Super Mama strikes again. Follow along here.
Monday, George woke up to day three of a nasty fever. It was legitimate, and he was absolutely not able to go to school.
I was absolutely not able to take a day off of work. I had too many complicated patients to try and go through the misery for all involved, to attempt to reschedule most of them in a timely manner. Also, there is no one else in my clinic who is able to do my job.
Lexi woke up and announced that she did not feel well either. I squinted suspiciously at Lexi, but, in light of George's fever, and Joe's recent day full of vomit, I decided to believe her.
"Lexi, you can stay home. Which would help me out, because, I can not. Where is your phone?"
"I don't know."
"Can you try to find it?"
(Unenthusiastic pitiful wandering meaninglessly through the house ensues.)
"I can't find it mom."
"Lex. I cannot leave two sick kids home with no phone. Seriously. You NEED to find your phone."
"I have a phone! I volunteer as tribute!" Offers Kaila magnanimously. "We really had nothing big going on in school today. I can afford to take a day off and help out."
"I have no other option. Fine. BUT: You have to do chores. I mean, laundry, vacuum, sweep...."
"Yeah yeah. Got it. Go to work!"
Apparently, by noon, there was a magical miracle in our household, because, everyone was feeling tiptop and running around outside playing with the gleeful abandon of truants. Nice.
Meanwhile, I was on the phone with the cable company, ordering a landline for the house.
By the time I arrived home that afternoon after work, my front yard, porch, and kitchen, was full of every single kid on the street.
My enterprising children had decided to hit up the after school crowd, and start a kool-aid stand. which became a girl down the street raiding her Mother's freezer for cookie dough, and baking cookies at my house, to add a bake sale to the stand.
After an attempt to share the profits with everyone equally, one child, who had nothing to do with anything, stormed home after only making twenty cents off one sale.
As they swarmed around my vehicle as I parked it, I had the strongest urge to put it back into "drive" and leave. It took a lot of mental fortitude, to open the door and get out.
A quick look around my house confirmed that Kaila had spent the day watching Netflix, and not doing chores.
Fast forward to Wednesday of this week. Both of my daughters were legitimately ill. No fevers, no vomiting, but, very pale. Very miserable. They both laid listlessly on the couch.
"Nope. Nope Nope nope nope nope. You are both going to school. I am still so aggravated about Monday, that I have no sympathy. Get up and get ready." I announced mercilessly. Because, seriously. It has happened more than once during this school year, that my daughters have had grave illnesses that miraculously are cured before mid morning. I think Lexi's has a lot to do with the year long clash with her teacher. It's been a long rough school year. However: They needed to go to school. Where, they subsequently survived.
It was not until I was driving home with Joe after his baseball game last night, that Joe mentioned that Lexi was in trouble with her teacher. Again. And had to call home. Again. This time because she forgot to bring her iPad to school. (I will be the happiest person alive, when this school year is over. Seriously.)
"What? I didn't get a phone call today."
"I know! Because she called Kaila, instead."
"WHAT?"
"Yeah. She called Kaila, and Kaila covered."
The story goes, that Lexi knew there was no way we could leave work and bring her iPad to school. So, with a last second spark of genius, and with her teacher towering over her, she dialed Kaila's number, instead. Kaila was hanging out in Music Theory Class, and caught on to the problem in less than 2 seconds. Kaila then mimicked my voice, and explained that she had patients all afternoon, and was unable to leave work to bring an iPad to school. Lexi thanked her, told "mom" she loved her, and hung up. Kaila's entire class, including the teacher, elevated her to complete "hero" status, and told her that was the best thing they had ever seen.
If I was a good mother, I would have grounded them indefinitely. I would have yelled. I would have punished them. I would have done something. But. I laughed. I laughed so hard that I couldn't breathe. I laughed until there were tears.
Seriously. It's been a long school year. I did come home and tell the girls to not let it happen again. I suspect, however, that the only thing that isn't going to happen again, is mentioning it around Joe. Only three more weeks of school. Lexi has been on the Honor Roll for every single quarter so far. I don't think she will fail sixth grade in three weeks. I am hoping next year is a better year for her. I also suspect that Joe will probably not be assigned to the same teacher, which will be a blessed relief to not only the teacher, but, my entire family, as well. If this guy couldn't deal with Lexi, I imagine Joe would push him over the proverbial edge.
