I had to do a bunch of ironing today. My usual method of doing so involves playing a movie in the background while I complete that fairly boring chore. When the kidlets are all off at school, that often means the movie is at least rated PG-13, if not R. When else would I have the opportunity to watch such movies?
Today's movie choice was V for Vendetta. I guess I was just in the mood for something a little more thought-provoking than my usual fare. I consider any movie where the hero is a terrorist to be quite thought-provoking, although not necessarily in a good way.
Actually, it made me think of a conversation I had with a fellow teacher in late September of 2001. In the immediate aftermath of 9/11, she was having her sixth grade Language Arts students write about what it meant to be a hero. I remember her angrily blustering to me later about how one student dared to ask if the terrorists were heroes to other terrorists. She supposedly told him the answer was no. There was no way that terrorists could be heroes to anyone, as far as she was concerned. I remember thinking that she just didn't quite get what the student was really asking. I attempted to argue on the student's behalf, but was essentially ignored.
For the record, my husband was at the World Trade Center at the time of the attack on 9/11. He lived, but was never quite the same afterwards. Who could be? Neither he nor I could even look at newspaper clippings or watch television for months afterwards because of how horrific it was. The imagery was just too painful. That Language Arts teacher insisted on hanging the graphic images from that day up in her classroom. She used it in her lesson plans. She had no personal ties to anyone who was there, and she made that painfully obvious to those of us who could not even enter her classroom without violently shaking. My husband of not quite six months could have died. Thousands of others did. Yet I was the one arguing with that other teacher that what the student was asking should have received a different answer.
Was what the terrorists did on 9/11 reprehensible? Absolutely. Was it immoral? Arguably. Was it a horrific tragedy that never should have occurred? I would say yes. But that was not what that sixth grader was asking. He was asking if, to other terrorists, were those individuals who caused such vile actions actually heroes? I think the answer should have been yes. That does not make it right. That does not make it acceptable. But often, a person is a hero based solely on the interpretation of their actions by those learning of them. In the movie I watched today, the terrorist was the hero of the story. That does not make his actions right. But it does make you think.
I've heard it said that history is written by the winners. I wish I knew who originated that thought to give him or her the proper credit. I did a quick Google search on the definition of terrorism. "The use of violence and intimidation in the pursuit of political aims" was the first thing that popped up on screen. Gee, sounds to me like the Colonists were terrorists according to Great Britain. We certainly don't see them that way now, but that's essentially what they were. Were they right in demanding their freedom? I think so. Were they justified in fighting for that political end, killing those they killed, and destroying property, too? Does the ends justify the means? Our country's history books would probably say yes.
I am no history scholar. I am not suggesting that terrorism should be allowed to continue. I believe that using violence is never justified, let alone to pursue a political goal. Violence creates more violence. Escalation is inevitable, and no one wins. Death, destruction, and carnage are the awful side effects. Regardless, violence will continue to be used. That will likely never end until the whole of the Earth is destroyed. To those who side with the violent parties, those terrorists are heroes, just like the character V was in that 2005 film that I watched while ironing. They are fighting for that which they believe. That does not make it right, and it sure better make all of us think a little bit more about what we see on the news every day.
Monday, April 30, 2012
Sunday, April 29, 2012
Toys in a row...
A few years ago, back when Pig Jr. was only two years old, he was receiving help from Early Intervention. (I adore Early Intervention, by the way. For kidlets like my little man who had speech and developmental delays, to have trained professionals come to our house to help him with his speech and sensory issues was a lifesaver.) One of the ladies who worked with my son asked me if I often saw him line up his toys all in a row. At the time, the answer was a resounding yes.
This particular woman told me it was okay for kidlets to occasionally line up their toys, but it was important to make sure that was not the be all and end all. Kidlets need to learn how to engage in imaginative play, and if their play is to simply line up toys, then they are kind of missing the point. She gave me permission to mess up his line of toys to shake him up a bit and make sure he could play in other ways. In other words, I needed to encourage him to make his cars and trucks vroom around all over the place, preferably while making sounds (which rarely happened with my reluctant-to-babble boy) instead of making his vehicles look like a major roadway during rush hour when it turns into a long line of parked cars.
I never knew lining up toys could be a problem. My eldest had gone through a phase when she did the same thing, and she outgrew it. My middle child had a brief period when she did the same, but then she moved on to bigger and better methods of playing. I had to concede the point that a kidlet who already proved he was not interested in doing "normal" things (like talking, kicking a ball, climbing up or down stairs, etc.) might need a little more encouragement.
It's been a few years since those days of intentionally dismantling rows of blocks, cars, books, or whatever else my son placed in a nice, neat line. Pig Jr. has been playing more independently in his room, and cleaning things up before eating meals, leaving the house, or when told Mommy needs to vacuum the floor. It's rare that he will ask me to play with him, and he does not often request for his sisters to go in his room to play with him either. I keep thinking I need to volunteer my services for playtime more often, but with him going to school full time and me having to sit with Rooster for ages to do homework with her every day, I find myself running out of time on most days.
I went into Pig Jr.'s room today in order to vacuum. I was shocked to see a whole slew of toy cars and trucks lined up and sorted by characteristics. Even the various construction vehicles were separated by type and size. He is once more simply lining up his toys to play with them. I worry this is a regression, or worse, that he simply learned to hide this sort of play from me since he knew I would not allow it to continue.
I wish I knew whether I should just let this be, or if it needs to be stopped. It's a good thing he has his yearly physical this week. I have the feeling his pediatrician will want to know about this.
This particular woman told me it was okay for kidlets to occasionally line up their toys, but it was important to make sure that was not the be all and end all. Kidlets need to learn how to engage in imaginative play, and if their play is to simply line up toys, then they are kind of missing the point. She gave me permission to mess up his line of toys to shake him up a bit and make sure he could play in other ways. In other words, I needed to encourage him to make his cars and trucks vroom around all over the place, preferably while making sounds (which rarely happened with my reluctant-to-babble boy) instead of making his vehicles look like a major roadway during rush hour when it turns into a long line of parked cars.
I never knew lining up toys could be a problem. My eldest had gone through a phase when she did the same thing, and she outgrew it. My middle child had a brief period when she did the same, but then she moved on to bigger and better methods of playing. I had to concede the point that a kidlet who already proved he was not interested in doing "normal" things (like talking, kicking a ball, climbing up or down stairs, etc.) might need a little more encouragement.
It's been a few years since those days of intentionally dismantling rows of blocks, cars, books, or whatever else my son placed in a nice, neat line. Pig Jr. has been playing more independently in his room, and cleaning things up before eating meals, leaving the house, or when told Mommy needs to vacuum the floor. It's rare that he will ask me to play with him, and he does not often request for his sisters to go in his room to play with him either. I keep thinking I need to volunteer my services for playtime more often, but with him going to school full time and me having to sit with Rooster for ages to do homework with her every day, I find myself running out of time on most days.
I went into Pig Jr.'s room today in order to vacuum. I was shocked to see a whole slew of toy cars and trucks lined up and sorted by characteristics. Even the various construction vehicles were separated by type and size. He is once more simply lining up his toys to play with them. I worry this is a regression, or worse, that he simply learned to hide this sort of play from me since he knew I would not allow it to continue.
I wish I knew whether I should just let this be, or if it needs to be stopped. It's a good thing he has his yearly physical this week. I have the feeling his pediatrician will want to know about this.
Saturday, April 28, 2012
Perspective
An online friend of mine sent me a message in the game we both play. (That would be Kingdom of Loathing, or KoL, for those who are curious.) She mentioned that it must be nice to be able to discuss the game with my husband, who also plays. She has no one like that in her life, and only has a couple of people in-game that she messages to discuss strategies or talk about successes and failures.
That sounds great in theory, doesn't it? My husband and I can talk about a common interest that is not shared by very many people we know in real life. Well, it just reeks with irony that the morning my friend sent me her message, I told my husband to stop bothering me with his stories about KoL. I was tired of hearing his complaints about how badly he was doing when he plays much more optimally (that's game-speak for "a heck of a lot better") than I do.
It's all about perspective, isn't it? When we don't have something, we see it as being desirable. When we have it, we take it for granted. My husband introduced me to KoL, so I never knew a time where I was playing it without being able to discuss it with someone else. Any new items or areas introduced could be talked about the very second we learned of their existence. My friend does not have that, and wishes she did. It suddenly makes me appreciate my stinkin' optimal husband a whole lot more than I did before contemplating my friend's message to me.
I'm still not sure if I'll ever forgive her for that.
That sounds great in theory, doesn't it? My husband and I can talk about a common interest that is not shared by very many people we know in real life. Well, it just reeks with irony that the morning my friend sent me her message, I told my husband to stop bothering me with his stories about KoL. I was tired of hearing his complaints about how badly he was doing when he plays much more optimally (that's game-speak for "a heck of a lot better") than I do.
It's all about perspective, isn't it? When we don't have something, we see it as being desirable. When we have it, we take it for granted. My husband introduced me to KoL, so I never knew a time where I was playing it without being able to discuss it with someone else. Any new items or areas introduced could be talked about the very second we learned of their existence. My friend does not have that, and wishes she did. It suddenly makes me appreciate my stinkin' optimal husband a whole lot more than I did before contemplating my friend's message to me.
I'm still not sure if I'll ever forgive her for that.
Friday, April 27, 2012
"It's too old."
When Pig Jr. was three, he went for an evaluation with a neurodevelopmental pediatrician, where he was diagnosed and told he should receive OT and speech through our school district's special education department. That specialist sent me in to his preschool with nothing more than a prescription blank filled out with "PDD-NOS" and "needs OT and speech." It took them almost two years to finally send us the report, which also stated that he should be under close developmental monitoring. Great. There's nothing quite like knowing your kidlet should have been monitored for almost two years when he wasn't.
Well, as soon as we read that part of the report, we looked for a new neurodevelopmental pediatrician, preferably one who would send us copies of reports in a timely manner. The first appointment we could get is currently scheduled for August of this year. These specialists are typically booked months, if not years, in advance, so this did not come as a surprise.
The school took the prescription blank from me, but never told me it was worthless. I did not hear that until this year, when they stated they could not use it as a basis for providing services. They needed the report. They also told me I could sign a waiver and the school could get a copy of the report directly from the doctor. Why was this not mentioned almost two years ago when I was repeatedly talking to the doctor and attempting to have them send me the reports? I cannot physically force a doctor's office to send me the promised materials, and I had no idea the school could wield any power to get copies on my behalf. Instead, I did the best I could and gave the school a copy as soon as I had one physically in my possession. Now the school is saying they cannot use the report because it is "too old."
By the time my son has his next evaluation by a neurodevelopmentalist, it will almost be time for school to start and he will have already been placed wherever he is going to be next year. Any reports that are created after that appointment will not get to us before the start of the school year. This means that once again, he will not receive the services he needs. Because the old report cannot be used, whoever his teacher is for next year will be completely unprepared for my son and his issues. It will be too late for his new reports to be used in his placement for next year, and I will have to read up on what the law says in terms of applying them after his school's evaluation this year is complete. I already know that certain individuals in his school's special services department do their best to feign ignorance of the law unless parents fight. I need to prepare for a long, drawn-out battle over my son and his rights.
To say I am angry, upset, and overwhelmed is an understatement.
Well, as soon as we read that part of the report, we looked for a new neurodevelopmental pediatrician, preferably one who would send us copies of reports in a timely manner. The first appointment we could get is currently scheduled for August of this year. These specialists are typically booked months, if not years, in advance, so this did not come as a surprise.
The school took the prescription blank from me, but never told me it was worthless. I did not hear that until this year, when they stated they could not use it as a basis for providing services. They needed the report. They also told me I could sign a waiver and the school could get a copy of the report directly from the doctor. Why was this not mentioned almost two years ago when I was repeatedly talking to the doctor and attempting to have them send me the reports? I cannot physically force a doctor's office to send me the promised materials, and I had no idea the school could wield any power to get copies on my behalf. Instead, I did the best I could and gave the school a copy as soon as I had one physically in my possession. Now the school is saying they cannot use the report because it is "too old."
By the time my son has his next evaluation by a neurodevelopmentalist, it will almost be time for school to start and he will have already been placed wherever he is going to be next year. Any reports that are created after that appointment will not get to us before the start of the school year. This means that once again, he will not receive the services he needs. Because the old report cannot be used, whoever his teacher is for next year will be completely unprepared for my son and his issues. It will be too late for his new reports to be used in his placement for next year, and I will have to read up on what the law says in terms of applying them after his school's evaluation this year is complete. I already know that certain individuals in his school's special services department do their best to feign ignorance of the law unless parents fight. I need to prepare for a long, drawn-out battle over my son and his rights.
To say I am angry, upset, and overwhelmed is an understatement.
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Bathroom time is relative where kidlets are concerned...
There's a secret I've learned since having kidlets: all time that passes while a person is in the bathroom is relative. It's true at least for each and every time kidlets are somehow involved.
I first suspected time worked weird when I attempted to put my firstborn in a bouncy seat for thirty seconds so I could run to the bathroom without trying to balance an infant while using the facilities. My newborn screamed bloody murder during those thirty seconds, thus successfully managing to make it seem as if time had actually stopped. Those thirty seconds had to have felt as if they were really thirty years long. However, when my husband was on baby duty and I attempted to take a twenty minute long shower, that time flew by as if in the blink of an eye.
After that nasty-looking umbilical cord stump dried up and fell off my baby, I learned that I could extend bathroom time once more by simply trying to give my daughter a bath. She would scream her bleepin' little head right off her shoulders for what seemed like hours on end. Then I would dry her off, dress her, and carry her out to another room only to discover a whole whopping ten minutes had passed.
