In the previous Blog, I mentioned that, with all the kids' activities (baseball season, specifically), things have been pretty crazy around the household.
To try and keep things together, on the weekends, I sit down with Lexi's colored pens and markers and create a graph detailing what's for dinner every night, what's for snack after school, and who needs to be where and at what time.
Guess what? It is nearly impossible for me to think up dinners that are halfway healthy, budget friendly and quick to make, when put on the spot.
This past weekend, I pulled out some cookbooks that I used to swear by. Either the recipes were unappetizing, or, my kids wouldn't touch it if I paid them, or, they heavily featured cream of whatever soups.
Mentally I was already planning a yard sale with most of my cookbook collection.
Anyhow, Coming up with a menu a week in advance made me realize that I need more imagination, and, to branch out a little. I will start next week.
This week, I made up my graph, figured out who was where and when, which helps with what needs to be easy for the kids, or cooked ahead of time around my work schedule, and then added ingredients to the list as I went. It literally took me two days of playing with it this weekend, in and around everything else.
With the Maple Fest this past weekend and kids scattered all over with obligations to Maple Fest/Talent Show/Boy Scouts etc. we crammed grocery shopping in after Sunday school with all but Joe in tow. Where I immediately spent double my usual grocery budget. I handed over my bank card in resignation after cringing over the total and resolved to figure out a less expensive way to feed the kids somewhat healthy without needing to remortgage the house. Everyone would be happy if we just existed on PB&J, truthfully.
This system is a work in progress.
While on the subject of Sunday School, yesterday was the last official school day before the end of year party next week. I began to write on the whiteboard, things we had learned over the year. I highlighted several things, and even wrote things the kids had done both in and out of Sunday School, so they could see that we did make progress, and that we did learn stuff.
"See, Kids? We did good stuff this year! We talked about kindness and empathy and compassion and helping people and being a good example and we talked about Saints and all sorts of things! We made a blanket for the girl in the Kindergarten Class, when she was in the hospital after a car accident, and made cards for the nursing home. You all donated clothes, baked cookies for the nursing home, helped out with fund raisers! You all did wonderfully! Can anyone think of anything else?"
Up went the hand of "That One"...
"Yes? What can you add?"
"Not to give out your "V Card" till after you're married, and, beating people is bad."
*Thunk* went my head against the white board. "Alright. I'll take it. Thank you for your input."
On the way in that morning, the head of Sunday School pulled me aside.
"Moriah, I have a proposition for you."
"It is entirely too early in the morning to be propositioned."
"Ha. Ha. I want you to teach the next oldest class next year. You're a nurse. You would be perfect for 'Theology of the Body"! I think you really should teach it."
"Ummmmm. Wellll. Ummmmmm. Can I get back to you on this?"
Here's the thing. I hate that class. I hate the curriculum. If it wasn't a teeth gritting necessity for Confirmation, I probably wouldn't send my kids to it. It's a diocese wide thing, and we just have to deal with the program. No. I DON'T want to teach it. I just need to figure out a way to tell the head of the program that. Before she approaches Bearded Man, and he agrees for me. (You know. Like last time.)
Back to Maple Fest weekend in Franklinville. The book sale went smoothly. The old ladies waited nicely, and headed right back to the Harlequin section of the book sale. My girls, after watching in fascination, whispered to me urgently that the old ladies had apps on their smart phones and were scanning the books. I think a lot of them collect them. Someday, their estate is going to have to clear things out, and they will have to deal with thousands of Harlequin books. And then all their frienemies will be hovering around with their scanners, to snap up whichever books they don't already have.
The kids and I scored piles and piles of books, and staggered home with three boxes full of them. It was a very successful book sale.
For a quick recap: Three of the kids marched in the parade. Joe changed out of his parade baseball jersey and into his Boy Scout shirt, and sold (14 different flavors!) of sausage sticks, Kaila helped out with the Strawberry Shortcake booth for 9th graders AND was a contestant in the "Franklinville's Got Talent" show - where she took third place, Lexi and Bearded Man had garbage duty, which is the 6th grade obligation every year, and, I chased George around the Festival until we were both exhausted.
After the Maple Fest, I looked at Joe's fairly new sneakers, and noticed they were falling off his feet in tatters. "Joe! What the heck happened to your shoes??!!!"
"I do not know."
"How long have they been like that?"
"Approximately 2 weeks."
"Alright. Let's go get you new shoes."
At the shoe store and subsequent measuring, it was determined that my 10 year old now wears a men's size 8.5, and we headed to the men's sneaker section. Joe tried on a few pairs. Frowning at most of them, he announced "These make me feel vulnerable."
"Vulnerable. Of course they do, Joseph. How about these ones?"
"They LOOK nice, but, I think they will make me feel vulnerable, too."
"How about we try them on and see."
"I like how they feel. I like how they look...."
"AND they are twenty dollars cheaper than that other pair....."
"...But, I just feel very vulnerable in them."
"Can you explain in a little more detail WHY shoes make you feel vulnerable? What, specifically are you looking for, that would make you feel confident?"
"I need to know that, if I need to lean back, I will not slip. If I have to duck, they will hold me in one place without falling over. If someone attacks me, I need good grip. If the earth cracks under me, I need thick soles and the ability to move fast without worrying about my shoes. If I need to climb mountains, I need a good pair of shoes. All these other ones have flimsy soles. I need the shoes with the good thick soles, so I can be confident I am safe in any situation."
"Well, I suppose you shouldn't need to waste your time worrying over your personal safety, if you don't have the right shoes. Get the ones that don't make you vulnerable, kiddo. Always good to be prepared."
My child can now handle absolutely any situation thrown at him, including attack, earthquakes and mountain climbing.
That is the extent of the current craziness of our household. I think I need to have a dreaded yard sale, to offload most of my cook book collection and thin out my massive book collection. I am running out of shelves to store them. I need to think about that more, first.
Till next time!
Monday, April 25, 2016
Tuesday, April 19, 2016
27 Minutes
It's been awhile! Let's see what I can cram on here in 27 minutes (exactly the amount of time I have for this Blog today)
When we last caught up, the bathroom was a Tiffany Blue nightmare. That one little gallon of paint ended up becoming the need to add recessed lights and a new fan for the bathroom. It was noted that one of the new lights was installed, (by my direction, after being hauled out of a dead sleep and dragged down the stairs to determine the location of the lights) over the toilet, completely without really thinking it through. Which now gives it a delightful spotlight. It now literally looks as if the toilet is on display. When you turn on the bathroom lights now, and gaze at the toilet, all that is missing is the sound of angels singing. But, the colors look great now, so, there's that....
While we were overhauling the bathroom (And, the above paragraph simplified that miserable process greatly...) I decided on a whim at the Home Depot paint counter, that, we should probably rearrange the kitchen. You know. Just move that cupboard over there, and those cupboards here. And, while we are at it, there is a great light on clearance, so, we should probably grab that. Hey, since we're here, those peel and stick floor tiles that some brilliant person decided would make splendid counter tops, absolutely cannot stay...
So. The kitchen was painted, the cupboards moved around, the counters re-tiled, and a new light and range hood installed.
Also, this all happened only 2 weeks before a projected visit from my out of town cousin and her sons. Not BECAUSE of their visit, but, because of a gallon of paint bought for the bathroom. And the resulting lighting mess. Most of which can be directly traced back to one electrician who was apparently hired to do work in the bathroom shortly before we bought the house. I am not saying that he is a terrible electrician. But I am saying that, I will not be at all surprised if his house ever sustained damage from an electrical fire. Anyhow, one idea became many ideas, and our entire house was completely torn apart last minute just because of one gallon of Tiffany Blue paint. The bathroom is now referred to as "The Tiffany Room"
Currently, we are in the midst of baseball season. This tends to be our busiest time of the year. Between baseball, Scouts, and all the other millions of things that all seem to take place between April and June, life will be insanity until school lets out this year. I suppose that once you accept that, it's easier to deal with. Therefore, weekly menus are created and posted on the weekend, and, getting dinners into everyone and getting everyone where they need to be is marginally easier. The crazy home and work schedules have a considerable amount to do with the neglect of this Blog.
Probably the busiest of the kids, is Joe. Joe is juggling baseball, Boy Scouts and a twice weekly after school Mine Craft Club that is apparently all educational. Joe is on the go nearly every day. It has not, however, stopped his constant questions my favorite recently being "Mom. Does Nitrogen turn into liquid nitrogen at absolute zero?" I handed him my phone and told him to look it up. I still don't know the answer to that question.
