Today started out as a fairly typical Saturday in the Brawn household. We all got up, dressed, and got ready to greet the day pretty much the same way we do every weekend. (Grudgingly on the adults' behalf, and eagerly on the kidlets'.) Horse had her piano lesson right before lunch, and we arrived there the same time as we usually do. All went well, up until the completion of the lesson.
Mrs. DePiano opened up the partition that separates the person having a lesson from those in the waiting area. She looked me up and down and told me she thought I looked fantastic. Well, shucks. Thanks, Mrs. DePiano! Normally, I wear jeans and a tee shirt, but I had on a long summer dress in the hopes of staying cooler in the mid-nineties weather that has descended upon our neck of the woods. I am not a dress person by any stretch of the imagination, but I decided to make an exception this year so as to not torture people by having to look at my legs in shorts. Maxi dresses are back in, so I can stay cooler without any exposed skin on the lower half of my anatomy.
Mrs. DePiano: "Wow, you look great! Those dresses are wonderful!"
Me: "Thanks! Yeah, they are keeping me cooler than jeans would."
Mrs. DePiano: "Where did you buy that?"
Me: "Oh, at [insert store name here]."
Mrs. DePiano: "Oh, I am going to have to go there then. I love dresses like that. I'll have to buy some!"
That conversation should have been flattering, no? Well, it would have if the person admiring my outfit was one of my peers. Mrs. DePiano, while an absolutely lovely lady who I think is a fantastic person and a remarkable piano teacher, is probably old enough to be my grandmother. It honestly freaked me out a bit. I do not usually assume that different generations would ever want to dress like each other. So either Mrs. DePiano wants to dress like someone far below her age range or I'm dressing far above mine.
I'm now seriously debating wearing my jeans and tee shirts for the rest of the summer.
Saturday, June 30, 2012
Friday, June 29, 2012
Summer vacation must cause a drop in IQ points...
Earlier today, I found myself less than amused with a bunch of rather insulting articles that, both for and against a particular topic, chose to belittle anyone who believed in the opposite of whatever they were arguing. Annoyed, I switched to reading about another topic only to discover the exact same scenario playing out on both sides of that fence, too. I wondered when on earth we stopped assuming other people were somewhat intelligent and instead just resorted to telling others they were stupid. That's not debating a point intelligently. That's name-calling.
Shortly thereafter, upon growing tired of hearing the insults, I herded the kidlets to the car so we could run a few errands. I was still wondering why everyone seems to assume others are idiots when we arrived at our first destination. I had a couple of dresses I had picked out for Horse that just did not fit her properly, so we were going to return them. As I unloaded both kidlets and dresses from our minivan, I paused, noticing that my bag was unzipped. Much to my chagrin, I discovered my wallet was missing from its usual place.
Thankfully, I always keep my driver's license in a separate location, so it was legal for me to drive home. Also, I had the receipt for the dresses still in the bag. I was going to have to skip the bulk of my errands, including the shopping I intended to do once the dresses were returned, simply because I did not have my wallet with its various means with which to pay.
The kidlets and I returned the articles of clothing and headed back out to the car. I was a bit worried about how I would have time to drive all the way back home, find my wallet, and return to my original location so I could handle purchasing a few necessities. The kidlets might reject any and all uses of soap when cleaning themselves, but they still blow through it at an alarming rate. We were almost out of soap, I had other plans for us for the afternoon, and I had no desire to skip my own shower should I have to delay my intended soap purchase. Thankfully, I remembered that I keep an emergency twenty onhand for, well, emergencies. Buying soap so we're not all stinky counts as an emergency, right?
The kidlets were surprisingly happy that I located some cash, likely because they almost never see me use anything other than my credit cards. We dashed from the dress store to the soap store so we could pick up some unscented, hypoallergenic bars before heading back home. Huzzah for impending cleanliness!
It was in that next store that I made a startling discovery: My wallet was actually in my bag, just not in its usual location. I have this complete and utter inability to see something that is not put back exactly where it should be. This drives my husband crazy when I call him to ask where on earth he put [insert objecct name here] that should have been perhaps an inch away from where he put it. I physically do not see the items. My wallet suffered the same fate today. It had been put away in the wrong pocket in my bag, and I could not see it even if it was thumbing its nose at me. I felt exceedingly stupid.