Now that my kidlets are a bit older, the bathroom relativity is a bit different. They think they are only taking a shower for five minutes when it is really half an hour. They think I am taking forever to brush my teeth when it is the same exact two-minute cycle on my toothbrush that it's always been. They think five seconds is ten hours when it comes to applying shampoo to their wet heads. Oddly enough, they think ten minutes is really two seconds when it comes time to rinse out their conditioner. And don't get me started on them thinking that "washing" their hands for three seconds is the same as scrubbing their hands for sixty seconds or more.
They also apply this relative time to their siblings. ("Mom, make him get out of the bathroom so I can go potty! He's been in there forever!" "He's been in there precisely two minutes and you just went potty right before he did!") They want to personally spend entire days locked in the bathroom, but they think it is just moments. Then they accuse their siblings of taking far too long in the same location.
The long and short of it is this: When they need to spend tons of time in the bathroom, they do not. When they need to be in and out quickly, they are not. In both situations, their grasp of time is completely erroneous.
I'm still trying to figure out how to make this work in my favor so I can relax and take a nice, long, hot bath without them thinking the two minutes I'm in there is actually ten hours. Perhaps I should borrow somebody's screaming newborn, plunk him or her in a bouncy seat just outside of the bathroom door, and attempt to make those two minutes seem like four days just like when my kidlets were babies.
I first suspected time worked weird when I attempted to put my firstborn in a bouncy seat for thirty seconds so I could run to the bathroom without trying to balance an infant while using the facilities. My newborn screamed bloody murder during those thirty seconds, thus successfully managing to make it seem as if time had actually stopped. Those thirty seconds had to have felt as if they were really thirty years long. However, when my husband was on baby duty and I attempted to take a twenty minute long shower, that time flew by as if in the blink of an eye.
After that nasty-looking umbilical cord stump dried up and fell off my baby, I learned that I could extend bathroom time once more by simply trying to give my daughter a bath. She would scream her bleepin' little head right off her shoulders for what seemed like hours on end. Then I would dry her off, dress her, and carry her out to another room only to discover a whole whopping ten minutes had passed.
Now that my kidlets are a bit older, the bathroom relativity is a bit different. They think they are only taking a shower for five minutes when it is really half an hour. They think I am taking forever to brush my teeth when it is the same exact two-minute cycle on my toothbrush that it's always been. They think five seconds is ten hours when it comes to applying shampoo to their wet heads. Oddly enough, they think ten minutes is really two seconds when it comes time to rinse out their conditioner. And don't get me started on them thinking that "washing" their hands for three seconds is the same as scrubbing their hands for sixty seconds or more.
They also apply this relative time to their siblings. ("Mom, make him get out of the bathroom so I can go potty! He's been in there forever!" "He's been in there precisely two minutes and you just went potty right before he did!") They want to personally spend entire days locked in the bathroom, but they think it is just moments. Then they accuse their siblings of taking far too long in the same location.
The long and short of it is this: When they need to spend tons of time in the bathroom, they do not. When they need to be in and out quickly, they are not. In both situations, their grasp of time is completely erroneous.
I'm still trying to figure out how to make this work in my favor so I can relax and take a nice, long, hot bath without them thinking the two minutes I'm in there is actually ten hours. Perhaps I should borrow somebody's screaming newborn, plunk him or her in a bouncy seat just outside of the bathroom door, and attempt to make those two minutes seem like four days just like when my kidlets were babies.
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Pedestrians and the right-of-way...
Dear Motorists,
Clearly some of you need a refresher course on when you have the right-of-way and when pedestrians do. Let me make this easy for you: Pedestrians win. You lose. Deal with it.
Is there a pedestrian crossing the street in the middle of the crosswalk? They have the right-of-way. Is someone stopped and waiting to cross an intersection and the light turns so they have the green? They have the right-of-way. Are you approaching a stop sign and there is a pedestrian crossing the street in front of you? Surprise! They have the right-of-way.
What if there is a pedestrian jaywalking? Stop the dang car anyway. What if a child runs into the street? Cease all forward vehicular movement. What if some idiot who is texting and not paying any attention to where he or she is walking decides to weave in and out of traffic? Stop for the idiot! What I constantly tell my offspring is that it does not matter what pedestrians are doing. I don't care what laws they are breaking or how stupid a decision they are making when hurling their bodies into traffic. Vehicles need to brake for them.
Really, this boils down to a fairly simple science lesson. Let us assume a 160 pound adult meets a 3200 pound vehicle. Common sense says that the adult does not stand much of a chance in winning any battle between the two of them. Granted, cars have crumple zones and all that fancy stuff that make them look really ugly after an accident, regardless of what or who they hit. People crumpling look much worse. Cars (most of the time) have airbags to help in an accident. Pedestrians don't. Cars are not likely to be thrown when a pedestrian hits them. Pedestrians can and do sometimes go airborne when hit by a car. What on earth would possess someone driving a one-and-a-half ton vehicle to NOT try and stop when they see a pedestrian?
None of this means that pedestrians should try and tempt fate by leaping into traffic. Even my four-year-old knows that in an argument between a car and a person, the car always wins. It does take vehicles some time to stop, too, and that time is extended the heavier the vehicle and the more distracted the driver. Pedestrians should never, ever try to rely on someone braking in time. Drivers might not see you in time to prevent you from turning into road pizza. Regardless, vehicles should always look out for pedestrians and yield them the right-of-way when they are in the street.
Most importantly, dear motorists, if by some horribly unforeseen circumstance you accidentally hit a pedestrian with your vehicle, stop the dang car. Call 9-1-1. Do what you can to help the person you hit. Leaving the scene of an accident should never, ever be even remotely considered.
Sincerely,
A pedestrian who also drives
Clearly some of you need a refresher course on when you have the right-of-way and when pedestrians do. Let me make this easy for you: Pedestrians win. You lose. Deal with it.
Is there a pedestrian crossing the street in the middle of the crosswalk? They have the right-of-way. Is someone stopped and waiting to cross an intersection and the light turns so they have the green? They have the right-of-way. Are you approaching a stop sign and there is a pedestrian crossing the street in front of you? Surprise! They have the right-of-way.
What if there is a pedestrian jaywalking? Stop the dang car anyway. What if a child runs into the street? Cease all forward vehicular movement. What if some idiot who is texting and not paying any attention to where he or she is walking decides to weave in and out of traffic? Stop for the idiot! What I constantly tell my offspring is that it does not matter what pedestrians are doing. I don't care what laws they are breaking or how stupid a decision they are making when hurling their bodies into traffic. Vehicles need to brake for them.
Really, this boils down to a fairly simple science lesson. Let us assume a 160 pound adult meets a 3200 pound vehicle. Common sense says that the adult does not stand much of a chance in winning any battle between the two of them. Granted, cars have crumple zones and all that fancy stuff that make them look really ugly after an accident, regardless of what or who they hit. People crumpling look much worse. Cars (most of the time) have airbags to help in an accident. Pedestrians don't. Cars are not likely to be thrown when a pedestrian hits them. Pedestrians can and do sometimes go airborne when hit by a car. What on earth would possess someone driving a one-and-a-half ton vehicle to NOT try and stop when they see a pedestrian?
None of this means that pedestrians should try and tempt fate by leaping into traffic. Even my four-year-old knows that in an argument between a car and a person, the car always wins. It does take vehicles some time to stop, too, and that time is extended the heavier the vehicle and the more distracted the driver. Pedestrians should never, ever try to rely on someone braking in time. Drivers might not see you in time to prevent you from turning into road pizza. Regardless, vehicles should always look out for pedestrians and yield them the right-of-way when they are in the street.
Most importantly, dear motorists, if by some horribly unforeseen circumstance you accidentally hit a pedestrian with your vehicle, stop the dang car. Call 9-1-1. Do what you can to help the person you hit. Leaving the scene of an accident should never, ever be even remotely considered.
Sincerely,
A pedestrian who also drives
Monday, April 23, 2012
Why didn't anyone tell me my kidlet is too old for me to attend her school functions?
This week, my kidlets' classes will be attending their school's "Buy one, get one free" Book Fair. They love these things, and generally start pleading with me to offer my promises of attendance as soon as the announcements are sent home heralding the Book Fair's imminent arrival.
Horse's class attended the Book Fair today. I was the only parent there to shop with my tweenlet. Normally, there are at least five other parents who show up. I felt a bit mortified on behalf of Horse. Would she get teased because her mother thought she was too young to shop for herself? I hope not, because I only showed up because she reminded me to do so. I found myself even avoiding eye contact with Horse's teacher, lest he berate me for not cutting the apron strings long ago. None of the other students said anything to me about my presence there, other than to ask me to figure out the price of a book for them. At least that was something I could accomplish to make myself feel useful while my own tweenlet read the backs of books to see if they struck her fancy. For the most part, Horse was fully capable of handling the entire event by herself.
The irony here is that my youngest kidlet, who can't add, figure out how much a book costs, or understand the whole concept of money, is the one who will have to shop all by himself since I have another appointment at the same time as his class is scheduled to attend this event.
This is a tough time frame, those tweenlet years. They are often too old for things they still want, too young for other things they desire, and often too confused to know what their friends expect of them. Right now, Horse is a bit socially clueless when it comes to what her friends think is "normal" behavior. This is perhaps a positive, since she is more immune to peer pressure this way, but I still worry she will be mocked for something as simple as having her mother show up at a school Book Fair.
I know this though: As long as my daughter requests for me to join her in a school activity, if parents are allowed to attend, I shall do my best to be there for her. In the not-too-distant future she will likely be mortified to even breathe the same air as I do. Therefore, I shall do my part to squeeze out every last bit of these shared moments as I can, even if I do have to avoid eye contact with her teacher to do so.
Horse's class attended the Book Fair today. I was the only parent there to shop with my tweenlet. Normally, there are at least five other parents who show up. I felt a bit mortified on behalf of Horse. Would she get teased because her mother thought she was too young to shop for herself? I hope not, because I only showed up because she reminded me to do so. I found myself even avoiding eye contact with Horse's teacher, lest he berate me for not cutting the apron strings long ago. None of the other students said anything to me about my presence there, other than to ask me to figure out the price of a book for them. At least that was something I could accomplish to make myself feel useful while my own tweenlet read the backs of books to see if they struck her fancy. For the most part, Horse was fully capable of handling the entire event by herself.
The irony here is that my youngest kidlet, who can't add, figure out how much a book costs, or understand the whole concept of money, is the one who will have to shop all by himself since I have another appointment at the same time as his class is scheduled to attend this event.
This is a tough time frame, those tweenlet years. They are often too old for things they still want, too young for other things they desire, and often too confused to know what their friends expect of them. Right now, Horse is a bit socially clueless when it comes to what her friends think is "normal" behavior. This is perhaps a positive, since she is more immune to peer pressure this way, but I still worry she will be mocked for something as simple as having her mother show up at a school Book Fair.
I know this though: As long as my daughter requests for me to join her in a school activity, if parents are allowed to attend, I shall do my best to be there for her. In the not-too-distant future she will likely be mortified to even breathe the same air as I do. Therefore, I shall do my part to squeeze out every last bit of these shared moments as I can, even if I do have to avoid eye contact with her teacher to do so.
Sunday, April 22, 2012
Fielding Questions
Kidlets ask approximately three zillion questions a day, and that's a fairly conservative estimate. After ten years of observing kidlets in action, I am fairly confident that they (the questions not the kidlets) can be broken down into several distinct types.
In the first type of question, you do not know the answer. This might be because you had to learn it for school and promptly forgot it after the test ("What type of clouds are those, Mommy?"), something you never knew ("Is liquid soap poisonous? My little brother was just drinking it from the container."), or something that you just never got around to figuring out yourself ("Why do some people say Al Gore invented the Internet?"). My favorite method of dealing with that question depends on the level of urgency. For some questions, I help them come up with an answer. ("I don't know what type of clouds those are. Let's take a picture and go look for ones like that online.") Others involve quickly calling someone to find out the answer. ("Bring your brother and his soapy mouth out here while I call Poison Control and find out.") Sometimes, I give a non-answer that at least distracts the kidlets from the question at hand and aims for a subject I know a little bit more about. ("For the same reason they say global warming isn't real.")
This leads us to the second type of question: You do know the answer, but really, really do not want to answer it. ("Mommy, where do babies come from?") Distraction is the key if an open, honest answer is not possible at that moment. ("We had you in the hospital. Don't you remember seeing the pictures?") Postponing the inevitable is sometimes a lifesaving option. ("That's a very good question, but I do not have time to answer it right now. We will talk about it later.") Worst case scenario, there's always the option to inundate them with a level of details so stunningly overwhelming that the kidlet will get bored and wander off before you even begin to actually scratch the surface of their question. ("Well, first you have some sort of courtship ritual between two adults who may or may not find each other initially attractive...") Invariably, this type of question is always asked at top volume in the middle of a crowded location, where every single other head whips around immediately to watch you squirm. Expect to see plenty of knowing smirks from other parents in the area.
The third type of question is where you know the answer, but it is dependant on something else. ("Can I go to Susie's house?") I find that answering these types of questions with more questions is the way to go. This is especially the case when it comes to kidlets asking to go somewhere. ("Are her parents home? Is anyone else going to be there? Did you finish your homework yet? Is this your not-so-subtle method of asking me for a ride?") Until the requisite questions are answered, your final answer is put on hold. At least you're off the hook until your kidlet coughs up some appropriate answers!
The next type of question is where you do know the answer, and are willing to answer without any unnecessary drama. ("What time is Dad coming home from work today?" "What did you make me for lunch?" "What are we having for dinner?") No stalling is required, no questions are thrown back at the questioning kidlet, and everyone moves on with life. ("In fifteen minutes." "The same thing I made you yesterday." "Pasta, meatloaf, and green beans.")