Joe's most recent obsession has been all things astronomy. This has entailed Joe and I taking night time star gazing trips - the most recent with a new friend of his. I remarked upon it on Facebook, and, a friend of mine messaged me that her husband is an astronomer, and he and his astronomer friend would be delighted to have Joe up for an evening of star gazing. We went up last night, and, it was an amazing experience. Using my phone, he took several moon pictures through the telescope. I am delighted that I am using the best one as my computer wallpaper at work. My patients seem to like the picture, too.
This up coming weekend is the Annual Maple Festival in Franklinville. Anyone who has read this blog for any sort of longevity will know that the highlight of the Maple Fest for me is the Maple Fest book sale.
I actually mentioned it this morning to the Bearded Man.
"Do you know what?"
"What?"
"I was at the library recently and some ladies brought a bunch of books in for the book sale. They offered to put them in the book sale piles, but, the volunteer at the front desk told them to leave the books with her. She said they go thru them first, and sometimes keep the good ones!!!!"
"Hmmmm." (with absolutely no interest)
"I was all outraged, until I thought that, if I was a volunteer, I would probably jump at the chance with completely no moral or ethical qualms about it. So, I suppose I can't be outraged anymore. Besides, I am not sure if they keep them for themselves, or the library."
"Mmmhmmm" (Still no interest.)
Anyhow, I figure with all the working out I have been doing lately, I should be okay when the initial rush of elderly line cutting ladies at opening of the library doors happens. It's a yearly thing. They show up last minute and then hip check their way to the front of the line, pushing and shoving and tumbling through the doors with purses and elbows swinging. Where they then proceed to stop at the first table and block all access to any of the books. It's a yearly challenge.
The Sunday School Year is winding down. We have two more days left. One of learning, and one for the End of Year Party. This past weekend, I asked the kids to write on the white board something they had learned this year. Because, I am nearly certain the only reason they show up is because their parents make them, and, we always provide a snack. Anyhow, even the one kid who argues everything wrote something nice on the board.
There is always "One", however. And, sure enough, one of my students wrote "I am not going to heaven by any means" followed by "It's a trap"
Well. Four out of five ain't bad, I suppose. There isn't a Sunday that goes by that I don't feel guilty and completely unworthy of teaching that class. Every single lesson I teach, there is the glaring reality staring back at me that: I certainly don't practice what I preach sometimes, and, someone who is so terribly sure of their spot in hell should probably not be trying to help others to heaven. Ah well. We do our best. Since I am pretty certain the kids retain nearly nothing I teach them, I don't think I am creating too much damage.
With the nicer Spring weather lately, comes the neighborhood coming alive again. I never know how many kids will be tumbling around my lawn day by day. A new kid recently moved in only 2 doors away. We have only seen his mother once, briefly, but, I told her that it's useless to resist the crowd of kids. They will play between the five houses in a row that are full of kids whether we like it or not, so, she may as well get used to it.
I recently made chocolate chip cookies... before I knew it, there was a line of children at my front door for cookies. It was not unlike Halloween. I didn't even know some of them. Apparently as kids were stepping off the porch, they were telling kids who were walking by after school that "That lady there has cookies!"
This is the worst time of year for poor Buster the dog. My anxiety ridden nanny dog hates the nice weather. When his kids are outside, and the potentially murderous other kids are all over. And the tumbling and running, and chaos. There are the evil people walking by and the possibility for mayhem and torture everywhere the poor dog looks. There are dogs in the yard behind us that might be threatening. There is the dog in the yard next to ours who might break free of his lead and figure out how to hop the fence and kill his precious children at any given time. There is the most evil of all creatures - the mail lady - who apparently looks as if she could snap and kill us all at any moment. There are the other dogs being walked, who look shifty as all get out, the rotten killer squirrel in the tree in the back yard, and those terrible birds are just not to be trusted. Buster likes the winter time. The kids are inside. All potential murderers are outside. The kids are all in one general area, and he can relax. During the nice weather, the poor dog must run from window to window, or along the perimeters of the back yard barking viciously at anything that looks suspicious (everything). It is a rough time for him. It is also a rough time for those of us that must listen to the constant frantic barking of my dog who, if her were in human form, would benefit from a nice daily dose of Xanax. He just cannot deal with this .
That is pretty much the excitement around my household. I am sure there is probably so much more, but, it will have to wait for the next Blog. Hopefully I can get them out more frequently!
Monday, March 7, 2016
Green Claustrophobia
This past weekend was crazy. Saturday was spent in Buffalo with Bearded Man, for his 40th Birthday. I had bought tickets to see Jeff Foxworthy and Larry the Cable Guy. For the occasion, I also had to reserve my daughter for babysitting purposes. Kaila is generally scheduled around the neighborhood to babysit for various people anymore. As she pointed out, they pay better. As I pointed out, room and board isn't cheap.
We had a good time in Buffalo, wrapped up with dinner right after the show. I called home after dinner to check in, and the conversation went as such:
"Hi Kaila! Just calling to check in."
"Oh, hi Mom. Everything is fine and stuff."
"Okay. We just finished dinner."
"Oh. Are you coming home NOW?"
"Why do you sound as if that's a bad thing?"
"Because I am going to have to kick all the druggies out early now."
"Oh. And how are the kids?"
"Lexi was a little nuts, but, she settled down after five shots of tequila."
"Grand."
"We need to wrap this up soon Mom. My dealer is at the door."
"Alrighty then."
"Oh, and, there was another window incident...."
"WHAT??? What do you MEAN, there was another window incident???!!!!"
"Forget the fact that I have just told you that there is a drug dealer at the front door, Lexi is passed out with tequila, and that I have to kick all the druggies out. It's the possibility of a broken window that you freak out at. You have great priorities, Mom. The windows are all FINE. The kids are fine, and the boys are asleep already."
"Oh. Well. Make sure you have respectable non hoochie clothing on when I get home then."
"Alright. Fine. I will change back into decent clothes. I was cold anyway."
And that, my friends, is my daughter in a nutshell. I love that kid. Who, by the way is one of the most decent respectable non druggie kids on the planet, for anyone who did not catch the total sarcasm of the conversation....
Sunday morning dawned with absolutely no desire from anybody to get out of bed. However, being semi responsible Sunday School teachers, we have to go to church. Bearded Man was off to Baseball Camp, or some such thing, with Joe, and I hauled the rest of the crew off to church.
Sunday's lesson was something along the lines of empathy and compassion, with heaven and hell somehow mixed in. Not going to lie. I hate the entire curriculum, and we take it all with a grain of salt...
Anyhow, one of the suggested activities was to try and demonstrate empathy and compassion. It was long the lines of "Your friend at school is wearing a new shirt. Someone accidently spills ketchup on it at lunch. I think she feels:" and, "I feel:"
The kids all looked at me, blankly.
"Okay, lets put it in perspective. You, (I say, pointing at one girl) are wearing a new sweater to school. You LOVE this sweater. You have nagged your poor mother incessantly, until she finally broke down and bought you the most perfect sweater in the whole world, because you absolutely could not even think about life without it. And she", I say, pointing at the one kid I never should have pointed at, because she argues about absolutely every. single. thing. ever. "spills ketchup on it. Okay, ketchup spiller. How do you think the ketchup spillee feels?"
"Guilty. She should have known better than to be in my way."
"Seriously. Have you learned NOTHING today? Alright, ketchup kid, how do you feel? About your new sweater, as well as the person who spilled it?"
"Honestly, this happens almost every single day!" she wailed "I have so many nice clothes, and almost every day, I spill ketchup or cheese on my shirts and sweaters! The struggle!" and, her head thunks on the table in despair.
"Okay, now, when you have collected yourself, how do you feel about the ketchup spiller?"
"Scared. She scares me."
"She SHOULD be scared!" Announces the ketchup spiller "She should have known better than to be in my way! She DESERVED to have her sweater ruined! She needs to buy me a cookie at lunch every single day for a month!"
"Girls. In all reality, you would both be saying "Hey, I am so sorry, and, Oh that's okay, it isn't the end of the world" to each other, because, that is how we behave socially."
"No. I would NOT forgive her for ruining my sweater!"
"I would probably laugh at her, after I did it!"
"Okay. This isn't working. Let's trade places?"
"WHAT? If it was MY sweater, I would make her buy me a new one, and tell her I hate her!"