I am starting to realize why it's safer to assume everyone is an idiot. Clearly, I am demonstrating my own ability to easily fall into that category. I had to physically move my wallet out of the way to access my emergency cash, yet I did not process that I was handling said wallet. I am going to just assume summer vacation causes a drop in IQ points and hope that my brain cells start functioning again once school resumes in September. Perhaps the news articles I read then will show signs of intelligent debate once more.
Shortly thereafter, upon growing tired of hearing the insults, I herded the kidlets to the car so we could run a few errands. I was still wondering why everyone seems to assume others are idiots when we arrived at our first destination. I had a couple of dresses I had picked out for Horse that just did not fit her properly, so we were going to return them. As I unloaded both kidlets and dresses from our minivan, I paused, noticing that my bag was unzipped. Much to my chagrin, I discovered my wallet was missing from its usual place.
Thankfully, I always keep my driver's license in a separate location, so it was legal for me to drive home. Also, I had the receipt for the dresses still in the bag. I was going to have to skip the bulk of my errands, including the shopping I intended to do once the dresses were returned, simply because I did not have my wallet with its various means with which to pay.
The kidlets and I returned the articles of clothing and headed back out to the car. I was a bit worried about how I would have time to drive all the way back home, find my wallet, and return to my original location so I could handle purchasing a few necessities. The kidlets might reject any and all uses of soap when cleaning themselves, but they still blow through it at an alarming rate. We were almost out of soap, I had other plans for us for the afternoon, and I had no desire to skip my own shower should I have to delay my intended soap purchase. Thankfully, I remembered that I keep an emergency twenty onhand for, well, emergencies. Buying soap so we're not all stinky counts as an emergency, right?
The kidlets were surprisingly happy that I located some cash, likely because they almost never see me use anything other than my credit cards. We dashed from the dress store to the soap store so we could pick up some unscented, hypoallergenic bars before heading back home. Huzzah for impending cleanliness!
It was in that next store that I made a startling discovery: My wallet was actually in my bag, just not in its usual location. I have this complete and utter inability to see something that is not put back exactly where it should be. This drives my husband crazy when I call him to ask where on earth he put [insert objecct name here] that should have been perhaps an inch away from where he put it. I physically do not see the items. My wallet suffered the same fate today. It had been put away in the wrong pocket in my bag, and I could not see it even if it was thumbing its nose at me. I felt exceedingly stupid.
I am starting to realize why it's safer to assume everyone is an idiot. Clearly, I am demonstrating my own ability to easily fall into that category. I had to physically move my wallet out of the way to access my emergency cash, yet I did not process that I was handling said wallet. I am going to just assume summer vacation causes a drop in IQ points and hope that my brain cells start functioning again once school resumes in September. Perhaps the news articles I read then will show signs of intelligent debate once more.
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
"You're driving me crazy!"
After dropping my son off at school this morning, I dragged the girls with me to the grocery store. They weren't overly thrilled with going with me, but they did not complain. They did, however, drive me crazy by not paying attention to where they were walking and either crowded me or tried to run over strangers. Hey, if that's the worst of their behavior when we're out at the store, that's still pretty darn good.
As we walked down the very last aisle before heading to the registers to pay, I saw another mother ahead of us. She was visibly struggling with her two girls. One of her daughters was trying to climb into their cart while the mother tried to pull her back out, and the other daughter did not want to go into the cart, which was where this exceedingly stressed mother clearly wanted her to go. Anyone with at least one functioning eye could see this poor mother shaking with barely supressed rage as she tried to get her offspring situated. As she slammed the younger of the two girls onto her hip to try and push the cart without either girl sitting in it, I worried that she had reached her breaking point.
It's not easy being the mother of two kids under the age of four, and I say that from experience. I pulled alongside this frazzled mother at the same time she shrieked at her daughters, "You're driving me crazy!"
I suppose I could have told her she needed to calm down. I could have told her she was going to hurt the toddler she was angrily trying to cram into the shopping cart. I could have said or done a lot of things to point out what she should have been doing instead of what she was actually doing. I'm sure just about every mother out there has had some well-meaning but absolutely ignorant person tell them things like that. Personally, it drives me even crazier than the kidlets do when people try to tell me what I'm doing wrong when I'm stressed like that. And, let's be honest here. What parent hasn't been that stressed out at one point or another?