The fifth and final type of question probably should not even count as a question. It is when you could not follow the convoluted train of thought that led to what the question actually is, but the kidlet is staring up at you expectantly as if you need to give an answer immediately. ("Sheila told me that she is going to ride the roller coaster later, but blue is her favorite color, and Eddie thinks that horses are cool. So can I?") I noticed that I have a tendency to stare blankly at the inquiring kidlets, then ask them point-blank what exactly they want me to answer. ("I want to know if I can, too.") When that doesn't work, I simply tell the kidlet that unless they can ask me a question I understand, I cannot answer them. Now that my kidlets are all over four, this works a bit easier. Please note the words "a bit." Theoretically, they can all figure out what they are trying to ask and rephrase the question. ("Sheila and Eddie want me to go ride on the merry-go-round with them. Can I go?") Once a coherent question is asked, then it once again falls into one of the four aforementioned categories, and will be answered, or not, as necessary. If they can't come up with a semi-coherent question, then we are all frustrated and confused, but at least those times are few and far between.
The good news is that today is a Sunday, and in the amount of time I just spent writing about kidlets and their types of questions, my husband was stuck fielding answers to all of our kidlets' zillions of them. I love weekends.
In the first type of question, you do not know the answer. This might be because you had to learn it for school and promptly forgot it after the test ("What type of clouds are those, Mommy?"), something you never knew ("Is liquid soap poisonous? My little brother was just drinking it from the container."), or something that you just never got around to figuring out yourself ("Why do some people say Al Gore invented the Internet?"). My favorite method of dealing with that question depends on the level of urgency. For some questions, I help them come up with an answer. ("I don't know what type of clouds those are. Let's take a picture and go look for ones like that online.") Others involve quickly calling someone to find out the answer. ("Bring your brother and his soapy mouth out here while I call Poison Control and find out.") Sometimes, I give a non-answer that at least distracts the kidlets from the question at hand and aims for a subject I know a little bit more about. ("For the same reason they say global warming isn't real.")
This leads us to the second type of question: You do know the answer, but really, really do not want to answer it. ("Mommy, where do babies come from?") Distraction is the key if an open, honest answer is not possible at that moment. ("We had you in the hospital. Don't you remember seeing the pictures?") Postponing the inevitable is sometimes a lifesaving option. ("That's a very good question, but I do not have time to answer it right now. We will talk about it later.") Worst case scenario, there's always the option to inundate them with a level of details so stunningly overwhelming that the kidlet will get bored and wander off before you even begin to actually scratch the surface of their question. ("Well, first you have some sort of courtship ritual between two adults who may or may not find each other initially attractive...") Invariably, this type of question is always asked at top volume in the middle of a crowded location, where every single other head whips around immediately to watch you squirm. Expect to see plenty of knowing smirks from other parents in the area.
The third type of question is where you know the answer, but it is dependant on something else. ("Can I go to Susie's house?") I find that answering these types of questions with more questions is the way to go. This is especially the case when it comes to kidlets asking to go somewhere. ("Are her parents home? Is anyone else going to be there? Did you finish your homework yet? Is this your not-so-subtle method of asking me for a ride?") Until the requisite questions are answered, your final answer is put on hold. At least you're off the hook until your kidlet coughs up some appropriate answers!
The next type of question is where you do know the answer, and are willing to answer without any unnecessary drama. ("What time is Dad coming home from work today?" "What did you make me for lunch?" "What are we having for dinner?") No stalling is required, no questions are thrown back at the questioning kidlet, and everyone moves on with life. ("In fifteen minutes." "The same thing I made you yesterday." "Pasta, meatloaf, and green beans.")
The fifth and final type of question probably should not even count as a question. It is when you could not follow the convoluted train of thought that led to what the question actually is, but the kidlet is staring up at you expectantly as if you need to give an answer immediately. ("Sheila told me that she is going to ride the roller coaster later, but blue is her favorite color, and Eddie thinks that horses are cool. So can I?") I noticed that I have a tendency to stare blankly at the inquiring kidlets, then ask them point-blank what exactly they want me to answer. ("I want to know if I can, too.") When that doesn't work, I simply tell the kidlet that unless they can ask me a question I understand, I cannot answer them. Now that my kidlets are all over four, this works a bit easier. Please note the words "a bit." Theoretically, they can all figure out what they are trying to ask and rephrase the question. ("Sheila and Eddie want me to go ride on the merry-go-round with them. Can I go?") Once a coherent question is asked, then it once again falls into one of the four aforementioned categories, and will be answered, or not, as necessary. If they can't come up with a semi-coherent question, then we are all frustrated and confused, but at least those times are few and far between.
The good news is that today is a Sunday, and in the amount of time I just spent writing about kidlets and their types of questions, my husband was stuck fielding answers to all of our kidlets' zillions of them. I love weekends.
Saturday, April 21, 2012
Tiring out the kidlets...and the Mommy!
We had a pretty packed schedule today. Busy weekends are the main reason I am almost relieved when Monday morning gets here and everyone goes off to school and work and I can just collapse. (Sounds good in theory, no? Truth be told, I wind up trying to get the house back in order on Monday after everyone spends all weekend tearing it apart.)
The highlight of our day today was a birthday party for one of Rooster's friends. The birthday girl's family kindly invited our whole family to the party at this inflatable indoor playground not too far from where we live. All I can say about that is that if grownup gyms got rid of all their fancy equipment and just had inflatable climbing walls, obstacle courses, and slides, I would sign up immediately. Seriously. I would pay through the nose for something like that. It looked like such a blast for the kidlets!
It was a little over an hour of the kidlets running amok and having a blast. There were a few issues with my kidlets, but nothing insurmountable. Pig Jr. did not understand what the staff member meant by "wait your turn." Oops. Rooster overheated and I was worried she would start puking. Uh-oh, and thank goodness she cooled down once I dug out the ice pack keeping her allergy-safe dinner cool. Horse was the only one of my kidlets to actually start crying, which was a bit odd as she is the oldest. She went down a slide and broke her glasses. Thankfully, the staff member assigned to that slide stopped everything, put me on guard duty to keep other kidlets out, brought Horse with her, and the two of them located the missing glasses' parts. Pig was able to fix them in just a moment or two, although it took longer than that for Horse to calm down again. If that's the worst that happened, I'd say we had a good time.
The best part was that the kidlets, after running amok for so long, were quite tired out and settled down nicely to go to bed this evening. Of course, Mommy's tired, too, and still has to do all the normal night chores. Sometimes, I am really jealous of my kidlets.
The highlight of our day today was a birthday party for one of Rooster's friends. The birthday girl's family kindly invited our whole family to the party at this inflatable indoor playground not too far from where we live. All I can say about that is that if grownup gyms got rid of all their fancy equipment and just had inflatable climbing walls, obstacle courses, and slides, I would sign up immediately. Seriously. I would pay through the nose for something like that. It looked like such a blast for the kidlets!
It was a little over an hour of the kidlets running amok and having a blast. There were a few issues with my kidlets, but nothing insurmountable. Pig Jr. did not understand what the staff member meant by "wait your turn." Oops. Rooster overheated and I was worried she would start puking. Uh-oh, and thank goodness she cooled down once I dug out the ice pack keeping her allergy-safe dinner cool. Horse was the only one of my kidlets to actually start crying, which was a bit odd as she is the oldest. She went down a slide and broke her glasses. Thankfully, the staff member assigned to that slide stopped everything, put me on guard duty to keep other kidlets out, brought Horse with her, and the two of them located the missing glasses' parts. Pig was able to fix them in just a moment or two, although it took longer than that for Horse to calm down again. If that's the worst that happened, I'd say we had a good time.
The best part was that the kidlets, after running amok for so long, were quite tired out and settled down nicely to go to bed this evening. Of course, Mommy's tired, too, and still has to do all the normal night chores. Sometimes, I am really jealous of my kidlets.
Thursday, April 19, 2012
Defective shut-off valve...
I have really been struggling with what appears to be a defective shut-off valve. Every time my mouth engages, this shut-off valve erroneously turns my brain to the "off" position. In theory, the valve should let my brain engage, and shut off my mouth when going to say something either really out there or totally inappropriate. I am strongly suspecting this has always been somewhat faulty, but there's not too much I can do about that.
I fear I passed along this genetic error to my offspring, too.
Anyway, today I was thinking about some oddball moodiness that seems to have coincided with when I started taking a particular allergy medicine this season. The problem with weird mood swings, at least as far as I can tell, is that it makes that defective shut-off valve fail more frequently. I am stuck taking this medicine for at least three more weeks, and I wonder whether it's worth risking my throat swelling shut if that's what it takes to keep from mouthing off every time the urge strikes.
I happened upon a blog today, where the sole purpose appears to be to mock people that the writer sees in passing. It brought me to tears. Here are people, going about their business, not hurting anyone else, and they are being ridiculed. What's even worse was to read all of the encouraging comments the writer's friends had made about this blog. I truly felt as if this person and the aforementioned friends were stuck behaving like misbehaving children who need a lesson or two on how to see others as human beings instead of objects of ridicule.
I am desperately fighting my defective shut-off valve over this one. I want to say something, anything, to try and teach this person how rude it is to make such mocking comments on people they don't even know. How would you feel if you found out that stranger who carried a bag you were mocking used it because it belonged to his son who is off serving in the Army and it helps to keep him close? How would you feel if you found out the person had a medical disorder that made those facial tics you were laughing about? How would you feel if you discovered the person you wrote up as vomiting and reeking of alcohol had just gone on a bender because his spouse died and he could not handle the pain? None of us know what makes another person do the things they do. How do you know you are not mocking people for something beyond their control?
I am absolutely disgusted. I wonder just how long it will be before my defective valve allows me to say something to that writer that is just as rude as anything that person can and will write about when mocking others.
I fear I passed along this genetic error to my offspring, too.
Anyway, today I was thinking about some oddball moodiness that seems to have coincided with when I started taking a particular allergy medicine this season. The problem with weird mood swings, at least as far as I can tell, is that it makes that defective shut-off valve fail more frequently. I am stuck taking this medicine for at least three more weeks, and I wonder whether it's worth risking my throat swelling shut if that's what it takes to keep from mouthing off every time the urge strikes.
I happened upon a blog today, where the sole purpose appears to be to mock people that the writer sees in passing. It brought me to tears. Here are people, going about their business, not hurting anyone else, and they are being ridiculed. What's even worse was to read all of the encouraging comments the writer's friends had made about this blog. I truly felt as if this person and the aforementioned friends were stuck behaving like misbehaving children who need a lesson or two on how to see others as human beings instead of objects of ridicule.
I am desperately fighting my defective shut-off valve over this one. I want to say something, anything, to try and teach this person how rude it is to make such mocking comments on people they don't even know. How would you feel if you found out that stranger who carried a bag you were mocking used it because it belonged to his son who is off serving in the Army and it helps to keep him close? How would you feel if you found out the person had a medical disorder that made those facial tics you were laughing about? How would you feel if you discovered the person you wrote up as vomiting and reeking of alcohol had just gone on a bender because his spouse died and he could not handle the pain? None of us know what makes another person do the things they do. How do you know you are not mocking people for something beyond their control?
I am absolutely disgusted. I wonder just how long it will be before my defective valve allows me to say something to that writer that is just as rude as anything that person can and will write about when mocking others.
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
In addition to the Tooth Fairy...
The Tooth Fairy is pretty good, in my kidlets' opinions. After hearing a bit about the glories of that amazing creature, I started thinking about what sort of fairies I would love to have come visit my house, provided I was still believing in fairies as an adult. Here are the ones I came up with in the first few minutes of following that train of thought:
Laundry Fairy: Seriously, what parent would not want someone to come in, wash the massive amounts of laundry piling up, dry it all, fold it, iron it, hang it up, whatever needs to be done, and then put it all away? Naturally, the Laundry Fairy would also have to locate any and all missing socks, find every last little bit of dirty clothing that has been hidden under beds or behind dressers, and never, ever put a red shirt in with the white wash. Being able to remove stubborn stains and patch tears would be an added bonus.
Dust Fairy: Special talents include complete removal of fingerprints and stick-figure drawings in the dust on the furniture, removal of breeding pairs of dust bunnies, and cleaning out underneath the fridge. The Dust Fairy would also be responsible for cleaning up tumbleweed-style hairballs when pets shed, keeping the space under the beds and behind the couches clean, and making sure no streaks appear on the television screen after working her magic.
School Lunch Fairy: Every night, I would love to put out the empty lunch boxes and wake to see them filled with delicious, nutritious, allergy-safe foods for my kidlets to eat at school. I think of the School Lunch Fairy as the healthy, practical Easter Bunny for every day.
Caffeine Fairy: Overtired? Threatening to yawn wide enough to split your head in two? Have no fear! The Caffeine Fairy is here! She will wave her magic wand and caffeine will start coursing through your veins immediately. The Caffeine Fairy also should have the ability to establish a caffeine IV-drip for those days when you both look and feel like the walking dead.
Junk Food Fairy: My personal favorite of the fairies has to be this one. Whenever you have a craving for an unhealthy snack, it would magically appear in either a coat pocket, on a kitchen shelf you have not explored for a while, or on a specially designated empty plate set out for the express purpose of holding the Junk Food Fairy's gift to you. She should have the ability to tell exactly which type of junk food you are craving. Hungry for some potato chips? Have a hankering for something deep-fried? Desperately craving sweets? No problem! The Junk Food Fairy knows exactly what you want. She even has the ability to work with the Caffeine Fairy in producing certain gifts, such as chocolate, which technically falls under both of their domains.
School Project Fairy: I strongly suspect every parent of school-aged kidlets would love a visit from one of these. The second a kidlet brings home a project to complete, the School Project Fairy will handle it all. Every single, little, obnoxious item that needs to be purchased will be located, every step of assembly completed with the student doing all of the work, and the School Project Fairy will even deliver the final project to school the morning it is due. There will be no arguments over what to do, no fighting over when to stop procrastinating and start working, and certainly no whining over having to carry the finished project to school without help.