"Never mind. I have failed. I have completely failed as a Sunday School teacher and should probably be fired."
'Hey, it wasn't our idea to do the activities."
Anyhow, we all survived Sunday School. I am pretty sure I have about zero percent chance at a shot at heaven, and we all made it home in one piece. Where the painting fail happened.
About a month ago, I took the kids to the Home Depot, and told them to pick out a new paint color for the bathroom. We have precisely one very small bathroom for our family of 6. It is very small and very dark and very not adequate for our needs, but, it is what it is. Also, dark lighting is infinitely more flattering. Just saying.
The kids chose a very bright and happy blue. Sort of an aqua blue. In the spirit of bright and happy, I went out and bought bright and happy towels. Bright yellows and pinks and blues. It was going to be perfect. I thought the kids really nailed it. I even bought a new shower curtain in sort of a pale blue to teal blue ombre.
Yesterday, Bearded Man cloistered himself and the paint fumes into the small bathroom, and began painting.
The bright and happy blue is sort of a darker shade of Tiffany blue. Or, the blue one sees on classic Chevrolet cars from the 50's. It also is a shade darker than "bright and happy".
"Mom" Kaila says in concern, coming out of the bathroom, "The bathroom looks very very small."
"Kaila, it IS small."
This was driven home this morning, however. I got out of the shower, and felt as if I had stepped into a small blue Tiffany box. In the dark. I am the least claustrophobic person I know. However, I had to open the door as soon as modestly possible, because I couldn't breathe. Bearded Man re-hung the bathroom mirror, and, to my horrified amusement, I noted I was a lovely shade of vomit green. Alien green. Hospital green. Sickly green. My hair took on a completely new shade of awfulness.
"JASIN! I am GREEN!"
"I am NOT painting that bathroom EVER AGAIN."
This is slightly alarmingly problematic. Because, not only are we all green and claustrophobic in the bathroom now, but, I possibly have out of town guests coming to stay in the near future. I can only hope that the new lighter colored shower curtain and new lighting improves it, but....
Seriously. That is all I can bear to write today. The paint trauma is still pretty fresh.
We had a good time in Buffalo, wrapped up with dinner right after the show. I called home after dinner to check in, and the conversation went as such:
"Hi Kaila! Just calling to check in."
"Oh, hi Mom. Everything is fine and stuff."
"Okay. We just finished dinner."
"Oh. Are you coming home NOW?"
"Why do you sound as if that's a bad thing?"
"Because I am going to have to kick all the druggies out early now."
"Oh. And how are the kids?"
"Lexi was a little nuts, but, she settled down after five shots of tequila."
"Grand."
"We need to wrap this up soon Mom. My dealer is at the door."
"Alrighty then."
"Oh, and, there was another window incident...."
"WHAT??? What do you MEAN, there was another window incident???!!!!"
"Forget the fact that I have just told you that there is a drug dealer at the front door, Lexi is passed out with tequila, and that I have to kick all the druggies out. It's the possibility of a broken window that you freak out at. You have great priorities, Mom. The windows are all FINE. The kids are fine, and the boys are asleep already."
"Oh. Well. Make sure you have respectable non hoochie clothing on when I get home then."
"Alright. Fine. I will change back into decent clothes. I was cold anyway."
And that, my friends, is my daughter in a nutshell. I love that kid. Who, by the way is one of the most decent respectable non druggie kids on the planet, for anyone who did not catch the total sarcasm of the conversation....
Sunday morning dawned with absolutely no desire from anybody to get out of bed. However, being semi responsible Sunday School teachers, we have to go to church. Bearded Man was off to Baseball Camp, or some such thing, with Joe, and I hauled the rest of the crew off to church.
Sunday's lesson was something along the lines of empathy and compassion, with heaven and hell somehow mixed in. Not going to lie. I hate the entire curriculum, and we take it all with a grain of salt...
Anyhow, one of the suggested activities was to try and demonstrate empathy and compassion. It was long the lines of "Your friend at school is wearing a new shirt. Someone accidently spills ketchup on it at lunch. I think she feels:" and, "I feel:"
The kids all looked at me, blankly.
"Okay, lets put it in perspective. You, (I say, pointing at one girl) are wearing a new sweater to school. You LOVE this sweater. You have nagged your poor mother incessantly, until she finally broke down and bought you the most perfect sweater in the whole world, because you absolutely could not even think about life without it. And she", I say, pointing at the one kid I never should have pointed at, because she argues about absolutely every. single. thing. ever. "spills ketchup on it. Okay, ketchup spiller. How do you think the ketchup spillee feels?"
"Guilty. She should have known better than to be in my way."
"Seriously. Have you learned NOTHING today? Alright, ketchup kid, how do you feel? About your new sweater, as well as the person who spilled it?"
"Honestly, this happens almost every single day!" she wailed "I have so many nice clothes, and almost every day, I spill ketchup or cheese on my shirts and sweaters! The struggle!" and, her head thunks on the table in despair.
"Okay, now, when you have collected yourself, how do you feel about the ketchup spiller?"
"Scared. She scares me."
"She SHOULD be scared!" Announces the ketchup spiller "She should have known better than to be in my way! She DESERVED to have her sweater ruined! She needs to buy me a cookie at lunch every single day for a month!"
"Girls. In all reality, you would both be saying "Hey, I am so sorry, and, Oh that's okay, it isn't the end of the world" to each other, because, that is how we behave socially."
"No. I would NOT forgive her for ruining my sweater!"
"I would probably laugh at her, after I did it!"
"Okay. This isn't working. Let's trade places?"
"WHAT? If it was MY sweater, I would make her buy me a new one, and tell her I hate her!"
"Never mind. I have failed. I have completely failed as a Sunday School teacher and should probably be fired."
'Hey, it wasn't our idea to do the activities."
Anyhow, we all survived Sunday School. I am pretty sure I have about zero percent chance at a shot at heaven, and we all made it home in one piece. Where the painting fail happened.
About a month ago, I took the kids to the Home Depot, and told them to pick out a new paint color for the bathroom. We have precisely one very small bathroom for our family of 6. It is very small and very dark and very not adequate for our needs, but, it is what it is. Also, dark lighting is infinitely more flattering. Just saying.
The kids chose a very bright and happy blue. Sort of an aqua blue. In the spirit of bright and happy, I went out and bought bright and happy towels. Bright yellows and pinks and blues. It was going to be perfect. I thought the kids really nailed it. I even bought a new shower curtain in sort of a pale blue to teal blue ombre.
Yesterday, Bearded Man cloistered himself and the paint fumes into the small bathroom, and began painting.
The bright and happy blue is sort of a darker shade of Tiffany blue. Or, the blue one sees on classic Chevrolet cars from the 50's. It also is a shade darker than "bright and happy".
"Mom" Kaila says in concern, coming out of the bathroom, "The bathroom looks very very small."
"Kaila, it IS small."
This was driven home this morning, however. I got out of the shower, and felt as if I had stepped into a small blue Tiffany box. In the dark. I am the least claustrophobic person I know. However, I had to open the door as soon as modestly possible, because I couldn't breathe. Bearded Man re-hung the bathroom mirror, and, to my horrified amusement, I noted I was a lovely shade of vomit green. Alien green. Hospital green. Sickly green. My hair took on a completely new shade of awfulness.
"JASIN! I am GREEN!"
"I am NOT painting that bathroom EVER AGAIN."
This is slightly alarmingly problematic. Because, not only are we all green and claustrophobic in the bathroom now, but, I possibly have out of town guests coming to stay in the near future. I can only hope that the new lighter colored shower curtain and new lighting improves it, but....
Seriously. That is all I can bear to write today. The paint trauma is still pretty fresh.
Friday, February 26, 2016
BAD WORDS!!!
Last evening, I came home from work, and remembered that I had forgotten to plan anything for dinner. The ever nutritious standby of pancakes was utilized, while I tried to ignore the sugar and empty carb content of this meal.
Opening the refrigerator, I saw that we were nearly out of syrup. (Fake syrup. Yes. We live in maple country, surrounded by maple farms, maple syrup, and live in the middle of the Maple Festival. I have fake syrup at my house.) Anyhow, thinking we had a new bottle of fake syrup kicking around, I stretched over the ever inconveniently placed husky, to reach a top shelf for fake syrup, and a large can of pears pretty much launched itself off another shelf and landed on my foot. To this minute, I cannot believe how painful that was. Normally my threshold for pain is pretty high. This rated up there with some of the worst pain of my life. Realizing thru a foggy haze, that all four of my children were watching me, I yelled "BAD WORDS BAD WORDS BAD WORDS BAD WORDS BAD WORDS!!!!!!" And attempted deep breathing. Kaila offered to continue the pancakes, and I sat down for a minute to collect my whimpering self, incredulous at the absolute pain that this had caused.