And that, in a nutshell, has been how this week has progressed. I think Lexi's teacher is probably looking forward to the long Memorial Day weekend as much as we are.
Thursday, May 26, 2016
Thursday, May 19, 2016
"God Doesn't Like It When People Tattle"
Last night was one of many many many end of year school productions at the high school auditorium. It wasn't until we were seated and started to observe the children milling about us, that we realized it was also the yearly "Recorder Concert". Anyone with a Fourth Grader in Franklinville, and anyone with an Elementary School Aged child anywhere, will eventually, if they have not already, be subject to the recorder.
The recorder was an instrument that was clearly invented by someone that doesn't really like people who have children, and thought this specific torture device up and patented it to every school every where. I picture people like the mean teacher in the "Maltilda" movie cackling in agreement, that this was the perfect item to send home from school (along with the 47,672 papers every single week) and encourage as much practicing as possible, in order to break the adult population. It's a conspiracy.
Anyhow, after the recorder portion of the concert was the elementary portion of the concert. It had a surprise addition this year. Apparently, last week during music class, Lexi (my flute player) began spontaneously telling music pun/jokes. Her teacher liked it, and had it incorporated into the concert. Every so often, he would have Lexi stand up and tell another one. She was so excited to be asked to do it. She probably laughed harder than anyone in the crowd. But, that's Lexi in a nutshell. My happy go lucky kid has been nicknamed "Joy" in her class.
At work, we started a "One Million Step Challenge". We have from May 8 until September 8, to race to see who can reach one million steps first. So, in the spirit of this, I decided to walk to the school for the concert. The boys decided to walk with me. On the way there, Joe began bring up an entire list of George's most recent transgressions.
"Mom. Every day, when we walk home from school, George walks outside the lines of the crosswalk and taunts the crossing guard and says 'I'm jaywalking!!!'"
"Really, Man? You're gonna bring that up NOW?" George complained, sliding his hand into mine, because he knows I am a sucker for most of his buttering up. "You need to stop, Joe. God doesn't like it when people tattle."
"MOM! I think he is implying that God does not like me. Make him stop."
"See what I mean? NOBODY likes a tattler, Joe."
"MOM!"
Anyhow, while the concert was successful, and every single parent there thought their children progenies, and everything seemed fine - apparently things were not.
Because, at 4:45 this morning, I was lying in bed contemplating walking the dog before work, when I heard Joe get out of bed, run down the hallway, and vomit down the stairs. Repeatedly.
"Joe! Dammit! GET TO THE BATHROOM!!! WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS THROWING UP DOWN THE DAMN STAIRS??!!!!" Was my immediate reaction. (Don't judge. The name of this blog clearly indicates that I am aware of my awesomeness as a Mother.)
"I am TRYING! Do you want me to try and just throw up out my bedroom window?"
"NO! I do not want vomit down the side of the house!"
"Do you want me to throw up on my bedroom rug?"
"GET IN THE BATHROOM NOW!!!!"
"You know, it is much better to get it all over the stairs, then to splatter it all over the entire hallway, and possibly get it on all the books on the shelves up here."
Anyhow, Joe got a day off of school, and was tucked in with a bucket. Shortly after everything was cleaned up, Bearded Man went out the back door to let the dogs out. Our back room is a crazy messed up trigger of my OCD aggravation. It is open to the attic for some reason, and is pretty much used for storage. I have come up with dozens of ideas to fix the craziness of it, but, we haven't gotten around to it yet. Bearded Man was outside for only a few minutes, when he casually called me, and insisted I come see this. Out in the back room, a very upset pigeon stared down at us suspiciously from the attic. "Jasin. That is a pigeon. WHY is there a pigeon in the attic? It better not be scouting a new housing development for all the neighborhood pigeons."
"Bring me a gun."
"NO! You are not shooting birds in my house!!!!"
"Fine. Then, there will be pigeons in the attic. Maybe the cat will clear things out."
I would like to say that the day improved to some degree. But, then the phone calls/texts/emails from the school began.
Apparently, Lexi forgot her homework again. So, her teacher made her call me and confess. I was so busy at work when the call came in, that I was almost aggravated. I watched my phone in resignation, as the inevitable email from her teacher came, to further incriminate my forgetful kid. Then the emails from my poor kid began, as she explained tearfully that she really had thought she had put her homework in her backpack.