Dryer Vent Fairy: This fairy exists solely because I have no idea how to properly clean out the dryer vent, and I hate to nag my husband to do it for me. I also hate fire hazards, so it does need to be done regularly. It would be so much better if the Dryer Vent Fairy took care of it all for us!
Landscaping Fairy: The Landscaping Fairy mows grass, trims around edges, cuts back overgrown shrubbery, removes fallen leaves and branches, and pulls offending weeds. Even better, the Landscaping Fairy takes care of all of this silently at night while we all sleep, so no one has to spend their days listening to the grating sounds of weed wackers, lawnmowers, chainsaws, and leaf blowers. Peace and quiet can once more reign supreme in neighborhoods worldwide. Whether you choose to fill that quiet with the sounds of screaming kidlets and arguing with your neighbors is up to you.
Allergy Fairy: The Allergy Fairy puts an invisible protective bubble around allergy sufferers. She washes all of the bedding daily, with help from the Laundry Fairy, in hot water to kill pollens, dust mites, and pet dander. She enlists the help of the Dust Fairy to make sure the allergens do not take over the hard surfaces in a house. She soothes irritated throats, calms sneezing noses, improves itchy eyes, and removes hives from anyone currently suffering from those symptoms. She works with the School Lunch Fairy and Junk Food Fairy to ensure no one suffers from food allergies.
Homework Fairy: The Homework Fairy sits with kidlets who refuse to settle down and do their stinkin' homework already. She has the capability to make them quiet down and concentrate, along with the ability to have them do their best and not rush. She can locate any and all supplies that are necessary for the completion of assignments. Additional abilities include being able to teleport forgotten homework either to or from school, as needed. Any homework that is sent home for parents to complete, such as permission slips and back-to-school forms, will be automatically completed as per the parents' wishes, and without having to bother the parents at all, unless the parents actually want to complete the forms themselves.
I am sure there are many other fairy-types that exist solely in the imagination of overworked, stressed, or otherwise overtired parents. It's too bad that believing in them does not make them real.
Laundry Fairy: Seriously, what parent would not want someone to come in, wash the massive amounts of laundry piling up, dry it all, fold it, iron it, hang it up, whatever needs to be done, and then put it all away? Naturally, the Laundry Fairy would also have to locate any and all missing socks, find every last little bit of dirty clothing that has been hidden under beds or behind dressers, and never, ever put a red shirt in with the white wash. Being able to remove stubborn stains and patch tears would be an added bonus.
Dust Fairy: Special talents include complete removal of fingerprints and stick-figure drawings in the dust on the furniture, removal of breeding pairs of dust bunnies, and cleaning out underneath the fridge. The Dust Fairy would also be responsible for cleaning up tumbleweed-style hairballs when pets shed, keeping the space under the beds and behind the couches clean, and making sure no streaks appear on the television screen after working her magic.
School Lunch Fairy: Every night, I would love to put out the empty lunch boxes and wake to see them filled with delicious, nutritious, allergy-safe foods for my kidlets to eat at school. I think of the School Lunch Fairy as the healthy, practical Easter Bunny for every day.
Caffeine Fairy: Overtired? Threatening to yawn wide enough to split your head in two? Have no fear! The Caffeine Fairy is here! She will wave her magic wand and caffeine will start coursing through your veins immediately. The Caffeine Fairy also should have the ability to establish a caffeine IV-drip for those days when you both look and feel like the walking dead.
Junk Food Fairy: My personal favorite of the fairies has to be this one. Whenever you have a craving for an unhealthy snack, it would magically appear in either a coat pocket, on a kitchen shelf you have not explored for a while, or on a specially designated empty plate set out for the express purpose of holding the Junk Food Fairy's gift to you. She should have the ability to tell exactly which type of junk food you are craving. Hungry for some potato chips? Have a hankering for something deep-fried? Desperately craving sweets? No problem! The Junk Food Fairy knows exactly what you want. She even has the ability to work with the Caffeine Fairy in producing certain gifts, such as chocolate, which technically falls under both of their domains.
School Project Fairy: I strongly suspect every parent of school-aged kidlets would love a visit from one of these. The second a kidlet brings home a project to complete, the School Project Fairy will handle it all. Every single, little, obnoxious item that needs to be purchased will be located, every step of assembly completed with the student doing all of the work, and the School Project Fairy will even deliver the final project to school the morning it is due. There will be no arguments over what to do, no fighting over when to stop procrastinating and start working, and certainly no whining over having to carry the finished project to school without help.
Dryer Vent Fairy: This fairy exists solely because I have no idea how to properly clean out the dryer vent, and I hate to nag my husband to do it for me. I also hate fire hazards, so it does need to be done regularly. It would be so much better if the Dryer Vent Fairy took care of it all for us!
Landscaping Fairy: The Landscaping Fairy mows grass, trims around edges, cuts back overgrown shrubbery, removes fallen leaves and branches, and pulls offending weeds. Even better, the Landscaping Fairy takes care of all of this silently at night while we all sleep, so no one has to spend their days listening to the grating sounds of weed wackers, lawnmowers, chainsaws, and leaf blowers. Peace and quiet can once more reign supreme in neighborhoods worldwide. Whether you choose to fill that quiet with the sounds of screaming kidlets and arguing with your neighbors is up to you.
Allergy Fairy: The Allergy Fairy puts an invisible protective bubble around allergy sufferers. She washes all of the bedding daily, with help from the Laundry Fairy, in hot water to kill pollens, dust mites, and pet dander. She enlists the help of the Dust Fairy to make sure the allergens do not take over the hard surfaces in a house. She soothes irritated throats, calms sneezing noses, improves itchy eyes, and removes hives from anyone currently suffering from those symptoms. She works with the School Lunch Fairy and Junk Food Fairy to ensure no one suffers from food allergies.
Homework Fairy: The Homework Fairy sits with kidlets who refuse to settle down and do their stinkin' homework already. She has the capability to make them quiet down and concentrate, along with the ability to have them do their best and not rush. She can locate any and all supplies that are necessary for the completion of assignments. Additional abilities include being able to teleport forgotten homework either to or from school, as needed. Any homework that is sent home for parents to complete, such as permission slips and back-to-school forms, will be automatically completed as per the parents' wishes, and without having to bother the parents at all, unless the parents actually want to complete the forms themselves.
I am sure there are many other fairy-types that exist solely in the imagination of overworked, stressed, or otherwise overtired parents. It's too bad that believing in them does not make them real.
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
I blame the other parent...
I am fairly certain I crossed a line today that a wise person would have avoided like the plague. I told my seven-year-old that she was not allowed to walk home anywhere near a boy in her class because his mother never taught him to obey. Yes, I dragged his mother into it, and as far as I am concerned, that's exactly where she belongs.
Last year, Rooster came home crying a number of times because of things this child, who I will refer to as Seth, had said or done to her. Seth was supposedly causing problems in class, too, from what Rooster reported. He did not follow directions or listen to the teacher, according to my sobbing child. I knew from personal observation that Seth was not to be trusted, since he seemed to enjoy pushing and shoving the other kindergarteners in line around him while waiting for the school day to start. As one of the few parents who actually wait outside with the students every day, I witnessed this a number of times, and stepped in to tell him to knock it off quite a few times, too. On days when Seth's mother stuck around long enough to see him get physical with the other kids, she would invariably turn her back on her offending son and let him run amok instead of disciplining her little hellion.
Today, Seth, now a first grader, and his mother were walking home from school about a block ahead of us. I deliberately held Pig Jr. and Rooster back so that we would not be near that boy. Unfortunately, Seth saw Rooster, left his mother's side, and ran back to walk next to my daughter. His mother never even turned around to look for him. I doubt she even noticed he had disappeared.
Me: "Seth, you should go up with your mother. She might be worried if she turns around and sees you are missing."
Seth: "Nah, she'll wait for me."
Me: "You can't just run away from your mother. I would be very worried if my children suddenly disappeared without telling me where they were going."
Seth: "I don't care. I'll catch up later. She can wait."
Seth's mother: "Seth, come up here!" *waits five seconds, then turns and walks away again*
Seth: "I want to walk with Rooster. My mother can wait."
Me: "Seth, you need to show your mother some respect. She is calling you! Go up with your mother!"
Seth: "I don't have to do nothin'!"
At this point, Seth's mother had come to a street that she and I would both eventually need to cross. It is one of the more dangerous intersections on the way home from school because the vast majority of the cars coming up to that stop sign do not actually stop, let alone stop where the white line and stop sign are on the road. Seth's mother looked back to find her son, saw him with me (against my wishes, I might add), and crossed the road a good fifty feet ahead of us. She never even turned back to see if her seven-year-old son was safe crossing that dangerous intersection. By the time we caught up to her at the next light, I was livid. Thankfully, that was where Seth and his mother parted ways with us.
At home, I told Rooster that she is no longer allowed to walk home with Seth. I explained that his mother clearly never taught him to follow directions and I was not willing to assume responsibility for someone who disobeys that often. Rooster said she understood, and commented that Seth still does not listen to their teacher or follow classroom rules either.
I want to shout to all parents from the top of the mountains: "Teach your children to obey! Teach them there are consequences for not behaving or failing to follow the rules!" Seriously folks, children are not born automatically knowing right from wrong, nor do they understand the consequences for their behavior. By not stepping up to the plate and following through with our children, we are setting them up for major problems down the road. Set limits. Discipline (not punish) children who disobey or ignore those limits. Expand their limits at the appropriate times. All children try to push their boundaries. It is up to us as parents to help them grow into responsible adults, not legal-aged hooligans who feel that rules (and laws) are not for them.
Seth's mother is failing him by not teaching him to listen and obey. I am absolutely disgusted with that woman. Eleven years from now, Seth will be a legal adult who does not believe he has to do a darn thing he doesn't want to do. His mother will have created a monster, and will have no one to blame but herself. It's too bad that type of parent often blames everybody but themselves. I, for one, refuse to shoulder any more responsibility for that child. Getting him back safely to his mother today was more than I ever wanted to accept. I am done.
Last year, Rooster came home crying a number of times because of things this child, who I will refer to as Seth, had said or done to her. Seth was supposedly causing problems in class, too, from what Rooster reported. He did not follow directions or listen to the teacher, according to my sobbing child. I knew from personal observation that Seth was not to be trusted, since he seemed to enjoy pushing and shoving the other kindergarteners in line around him while waiting for the school day to start. As one of the few parents who actually wait outside with the students every day, I witnessed this a number of times, and stepped in to tell him to knock it off quite a few times, too. On days when Seth's mother stuck around long enough to see him get physical with the other kids, she would invariably turn her back on her offending son and let him run amok instead of disciplining her little hellion.
Today, Seth, now a first grader, and his mother were walking home from school about a block ahead of us. I deliberately held Pig Jr. and Rooster back so that we would not be near that boy. Unfortunately, Seth saw Rooster, left his mother's side, and ran back to walk next to my daughter. His mother never even turned around to look for him. I doubt she even noticed he had disappeared.
Me: "Seth, you should go up with your mother. She might be worried if she turns around and sees you are missing."
Seth: "Nah, she'll wait for me."
Me: "You can't just run away from your mother. I would be very worried if my children suddenly disappeared without telling me where they were going."
Seth: "I don't care. I'll catch up later. She can wait."
Seth's mother: "Seth, come up here!" *waits five seconds, then turns and walks away again*
Seth: "I want to walk with Rooster. My mother can wait."
Me: "Seth, you need to show your mother some respect. She is calling you! Go up with your mother!"
Seth: "I don't have to do nothin'!"
At this point, Seth's mother had come to a street that she and I would both eventually need to cross. It is one of the more dangerous intersections on the way home from school because the vast majority of the cars coming up to that stop sign do not actually stop, let alone stop where the white line and stop sign are on the road. Seth's mother looked back to find her son, saw him with me (against my wishes, I might add), and crossed the road a good fifty feet ahead of us. She never even turned back to see if her seven-year-old son was safe crossing that dangerous intersection. By the time we caught up to her at the next light, I was livid. Thankfully, that was where Seth and his mother parted ways with us.
At home, I told Rooster that she is no longer allowed to walk home with Seth. I explained that his mother clearly never taught him to follow directions and I was not willing to assume responsibility for someone who disobeys that often. Rooster said she understood, and commented that Seth still does not listen to their teacher or follow classroom rules either.
I want to shout to all parents from the top of the mountains: "Teach your children to obey! Teach them there are consequences for not behaving or failing to follow the rules!" Seriously folks, children are not born automatically knowing right from wrong, nor do they understand the consequences for their behavior. By not stepping up to the plate and following through with our children, we are setting them up for major problems down the road. Set limits. Discipline (not punish) children who disobey or ignore those limits. Expand their limits at the appropriate times. All children try to push their boundaries. It is up to us as parents to help them grow into responsible adults, not legal-aged hooligans who feel that rules (and laws) are not for them.
Seth's mother is failing him by not teaching him to listen and obey. I am absolutely disgusted with that woman. Eleven years from now, Seth will be a legal adult who does not believe he has to do a darn thing he doesn't want to do. His mother will have created a monster, and will have no one to blame but herself. It's too bad that type of parent often blames everybody but themselves. I, for one, refuse to shoulder any more responsibility for that child. Getting him back safely to his mother today was more than I ever wanted to accept. I am done.
Monday, April 16, 2012
Mummification is complete!
A number of weeks ago, Horse started getting ready for her science fair. She decided she would mummify several hot dogs in the manner described here: http://www.sciencebuddies.org/science-fair-projects/project_ideas/HumBio_p022.shtml (Sorry, but I'm really bad at making links look pretty.) To summarize what Horse did, she took a bunch of measurements and observations on a hot dog, buried it in a sealed container along with approximately seventeen zillion tons of baking soda, and then waited a week. Upon digging out the no-longer-safe-to-eat hot dog, she took more measurements and observations, then buried it once more in (completely fresh) baking soda. She lathered, rinsed, and repeated,or something to that effect, until no more changes in size and weight were noticed.