Instead, I calmly said to her with a smile, "Gee, that sounds like me about five minutes ago!" I silently willed my offspring to keep their mouths closed, since I had obviously not said anything even remotely resembling that to my daughters. (If memory serves, I had technically just been saying, "Will you please pay attention? You're running me over and I'm getting smushed like a bug!" or words to that effect.) Thankfully, they kept their mouths shut. I strongly suspect I was not the only one who wanted to see how the other mother would react.
It was as if a magic switch flipped and calmed down that flustered mother. She smiled, gently got her one daughter situated in their cart, and commiserated about how kidlets must do this on purpose, because we could all be in and out of the store in just twenty minutes if kidlets simply did what they were told. Any observer could see her relax, and I suspect her children recognized it, too, since they stopped fussing.
Think about it. None of us want others to point out all of our flaws. I did not tell that mother she was overreacting or that she would some day miss these moments. (Yes, I have had older women tell me when I was carrying a kicking, screaming, temper-tantrum mess of a kidlet that I would one day look back on these memories fondly. I resisted the urge to ask them if their adult children had taken them for dementia evaluations. Clearly, they were not right in the head if they assumed I would one day miss such a thing!) Instead, I just admitted I feel like she did sometimes.
I'd like to think that helped.
As we walked down the very last aisle before heading to the registers to pay, I saw another mother ahead of us. She was visibly struggling with her two girls. One of her daughters was trying to climb into their cart while the mother tried to pull her back out, and the other daughter did not want to go into the cart, which was where this exceedingly stressed mother clearly wanted her to go. Anyone with at least one functioning eye could see this poor mother shaking with barely supressed rage as she tried to get her offspring situated. As she slammed the younger of the two girls onto her hip to try and push the cart without either girl sitting in it, I worried that she had reached her breaking point.
It's not easy being the mother of two kids under the age of four, and I say that from experience. I pulled alongside this frazzled mother at the same time she shrieked at her daughters, "You're driving me crazy!"
I suppose I could have told her she needed to calm down. I could have told her she was going to hurt the toddler she was angrily trying to cram into the shopping cart. I could have said or done a lot of things to point out what she should have been doing instead of what she was actually doing. I'm sure just about every mother out there has had some well-meaning but absolutely ignorant person tell them things like that. Personally, it drives me even crazier than the kidlets do when people try to tell me what I'm doing wrong when I'm stressed like that. And, let's be honest here. What parent hasn't been that stressed out at one point or another?
Instead, I calmly said to her with a smile, "Gee, that sounds like me about five minutes ago!" I silently willed my offspring to keep their mouths closed, since I had obviously not said anything even remotely resembling that to my daughters. (If memory serves, I had technically just been saying, "Will you please pay attention? You're running me over and I'm getting smushed like a bug!" or words to that effect.) Thankfully, they kept their mouths shut. I strongly suspect I was not the only one who wanted to see how the other mother would react.
It was as if a magic switch flipped and calmed down that flustered mother. She smiled, gently got her one daughter situated in their cart, and commiserated about how kidlets must do this on purpose, because we could all be in and out of the store in just twenty minutes if kidlets simply did what they were told. Any observer could see her relax, and I suspect her children recognized it, too, since they stopped fussing.
Think about it. None of us want others to point out all of our flaws. I did not tell that mother she was overreacting or that she would some day miss these moments. (Yes, I have had older women tell me when I was carrying a kicking, screaming, temper-tantrum mess of a kidlet that I would one day look back on these memories fondly. I resisted the urge to ask them if their adult children had taken them for dementia evaluations. Clearly, they were not right in the head if they assumed I would one day miss such a thing!) Instead, I just admitted I feel like she did sometimes.
I'd like to think that helped.
Monday, June 25, 2012
Account sitting...
Okay, so I'm the first to admit I am addicted to an online game. Pig introduced me to Kingdom of Loathing (KoL) years ago, and I've been playing somewhat religiously ever since. Technically, I've only missed playing days when I was either giving birth to my offspring or was extremely sick. That silly game helps me to relax and is cheaper than therapy, so I figure why not play when I am able?