Then the texts began regarding George.
"Did you get an email from George's teacher?"
"Not yet. Why?"
Apparently George and another boy were caught doing spitballs in the cafeteria.
When George was interrogated about this at home after work, I didn't mention exactly what I had heard, so, George mentioned getting in trouble for roughhousing in the boy's bathroom, before he got around to confessing about spitballs.
I grounded him from going to his buddy's house down the street, but, they corrected that by having his buddy come to our house and hang out.
The previous part of this post was written yesterday... That whole time thing rarely works for me. Anyhow, today, all my children seem healthy, and, there were no pigeons in the attic. Joe was dressed and ready for school while I was getting ready for work.
"Mom. I think I need five dollars for school lunch tomorrow."
"School lunches do not cost five dollars, Joe."
"I know. But, I want a double lunch. AND, I can have TWO apples."
"Joe. We have apples here."
"I don't want ROTTEN apples, Mom."
"They aren't rotten! MAYBE one of them is soft, but, they are all perfectly fine!"
"*sigh* Mom. You do not store them properly. I cannot eat these apples."
"What?!"
"You store them in a bowl. On the counter. They need to be stored in the refrigerator, where the cold will stall the molecular movement, so that they will stay fresher longer. Also, they taste better cold."
"I am not giving you five dollars Joe."
Back to life as we know it around my house! Mostly I am waiting for the weather to stay warm at night so I can plant my gardens. Every single year, my flower beds start out with so many hopes and dreams. Mostly by the end of August, most of those hopes and dreams are shattered, as my flower beds get taken over by weeds that I am too busy to pull. It's still spring though, so, I have time to change my neglectful ways still. Here's hoping!
The recorder was an instrument that was clearly invented by someone that doesn't really like people who have children, and thought this specific torture device up and patented it to every school every where. I picture people like the mean teacher in the "Maltilda" movie cackling in agreement, that this was the perfect item to send home from school (along with the 47,672 papers every single week) and encourage as much practicing as possible, in order to break the adult population. It's a conspiracy.
Anyhow, after the recorder portion of the concert was the elementary portion of the concert. It had a surprise addition this year. Apparently, last week during music class, Lexi (my flute player) began spontaneously telling music pun/jokes. Her teacher liked it, and had it incorporated into the concert. Every so often, he would have Lexi stand up and tell another one. She was so excited to be asked to do it. She probably laughed harder than anyone in the crowd. But, that's Lexi in a nutshell. My happy go lucky kid has been nicknamed "Joy" in her class.
At work, we started a "One Million Step Challenge". We have from May 8 until September 8, to race to see who can reach one million steps first. So, in the spirit of this, I decided to walk to the school for the concert. The boys decided to walk with me. On the way there, Joe began bring up an entire list of George's most recent transgressions.
"Mom. Every day, when we walk home from school, George walks outside the lines of the crosswalk and taunts the crossing guard and says 'I'm jaywalking!!!'"
"Really, Man? You're gonna bring that up NOW?" George complained, sliding his hand into mine, because he knows I am a sucker for most of his buttering up. "You need to stop, Joe. God doesn't like it when people tattle."
"MOM! I think he is implying that God does not like me. Make him stop."
"See what I mean? NOBODY likes a tattler, Joe."
"MOM!"
Anyhow, while the concert was successful, and every single parent there thought their children progenies, and everything seemed fine - apparently things were not.
Because, at 4:45 this morning, I was lying in bed contemplating walking the dog before work, when I heard Joe get out of bed, run down the hallway, and vomit down the stairs. Repeatedly.
"Joe! Dammit! GET TO THE BATHROOM!!! WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS THROWING UP DOWN THE DAMN STAIRS??!!!!" Was my immediate reaction. (Don't judge. The name of this blog clearly indicates that I am aware of my awesomeness as a Mother.)
"I am TRYING! Do you want me to try and just throw up out my bedroom window?"
"NO! I do not want vomit down the side of the house!"
"Do you want me to throw up on my bedroom rug?"
"GET IN THE BATHROOM NOW!!!!"
"You know, it is much better to get it all over the stairs, then to splatter it all over the entire hallway, and possibly get it on all the books on the shelves up here."