A few minutes later, I limped back into the kitchen, and thanked Kaila for making dinner. The conversation then went as such:
"I know you were thinking bad words, when you were saying "BAD WORDS!", Mom." comments George. "You MEANT "Eff something."
"Or G-- D--- something" agrees Kaila.
"Definitely the S H word. Several times" chimes in Joe
"Probably the H E double hockey stick word" adds Lexi
"And the Beaver Dam word, only, without the Beaver in it." nods George.
"You could have just said them. We would have understood." one of them threw in.
"You kids shouldn't even know what those words ARE." I pointed out darkly, with the realization that my children have the vocabulary of seaside dock workers.
"Dad." They all nodded, throwing him under the proverbial bus.
At this point, I received a call from a friend, who had called over the weekend with medical questions about his elderly mother. I had advised a trip to the ER. I inquired as to the health of his mother, and was told "Oh, I don't know. I talked to someone else, who said it was probably nothing."
"What? Who else did you talk to?"
"Cathy something or other. She is a friend of my brother's."
"And what does Cathy do?"
"She is a nurse."
"Where?"
"Well. I mean. Not a nurse nurse."
"What is 'not a nurse nurse' , exactly?"
"Well, she works in a nursing home doing something, so, she knows medical stuff. She's in that field and is around that kind of thing a lot."
"You are a truck driver, right?"
"What does that have to do with anything?! You know I am!"
"Next time I have questions about trucks, truck driving, road conditions, thruway conditions - anything - I am going to go find an AMISH PERSON AND ASK THEM!!!! Those buggies have 4 wheels! They are obviously knowledgeable about transportation. They even ride in vehicles, if they can find someone to drive them. Being around all that, I am sure they know stuff."
"Shut up."
"Bad Words."
Anyhow. My foot still hurts, I probably won't ask the Amish people for driving advice, and I am blessedly happy it's Friday! Have a good weekend!
Opening the refrigerator, I saw that we were nearly out of syrup. (Fake syrup. Yes. We live in maple country, surrounded by maple farms, maple syrup, and live in the middle of the Maple Festival. I have fake syrup at my house.) Anyhow, thinking we had a new bottle of fake syrup kicking around, I stretched over the ever inconveniently placed husky, to reach a top shelf for fake syrup, and a large can of pears pretty much launched itself off another shelf and landed on my foot. To this minute, I cannot believe how painful that was. Normally my threshold for pain is pretty high. This rated up there with some of the worst pain of my life. Realizing thru a foggy haze, that all four of my children were watching me, I yelled "BAD WORDS BAD WORDS BAD WORDS BAD WORDS BAD WORDS!!!!!!" And attempted deep breathing. Kaila offered to continue the pancakes, and I sat down for a minute to collect my whimpering self, incredulous at the absolute pain that this had caused.
A few minutes later, I limped back into the kitchen, and thanked Kaila for making dinner. The conversation then went as such:
"I know you were thinking bad words, when you were saying "BAD WORDS!", Mom." comments George. "You MEANT "Eff something."
"Or G-- D--- something" agrees Kaila.
"Definitely the S H word. Several times" chimes in Joe
"Probably the H E double hockey stick word" adds Lexi
"And the Beaver Dam word, only, without the Beaver in it." nods George.
"You could have just said them. We would have understood." one of them threw in.
"You kids shouldn't even know what those words ARE." I pointed out darkly, with the realization that my children have the vocabulary of seaside dock workers.
"Dad." They all nodded, throwing him under the proverbial bus.
At this point, I received a call from a friend, who had called over the weekend with medical questions about his elderly mother. I had advised a trip to the ER. I inquired as to the health of his mother, and was told "Oh, I don't know. I talked to someone else, who said it was probably nothing."
"What? Who else did you talk to?"
"Cathy something or other. She is a friend of my brother's."
"And what does Cathy do?"
"She is a nurse."
"Where?"
"Well. I mean. Not a nurse nurse."
"What is 'not a nurse nurse' , exactly?"
"Well, she works in a nursing home doing something, so, she knows medical stuff. She's in that field and is around that kind of thing a lot."
"You are a truck driver, right?"
"What does that have to do with anything?! You know I am!"
"Next time I have questions about trucks, truck driving, road conditions, thruway conditions - anything - I am going to go find an AMISH PERSON AND ASK THEM!!!! Those buggies have 4 wheels! They are obviously knowledgeable about transportation. They even ride in vehicles, if they can find someone to drive them. Being around all that, I am sure they know stuff."
"Shut up."
"Bad Words."
Anyhow. My foot still hurts, I probably won't ask the Amish people for driving advice, and I am blessedly happy it's Friday! Have a good weekend!
Tuesday, February 23, 2016
I Have No Clean Glasses. No Drinks For You!
My cat is very sad. It is very tragic, really. I am not sure how it happened, but, George's aquarium full of fish were Flashlight (the kitty's) pets, it seems. She would sit and watch them for hours. She never tried to eat them, she just liked to watch them.
Sunday morning, Flashlight began running between all the bedrooms meowing and scratching at doors, all upset. She batted everyone's heads, and tried desperately to wake everyone up, making an unholy racket the entire time.
Sometime during the night, the entire aquarium went belly up and sunk to the bottom. Every single fish was dead. And the poor cat was beside herself. I am not sure if we are going to refill the aquarium for George's benefit, or the cat's, at this point. The poor cat is inconsolable.
George cried for a few minutes, when we finally found the will to break it to him. We all gathered around the toilet full of dead fish, while George said a few words over them. No one knows what he said though, because Bearded Man was scrubbing the aquarium out in the bathtub and the water was running too loudly for anyone to hear. All I know is that it seemed heartfelt. George then flushed the toilet and told us we could all go now.
Along with the aquarium full of dead fish, we were dealing with Joe's loose tooth. It was making him completely crazy. Because it was making Joe crazy, Joe was making the entire family crazy. He could not get it out. It took him days. Shortly after scrubbing out the aquarium, Bearded Man wrapped fishing line around the tooth and popped it right out, to the relief of the entire family.
"But, what if I lose the bag with the tooth in it before I go to bed tonight?" Wondered our ever optimistic Joe.
"Then I find it, stick it under my pillow and keep the dollar" piped up George.
During the past month, we celebrated Lexi's 12th Birthday. My little Bohemian! It seems like she was just born. I often muse that I should photograph her daily clothing choices. They are like no other. This morning, she wore to school: A pink t-shirt with black hearts on the front. A black and white patterned skirt that is longer in the back than in the front, bright blue leggings, neon green knee socks, and, silver ugg style boots covered completely in sequins. We never know what Lexi will wander down the stairs wearing. Sometimes the outfits get crazy enough to ship her right back up stairs to change again, but, normally, if that is what Lexi wants to wear, why argue the individuality? I suspect it irritates her teacher, though.
Also of note in our household, is Joe's first crush. A girl at school asked him if he would be her Valentine. She informed Joe that she liked him because he was not only very handsome, but very smart, too. Joe appreciated that a girl could appreciate his brains and not just his good looks, so, he agreed to think it over, telling her that this was a big decision and it would take him a few days.
When he weighed the pros and cons, Joe decided he liked the idea of being this girl's Valentine. He decided he should probably make sure his teeth were shiny, and requested that I go buy a rose, so he could give it to the girl in question with his affirmative answer. Lexi graciously provided one of her pink Birthday roses for the occasion, and Joe headed off to school to give it to her.
What Joe did NOT count on, was one of his friends. His friend reportedly liked the girl in question LAST year, and has decided he maybe likes her again THIS year. The other boy is outraged that Joe and the girl are an item. This was demonstrated with a dodge ball attack in gym, which had poor Joe diving in front of balls aimed at the girl in question. The other boy has taken to buying the girl in question ice cream at lunch now. Which has outraged Joe. Joe was off to school with his tooth fairy money today, to buy her ice cream before the other boy could again. 5th grade. All this drama in 5th grade. I don't have these issues with my daughters. Actually, Kaila is very put out that the boys in high school don't seem to have on ounce of the romance Joe somehow has.