Over the years, I've met more than a few other people, mostly online but occasionally in real life, who share the same obsession with this game. Some of them have irked the heck out of me, but the vast majority of them have made me smile. Quite a few of them have attempted to take me under their proverbial wings, which always baffled me. I never quite understood what they could see in me or my sub-optimal method of playing KoL that made it worth their while to try and help improve my virtual world.
Once every few years, I've had one of those helpful players ask me to account sit for them. In other words, they've wanted me to log them in and play a bunch of turns, make sure they weren't missing out on a world event, and otherwise keep things going smoothly until they were able to find their way back to a computer once more. I have never volunteered to do such a thing, but a couple of times, I have agreed to help out those who have asked me to do so.
Truth be told, account sitting freaks me out. I am petrified I will botch something up on someone else's account. What if I use something in-game that they actually wanted to save? What if I misclick and adventure somewhere I wasn't supposed to adventure? What if I go into automatic pilot and do something I would normally do for my own two accounts when it's the last thing they would have wanted to do? I really don't want to mess up somebody else's account. Playing sub-optimally on my own account is something I do with great pride and glee, but that probably isn't how I should handle someone else's stuff.
Then again, anyone foolish enough to request that I account sit ought to know me well enough to know that there's a reason my in-game clan name is "Blissfully Sub-Optimal."
Seriously though, I feel honored that someone would trust me to watch over their account, especially since those who have requested I do that are typically ones who have played for even longer than I have and who own far more expensive items than I could ever hope to obtain for myself. Clearly, they trust me to not run their accounts into the ground or do something absurdly foolish to their items. (True story: A friend of mine in real-life who also plays KoL, once supposedly and accidentally destroyed an ultra-rare item in-game. Oops. That's the sort of thing I would never, ever forgive myself for doing if I were to do such a thing on my own account, let alone someone else's account. In-game friends have often asked me if I want to borrow items from them, and I'm petrified to do so in the off-chance I somehow botch it up and cannot return it. Being "sub-optimal" does not mean I don't feel horrible if I do something stupid.)
Right now, I am account sitting for a friend whose family vacation happened to coincide with a world event in KoL. The translation here is that there is a temporary event that is going to up and disappear soon that my friend did not want to miss. He asked if I could help him out, and I'm doing my best to comply. I hope he and his family are enjoying their vacation, but at the same time I am eagerly awaiting the day when he returns and I no longer have to worry about botching up things on his account.
Prayer probably should not take place due to an online game, but I am definitely praying that if I have to screw something up, it will be on my own accounts, not on his. Yikes. Hurry back, Mac.
Over the years, I've met more than a few other people, mostly online but occasionally in real life, who share the same obsession with this game. Some of them have irked the heck out of me, but the vast majority of them have made me smile. Quite a few of them have attempted to take me under their proverbial wings, which always baffled me. I never quite understood what they could see in me or my sub-optimal method of playing KoL that made it worth their while to try and help improve my virtual world.
Once every few years, I've had one of those helpful players ask me to account sit for them. In other words, they've wanted me to log them in and play a bunch of turns, make sure they weren't missing out on a world event, and otherwise keep things going smoothly until they were able to find their way back to a computer once more. I have never volunteered to do such a thing, but a couple of times, I have agreed to help out those who have asked me to do so.
Truth be told, account sitting freaks me out. I am petrified I will botch something up on someone else's account. What if I use something in-game that they actually wanted to save? What if I misclick and adventure somewhere I wasn't supposed to adventure? What if I go into automatic pilot and do something I would normally do for my own two accounts when it's the last thing they would have wanted to do? I really don't want to mess up somebody else's account. Playing sub-optimally on my own account is something I do with great pride and glee, but that probably isn't how I should handle someone else's stuff.
Then again, anyone foolish enough to request that I account sit ought to know me well enough to know that there's a reason my in-game clan name is "Blissfully Sub-Optimal."
