering, and asked, “Bock bock?”
It does seem weird that her whole life we’ve read books about farms, watched shows about farms, sang songs about farms, but never once have we talked about the fact that the animals on the farm are pretty much dinner walking around. It seems weirder that we do that to begin with. That is, personify our future food. Why do we romanticize farm animals so much?
This is the part where I should deconstruct the above, and wax all philosophical about it. But I don’t think I will.
Today’s best thing about being a mom:
It makes me think about things I should think about but don’t.
Today’s worst thing about being a mom:
There’s no denial allowed.
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Give Peace a Chance
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.
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.
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.
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