Last evening I listened in slack jawed amazement to Joe's description of this girl's hair. He compared the color quite poetically to a sunset right after a storm. If he rattles off that description to that girl directly, I guarantee that the other (ice cream buying/dodge ball throwing) boy doesn't stand a chance.
Last evening we had visitors! During the long dark winter, visiting seems to fall off, as everyone is pretty much hauling kids to various things, or, huddled on their couches under blankets and scrolling through their phones. I was so happy to see people! After the obligatory "You can come in, but I am so sorry that the house is not 100%. There is no point in cleaning until Spring time" I had a happy house full of people and a nice visit. In the back of my mind though, I was panicking. These people were SOUTHERN people. With Southern accents, and "Y'alls" and "Yes Ma'ams" and everything! Southern people are the most hospitable people ever! My hostessing skills were terrible. Because, I knew I should probably at least offer them a drink. I couldn't though. Every single cup in the house had been used, and the evening dishes had not been done yet due to a Boy Scout meeting. I had no sweet tea (I think that's what Southern people drink, right?) and nothing fancier than animal crackers to serve. My refrigerator is currently full of fruits and vegetables.
Hanging on the living room wall were several paint chips, as I try to decide what color would work with the dining room, and I internally gave thanks that I had resisted the urge to put my nightgown on after dinner. I was so pitifully happy to see people that were not offspring or patients! We had the nicest visit, but, I wanted to haul one of my kids aside and beg them to whip up some iced tea and find some decent glasses in the worst way, the entire time.
Bearded Man's 40th Birthday is almost here! The conversations have gone as such:
"What do you want to do for your 40th?"
"I don't know."
"Do you want a party?"
"I don't know."
"Do you want to go out with friends?"
"I don't know."
"Do you want a date night?"
"I don't know."
"Do you want to do something special?"
"I don't know."
"What would you like for a present?"
"I don't know."
"I am going to choke you in about two minutes. What kind of cake do you want?"
"Funfetti. With sprinkles on top."
I ended up buying tickets to go see Jeff Foxworthy and Larry the Cable Guy the day after his birthday. I also managed to score reservations at a hard to get reservations at restaurant. He was happy about the tickets, but, after inspecting the menu at the restaurant, announced he was unable to pronounce most of the menu, and didn't seem enthused. So, that was scratched. Dinosaur BBQ it is!
Anyhow. That's the excitement in our household lately. Mostly we are worn out and wishing for nice weather, longer nights, clean dishes and a magic Home Decorating Paint Fairy to come to my house and find colors that I can live with that will somewhat match the dining room. I should just get rid of the dining room wall paper, but, I feel like that would destroy the feel of the entire house. Curse the wall paper sicko who decided to wall paper most of the house!!!!!! It's nice and all, but nothing I ever would have picked. Anyhow. That's about it for now.
Sunday morning, Flashlight began running between all the bedrooms meowing and scratching at doors, all upset. She batted everyone's heads, and tried desperately to wake everyone up, making an unholy racket the entire time.
Sometime during the night, the entire aquarium went belly up and sunk to the bottom. Every single fish was dead. And the poor cat was beside herself. I am not sure if we are going to refill the aquarium for George's benefit, or the cat's, at this point. The poor cat is inconsolable.
George cried for a few minutes, when we finally found the will to break it to him. We all gathered around the toilet full of dead fish, while George said a few words over them. No one knows what he said though, because Bearded Man was scrubbing the aquarium out in the bathtub and the water was running too loudly for anyone to hear. All I know is that it seemed heartfelt. George then flushed the toilet and told us we could all go now.
Along with the aquarium full of dead fish, we were dealing with Joe's loose tooth. It was making him completely crazy. Because it was making Joe crazy, Joe was making the entire family crazy. He could not get it out. It took him days. Shortly after scrubbing out the aquarium, Bearded Man wrapped fishing line around the tooth and popped it right out, to the relief of the entire family.
"But, what if I lose the bag with the tooth in it before I go to bed tonight?" Wondered our ever optimistic Joe.
"Then I find it, stick it under my pillow and keep the dollar" piped up George.
During the past month, we celebrated Lexi's 12th Birthday. My little Bohemian! It seems like she was just born. I often muse that I should photograph her daily clothing choices. They are like no other. This morning, she wore to school: A pink t-shirt with black hearts on the front. A black and white patterned skirt that is longer in the back than in the front, bright blue leggings, neon green knee socks, and, silver ugg style boots covered completely in sequins. We never know what Lexi will wander down the stairs wearing. Sometimes the outfits get crazy enough to ship her right back up stairs to change again, but, normally, if that is what Lexi wants to wear, why argue the individuality? I suspect it irritates her teacher, though.
Also of note in our household, is Joe's first crush. A girl at school asked him if he would be her Valentine. She informed Joe that she liked him because he was not only very handsome, but very smart, too. Joe appreciated that a girl could appreciate his brains and not just his good looks, so, he agreed to think it over, telling her that this was a big decision and it would take him a few days.
When he weighed the pros and cons, Joe decided he liked the idea of being this girl's Valentine. He decided he should probably make sure his teeth were shiny, and requested that I go buy a rose, so he could give it to the girl in question with his affirmative answer. Lexi graciously provided one of her pink Birthday roses for the occasion, and Joe headed off to school to give it to her.
What Joe did NOT count on, was one of his friends. His friend reportedly liked the girl in question LAST year, and has decided he maybe likes her again THIS year. The other boy is outraged that Joe and the girl are an item. This was demonstrated with a dodge ball attack in gym, which had poor Joe diving in front of balls aimed at the girl in question. The other boy has taken to buying the girl in question ice cream at lunch now. Which has outraged Joe. Joe was off to school with his tooth fairy money today, to buy her ice cream before the other boy could again. 5th grade. All this drama in 5th grade. I don't have these issues with my daughters. Actually, Kaila is very put out that the boys in high school don't seem to have on ounce of the romance Joe somehow has.
Last evening I listened in slack jawed amazement to Joe's description of this girl's hair. He compared the color quite poetically to a sunset right after a storm. If he rattles off that description to that girl directly, I guarantee that the other (ice cream buying/dodge ball throwing) boy doesn't stand a chance.
Last evening we had visitors! During the long dark winter, visiting seems to fall off, as everyone is pretty much hauling kids to various things, or, huddled on their couches under blankets and scrolling through their phones. I was so happy to see people! After the obligatory "You can come in, but I am so sorry that the house is not 100%. There is no point in cleaning until Spring time" I had a happy house full of people and a nice visit. In the back of my mind though, I was panicking. These people were SOUTHERN people. With Southern accents, and "Y'alls" and "Yes Ma'ams" and everything! Southern people are the most hospitable people ever! My hostessing skills were terrible. Because, I knew I should probably at least offer them a drink. I couldn't though. Every single cup in the house had been used, and the evening dishes had not been done yet due to a Boy Scout meeting. I had no sweet tea (I think that's what Southern people drink, right?) and nothing fancier than animal crackers to serve. My refrigerator is currently full of fruits and vegetables.
Hanging on the living room wall were several paint chips, as I try to decide what color would work with the dining room, and I internally gave thanks that I had resisted the urge to put my nightgown on after dinner. I was so pitifully happy to see people that were not offspring or patients! We had the nicest visit, but, I wanted to haul one of my kids aside and beg them to whip up some iced tea and find some decent glasses in the worst way, the entire time.
Bearded Man's 40th Birthday is almost here! The conversations have gone as such:
"What do you want to do for your 40th?"
"I don't know."
"Do you want a party?"
"I don't know."
"Do you want to go out with friends?"
"I don't know."
"Do you want a date night?"
"I don't know."
"Do you want to do something special?"
"I don't know."
"What would you like for a present?"
"I don't know."
"I am going to choke you in about two minutes. What kind of cake do you want?"
"Funfetti. With sprinkles on top."
I ended up buying tickets to go see Jeff Foxworthy and Larry the Cable Guy the day after his birthday. I also managed to score reservations at a hard to get reservations at restaurant. He was happy about the tickets, but, after inspecting the menu at the restaurant, announced he was unable to pronounce most of the menu, and didn't seem enthused. So, that was scratched. Dinosaur BBQ it is!