Anyhow, Joe got a day off of school, and was tucked in with a bucket. Shortly after everything was cleaned up, Bearded Man went out the back door to let the dogs out. Our back room is a crazy messed up trigger of my OCD aggravation. It is open to the attic for some reason, and is pretty much used for storage. I have come up with dozens of ideas to fix the craziness of it, but, we haven't gotten around to it yet. Bearded Man was outside for only a few minutes, when he casually called me, and insisted I come see this. Out in the back room, a very upset pigeon stared down at us suspiciously from the attic. "Jasin. That is a pigeon. WHY is there a pigeon in the attic? It better not be scouting a new housing development for all the neighborhood pigeons."
"Bring me a gun."
"NO! You are not shooting birds in my house!!!!"
"Fine. Then, there will be pigeons in the attic. Maybe the cat will clear things out."
I would like to say that the day improved to some degree. But, then the phone calls/texts/emails from the school began.
Apparently, Lexi forgot her homework again. So, her teacher made her call me and confess. I was so busy at work when the call came in, that I was almost aggravated. I watched my phone in resignation, as the inevitable email from her teacher came, to further incriminate my forgetful kid. Then the emails from my poor kid began, as she explained tearfully that she really had thought she had put her homework in her backpack.
Then the texts began regarding George.
"Did you get an email from George's teacher?"
"Not yet. Why?"
Apparently George and another boy were caught doing spitballs in the cafeteria.
When George was interrogated about this at home after work, I didn't mention exactly what I had heard, so, George mentioned getting in trouble for roughhousing in the boy's bathroom, before he got around to confessing about spitballs.
I grounded him from going to his buddy's house down the street, but, they corrected that by having his buddy come to our house and hang out.
The previous part of this post was written yesterday... That whole time thing rarely works for me. Anyhow, today, all my children seem healthy, and, there were no pigeons in the attic. Joe was dressed and ready for school while I was getting ready for work.
"Mom. I think I need five dollars for school lunch tomorrow."
"School lunches do not cost five dollars, Joe."
"I know. But, I want a double lunch. AND, I can have TWO apples."
"Joe. We have apples here."
"I don't want ROTTEN apples, Mom."
"They aren't rotten! MAYBE one of them is soft, but, they are all perfectly fine!"
"*sigh* Mom. You do not store them properly. I cannot eat these apples."
"What?!"
"You store them in a bowl. On the counter. They need to be stored in the refrigerator, where the cold will stall the molecular movement, so that they will stay fresher longer. Also, they taste better cold."
"I am not giving you five dollars Joe."
Back to life as we know it around my house! Mostly I am waiting for the weather to stay warm at night so I can plant my gardens. Every single year, my flower beds start out with so many hopes and dreams. Mostly by the end of August, most of those hopes and dreams are shattered, as my flower beds get taken over by weeds that I am too busy to pull. It's still spring though, so, I have time to change my neglectful ways still. Here's hoping!
Monday, May 2, 2016
Reason 4,981 as to Why I Should Not be a Sunday School Teacher
Yesterday, we concluded year two of Sunday School teaching. I am truly confused as to how I manage to retain my position. Actually, there is a very real possibility that there will be numerous parent complaints regarding the "End of Year Party", and I will be asked to hand in my curriculum, thank you very much.
Or not. I don't think the parents want to complain too bitterly, because, we are terribly short Sunday School Teachers, and, if we lose another one, then, they may be put on the spot to replace me. And, no one wants to be a Sunday School teacher. Therefore, they ship their poor unsuspecting kids to class Sunday mornings, and probably go out to breakfast blessedly alone. (Like I dreamed about doing for fourteen years.)
Anyhow. Yesterday, by popular vote of my class, I hauled in a Subway platter, chips, and cupcakes. Also, we have a TV/VCR in my class room, so, I thought I would bring in a movie to watch. Last week, while we went over review, I let them play with Legos to occupy them while we talked. Next thing I knew, they had built a cross and re-crucified Jesus. I figured maybe it wasn't a good idea to play with the Legos again. I asked Kaila to dig through our video cassette collection, and find something appropriate for Sunday School.
"How about Lady and the Tramp, Mom?"
"No. That is very inappropriate. They run off on illicit dates, there is unwed parenthood, there is a kissing scene. Lady IS a Tramp."