After collecting three very dessicated hot dogs, Horse set about creating a poster with a bunch of photos, courtesy of her father who took pictures of everything our daughter did, and some graphs, again courtesy of her father who was enough of a masochist to try to teach Horse how to use Excel.
It was a great project on which Horse and Pig could collaborate, especially since Horse could do the majority of the work and simply rely on her father to help pull it all together. Well, sort of pull it all together. That's where I came into this picture.
All those hours of playing Tetris as a child finally paid off big time. I took a look at what Horse had and helped her come up with a layout that held everything she wanted to show. I even remembered to purchase some double-sided tape to attach her pictures to this giant foam display board, also purchased by me. You can tell I had the hard job here, no?
After all of the hours spent working on that giant display, Horse stuck the last printed label into place and declared it complete. Then she decided to take my somewhat flippant suggestion about making an empty paper towel roll look like a hot dog that had actual mummy wrappings put on it. She even drew a scary face peeking out from between the wrappings. It looked pretty darn cool. I did draw the line when she requested making zombie arms sticking out in front from her paper towel roll mummified fake hot dog. She asked why, so I told her hot dogs don't have arms. I was grateful she accepted that answer, since she could have easily countered that they don't have faces either and we were strictly going for effect here. Shh. Don't tell. This way, I can say that Horse's mummification project is finally complete.
After collecting three very dessicated hot dogs, Horse set about creating a poster with a bunch of photos, courtesy of her father who took pictures of everything our daughter did, and some graphs, again courtesy of her father who was enough of a masochist to try to teach Horse how to use Excel.
It was a great project on which Horse and Pig could collaborate, especially since Horse could do the majority of the work and simply rely on her father to help pull it all together. Well, sort of pull it all together. That's where I came into this picture.
All those hours of playing Tetris as a child finally paid off big time. I took a look at what Horse had and helped her come up with a layout that held everything she wanted to show. I even remembered to purchase some double-sided tape to attach her pictures to this giant foam display board, also purchased by me. You can tell I had the hard job here, no?
After all of the hours spent working on that giant display, Horse stuck the last printed label into place and declared it complete. Then she decided to take my somewhat flippant suggestion about making an empty paper towel roll look like a hot dog that had actual mummy wrappings put on it. She even drew a scary face peeking out from between the wrappings. It looked pretty darn cool. I did draw the line when she requested making zombie arms sticking out in front from her paper towel roll mummified fake hot dog. She asked why, so I told her hot dogs don't have arms. I was grateful she accepted that answer, since she could have easily countered that they don't have faces either and we were strictly going for effect here. Shh. Don't tell. This way, I can say that Horse's mummification project is finally complete.
Sunday, April 15, 2012
Air Conditioners in April
I admit it. I am not a fan of the heat. I'm not too fond of the cold either, but at least I can put on more layers. And let's just say I'm not amused with the allergies that go hand-in-hand with the nice spring temperatures that actually fall precisely in my happy zone. That's almost irrelevant when you consider that we are supposed to hit eighty-eight degrees Fahrenheit tomorrow. I think we skipped spring and went directly to summer. I'm presuming this means we will wind up getting snow in June just to balance things out a bit.
Since three of our family members are currently congested and sneezing (thank you, allergies) and a fourth is pretty heavily medicated to keep from doing the same, that means only one person in our family of five would be able to have the windows open to enjoy any semblance of spring weather. Well, technically she has non-allergic rhinitis, so all that junk in the air would eventually bother her, too, although not to the same extent as the rest of us. Needless to say the prospect of an almost-ninety degree day with the windows closed was not appealing to me in the least.
My husband, being the smart man that he is, agreed to clean out and install our window air conditioner units today. I followed behind him and used duct tape around the edges of the units to try and prevent creepy crawlies (or worse, things with stingers) from deciding they want to share our nice, cool air, too. Then, me being me, I decided we should turn them all on to see if they actually work. Why not? The house was already seventy-eight degrees by that point in time.
So here I am, in April, lounging in the air conditioning in a state that typically has me begging for those window units to be installed somewhere around the end of May. I'm pretty sure this is a sign of the Apocalypse.
The good news is that all units seem to work, and we have single-handedly guaranteed a cold snap in the near future.
Since three of our family members are currently congested and sneezing (thank you, allergies) and a fourth is pretty heavily medicated to keep from doing the same, that means only one person in our family of five would be able to have the windows open to enjoy any semblance of spring weather. Well, technically she has non-allergic rhinitis, so all that junk in the air would eventually bother her, too, although not to the same extent as the rest of us. Needless to say the prospect of an almost-ninety degree day with the windows closed was not appealing to me in the least.
My husband, being the smart man that he is, agreed to clean out and install our window air conditioner units today. I followed behind him and used duct tape around the edges of the units to try and prevent creepy crawlies (or worse, things with stingers) from deciding they want to share our nice, cool air, too. Then, me being me, I decided we should turn them all on to see if they actually work. Why not? The house was already seventy-eight degrees by that point in time.
So here I am, in April, lounging in the air conditioning in a state that typically has me begging for those window units to be installed somewhere around the end of May. I'm pretty sure this is a sign of the Apocalypse.
The good news is that all units seem to work, and we have single-handedly guaranteed a cold snap in the near future.
Saturday, April 14, 2012
Mother of the Birthday Girl
Today held yet another birthday party for my eldest to attend. This was the first one she attended this year in which I did not already know the parents of the birthday kidlet.
As the overprotective-mother-of-the-year I aspire to be, I was torn between allowing my daughter the freedom to enjoy a party without feeling her mother's eyes on her and not knowing if her friend's house, where the party was to be held, was an okay place to leave her alone. In the brief phone conversation I had with the birthday girl's mother, I could not tell if she was on top of things or really, really flaky. She had one of those voices that gave me the impression it was the latter even though nothing she said pointed in that direction. I figured I would walk Horse to the party and make a snap judgment on whether I would drop her off or stay for the duration.
Within about thirty seconds of meeting the birthday girl's mother, I decided it would be okay to leave Horse there for a couple of hours. My gut feeling about people is generally correct, although there have been times in the past when I was wrong. My gut told me that this was one mother who had her head on straight.
First of all, the mother actually introduced herself. Secondly, she made small talk. Third of all, she asked if Horse had any food allergies of which she needed to be aware. This was the first time another parent actually asked me that without already knowing our family's history of food allergies. She scored a vast amount of bonus points from that question, let me tell you. We talked briefly about kidlets having food allergies (Thankfully, Horse outgrew the only ones she had as an infant and toddler.), and she actually knew her subject matter. She also took down my phone number in the off-chance Horse had an emergency situation. Extra bonus points were awarded for asking my name, too, and writing it down as "Dragon, Horse's mom." I was allowed to have my own identity even while acknowledging my ties to my daughter!
It's funny how you can meet someone for the first time and actually feel saddened that your social circles do not overlap more often. Horse has been attending the same school since kindergarten, and fourth grade is the first time she has been invited to this girl's house. Granted, Horse is not a really social kidlet. (She is like her parents, poor thing. Genetics never gave her a chance.) Combine that with almost always having someone sick in our house and the opportunities for her to invite friends over here are few and far between. I keep hoping our family will be healthier as the kidlets get older, but this has been one heck of a brutal school year for illnesses thus far.
I really do hope Horse decides she likes hanging out with that birthday girl. Her mother certainly seems to be on top of things, no matter what her voice might sound like on the phone. Truth be told, I envy her a bit. She told me an end time to the party was unnecessary since they would be home all night, and her parties always tend to run longer than she originally planned anyway. She sounded happy with that fact. Even when I am out somewhere and having fun, I still count down the seconds until it is all over. When I am home and entertaining, I find myself clock-watching, too. It's not that I don't like visiting with others. I just really feel on edge with any disruption in my routine. The more people that are involved, the more I tend to silently freak out inside my own skin. I envy anyone who feels comfortable enough being social that they are willing to open their house for as long as everybody wants to be there.
Another friend had, in recent history, mentioned that her household was like a revolving door, with friends coming and going at will. She was quite proud of that. Honestly, I would never in a million years want my life to be like that, and I wonder how people can physically handle being so social without needing to take the strong anti-anxiety medicines I would require should my life suddenly need to be lived the same way. Regardless, I think it is admirable that some people are able to live their lives in such a manner. I strongly suspect that friend and the birthday girl's mother would get along wonderfully.
As the overprotective-mother-of-the-year I aspire to be, I was torn between allowing my daughter the freedom to enjoy a party without feeling her mother's eyes on her and not knowing if her friend's house, where the party was to be held, was an okay place to leave her alone. In the brief phone conversation I had with the birthday girl's mother, I could not tell if she was on top of things or really, really flaky. She had one of those voices that gave me the impression it was the latter even though nothing she said pointed in that direction. I figured I would walk Horse to the party and make a snap judgment on whether I would drop her off or stay for the duration.
Within about thirty seconds of meeting the birthday girl's mother, I decided it would be okay to leave Horse there for a couple of hours. My gut feeling about people is generally correct, although there have been times in the past when I was wrong. My gut told me that this was one mother who had her head on straight.
First of all, the mother actually introduced herself. Secondly, she made small talk. Third of all, she asked if Horse had any food allergies of which she needed to be aware. This was the first time another parent actually asked me that without already knowing our family's history of food allergies. She scored a vast amount of bonus points from that question, let me tell you. We talked briefly about kidlets having food allergies (Thankfully, Horse outgrew the only ones she had as an infant and toddler.), and she actually knew her subject matter. She also took down my phone number in the off-chance Horse had an emergency situation. Extra bonus points were awarded for asking my name, too, and writing it down as "Dragon, Horse's mom." I was allowed to have my own identity even while acknowledging my ties to my daughter!
It's funny how you can meet someone for the first time and actually feel saddened that your social circles do not overlap more often. Horse has been attending the same school since kindergarten, and fourth grade is the first time she has been invited to this girl's house. Granted, Horse is not a really social kidlet. (She is like her parents, poor thing. Genetics never gave her a chance.) Combine that with almost always having someone sick in our house and the opportunities for her to invite friends over here are few and far between. I keep hoping our family will be healthier as the kidlets get older, but this has been one heck of a brutal school year for illnesses thus far.
I really do hope Horse decides she likes hanging out with that birthday girl. Her mother certainly seems to be on top of things, no matter what her voice might sound like on the phone. Truth be told, I envy her a bit. She told me an end time to the party was unnecessary since they would be home all night, and her parties always tend to run longer than she originally planned anyway. She sounded happy with that fact. Even when I am out somewhere and having fun, I still count down the seconds until it is all over. When I am home and entertaining, I find myself clock-watching, too. It's not that I don't like visiting with others. I just really feel on edge with any disruption in my routine. The more people that are involved, the more I tend to silently freak out inside my own skin. I envy anyone who feels comfortable enough being social that they are willing to open their house for as long as everybody wants to be there.
Another friend had, in recent history, mentioned that her household was like a revolving door, with friends coming and going at will. She was quite proud of that. Honestly, I would never in a million years want my life to be like that, and I wonder how people can physically handle being so social without needing to take the strong anti-anxiety medicines I would require should my life suddenly need to be lived the same way. Regardless, I think it is admirable that some people are able to live their lives in such a manner. I strongly suspect that friend and the birthday girl's mother would get along wonderfully.
Friday, April 13, 2012
Halfway to Halloween Birthday Party
The kidlets and I attended a halfway to Halloween birthday party today. They were incredibly excited to be able to dress up in costumes and run amok at their friends' house.
My witch, Little Red Riding Hood, and dragon greeted the birthday girl princesses. A few more princesses were added to the mix as the party wore on, along with several kidlets who either did not want to wear costumes or had outgrown them since October. I wore my favorite Goonies t-shirt and went as an adult child of the 80s. (That was the easiest costume ever since all I had to do was act and dress like I usually do. That's almost as easy as when I dress up as a mother of three, as a stressed-out wife, or as a former math teacher who is now a stay-at-home mom. I just know you are in total awe of my fantastic costume ideas...Your eyes will get stuck in the back of your head if you keep rolling them like that, you know.)
The kidlets seemed to have a blast. They ran around, played a few games that were spread around the yard, and noshed on snacks. The birthday girls' older sister read everyone a spooky story and told them some Halloween-themed jokes. Everyone seemed to have fun taking turns telling knock-knock jokes of their own creation (or from memory). Then there was more running amok and finally cupcakes. Also passed out were Halloween-themed lollipops of some form, shaped like black cat heads, eyeballs, and skulls. I really thought that was a cute idea for a birthday party theme.
Even better than the kidlets having a grand ole time was that I actually was able to have a conversation with a few other mothers. Mommy time for the win!
Happy Birthday, little seven-year-old princesses!
My witch, Little Red Riding Hood, and dragon greeted the birthday girl princesses. A few more princesses were added to the mix as the party wore on, along with several kidlets who either did not want to wear costumes or had outgrown them since October. I wore my favorite Goonies t-shirt and went as an adult child of the 80s. (That was the easiest costume ever since all I had to do was act and dress like I usually do. That's almost as easy as when I dress up as a mother of three, as a stressed-out wife, or as a former math teacher who is now a stay-at-home mom. I just know you are in total awe of my fantastic costume ideas...Your eyes will get stuck in the back of your head if you keep rolling them like that, you know.)
The kidlets seemed to have a blast. They ran around, played a few games that were spread around the yard, and noshed on snacks. The birthday girls' older sister read everyone a spooky story and told them some Halloween-themed jokes. Everyone seemed to have fun taking turns telling knock-knock jokes of their own creation (or from memory). Then there was more running amok and finally cupcakes. Also passed out were Halloween-themed lollipops of some form, shaped like black cat heads, eyeballs, and skulls. I really thought that was a cute idea for a birthday party theme.