Anyhow. That's the excitement in our household lately. Mostly we are worn out and wishing for nice weather, longer nights, clean dishes and a magic Home Decorating Paint Fairy to come to my house and find colors that I can live with that will somewhat match the dining room. I should just get rid of the dining room wall paper, but, I feel like that would destroy the feel of the entire house. Curse the wall paper sicko who decided to wall paper most of the house!!!!!! It's nice and all, but nothing I ever would have picked. Anyhow. That's about it for now.
Thursday, January 21, 2016
Mama Goes to a Meeting
I am feeling very let down by my fellow parents. How is it that our school system has had parent and child "Project Know" meetings every single year, and no one has seen fit to EVER talk about it?
For those of you who have no idea what I am talking about, Project Know is this fun little 4 day class that introduces 5th and 6th Graders to puberty, reproduction and all those sorts of subjects.
The notice came home a few weeks ago. Parents needed to sign permission slips to indicate if their child(ren) were attending or not. I asked Lexi if she wanted to go again this year. "NO! Now that I am going thru it all, I can tell you that Project Know was completely irrelevant to the actual process and a waste of my time!" Alrighty then. No, Lexi is not going.
I asked Joe. "YES! I have LOTS of questions!" I reminded him I was capable of answering questions, but, he really wanted to attend. So, I signed the slip and promptly forgot about it. With the mental pity to whomever will have to answer his direct and numerous questions. Once Joe is onto a subject, he will not let it go until he knows everything he needs or wants to know about it. This has often taken weeks, if not months of constant quizzing and questions, until he is satisfied. His 5th grade teacher never wants to hear about the Titanic. Ever. NEVER EVER again. Nor does our entire family.
I honestly had no idea that the program had started this week. Neither Lexi nor Joe mentioned it at our nightly dinner discussions about our days.
Last evening, I came home from work, starving after skipping lunch at work, as I was busy all day, and threw together a beef pot pie. It included leftover beef pot roast, veggies, a homemade gravy with cream, and a cheddar herbed crust. I was starving, and at that "hangry" point. I slid it into the oven, and turned around to don yoga pants and a sweatshirt.
"Mom. We need to talk. I had the WORST. DAY. EVER! Also, Dad said that you are the parent that needs to go to the meeting tonight at 6 at the school!" Announced Joe.
"Wait, what? What meeting? It's 5:30 now!"
"The Project Know meeting, Mom! I told Dad about it after school today, and he said that that is something you need to do!"
"Tonight? What? Where is your Father? I need to talk to him." Talk. Scream. Potato. Potahto.
"I had a bad day. I need to talk about this. And you need to get ready for the meeting. It's for parents and children. Also, I have a lot of questions about what we are learning, and they said I could ask them all tonight at the meeting."
"Ummm. What KIND of questions? I can probably answer them for you. I AM a nurse you know. I can help you out. Would you like to talk about it now?"
"You know things about the human body?"
"Yes."
"What is the smallest bone in the human body?"
"Ummmm." Sheer and total blankness. I couldn't think of it for the life of me.
"Clearly you don't know about the human body. We are going to the meeting. Also: The smallest bone in the human body is in the inner ear."
After a discussion about Joe's lousy day, he felt better, and, I put my coat and sneakers back on, as my dinner continued to bake. Ah well.
We arrived at the school and parents filed into the indicated room, children in tow. A screen was set up on the white board, indicating some sort of movie would be played. A woman who I presumed was running the meeting sat at one end of the room scrolling through her phone. People filed quietly in, and, eventually a friend of mine and her daughter slid into the chairs next to Joe and I.
The meeting began with the woman who was running it asking the kids about a 10 piece puzzle they had all put together earlier in the day. Each piece had a word on it. Things like:
Goals
Respect
Puberty
and stuff like that.
"Now kids! WHAT do all these things together signify? That's right! SEXUALITY!!! We are ALL sexual people!"
"Oh Dear Lord." I mumbled.
"Okay now! Who wants to play a GAME?" She hyped enthusiastically. The kids all seemed excited. The parents, not so much. "I have to switch screens here. I put the movie screen up, because I wanted the game to be a SURPRISE!" She said, going to her computer, and clicking a few things. Suddenly, up popped "Puberty Jeopardy".
My eyes closed, and my friend next to me snickered. How is it, that every single year, parents have been subjected to "Puberty Jeopardy" and NOT ONE PERSON has seen fit to mention this?
Anyhow, Puberty Jeopardy thankfully ended after an eternity of parents that mostly looked like they were in the seventh circle of hell, and kids who excitedly shouted out answers.
Then the video began. It was a fun little short film that was narrated by a man and a woman, and had some animated little bits that showed changed to expect with little left to the imagination. The woman running this meeting told the kids they were lucky! They were getting a sneak peak at the film, as, it was going to be played again in it's entirety the very next day in class! Joe announced on the spot that he didn't want to go to school. Also, he felt he should warn his friends that hadn't come to the meeting, what they were in for, so they could stay home too.
After the video, and the feeling that we had been kept prisoner in that room for 14 eternities, there was the handouts and activities therein portion of the festivities. There were handouts for the adults, and handouts for the kids. These were to "foster communication, so that all the adults and kids could feel comfortable discussing uncomfortable things"
The first activity was to talk about our children about "what we were feeling when we brought them home"
Total blankness. I remember that day vaguely. Honest to goodness, it was awful. We had a rattletrap for a vehicle at the time, as, my car had been totaled when some guy ran a red light. It was a million degrees outside, the vehicle had no air conditioning, and, we had no one to watch the girls that day. So, Jasin had to bring everyone to the hospital to pick us up. I was sore from a c section, stressed, hot, tired and out of sorts.
I absolutely could not tell my expectant child this. I told him I was so excited to bring him home, and how happy I was to be able to put him in his own crib in his new room with new carpet and all decorated.
The woman running things told us our time to discuss this was up, and gushed about how wonderful it is, to watch the interactions and hugging and connecting! Wait! What? Was there supposed to be hugging? I don't even know.
We began to look through the adult and child handouts. The adults had questions like:
What is your child's height (within one inch?)
If your child could do anything he or she choses for one day, what would it be?
What is the last movie your son/daughter saw?
What is your child's favorite dinner? (NOTHING!!!!!!!!!)
Would your son or daughter rather ride a horse, a bike or in a car?
On and on and on.
I am a failure as a mother. I honest to goodness had the slightest idea, the answers to most of these questions. "It's like you don't even know me at all!" burst out Joe.
Also, at the bottom of the parent handout, was a little disclaimer. "Please note that any resource on sexuality may or may not reflect your family's values." it went on to say "The views expressed in these resources do not necessarily reflect those of Project Know".
"Wait!" I said to my friend next to me, "WHOSE Values and views DO they resflect, then?"
The woman running the proceedings excitedly told us how happy she was that, this year, she gets to teach her OWN children the Project Know program, because they are both in the grades that participate. I cannot imagine at all, that it is not life scarring for her children, to learn of such things from your mother in front of your entire grade, and all their friends and enemies. What could go wrong?
Anyhow. Eventually the entire traumatic meeting came to an end. Joe announced he would probably try to get out of school the next day. There was an announcement that the children could all pick a new book from the selection lying about the room. Joe picked out a Magic Tree House book, and we headed home.
"So. Joe. Do you have questions? Anything you want to talk about? I know you had a lot of questions before the meeting..."
"No. I'm good. I just want to read my book now."
End of subject.
In conclusion. I feel like this is a public service. You now know, what happens at a Project Know meeting.
I feel it is only fair that, the instructor who has Joe tomorrow, will be interrogated thoroughly by my kid, and will reconsider his life choices immediately after.
For those of you who have no idea what I am talking about, Project Know is this fun little 4 day class that introduces 5th and 6th Graders to puberty, reproduction and all those sorts of subjects.
The notice came home a few weeks ago. Parents needed to sign permission slips to indicate if their child(ren) were attending or not. I asked Lexi if she wanted to go again this year. "NO! Now that I am going thru it all, I can tell you that Project Know was completely irrelevant to the actual process and a waste of my time!" Alrighty then. No, Lexi is not going.
I asked Joe. "YES! I have LOTS of questions!" I reminded him I was capable of answering questions, but, he really wanted to attend. So, I signed the slip and promptly forgot about it. With the mental pity to whomever will have to answer his direct and numerous questions. Once Joe is onto a subject, he will not let it go until he knows everything he needs or wants to know about it. This has often taken weeks, if not months of constant quizzing and questions, until he is satisfied. His 5th grade teacher never wants to hear about the Titanic. Ever. NEVER EVER again. Nor does our entire family.