"Oh emmm geee, Mom. Fine. How about Pinocchio?"
"Ick."
"We could do a Shirley Temple movie?"
"I suppose one of those would work."
In going through the movies, I stumbled across The Blues Brothers movie. Right across the front of it "They are on a mission for God" Well. That's just about perfect. Isn't there a nun? Aren't they trying to save an orphanage or something like that? It's been awhile since I saw it, so my recollection was rather fuzzy.
On the way to church, as we bumped over the back roads swerving around the Amish and balancing plates of cupcakes, I happened to look a little closer at the movie.
"Jasin. This movie is rated "R"..."
"Oh! That! That's just because it was made in the late 70's early 80's! It's fine. People were way more strict back then. The movie is FINE. The girls watch it all the time on Netflix. It's a classic! In today's rating scales, it would probably only be a PG. Maybe PG-13 at the most!"
"I don't know.... this IS Sunday school..."
"Nah. It'll be fine."
Into the classroom, I hesitantly mentioned the rated R movie that we had unthinkingly selected.
"Well. YOU selected, Honey." pointed out Bearded Man, his halo glowing brilliantly.
The kids all voted we try it out.
Within minutes, I was cringing in horror, as the most non church appropriate language EVER echoed around my classroom.
"Okay, we need to turn this off." I say
"NO! It's not like we haven't heard it before!" They argue.
"It's FINE, hon, there isn't THAT much language in this movie" Bearded Man pleads.
Being an older movie, the kids begin to question EVERYTHING.
"Is that nun possessed? Is she dead and a ghost? Why is she beating them? Why do the doors close by themselves? Is that place haunted?"
And so the longest Sunday school class in the history of Sunday school classes went. "Kids." I plead, "Maybe you should focus more on the amazing cupcakes we brought in, more than the movie, when you mention today's class over dinner tonight with your parents..." with the internal thought that this only makes me sound even WORSE. Aren't people who tell children to maybe gloss over certain things BAD people?
And so. We closed out the Sunday School year by playing filthy language in church. While portraying a nun to be either possessed or dead and a ghost.
Not sure quite how to even begin going about rectifying this with the Lord.
On to another subject. I've had enough of the Sunday School humiliation for now.
Well. Now that I think about it, that's about it. Well, no. I suppose I could mention the make up episode.
Friday evening, Bearded Man and I were up Buffalo way. We went to dinner at a place featured on "Diners Drive Ins and Dives" awhile back. The food was great, the waitress was wonderful, the neighborhood was fascinating, and, the drunk bar people entertaining. I would absolutely go back.
After dinner, we headed to the Mall. I am not a mall person. I normally avoid them at any cost. However, during Lexi's birthday visit a few months ago, I found a shade of lipstick I can live with, and wanted to pick up another tube of it. So, we headed to the mall.
Once inside the makeup store, a very nice young lady came over to assist. I told her I needed this lipstick, please, and we headed over to find it.
During the course of things, she asks if I need anything else. I told her I didn't think so... I mentioned the "youth serum" that I had bought, because some other young lady had told me it would assist with the under eye circles and bags. I pointed out that I didn't feel I looked youthful, and, that the circles and bags were still there, and I look like I am halfway into the crypt.
"Well, ummm. Maybe if you give it some time to work? I mean, it obviously hasn't worked yet, but, I am sure if you use it for a little while, you should see some improvement..." she said, staring sympathetically at my face.
"I have been using it since February."
"Oh. Well. I don't think it's working for you."
Ah well. I've got the lipstick going for me, so, there is that...
And, that was the weekend in a nutshell. I discovered on "Clean the house Saturday" that, there is no better way to assure your children get nice fresh outdoor air, than to tell them they need to clean indoors...
Happy Monday!
Or not. I don't think the parents want to complain too bitterly, because, we are terribly short Sunday School Teachers, and, if we lose another one, then, they may be put on the spot to replace me. And, no one wants to be a Sunday School teacher. Therefore, they ship their poor unsuspecting kids to class Sunday mornings, and probably go out to breakfast blessedly alone. (Like I dreamed about doing for fourteen years.)