Even better than the kidlets having a grand ole time was that I actually was able to have a conversation with a few other mothers. Mommy time for the win!
Happy Birthday, little seven-year-old princesses!
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Puzzled
On a whim the other day, I purchased a 2000 piece puzzle for myself. This was the first time in years that I indulged myself in a pastime I used to love as a kid.
I remember spending hour after hour sitting on the floor in my bedroom and working on puzzles. I was pretty darn good at them, too, if I do say so myself. There was just something about being able to take this completely random, chaotic mess and turn it into something beautiful and neatly organized that appealed to my obsessive-compulsive side. I even had this handy puzzle carrier that could hold up to a 1500 piece puzzle so I could store whichever puzzle that had to be put on hold while still incomplete. Give me a puzzle, and I would be happy for a good long while, assembling and re-assembling it to my heart's content.
Two days ago, I flattened a piece of cardboard large enough that I could assemble my new 2000 piece toy. My concession to the sheer number of pieces and having kidlets that would likely destroy whatever sorting I would attempt was to separate the pieces into Ziploc bags that were labelled with what I thought they were. ("Sky," "Mountains," "Building," "Foliage," and "No stinkin' clue.") I assembled the outside border of the puzzle, finished sorting the pieces, and stored my cardboard safely under our couch when not in use. I could hardly wait to work on the puzzle for a good long stretch of time.
The kidlets and I decided to have a puzzle day today. I worked on my big puzzle, and they worked on puzzles of their own. We basically took over the whole living room floor as we assembled four different puzzles (One Pixar Cars, one Disney Princess, one Littlest Pet Shop, and one castle in Bavaria, well, technically just the sky over said castle.).
It took me approximately thirty seconds of working on my puzzle before I realized a very uncomfortable truth: I no longer have the flexible body of a kid. Sitting on the hard, wood floor, hunched over a piece of cardboard hurt. A lot. I had to change my position every few seconds or suffer weird leg cramps and neck pain. In those thirty seconds, I felt as if I had aged ninety years.
I foresee ibuprofen, a lot of stretching, and perhaps even some yoga in my near future. Maybe, just maybe I will be able to limber myself up enough to finish the rest of my beloved new puzzle. Either that or I shall have to set up a card table somewhere so I can get up off the floor and complete the puzzle a bit higher than expected.
At least the kidlets had fun and appeared unscathed after their puzzle assembling today.
I remember spending hour after hour sitting on the floor in my bedroom and working on puzzles. I was pretty darn good at them, too, if I do say so myself. There was just something about being able to take this completely random, chaotic mess and turn it into something beautiful and neatly organized that appealed to my obsessive-compulsive side. I even had this handy puzzle carrier that could hold up to a 1500 piece puzzle so I could store whichever puzzle that had to be put on hold while still incomplete. Give me a puzzle, and I would be happy for a good long while, assembling and re-assembling it to my heart's content.
Two days ago, I flattened a piece of cardboard large enough that I could assemble my new 2000 piece toy. My concession to the sheer number of pieces and having kidlets that would likely destroy whatever sorting I would attempt was to separate the pieces into Ziploc bags that were labelled with what I thought they were. ("Sky," "Mountains," "Building," "Foliage," and "No stinkin' clue.") I assembled the outside border of the puzzle, finished sorting the pieces, and stored my cardboard safely under our couch when not in use. I could hardly wait to work on the puzzle for a good long stretch of time.
The kidlets and I decided to have a puzzle day today. I worked on my big puzzle, and they worked on puzzles of their own. We basically took over the whole living room floor as we assembled four different puzzles (One Pixar Cars, one Disney Princess, one Littlest Pet Shop, and one castle in Bavaria, well, technically just the sky over said castle.).
It took me approximately thirty seconds of working on my puzzle before I realized a very uncomfortable truth: I no longer have the flexible body of a kid. Sitting on the hard, wood floor, hunched over a piece of cardboard hurt. A lot. I had to change my position every few seconds or suffer weird leg cramps and neck pain. In those thirty seconds, I felt as if I had aged ninety years.
I foresee ibuprofen, a lot of stretching, and perhaps even some yoga in my near future. Maybe, just maybe I will be able to limber myself up enough to finish the rest of my beloved new puzzle. Either that or I shall have to set up a card table somewhere so I can get up off the floor and complete the puzzle a bit higher than expected.
At least the kidlets had fun and appeared unscathed after their puzzle assembling today.
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
The stuck-out-at-an-appointment diet...
Today was notable strictly because my family and I spent so much of it not at home. Rooster had a doctor's appointment early this afternoon, and that meant planning on an hour-and-a-half for each leg of the journey there and back, plus whatever time we actually spent in the actual doctor's office. Yippee skippee. Gotta love having to spend a minimum of three hours out of the house while keeping three kidlets safe and amused.
The car ride down was relatively uneventful, and also much faster than expected. We have to allow an hour-and-a-half for the trip in case traffic decides to misbehave (which it has in the past), although the traffic-free trip today was accomplished in a mere forty-five minutes. The end result of arriving at the office quite early was that the kidlets had to be entertained for a much longer time than expected. Thankfully, we had planned ahead and allowed them to bring their electronic gadgets of choice to use once they were finally ensconced in the waiting room.
Being a planner by nature, I had requested the very first appointment available after lunch. In theory, this should minimize the wait time since nobody would be going before us. Did you notice the words, "in theory"? If you didn't, you should have, because this theory was clearly proven incorrect when multiple people saw the doctor before we did. Granted, this was a spontaneous decision by the allergist herself (she saw them entering a room as she was walking down the hallway and decided to take them right away over the nurse's objections), but it still rubbed me the wrong way. By the time the allergist finally came to check out Rooster, we had been waiting for over an hour. I was decidedly unamused.
After Rooster's appointment, we still had another hour or more of driving ahead of us before we arrived at home. The kidlets were vociferously declaring their demands for a snack, since the only thing they had ingested over the preceding four hours was two bottles of water apiece, one while driving south, the other for the northbound return home.
This was when I had my eureka moment.
I, too, had only consumed water while going to today's appointment. I had not eaten anything since my early lunch, which was even before the kidlets had theirs. Huzzah! This means I actually stuck to a diet of sorts for at least half the day today! I might have been stuck in either a car or waiting room for far too many hours, but at least I can honestly claim to have avoided all the junk food snacks that typically lure me in to my own detriment. That thought alone was enough to make me feel downright svelte.
I should thank Rooster's allergist for taking her stinkin' sweet time in getting around to seeing us today.
The car ride down was relatively uneventful, and also much faster than expected. We have to allow an hour-and-a-half for the trip in case traffic decides to misbehave (which it has in the past), although the traffic-free trip today was accomplished in a mere forty-five minutes. The end result of arriving at the office quite early was that the kidlets had to be entertained for a much longer time than expected. Thankfully, we had planned ahead and allowed them to bring their electronic gadgets of choice to use once they were finally ensconced in the waiting room.
Being a planner by nature, I had requested the very first appointment available after lunch. In theory, this should minimize the wait time since nobody would be going before us. Did you notice the words, "in theory"? If you didn't, you should have, because this theory was clearly proven incorrect when multiple people saw the doctor before we did. Granted, this was a spontaneous decision by the allergist herself (she saw them entering a room as she was walking down the hallway and decided to take them right away over the nurse's objections), but it still rubbed me the wrong way. By the time the allergist finally came to check out Rooster, we had been waiting for over an hour. I was decidedly unamused.
After Rooster's appointment, we still had another hour or more of driving ahead of us before we arrived at home. The kidlets were vociferously declaring their demands for a snack, since the only thing they had ingested over the preceding four hours was two bottles of water apiece, one while driving south, the other for the northbound return home.
This was when I had my eureka moment.
I, too, had only consumed water while going to today's appointment. I had not eaten anything since my early lunch, which was even before the kidlets had theirs. Huzzah! This means I actually stuck to a diet of sorts for at least half the day today! I might have been stuck in either a car or waiting room for far too many hours, but at least I can honestly claim to have avoided all the junk food snacks that typically lure me in to my own detriment. That thought alone was enough to make me feel downright svelte.
I should thank Rooster's allergist for taking her stinkin' sweet time in getting around to seeing us today.
Monday, April 9, 2012
Haircuts are contagious...
Of all the things I thought would spread like wildfire through my household, haircuts never even occurred to me. Germs and viruses? Sure thing. Laughter? I can see that. But haircuts? Unlikely. Little did I know.
Rooster has been pestering me to take her to get her hair cut. She swore she wanted it cut short, and I assumed that had something to do with the masses of knots that appeared daily in her below-shoulder-length hair. I promised her I would do my best to get that taken care of during her Spring Break from school.
All of that repetitive asking about Rooster's hair reminded Pig that he needed a haircut to look more professional at work. Well, either that or it was driving him batty being a sixteenth of an inch too long in the back. So last night, after the kidlets were in bed, Pig batted his eyelashes and requested I cut his hair while I had a free moment. Okay, fine. That didn't really happen. But he did ask for me to cut his hair before he swept the kitchen floor for the evening. That made sense, so I agreed.
This morning, I told the kidlets I had cut their father's hair. I did not want them to be surprised when he came home from work looking a bit different. Rooster took that opportunity to remind me yet again that her hair was still not short. I loaded the kidlets into the car and drove to a walk-in haircut place for someone slightly more professional than I am to chop off her (sob!) beautiful long hair.
By the time we got back home, Pig Jr. informed me he wanted to have his hair buzzed off in his usual style. I sighed and set him up in the kitchen to trim his hair with the same clippers I used on his father just last night. My son once more looks like he has a peachfuzz-covered head.
I am keeping a wary eye out on Horse to see if she starts developing symptoms of wanting a haircut. So far, she is holding her own, as am I. Perhaps the two of us have safely avoided the haircut contagion, but only time will tell for sure.
Rooster has been pestering me to take her to get her hair cut. She swore she wanted it cut short, and I assumed that had something to do with the masses of knots that appeared daily in her below-shoulder-length hair. I promised her I would do my best to get that taken care of during her Spring Break from school.
All of that repetitive asking about Rooster's hair reminded Pig that he needed a haircut to look more professional at work. Well, either that or it was driving him batty being a sixteenth of an inch too long in the back. So last night, after the kidlets were in bed, Pig batted his eyelashes and requested I cut his hair while I had a free moment. Okay, fine. That didn't really happen. But he did ask for me to cut his hair before he swept the kitchen floor for the evening. That made sense, so I agreed.
This morning, I told the kidlets I had cut their father's hair. I did not want them to be surprised when he came home from work looking a bit different. Rooster took that opportunity to remind me yet again that her hair was still not short. I loaded the kidlets into the car and drove to a walk-in haircut place for someone slightly more professional than I am to chop off her (sob!) beautiful long hair.
By the time we got back home, Pig Jr. informed me he wanted to have his hair buzzed off in his usual style. I sighed and set him up in the kitchen to trim his hair with the same clippers I used on his father just last night. My son once more looks like he has a peachfuzz-covered head.
I am keeping a wary eye out on Horse to see if she starts developing symptoms of wanting a haircut. So far, she is holding her own, as am I. Perhaps the two of us have safely avoided the haircut contagion, but only time will tell for sure.
Sunday, April 8, 2012
"Zombie Jesus Day"?
A friend of mine, no doubt thinking he was being quite amusing, wished me a happy "Zombie Jesus Day" today. That threw me for a bit of a loop, truth be told. Last I checked, Jesus was not interested in our brains. He wants our hearts and our souls. And I am fairly certain that conquering death is not the same thing as being undead.
I understand that everything nowadays seems to have zombies added in order to make it more entertaining. Hate Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen? Try reading Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, which is a parody of Austen's work by someone with far too much time on his hands, erm, I mean Seth Grahame-Smith. (To be fair to that gentleman, I have yet to voluntarily read any book that has zombies, so I have no firsthand knowledge on how creative or entertaining his adaptation might be. I shall stick with the original novel, thank you very much.)
I have no interest in zombies. I do not watch zombie movies, read zombie books, or doodle pictures of people who have their skin sloughing off of them as they decay. Granted, I did inadvertently teach the kidlets to play a slow-moving game of tag, by the name of Zombies, where they chase each other while mumbling, "Grah. Braaaains." In my defense, I was tired of them running around the house and trying to tag one another, so this was my concession to them wanting to play tag in a manner that was safe for inside our house. But other than that, I just do not get the whole concept of why zombies are interesting, exciting, entertaining, or whatever they are supposed to be.
I am still perplexed as to how I should have responded to my friend this morning. I am sure he did not mean to offend, yet I found myself highly offended that the most important (in my mind) Christian holiday was being lumped together with gory B-movies and treated just as poorly as a mocked Jane Austen novel. Jesus was sent to this earth specifically to sacrifice himself for us. Even if you don't believe this to be true, millions of people on this planet do. A little respect goes a long way.
Of course, the snarky side of me wants to comment that it's too bad Jesus was not indeed a zombie. Some of the loudest objectors (that I have ever heard) to anything Christian are those who are quite intelligent. A zombified Jesus might indeed love to have their "braaaains" on His side. However, I'm still glad that's not the way it works.
Edit: After seeing the sheer volume of people actually locating this blog entry because of typing various forms of "Zombie Jesus Day" into search engines, I did a quick google search myself. Apparently the friend of mine was not being original. He was actually referencing something that plenty of people have "celebrated." Here's the link to one of the sites I found: http://www.zombiejesusday.org/ This does not make it any easier for me to digest, but at least it explains why my blog-read-only-by-two-people suddenly got a bunch of hits for this topic. Go figure.