I honestly had no idea that the program had started this week. Neither Lexi nor Joe mentioned it at our nightly dinner discussions about our days.
Last evening, I came home from work, starving after skipping lunch at work, as I was busy all day, and threw together a beef pot pie. It included leftover beef pot roast, veggies, a homemade gravy with cream, and a cheddar herbed crust. I was starving, and at that "hangry" point. I slid it into the oven, and turned around to don yoga pants and a sweatshirt.
"Mom. We need to talk. I had the WORST. DAY. EVER! Also, Dad said that you are the parent that needs to go to the meeting tonight at 6 at the school!" Announced Joe.
"Wait, what? What meeting? It's 5:30 now!"
"The Project Know meeting, Mom! I told Dad about it after school today, and he said that that is something you need to do!"
"Tonight? What? Where is your Father? I need to talk to him." Talk. Scream. Potato. Potahto.
"I had a bad day. I need to talk about this. And you need to get ready for the meeting. It's for parents and children. Also, I have a lot of questions about what we are learning, and they said I could ask them all tonight at the meeting."
"Ummm. What KIND of questions? I can probably answer them for you. I AM a nurse you know. I can help you out. Would you like to talk about it now?"
"You know things about the human body?"
"Yes."
"What is the smallest bone in the human body?"
"Ummmm." Sheer and total blankness. I couldn't think of it for the life of me.
"Clearly you don't know about the human body. We are going to the meeting. Also: The smallest bone in the human body is in the inner ear."
After a discussion about Joe's lousy day, he felt better, and, I put my coat and sneakers back on, as my dinner continued to bake. Ah well.
We arrived at the school and parents filed into the indicated room, children in tow. A screen was set up on the white board, indicating some sort of movie would be played. A woman who I presumed was running the meeting sat at one end of the room scrolling through her phone. People filed quietly in, and, eventually a friend of mine and her daughter slid into the chairs next to Joe and I.
The meeting began with the woman who was running it asking the kids about a 10 piece puzzle they had all put together earlier in the day. Each piece had a word on it. Things like:
Goals
Respect
Puberty
and stuff like that.
"Now kids! WHAT do all these things together signify? That's right! SEXUALITY!!! We are ALL sexual people!"
"Oh Dear Lord." I mumbled.
"Okay now! Who wants to play a GAME?" She hyped enthusiastically. The kids all seemed excited. The parents, not so much. "I have to switch screens here. I put the movie screen up, because I wanted the game to be a SURPRISE!" She said, going to her computer, and clicking a few things. Suddenly, up popped "Puberty Jeopardy".
My eyes closed, and my friend next to me snickered. How is it, that every single year, parents have been subjected to "Puberty Jeopardy" and NOT ONE PERSON has seen fit to mention this?
Anyhow, Puberty Jeopardy thankfully ended after an eternity of parents that mostly looked like they were in the seventh circle of hell, and kids who excitedly shouted out answers.
Then the video began. It was a fun little short film that was narrated by a man and a woman, and had some animated little bits that showed changed to expect with little left to the imagination. The woman running this meeting told the kids they were lucky! They were getting a sneak peak at the film, as, it was going to be played again in it's entirety the very next day in class! Joe announced on the spot that he didn't want to go to school. Also, he felt he should warn his friends that hadn't come to the meeting, what they were in for, so they could stay home too.
After the video, and the feeling that we had been kept prisoner in that room for 14 eternities, there was the handouts and activities therein portion of the festivities. There were handouts for the adults, and handouts for the kids. These were to "foster communication, so that all the adults and kids could feel comfortable discussing uncomfortable things"
The first activity was to talk about our children about "what we were feeling when we brought them home"
Total blankness. I remember that day vaguely. Honest to goodness, it was awful. We had a rattletrap for a vehicle at the time, as, my car had been totaled when some guy ran a red light. It was a million degrees outside, the vehicle had no air conditioning, and, we had no one to watch the girls that day. So, Jasin had to bring everyone to the hospital to pick us up. I was sore from a c section, stressed, hot, tired and out of sorts.
I absolutely could not tell my expectant child this. I told him I was so excited to bring him home, and how happy I was to be able to put him in his own crib in his new room with new carpet and all decorated.
The woman running things told us our time to discuss this was up, and gushed about how wonderful it is, to watch the interactions and hugging and connecting! Wait! What? Was there supposed to be hugging? I don't even know.
We began to look through the adult and child handouts. The adults had questions like:
What is your child's height (within one inch?)
If your child could do anything he or she choses for one day, what would it be?
What is the last movie your son/daughter saw?
What is your child's favorite dinner? (NOTHING!!!!!!!!!)
Would your son or daughter rather ride a horse, a bike or in a car?
On and on and on.
I am a failure as a mother. I honest to goodness had the slightest idea, the answers to most of these questions. "It's like you don't even know me at all!" burst out Joe.
Also, at the bottom of the parent handout, was a little disclaimer. "Please note that any resource on sexuality may or may not reflect your family's values." it went on to say "The views expressed in these resources do not necessarily reflect those of Project Know".
"Wait!" I said to my friend next to me, "WHOSE Values and views DO they resflect, then?"
The woman running the proceedings excitedly told us how happy she was that, this year, she gets to teach her OWN children the Project Know program, because they are both in the grades that participate. I cannot imagine at all, that it is not life scarring for her children, to learn of such things from your mother in front of your entire grade, and all their friends and enemies. What could go wrong?
Anyhow. Eventually the entire traumatic meeting came to an end. Joe announced he would probably try to get out of school the next day. There was an announcement that the children could all pick a new book from the selection lying about the room. Joe picked out a Magic Tree House book, and we headed home.
"So. Joe. Do you have questions? Anything you want to talk about? I know you had a lot of questions before the meeting..."
"No. I'm good. I just want to read my book now."
End of subject.
In conclusion. I feel like this is a public service. You now know, what happens at a Project Know meeting.
I feel it is only fair that, the instructor who has Joe tomorrow, will be interrogated thoroughly by my kid, and will reconsider his life choices immediately after.
Wednesday, January 20, 2016
Kindergarten Hunger Games
Today, George turns 6! I am ridiculously proud that we have kept that child whole and in one piece this long. The rest of my kids, we celebrate their Birthdays the typical way. Every year on George's Birthday, I breathe a sigh of relief that he made it another year without any major catastrophe.
For his birthday, George decided that he wanted to go to the Buffalo Museum, of Science, and to Build a Bear. So, entire family in tow, we spent Saturday at the museum and the mall. While walking thru the mall, we did happen to pass Victoria's Secret. Looking away in indignation, George informed us that he "Can't even look at that. That is SO inappropriate!"
Also, for his Birthday, George begged for a "Matchbox Treasure Tracker" treasure tracking truck. Evidently his friend down the road has one and claims he found an entire box of treasure buried in his back yard. Hoping the novelty wears off before spring, or I will likely be frantically buying a wooden treasure box and filling it with all my spare change to bury in the back yard, come spring.
For school, George wanted to bring in cupcakes "with the rings in them? You know what I mean, mom?"
Sunday evening, I was out grocery shopping, just as a nasty snow storm hit. My van does so/so in the snow, and I was worried about getting back home in one piece. I grabbed one dozen cupcakes - with rings - on my way through the store, and continued on my way, thinking about the drive home and all the sliding we had done on the way to the store. Upon my arrival home, George looked at the cupcakes and said "But Mom. There are 17 kids in my class!"
Yesterday, I drove to the local grocery store, as I needed to fuel up my van for the week (I had to do this, because I was absolutely not filling up my vehicle the night before as I should have, because I was not putting all that money into it and then risking wrecking it on the way home. Does anyone else think that way?) Anyhow, I ran into the store after filling the van up, and fingers crossed, headed to the bakery. Where there were cupcakes. None of them with rings though. So. Today, George will take 18 cupcakes to his Kindergarten Class. Only 12 of which have rings. I am officially the worst mother ever. In hindsight, I should have just bought 18 ring-less cupcakes, and kept the others at home. I didn't, however. Therefore, I will now spend the entire day feeling like a jerk. May the odds be ever in your favor, kids!
Next month is Lexi's Birthday. She had originally planned to have a tea /garden party birthday with a bunch of friends. There was going to be tulle and twinkle lights and tea sandwiches, a dessert table and lots of fresh flowers, including miniature rose bushes that everyone could take home. There would have been tulle covered balloon trees and amazing crafts to do, too. I had all sorts of nifty ideas. ("Mom! Some of my friends said that, if it isn't going to be a sleepover party then they don't want to come!" "Lexi. you need different friends. Just saying.")