Seriously though, I feel honored that someone would trust me to watch over their account, especially since those who have requested I do that are typically ones who have played for even longer than I have and who own far more expensive items than I could ever hope to obtain for myself. Clearly, they trust me to not run their accounts into the ground or do something absurdly foolish to their items. (True story: A friend of mine in real-life who also plays KoL, once supposedly and accidentally destroyed an ultra-rare item in-game. Oops. That's the sort of thing I would never, ever forgive myself for doing if I were to do such a thing on my own account, let alone someone else's account. In-game friends have often asked me if I want to borrow items from them, and I'm petrified to do so in the off-chance I somehow botch it up and cannot return it. Being "sub-optimal" does not mean I don't feel horrible if I do something stupid.)
Right now, I am account sitting for a friend whose family vacation happened to coincide with a world event in KoL. The translation here is that there is a temporary event that is going to up and disappear soon that my friend did not want to miss. He asked if I could help him out, and I'm doing my best to comply. I hope he and his family are enjoying their vacation, but at the same time I am eagerly awaiting the day when he returns and I no longer have to worry about botching up things on his account.
Prayer probably should not take place due to an online game, but I am definitely praying that if I have to screw something up, it will be on my own accounts, not on his. Yikes. Hurry back, Mac.
Sunday, June 24, 2012
The way to my heart is through fake cheese and allergy-safe chocolate...
My hubby knows I have been feeling hungry lately. The problem with having oodles of food allergies and feeling hungry is that there is not always something appealing or safe to eat in the house. Yes, I suppose I could eat another bowl of off-brand Rice Krispies with rice milk, but blech. It's too hot for me to voluntarily turn on the oven to bake something yummy, too.
Pig to the rescue! He took the car and drove to a store some distance away from us just so he could purchase some of the dairy-free, soy-free fake cheese (Daiya's cheddar style, in case anyone is curious) and chocolate (various forms of Enjoy Life brand bars and chocolate chips) that I am unable to find anywhere local. He also picked up a few different types of fake cheese that I haven't tried before in the hopes that I will be able to expand my "safe foods" list a bit. Is it any wonder I love this man?
I promptly ate myself into a food coma.
Afterwards, I was pondering what motivated my husband to give up a couple of hours of his precious free time on the weekend just to let me eat myself silly. A friend of mine actually sounded disgusted by the whole concept of "fake cheese," and said he could not fathom anyone wanting such a gift. Well, that's easy to say if you can eat just about everything under the sun. When your food choices are limited due to allergies or sensitivities, you appreciate what you can eat much more than someone else might. My husband brought me those gifts out of love, and because he knew how much I struggle to find foods that I like that are safe for me to eat. It's not just a man's heart that can be found through a stomach, you know! My stomach is clearly pointing the way to my heart, too.
I would imagine that other couples also demonstrate their love for one another by means of gastric bribes. Why else would fancy restaurants be packed on Valentine's Day? Why else might a date entail both dinner and a movie? And if a person is smart, they would tailor their meals towards a person's interest. Someone who is head over heels for Taco Bell might not appreciate a lobster dinner in a five-star restaurant, but would clearly enjoy some take-out. My husband gratefully gobbled down the lamb chops I purchased the other day despite the fact that even the thought of eating them turned me green and queasy. I didn't buy them for me. I purchased them so he could enjoy them. That's what we do for those we love.
Perhaps my husband's trip to the store today was his way of thanking me for locating meat that did not somehow involve dead poultry. Whatever the case may be, I am grateful.
Pig to the rescue! He took the car and drove to a store some distance away from us just so he could purchase some of the dairy-free, soy-free fake cheese (Daiya's cheddar style, in case anyone is curious) and chocolate (various forms of Enjoy Life brand bars and chocolate chips) that I am unable to find anywhere local. He also picked up a few different types of fake cheese that I haven't tried before in the hopes that I will be able to expand my "safe foods" list a bit. Is it any wonder I love this man?
I promptly ate myself into a food coma.
Afterwards, I was pondering what motivated my husband to give up a couple of hours of his precious free time on the weekend just to let me eat myself silly. A friend of mine actually sounded disgusted by the whole concept of "fake cheese," and said he could not fathom anyone wanting such a gift. Well, that's easy to say if you can eat just about everything under the sun. When your food choices are limited due to allergies or sensitivities, you appreciate what you can eat much more than someone else might. My husband brought me those gifts out of love, and because he knew how much I struggle to find foods that I like that are safe for me to eat. It's not just a man's heart that can be found through a stomach, you know! My stomach is clearly pointing the way to my heart, too.