Anyhow. Yesterday, by popular vote of my class, I hauled in a Subway platter, chips, and cupcakes. Also, we have a TV/VCR in my class room, so, I thought I would bring in a movie to watch. Last week, while we went over review, I let them play with Legos to occupy them while we talked. Next thing I knew, they had built a cross and re-crucified Jesus. I figured maybe it wasn't a good idea to play with the Legos again. I asked Kaila to dig through our video cassette collection, and find something appropriate for Sunday School.
"How about Lady and the Tramp, Mom?"
"No. That is very inappropriate. They run off on illicit dates, there is unwed parenthood, there is a kissing scene. Lady IS a Tramp."
"Oh emmm geee, Mom. Fine. How about Pinocchio?"
"Ick."
"We could do a Shirley Temple movie?"
"I suppose one of those would work."
In going through the movies, I stumbled across The Blues Brothers movie. Right across the front of it "They are on a mission for God" Well. That's just about perfect. Isn't there a nun? Aren't they trying to save an orphanage or something like that? It's been awhile since I saw it, so my recollection was rather fuzzy.
On the way to church, as we bumped over the back roads swerving around the Amish and balancing plates of cupcakes, I happened to look a little closer at the movie.
"Jasin. This movie is rated "R"..."
"Oh! That! That's just because it was made in the late 70's early 80's! It's fine. People were way more strict back then. The movie is FINE. The girls watch it all the time on Netflix. It's a classic! In today's rating scales, it would probably only be a PG. Maybe PG-13 at the most!"
"I don't know.... this IS Sunday school..."
"Nah. It'll be fine."
Into the classroom, I hesitantly mentioned the rated R movie that we had unthinkingly selected.
"Well. YOU selected, Honey." pointed out Bearded Man, his halo glowing brilliantly.
The kids all voted we try it out.
Within minutes, I was cringing in horror, as the most non church appropriate language EVER echoed around my classroom.
"Okay, we need to turn this off." I say
"NO! It's not like we haven't heard it before!" They argue.
"It's FINE, hon, there isn't THAT much language in this movie" Bearded Man pleads.
Being an older movie, the kids begin to question EVERYTHING.
"Is that nun possessed? Is she dead and a ghost? Why is she beating them? Why do the doors close by themselves? Is that place haunted?"
And so the longest Sunday school class in the history of Sunday school classes went. "Kids." I plead, "Maybe you should focus more on the amazing cupcakes we brought in, more than the movie, when you mention today's class over dinner tonight with your parents..." with the internal thought that this only makes me sound even WORSE. Aren't people who tell children to maybe gloss over certain things BAD people?
And so. We closed out the Sunday School year by playing filthy language in church. While portraying a nun to be either possessed or dead and a ghost.
Not sure quite how to even begin going about rectifying this with the Lord.
On to another subject. I've had enough of the Sunday School humiliation for now.
Well. Now that I think about it, that's about it. Well, no. I suppose I could mention the make up episode.
Friday evening, Bearded Man and I were up Buffalo way. We went to dinner at a place featured on "Diners Drive Ins and Dives" awhile back. The food was great, the waitress was wonderful, the neighborhood was fascinating, and, the drunk bar people entertaining. I would absolutely go back.
After dinner, we headed to the Mall. I am not a mall person. I normally avoid them at any cost. However, during Lexi's birthday visit a few months ago, I found a shade of lipstick I can live with, and wanted to pick up another tube of it. So, we headed to the mall.
Once inside the makeup store, a very nice young lady came over to assist. I told her I needed this lipstick, please, and we headed over to find it.
During the course of things, she asks if I need anything else. I told her I didn't think so... I mentioned the "youth serum" that I had bought, because some other young lady had told me it would assist with the under eye circles and bags. I pointed out that I didn't feel I looked youthful, and, that the circles and bags were still there, and I look like I am halfway into the crypt.
"Well, ummm. Maybe if you give it some time to work? I mean, it obviously hasn't worked yet, but, I am sure if you use it for a little while, you should see some improvement..." she said, staring sympathetically at my face.
"I have been using it since February."
"Oh. Well. I don't think it's working for you."
Ah well. I've got the lipstick going for me, so, there is that...
And, that was the weekend in a nutshell. I discovered on "Clean the house Saturday" that, there is no better way to assure your children get nice fresh outdoor air, than to tell them they need to clean indoors...
Happy Monday!
Monday, April 25, 2016
Peanut Butter and Jelly is the Way to Go!
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!
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!
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!
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