Anyhow, while walking through the mall over the weekend, Lexi thought that maybe her amazing party could wait till NEXT year, when she turns 13, and this year, she could just get some money so she could have a day spent shopping at the mall. The deal was immediately accepted. Hopefully by next year, her friends will have come to terms with a non sleepover birthday party. Goodness sakes.
An update on Joe's frog. Or toad. Honestly, I have no idea which it is. The amphibian eats crickets.
Joe cannot absolutely not deal with that. He cannot make himself pick one up. He cannot make himself pick up the frog/toad. He just can't. Usually he can get Kaila or Bearded Man to pick up the crickets and feed the frog/toad, if he can't shake one into the amphibian habitat. The other night, he couldn't find anyone to do it for him, so, he looked at George and said "George. Want to go execute a cricket?" I feel nothing but pity for Joe and his frog/toad. Jasin offered to sell it to a local pet store for snake food, but, I wouldn't let him.
Also of note is: The Food Network. My kids have become slightly addicted to "Chopped" as well as several other cooking shows. This has taken the nightly negative critique of dinner to an entirely new level of hell for Mama here.
It occurred to me over the weekend though, that "Chopped" is NOT, indeed, a novel idea. I thought of this, as I gazed with glazed over eyes, at a paper from the school that I found under the coffee table. It indicated that our school is doing yet another "Spirit Week". Roll your eyes. I don't care. I hate Spirit Week. It is just like chopped. In that, you get a note that you probably will not see or remember until your children mention it last minute. You will then have a ridiculously limited amount of time to try and scrounge up whatever items or clothing colors that must be worn (X's multiple children). Or attempt to figure out on the fly how to make buzz cuts look like crazy hair. Or find hats. Or the school colors. Or whatever. Evidently I am miserable and completely unspirited. I apologize. It just adds an entirely new level of stress to the morning routine. On the off chance that we remember these things the night before, it still doesn't help. Chances are, the children will all change their minds about whatever we prepared the night before, by morning. Anyhow. I am sure that the "Chopped" concept was thought up by a Spirit Week parent, who, after going through the aggravation of sending her multiple children off to school as directed by the spirit calendar, opened her refrigerator to try and figure out dinner. Which, I imagine, was probably accomplished with ketchup, carrots and macaroni and cheese.
Anyhow. That is the excitement in our household lately. I wish I could say it's been more thrilling, but, honestly, the biggest thing to happen in our parts has been the Shark Mop. Evidently myself and nearly every other housewife in the area received them for Christmas this year. All local stores are on back order for Shark Mops and Shark Mop cleaner. I am not even exaggerating, when I mention that Bearded Man has been stalking Wal Mart for Shark Mop floor cleaner. Apparently they received a shipment last week. He grabbed the last three bottles, as several women were charging down the aisle for them. It sounds like it was this side of a riot. Which is the type of thing that happens when Bearded Man is laid off for the season. We argue with housewives over floor cleaner in the household appliance aisles at the local Wal Mart.
Till next time! Stay warm!
For his birthday, George decided that he wanted to go to the Buffalo Museum, of Science, and to Build a Bear. So, entire family in tow, we spent Saturday at the museum and the mall. While walking thru the mall, we did happen to pass Victoria's Secret. Looking away in indignation, George informed us that he "Can't even look at that. That is SO inappropriate!"
Also, for his Birthday, George begged for a "Matchbox Treasure Tracker" treasure tracking truck. Evidently his friend down the road has one and claims he found an entire box of treasure buried in his back yard. Hoping the novelty wears off before spring, or I will likely be frantically buying a wooden treasure box and filling it with all my spare change to bury in the back yard, come spring.
For school, George wanted to bring in cupcakes "with the rings in them? You know what I mean, mom?"
Sunday evening, I was out grocery shopping, just as a nasty snow storm hit. My van does so/so in the snow, and I was worried about getting back home in one piece. I grabbed one dozen cupcakes - with rings - on my way through the store, and continued on my way, thinking about the drive home and all the sliding we had done on the way to the store. Upon my arrival home, George looked at the cupcakes and said "But Mom. There are 17 kids in my class!"
Yesterday, I drove to the local grocery store, as I needed to fuel up my van for the week (I had to do this, because I was absolutely not filling up my vehicle the night before as I should have, because I was not putting all that money into it and then risking wrecking it on the way home. Does anyone else think that way?) Anyhow, I ran into the store after filling the van up, and fingers crossed, headed to the bakery. Where there were cupcakes. None of them with rings though. So. Today, George will take 18 cupcakes to his Kindergarten Class. Only 12 of which have rings. I am officially the worst mother ever. In hindsight, I should have just bought 18 ring-less cupcakes, and kept the others at home. I didn't, however. Therefore, I will now spend the entire day feeling like a jerk. May the odds be ever in your favor, kids!
Next month is Lexi's Birthday. She had originally planned to have a tea /garden party birthday with a bunch of friends. There was going to be tulle and twinkle lights and tea sandwiches, a dessert table and lots of fresh flowers, including miniature rose bushes that everyone could take home. There would have been tulle covered balloon trees and amazing crafts to do, too. I had all sorts of nifty ideas. ("Mom! Some of my friends said that, if it isn't going to be a sleepover party then they don't want to come!" "Lexi. you need different friends. Just saying.")
Anyhow, while walking through the mall over the weekend, Lexi thought that maybe her amazing party could wait till NEXT year, when she turns 13, and this year, she could just get some money so she could have a day spent shopping at the mall. The deal was immediately accepted. Hopefully by next year, her friends will have come to terms with a non sleepover birthday party. Goodness sakes.
An update on Joe's frog. Or toad. Honestly, I have no idea which it is. The amphibian eats crickets.
Joe cannot absolutely not deal with that. He cannot make himself pick one up. He cannot make himself pick up the frog/toad. He just can't. Usually he can get Kaila or Bearded Man to pick up the crickets and feed the frog/toad, if he can't shake one into the amphibian habitat. The other night, he couldn't find anyone to do it for him, so, he looked at George and said "George. Want to go execute a cricket?" I feel nothing but pity for Joe and his frog/toad. Jasin offered to sell it to a local pet store for snake food, but, I wouldn't let him.
Also of note is: The Food Network. My kids have become slightly addicted to "Chopped" as well as several other cooking shows. This has taken the nightly negative critique of dinner to an entirely new level of hell for Mama here.
It occurred to me over the weekend though, that "Chopped" is NOT, indeed, a novel idea. I thought of this, as I gazed with glazed over eyes, at a paper from the school that I found under the coffee table. It indicated that our school is doing yet another "Spirit Week". Roll your eyes. I don't care. I hate Spirit Week. It is just like chopped. In that, you get a note that you probably will not see or remember until your children mention it last minute. You will then have a ridiculously limited amount of time to try and scrounge up whatever items or clothing colors that must be worn (X's multiple children). Or attempt to figure out on the fly how to make buzz cuts look like crazy hair. Or find hats. Or the school colors. Or whatever. Evidently I am miserable and completely unspirited. I apologize. It just adds an entirely new level of stress to the morning routine. On the off chance that we remember these things the night before, it still doesn't help. Chances are, the children will all change their minds about whatever we prepared the night before, by morning. Anyhow. I am sure that the "Chopped" concept was thought up by a Spirit Week parent, who, after going through the aggravation of sending her multiple children off to school as directed by the spirit calendar, opened her refrigerator to try and figure out dinner. Which, I imagine, was probably accomplished with ketchup, carrots and macaroni and cheese.
Anyhow. That is the excitement in our household lately. I wish I could say it's been more thrilling, but, honestly, the biggest thing to happen in our parts has been the Shark Mop. Evidently myself and nearly every other housewife in the area received them for Christmas this year. All local stores are on back order for Shark Mops and Shark Mop cleaner. I am not even exaggerating, when I mention that Bearded Man has been stalking Wal Mart for Shark Mop floor cleaner. Apparently they received a shipment last week. He grabbed the last three bottles, as several women were charging down the aisle for them. It sounds like it was this side of a riot. Which is the type of thing that happens when Bearded Man is laid off for the season. We argue with housewives over floor cleaner in the household appliance aisles at the local Wal Mart.
Till next time! Stay warm!
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