I would imagine that other couples also demonstrate their love for one another by means of gastric bribes. Why else would fancy restaurants be packed on Valentine's Day? Why else might a date entail both dinner and a movie? And if a person is smart, they would tailor their meals towards a person's interest. Someone who is head over heels for Taco Bell might not appreciate a lobster dinner in a five-star restaurant, but would clearly enjoy some take-out. My husband gratefully gobbled down the lamb chops I purchased the other day despite the fact that even the thought of eating them turned me green and queasy. I didn't buy them for me. I purchased them so he could enjoy them. That's what we do for those we love.
Perhaps my husband's trip to the store today was his way of thanking me for locating meat that did not somehow involve dead poultry. Whatever the case may be, I am grateful.
Saturday, June 23, 2012
So much for my first Ren Faire...
I saw an advertisement for a Renaissance Faire ("Ren Faire" from here on out, since I'm too lazy to write "Renaissance" a zillion times...) not too far from where we live. Granted, it was going to be a small local one instead of a massive one, but I figured it would do nicely to get our toes wet in the medieval/fantasy world.
The kidlets were excited about our little day trip. We figured we'd only spend about two hours there, since that's about as long as I wanted to be outside in the sun during a summer month. We ate lunch, packed some water, and headed out with visions of knights and fair maidens dancing in our heads.
Upon arrival, Pig had to hunt down someone to actually take our money to let us gain admittance. The guy who finally sold us our tickets was dressed up in a polo shirt (circa late 1990s, if I had to guess), but still called us "lord" and "milady." That was just weird. If you're going to act the part, I kind of expect you to dress the part, too. At least the woman who took our tickets from us was in what I would consider to be appropriate garb for a Ren Faire. I muttered something to Pig to the effect that I guess being called "milady" was a step up from the "wench" I was afraid of hearing.
We wandered over to catch the ending of a pirate show that had apparently started before we arrived. The three jugglers who were performing seemed to be enjoying themselves, and the kidlets, especially Rooster, shrieked happily every time one of them pretended to kick one of the other two. Horse was more perplexed about the juggling tricks, and asked me how on earth I knew that the flames on the torches one guy was juggling were actually real. You mean besides the fact that the torches were on fire? She finally decided that because she could see smoke, it had to be real. Good call, kiddo.
After the pirates took their bows, we wandered over to where a play based on Cinderella was supposed to start. Both Pig and I looked at one of the actors quite intently while trying to place why on earth we knew him. Given that we used to hang out at a game store where a huge percentage of the visiting population enjoyed hanging out at Ren Faires, it is likely that we actually did know him from back in our pre-kidlet days. Twelve years or so can make people change a fair amount.
Anyway, getting back to Cinderella, about half of the actors clearly were having fun hamming up their roles while the other half probably should have been re-cast. The kidlets did not always follow what the characters were saying, either due to volume or manner of speech. They were also confused as to why Cinderella's fairy godmother was stated to be her mother who died in childbirth when she looked as if she was too old to even qualify as her grandmother. I'm pretty certain that one character telling another to "shut up" wasn't technically proper speech for people pretending to be from the Renaissance, but at least it helped the kidlets to know who was ticked off at whom. The men in drag as the evil stepsisters were probably the one redeeming, and amusing, aspect of the whole performance.
After Cinderella and her prince went off to marry, we went over to see if we could get the girls' faces painted. We stood in line behind two girls and a boy, and after at least twenty minutes in the hot sun, only one of the girls was done. In addition, another family came up, and their kidlets forced themselves into the line next. The sole woman working on the face painting refused to say anything to tell the other family to back off and wait their turn, so we left instead. I must admit I really, really wanted to yell at the other mother for not teaching her kidlets the proper way to behave when getting in a line.
We found a guy making simple balloon animals (mostly swords for boys and butterflies for girls) and thought we would at least get the kidlets something from him, but once again another family pushed in front of us after we had been waiting there for a while. Visions of cattle prods and tasers were flitting through my head, so I decided we should once again leave before I told off a complete stranger.