I understand that everything nowadays seems to have zombies added in order to make it more entertaining. Hate Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen? Try reading Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, which is a parody of Austen's work by someone with far too much time on his hands, erm, I mean Seth Grahame-Smith. (To be fair to that gentleman, I have yet to voluntarily read any book that has zombies, so I have no firsthand knowledge on how creative or entertaining his adaptation might be. I shall stick with the original novel, thank you very much.)
I have no interest in zombies. I do not watch zombie movies, read zombie books, or doodle pictures of people who have their skin sloughing off of them as they decay. Granted, I did inadvertently teach the kidlets to play a slow-moving game of tag, by the name of Zombies, where they chase each other while mumbling, "Grah. Braaaains." In my defense, I was tired of them running around the house and trying to tag one another, so this was my concession to them wanting to play tag in a manner that was safe for inside our house. But other than that, I just do not get the whole concept of why zombies are interesting, exciting, entertaining, or whatever they are supposed to be.
I am still perplexed as to how I should have responded to my friend this morning. I am sure he did not mean to offend, yet I found myself highly offended that the most important (in my mind) Christian holiday was being lumped together with gory B-movies and treated just as poorly as a mocked Jane Austen novel. Jesus was sent to this earth specifically to sacrifice himself for us. Even if you don't believe this to be true, millions of people on this planet do. A little respect goes a long way.
Of course, the snarky side of me wants to comment that it's too bad Jesus was not indeed a zombie. Some of the loudest objectors (that I have ever heard) to anything Christian are those who are quite intelligent. A zombified Jesus might indeed love to have their "braaaains" on His side. However, I'm still glad that's not the way it works.
Edit: After seeing the sheer volume of people actually locating this blog entry because of typing various forms of "Zombie Jesus Day" into search engines, I did a quick google search myself. Apparently the friend of mine was not being original. He was actually referencing something that plenty of people have "celebrated." Here's the link to one of the sites I found: http://www.zombiejesusday.org/ This does not make it any easier for me to digest, but at least it explains why my blog-read-only-by-two-people suddenly got a bunch of hits for this topic. Go figure.
Saturday, April 7, 2012
But I WANT a time-out!
The kidlets are on to me. I was deliberately being obnoxious and teasing them before I asked if I could have a time-out and be sent to my room for a nap. The answer was a resounding, "No!"
I swear, I spent the first couple of decades of my life denying the pleasure that is napping, and now that I'm old enough to appreciate it, the kidlets won't let me sleep. I have begged, pleaded, thrown a temper tantrum, and flat out asked if misbehaving would get me sent to my room, but to no avail. They will not send me in for a time-out.
The most annoying part about this is that Pig Jr. informed his father that Pig needed to go to his room for a time-out. Pig is the only one in the family that actually ingests coffee and did not need a nap. But me? Nope. I am not allowed to be sent away from the kidlets. When asked, Pig Jr. informed me I had to stay out in the living room with everyone else. Only Daddy was allowed to go lie down. How about I go in with Daddy for his time-out just to make sure he was actually lying down in bed? Nope, Pig Jr. would not agree to that one. Besides, it made Daddy smirk so it probably wasn't the wisest suggestion if I just wanted a nap anyway.
After that, I tried tickling Pig Jr. in the hopes that I would be sent in for a time-out. Alas, it did not work. Technically, it backfired, since Rooster then decided she wanted my attention and to be tickled like her brother. So instead of being sent to my room to shut my eyes, I was forced to actually stay awake, alert, and tickle kidlets.
Perhaps another approach might work. I suggested everyone get sent to their rooms for time-outs. Clearly, the only one interested in that idea was me, and it honestly was not worth trying to attempt when the kidlets were actually behaving themselves. At least they were not doing anything more serious than rolling their eyes at my attempts at getting into trouble.
It wasn't until I had given up on the idea of a nap that it finally occurred to me what I should have done to guarantee a time-out. I should have annoyed my husband. After all, as the only other parent in the house, he is really the only other one able to dish out such discipline. At least I know what to do next time. Good thing I'm really good at annoying him, too, eh?
I swear, I spent the first couple of decades of my life denying the pleasure that is napping, and now that I'm old enough to appreciate it, the kidlets won't let me sleep. I have begged, pleaded, thrown a temper tantrum, and flat out asked if misbehaving would get me sent to my room, but to no avail. They will not send me in for a time-out.
The most annoying part about this is that Pig Jr. informed his father that Pig needed to go to his room for a time-out. Pig is the only one in the family that actually ingests coffee and did not need a nap. But me? Nope. I am not allowed to be sent away from the kidlets. When asked, Pig Jr. informed me I had to stay out in the living room with everyone else. Only Daddy was allowed to go lie down. How about I go in with Daddy for his time-out just to make sure he was actually lying down in bed? Nope, Pig Jr. would not agree to that one. Besides, it made Daddy smirk so it probably wasn't the wisest suggestion if I just wanted a nap anyway.
After that, I tried tickling Pig Jr. in the hopes that I would be sent in for a time-out. Alas, it did not work. Technically, it backfired, since Rooster then decided she wanted my attention and to be tickled like her brother. So instead of being sent to my room to shut my eyes, I was forced to actually stay awake, alert, and tickle kidlets.
Perhaps another approach might work. I suggested everyone get sent to their rooms for time-outs. Clearly, the only one interested in that idea was me, and it honestly was not worth trying to attempt when the kidlets were actually behaving themselves. At least they were not doing anything more serious than rolling their eyes at my attempts at getting into trouble.
It wasn't until I had given up on the idea of a nap that it finally occurred to me what I should have done to guarantee a time-out. I should have annoyed my husband. After all, as the only other parent in the house, he is really the only other one able to dish out such discipline. At least I know what to do next time. Good thing I'm really good at annoying him, too, eh?
Friday, April 6, 2012
Dear Kidlets Of Mine...
Dear Kidlets Of Mine,
Huzzah for Spring Break! I am incredibly glad to have the three of you all to myself for ten whole days. Granted, I will have to share you with your father and the various people with whom we have appointments over the next week and a half, but that still means we will have a lot of time together as just the four of us.
Let us please start this Spring Break on a good note. This means that arguing "Yes!" "No!" back and forth with each other shall not be tolerated, especially not for the five different arguments you choose to have within fifteen minutes of each other. It also means that your usual chores (making your beds, folding and putting away your clothes, putting away your toys, etc.) are still mandatory. If I don't get a vacation from all of my work, you don't either. Sorry, but that's life. Vacation from school does not automatically turn Mommy into your personal slave no matter how hard you wish for that to occur.
Let us discuss our morning routine. I know you think that six-thirty in the morning is an acceptable time to wake up and start playing. Please keep in mind that you fought me tooth and nail during the school week because you were "too tired" to wake up at that very same time. Logic follows that if you are too sleepy on a school day, you should be too tired on a day off from school, regardless of whether or not you think you are. Besides, allowing your mother the privilege of sleeping until seven-thirty in the morning has its perks. Do you really want a tired, cranky grouch taking care of you all day? Happy, well-rested Mommies are more likely to want to do fun things like go to the park, hit the mall, or stage a picnic in the living room. Surly Mommies are more likely to require naptime after lunch, and I know that naps are no longer on your "to-do" lists.
I hope you have a lot of ideas on how to spend your time during this vacation. As much fun as electronic gadgets are, life is not solely about using such toys. I know you like your various pieces of technology, and especially love the television, but let's try to expand your minds a bit before rotting your brains with too much TV.
Do not worry about having no clue what to do with all your free time. If I hear the words, "I'm bored," then I guarantee I will find either a nap for you to take, or a chore for you to complete. If neither of those options appeal to you, then perhaps you are not as bored as you think you are.
Finally, there will be days when we will be unable to physically go outdoors. Today, with me not being able to take allergy medicine until this evening, was one of them. Please do your best to play nicely inside our house. There will be plenty of time to run amok outdoors on other days. Please note that roller skating, bike riding, scooter riding, playing various sports, and using sidewalk chalk are not acceptable activities for inside our house. Reading, coloring, playing board games, drawing, and many other sedentary activities, however, are perfect for those days. Feel free to sort through your toyboxes and get rid of anything you no longer use. Heck, I shall even extend an offer to vacuum and dust the house if you like. Scrub the toilets if you so desire. I'm not picky. Anything to provide you with plenty of ideas for things to do. Just no fencing with the toilet bowl brushes, please.
I am looking forward to us spending these ten days of Spring Break together. Hopefully you feel the same way. I love you.
Love always,
Mommy
P.S. Please ask Daddy to pick up some Tylenol on the way home from work. Mommy already has a headache after our first fun day of vacation...
Huzzah for Spring Break! I am incredibly glad to have the three of you all to myself for ten whole days. Granted, I will have to share you with your father and the various people with whom we have appointments over the next week and a half, but that still means we will have a lot of time together as just the four of us.
Let us please start this Spring Break on a good note. This means that arguing "Yes!" "No!" back and forth with each other shall not be tolerated, especially not for the five different arguments you choose to have within fifteen minutes of each other. It also means that your usual chores (making your beds, folding and putting away your clothes, putting away your toys, etc.) are still mandatory. If I don't get a vacation from all of my work, you don't either. Sorry, but that's life. Vacation from school does not automatically turn Mommy into your personal slave no matter how hard you wish for that to occur.
Let us discuss our morning routine. I know you think that six-thirty in the morning is an acceptable time to wake up and start playing. Please keep in mind that you fought me tooth and nail during the school week because you were "too tired" to wake up at that very same time. Logic follows that if you are too sleepy on a school day, you should be too tired on a day off from school, regardless of whether or not you think you are. Besides, allowing your mother the privilege of sleeping until seven-thirty in the morning has its perks. Do you really want a tired, cranky grouch taking care of you all day? Happy, well-rested Mommies are more likely to want to do fun things like go to the park, hit the mall, or stage a picnic in the living room. Surly Mommies are more likely to require naptime after lunch, and I know that naps are no longer on your "to-do" lists.
I hope you have a lot of ideas on how to spend your time during this vacation. As much fun as electronic gadgets are, life is not solely about using such toys. I know you like your various pieces of technology, and especially love the television, but let's try to expand your minds a bit before rotting your brains with too much TV.
Do not worry about having no clue what to do with all your free time. If I hear the words, "I'm bored," then I guarantee I will find either a nap for you to take, or a chore for you to complete. If neither of those options appeal to you, then perhaps you are not as bored as you think you are.
Finally, there will be days when we will be unable to physically go outdoors. Today, with me not being able to take allergy medicine until this evening, was one of them. Please do your best to play nicely inside our house. There will be plenty of time to run amok outdoors on other days. Please note that roller skating, bike riding, scooter riding, playing various sports, and using sidewalk chalk are not acceptable activities for inside our house. Reading, coloring, playing board games, drawing, and many other sedentary activities, however, are perfect for those days. Feel free to sort through your toyboxes and get rid of anything you no longer use. Heck, I shall even extend an offer to vacuum and dust the house if you like. Scrub the toilets if you so desire. I'm not picky. Anything to provide you with plenty of ideas for things to do. Just no fencing with the toilet bowl brushes, please.
I am looking forward to us spending these ten days of Spring Break together. Hopefully you feel the same way. I love you.
Love always,
Mommy
P.S. Please ask Daddy to pick up some Tylenol on the way home from work. Mommy already has a headache after our first fun day of vacation...
Thursday, April 5, 2012
Politics just might kill me this year...
"That guy's a moron." "The other one's an idiot." "Can you believe how stupid she is?" "What kind of simpleton makes a statement like that?" It must be an election year. Every time I attempt to read the news or see what my friends are posting on Facebook, I feel bombarded by political commentary, and most of it is talking about just how wrong someone, some religion, or some political party is.
I find it amusing only when two completely differing viewpoints happen to have postings or news articles right after each other. My personal favorite is when one pro-vaccine friend of mine and one anti-vaccine (more accurately, pro-choice in vaccinating, but "pro-choice" tends to have a different meaning than how I am using it here) friend post their links next to each other in my Facebook news feed.
Right now, I am actually finding a number of the political postings, from both friends and from actual news reporters, to be quite offensive. Perhaps that is their goal. I don't know. People are taking things out of context, spouting quotes at one another, and turning the simplest comment into some sort of flame war online. Nobody seems willing to admit that the other side may have a point. Nobody wants to acknowledge that while they have the right to their opinions, that does not make them facts. At least that is the way it appears to me.
What really baffles me though is why blanket statements are made about particular groups when it is the extremists making the comments that seem to rile up everybody who hears or reads them. Quite frankly, I'm getting tired of it. I am getting tired of getting lumped into a viewpoint I do not actually have when someone fires off their mouth without activating their brain, all because I happen to be registered with their particular political party or because I follow their religion. I am getting tired of being told that only "idiots", "morons," or even worse, "retards" believe a certain way. (And those who know me personally know that I just about hit the roof when someone uses the word "retard," "retards," or "retarded" to mean "stupid." They are not the same, and I find it incredibly offensive that anyone uses the words interchangeably.)
So let's just get something straight right here and right now. All Democrats do not feel the same way, nor do all Republicans. All conservatives do not believe in the same exact things, nor do all liberals. All Christians do not hold the same viewpoints, nor do all atheists, nor do all members of any other religious group. All women do not feel identically, nor do all men. Not all members of a particular special interest group feel the same exact way about every issue. However, a surefire way of uniting members of a group is to mass-insult the intelligence of anyone affiliated with a particular group, regardless of whether or not they agree with you on a particular issue.
Furthermore, those individuals making statements against a specific group of people ("Conservative Christians", "Liberal Atheists," "Right-wingers," "Left-wingers," to name a few) would be wise to phrase their words carefully in order to demonstrate a well-thought out argument as opposed to hurling insults towards anyone who is either affiliated with the group mentioned or happens to hold the same beliefs as those targeted. I would not allow my children to resort to name-calling when they disagree with one another. It seems to me to be in even worse taste coming from supposedly educated adults. Prove that you actually know what you are talking about by using your words appropriately to construct an argument either for or against a particular issue. Don't hurl insults at those who hold differing views, and certainly don't group a bunch of other people together for ease in name-calling. Political debates should not resemble playground antics.
I offer my most sincere thanks to any and all of you who actually debate politics in a mature, rational, and calm manner, regardless of whether you and I actually hold similar beliefs. I appreciate being treated respectfully and intelligently instead of being pigeonholed into whatever group is convenient at the time. Thank you. You are few and far between these days.
I find it amusing only when two completely differing viewpoints happen to have postings or news articles right after each other. My personal favorite is when one pro-vaccine friend of mine and one anti-vaccine (more accurately, pro-choice in vaccinating, but "pro-choice" tends to have a different meaning than how I am using it here) friend post their links next to each other in my Facebook news feed.
Right now, I am actually finding a number of the political postings, from both friends and from actual news reporters, to be quite offensive. Perhaps that is their goal. I don't know. People are taking things out of context, spouting quotes at one another, and turning the simplest comment into some sort of flame war online. Nobody seems willing to admit that the other side may have a point. Nobody wants to acknowledge that while they have the right to their opinions, that does not make them facts. At least that is the way it appears to me.
What really baffles me though is why blanket statements are made about particular groups when it is the extremists making the comments that seem to rile up everybody who hears or reads them. Quite frankly, I'm getting tired of it. I am getting tired of getting lumped into a viewpoint I do not actually have when someone fires off their mouth without activating their brain, all because I happen to be registered with their particular political party or because I follow their religion. I am getting tired of being told that only "idiots", "morons," or even worse, "retards" believe a certain way. (And those who know me personally know that I just about hit the roof when someone uses the word "retard," "retards," or "retarded" to mean "stupid." They are not the same, and I find it incredibly offensive that anyone uses the words interchangeably.)
So let's just get something straight right here and right now. All Democrats do not feel the same way, nor do all Republicans. All conservatives do not believe in the same exact things, nor do all liberals. All Christians do not hold the same viewpoints, nor do all atheists, nor do all members of any other religious group. All women do not feel identically, nor do all men. Not all members of a particular special interest group feel the same exact way about every issue. However, a surefire way of uniting members of a group is to mass-insult the intelligence of anyone affiliated with a particular group, regardless of whether or not they agree with you on a particular issue.
Furthermore, those individuals making statements against a specific group of people ("Conservative Christians", "Liberal Atheists," "Right-wingers," "Left-wingers," to name a few) would be wise to phrase their words carefully in order to demonstrate a well-thought out argument as opposed to hurling insults towards anyone who is either affiliated with the group mentioned or happens to hold the same beliefs as those targeted. I would not allow my children to resort to name-calling when they disagree with one another. It seems to me to be in even worse taste coming from supposedly educated adults. Prove that you actually know what you are talking about by using your words appropriately to construct an argument either for or against a particular issue. Don't hurl insults at those who hold differing views, and certainly don't group a bunch of other people together for ease in name-calling. Political debates should not resemble playground antics.
I offer my most sincere thanks to any and all of you who actually debate politics in a mature, rational, and calm manner, regardless of whether you and I actually hold similar beliefs. I appreciate being treated respectfully and intelligently instead of being pigeonholed into whatever group is convenient at the time. Thank you. You are few and far between these days.
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
Noise Putty
On Saturday, a relative of mine bestowed a completely kid-centric gift on each of my kidlets: noise putty. For those who have never heard of such a thing, consider that it's this nasty, goopy concoction that resides inside a small plastic jar. Sticking one's hands into this disgusting mess produces a sound that one would typically blame on the dog. After just a few minutes of listening to my kidlets playing with this mess, I gave up on calling it noise putty and have since called it "fart putty."
Pig Jr., in particular, loves his fart putty. He could spend hours just sticking his hands in and out of that noisy concoction. This honestly baffles me. The boy hates to touch anything wet, slimy, or otherwise not dry. Noise putty is wet, slimy, and feels so horrific to me that the one occasion a kidlet managed to get me to touch it (by dropping it on my lap), I felt the need to wash my hands three zillion times just to get the sensation off my skin. The fact that my sensory kidlet cannot keep his hands off of the same object makes no logical sense to me at all since he is generally more grossed out by sensations than I am.
Needless to say, Pig Jr. decided this was what he was going to bring into school for show-and-tell this week.
I decided to be proactive in my apology to my son's preschool teacher. In his parent/teacher journal, I wrote the following: "I apologize in advance for [Pig Jr.'s] show and tell, but I was so impressed he was willing to touch that stuff, I let him bring it in!" Her response was to simply initial the note to let me know she read it.
After school on Tuesday, I asked Pig Jr. what his teacher thought of his show and tell. He told me, "She liked it! It's fart putty. She had to like it. It sounds like farts!" Um, okay.
I'm wondering whether or not this is going to come back to haunt me at the meeting I will have to attend to find out the results of his evaluations this spring. There's nothing quite like being a parent facing a whole slew of IEP team members and having to justify why your child brought noise putty to school when you're trying to convince them he hates touching things like that under normal circumstances. Hey, it's not my fault not everything goopy and disgusting makes rude noises at my son. I might stand a better chance of getting him to touch other items if they did.
Pig Jr., in particular, loves his fart putty. He could spend hours just sticking his hands in and out of that noisy concoction. This honestly baffles me. The boy hates to touch anything wet, slimy, or otherwise not dry. Noise putty is wet, slimy, and feels so horrific to me that the one occasion a kidlet managed to get me to touch it (by dropping it on my lap), I felt the need to wash my hands three zillion times just to get the sensation off my skin. The fact that my sensory kidlet cannot keep his hands off of the same object makes no logical sense to me at all since he is generally more grossed out by sensations than I am.
Needless to say, Pig Jr. decided this was what he was going to bring into school for show-and-tell this week.
I decided to be proactive in my apology to my son's preschool teacher. In his parent/teacher journal, I wrote the following: "I apologize in advance for [Pig Jr.'s] show and tell, but I was so impressed he was willing to touch that stuff, I let him bring it in!" Her response was to simply initial the note to let me know she read it.
After school on Tuesday, I asked Pig Jr. what his teacher thought of his show and tell. He told me, "She liked it! It's fart putty. She had to like it. It sounds like farts!" Um, okay.
I'm wondering whether or not this is going to come back to haunt me at the meeting I will have to attend to find out the results of his evaluations this spring. There's nothing quite like being a parent facing a whole slew of IEP team members and having to justify why your child brought noise putty to school when you're trying to convince them he hates touching things like that under normal circumstances. Hey, it's not my fault not everything goopy and disgusting makes rude noises at my son. I might stand a better chance of getting him to touch other items if they did.
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Meanie and his Mommy
Last year in kindergarten, Rooster was in the same class as a boy who I will call Meanie. If you have any doubts as to why I am referring to him that way, you clearly did not ever see her in tears over the things that boy said and did to her. Rooster is far more forgiving than her mother is, for despite being forced into a class with him again this school year, she now considers him to be a friend.
A few weeks ago, Meanie and his Mommy were walking home from school just ahead of us. Meanie informed Rooster that she had to go to his house for a playdate. Over my dead body, Meanie. I just smiled and told Meanie that his Mommy and I would have to talk about a good time to get together, but unfortunately it could not be the date and time he demanded my daughter's presence. The good news there is that I do not often see Meanie's Mommy and could therefore avoid ever having to arrange the playdate from the pits of Hades.
It was actually not until today that I finally saw Meanie's Mommy again. I was sitting in the elementary school's vestibule, desperately trying to avoid the allergens that are wrecking havoc on my immune system at the moment, and reading a few books to Pig Jr. in the time between picking him up from school and when Rooster was due to be released. Pig Jr. and I had been reading quietly for twenty minutes or so when Meanie's Mommy entered the vestibule while blaring music. The offending noise was actually her ringtone for her cell phone, and as she answered her call, I gathered our peace and quiet was to be no more.
Meanie's Mommy proceeded to have a very long, loud, and rapid conversation in Spanish with the person who had called her, who also spoke very loud, rapid Spanish from his end. That rude woman had the audacity to put him on speakerphone, too.
Me being me, I tolerated this for approximately thirty seconds. When it became clear that loutish woman was going to continue her conversation emphatically enough for me to not even be able to hear a single word I was reading to my son, I stood up. Glaring at her, I announced to Pig Jr. (shouted, technically) that we would have to finish our book outside because I could not hear anything I was reading due to the inconsiderateness of others foolish enough to think the whole world wanted to hear their phone call. Then I stormed outside the building, back into the tree pollens once more. I was livid, but am happy to report that Meanie's Mommy just sat there, silent for a moment with her jaw needing to be scraped off the floor after my little outburst.
I am no longer wondering why Meanie is such a rude, spoiled little brat. He must take after his mother.
Good thing I'm such a model of kindness and self-restraint for my own son. (And yes, I am aware of the sarcasm dripping off those words. Meanie's Mommy should actually be grateful I did not say or do anything much worse. She can thank my son and his presence for that.)
A few weeks ago, Meanie and his Mommy were walking home from school just ahead of us. Meanie informed Rooster that she had to go to his house for a playdate. Over my dead body, Meanie. I just smiled and told Meanie that his Mommy and I would have to talk about a good time to get together, but unfortunately it could not be the date and time he demanded my daughter's presence. The good news there is that I do not often see Meanie's Mommy and could therefore avoid ever having to arrange the playdate from the pits of Hades.
It was actually not until today that I finally saw Meanie's Mommy again. I was sitting in the elementary school's vestibule, desperately trying to avoid the allergens that are wrecking havoc on my immune system at the moment, and reading a few books to Pig Jr. in the time between picking him up from school and when Rooster was due to be released. Pig Jr. and I had been reading quietly for twenty minutes or so when Meanie's Mommy entered the vestibule while blaring music. The offending noise was actually her ringtone for her cell phone, and as she answered her call, I gathered our peace and quiet was to be no more.
Meanie's Mommy proceeded to have a very long, loud, and rapid conversation in Spanish with the person who had called her, who also spoke very loud, rapid Spanish from his end. That rude woman had the audacity to put him on speakerphone, too.
Me being me, I tolerated this for approximately thirty seconds. When it became clear that loutish woman was going to continue her conversation emphatically enough for me to not even be able to hear a single word I was reading to my son, I stood up. Glaring at her, I announced to Pig Jr. (shouted, technically) that we would have to finish our book outside because I could not hear anything I was reading due to the inconsiderateness of others foolish enough to think the whole world wanted to hear their phone call. Then I stormed outside the building, back into the tree pollens once more. I was livid, but am happy to report that Meanie's Mommy just sat there, silent for a moment with her jaw needing to be scraped off the floor after my little outburst.
I am no longer wondering why Meanie is such a rude, spoiled little brat. He must take after his mother.
Good thing I'm such a model of kindness and self-restraint for my own son. (And yes, I am aware of the sarcasm dripping off those words. Meanie's Mommy should actually be grateful I did not say or do anything much worse. She can thank my son and his presence for that.)
Monday, April 2, 2012
"The Talk"
I wasn't planning on it happening this way, but today was the day I wound up giving Horse "The Talk." You know the one where you tell your child there is no way you will single-handedly finance their college tuition? Yeah, it's not that one. It's the "tab A goes into slot B and you're far too young to think about tab A going into slot B" talk.
The poor kidlet is never going to look at assemble-it-yourself furniture the same way again.
Anyway, it just happened that as I was driving her home from a doctor's appointment this morning, she asked a question pertaining to the AIDS knowledge she just recently obtained in health class. Her siblings were both off at school, and I figured that was as good a time as any to not only reassure her that she cannot catch AIDS as easily as she seems to think she can, at least not at this stage in her life, but also to give her the basic working knowledge of the likeliest manner in which she could potentially contract it during her lifetime. (What? A little healthy paranoia is a good thing for my kidlet's future sex life, as far as I'm concerned!)
In hindsight, having that conversation in the car was probably a wise decision. I could not look directly at her, nor she at me. That fact alone made it a lot easier. She asked a minimal number of questions, and I answered with as few details as possible. Her take on the whole thing was, "That's disgusting!" I neither affirmed nor denied her observation, although I was secretly relieved.
I told her that there were other details she would need to know as she grew older, but those could wait. I mentioned that anytime she has questions on the subject, I would hope she would come to me to ask them, rather than asking her friends who might not have the correct answers themselves. She informed me it would be a rather long time before she ever wanted to learn more about such a thing.
I'm absolutely fine with that.
The poor kidlet is never going to look at assemble-it-yourself furniture the same way again.
Anyway, it just happened that as I was driving her home from a doctor's appointment this morning, she asked a question pertaining to the AIDS knowledge she just recently obtained in health class. Her siblings were both off at school, and I figured that was as good a time as any to not only reassure her that she cannot catch AIDS as easily as she seems to think she can, at least not at this stage in her life, but also to give her the basic working knowledge of the likeliest manner in which she could potentially contract it during her lifetime. (What? A little healthy paranoia is a good thing for my kidlet's future sex life, as far as I'm concerned!)
In hindsight, having that conversation in the car was probably a wise decision. I could not look directly at her, nor she at me. That fact alone made it a lot easier. She asked a minimal number of questions, and I answered with as few details as possible. Her take on the whole thing was, "That's disgusting!" I neither affirmed nor denied her observation, although I was secretly relieved.
I told her that there were other details she would need to know as she grew older, but those could wait. I mentioned that anytime she has questions on the subject, I would hope she would come to me to ask them, rather than asking her friends who might not have the correct answers themselves. She informed me it would be a rather long time before she ever wanted to learn more about such a thing.
I'm absolutely fine with that.
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