Seriously, parents. If your offspring cannot learn how to wait in line for their turn at something, you are failing them. Step up to the plate, take responsibility, and teach your children how to behave themselves in public. Wait your dang turn in line, say "please" and "thank you," and correct your children when they misbehave. It is not cute when your kid pushes three other children to the side because the little hemorrhoid decided he did not want to wait his turn. (What? If a hemorrhoid's not a pain in the butt, I don't know what is!)
Anyway, the rest of what was promised to be set up for people to enjoy at this Faire wasn't all there. The children's games did not have people manning them. There were only two people handling the other two things that would attract kidlets, face painting and balloons. The pirates alone certainly weren't worth the thirty bucks for admission that it cost our family of five. I think if we go to another Ren Faire any time in the near future, it shall be one of the huge events with a zillion vendors and plenty of shows in which to partake. None of this small stuff where the absence of enough actors, vendors, or volunteers puts a huge dent in the scheduled plans for the day.
I think I shall practice a medieval way of telling other parents to "get thine brood in line where thou dost belong," too. I might even throw in a "wench," just for good measure.
The kidlets were excited about our little day trip. We figured we'd only spend about two hours there, since that's about as long as I wanted to be outside in the sun during a summer month. We ate lunch, packed some water, and headed out with visions of knights and fair maidens dancing in our heads.
Upon arrival, Pig had to hunt down someone to actually take our money to let us gain admittance. The guy who finally sold us our tickets was dressed up in a polo shirt (circa late 1990s, if I had to guess), but still called us "lord" and "milady." That was just weird. If you're going to act the part, I kind of expect you to dress the part, too. At least the woman who took our tickets from us was in what I would consider to be appropriate garb for a Ren Faire. I muttered something to Pig to the effect that I guess being called "milady" was a step up from the "wench" I was afraid of hearing.
We wandered over to catch the ending of a pirate show that had apparently started before we arrived. The three jugglers who were performing seemed to be enjoying themselves, and the kidlets, especially Rooster, shrieked happily every time one of them pretended to kick one of the other two. Horse was more perplexed about the juggling tricks, and asked me how on earth I knew that the flames on the torches one guy was juggling were actually real. You mean besides the fact that the torches were on fire? She finally decided that because she could see smoke, it had to be real. Good call, kiddo.
After the pirates took their bows, we wandered over to where a play based on Cinderella was supposed to start. Both Pig and I looked at one of the actors quite intently while trying to place why on earth we knew him. Given that we used to hang out at a game store where a huge percentage of the visiting population enjoyed hanging out at Ren Faires, it is likely that we actually did know him from back in our pre-kidlet days. Twelve years or so can make people change a fair amount.
Anyway, getting back to Cinderella, about half of the actors clearly were having fun hamming up their roles while the other half probably should have been re-cast. The kidlets did not always follow what the characters were saying, either due to volume or manner of speech. They were also confused as to why Cinderella's fairy godmother was stated to be her mother who died in childbirth when she looked as if she was too old to even qualify as her grandmother. I'm pretty certain that one character telling another to "shut up" wasn't technically proper speech for people pretending to be from the Renaissance, but at least it helped the kidlets to know who was ticked off at whom. The men in drag as the evil stepsisters were probably the one redeeming, and amusing, aspect of the whole performance.
After Cinderella and her prince went off to marry, we went over to see if we could get the girls' faces painted. We stood in line behind two girls and a boy, and after at least twenty minutes in the hot sun, only one of the girls was done. In addition, another family came up, and their kidlets forced themselves into the line next. The sole woman working on the face painting refused to say anything to tell the other family to back off and wait their turn, so we left instead. I must admit I really, really wanted to yell at the other mother for not teaching her kidlets the proper way to behave when getting in a line.
We found a guy making simple balloon animals (mostly swords for boys and butterflies for girls) and thought we would at least get the kidlets something from him, but once again another family pushed in front of us after we had been waiting there for a while. Visions of cattle prods and tasers were flitting through my head, so I decided we should once again leave before I told off a complete stranger.
Seriously, parents. If your offspring cannot learn how to wait in line for their turn at something, you are failing them. Step up to the plate, take responsibility, and teach your children how to behave themselves in public. Wait your dang turn in line, say "please" and "thank you," and correct your children when they misbehave. It is not cute when your kid pushes three other children to the side because the little hemorrhoid decided he did not want to wait his turn. (What? If a hemorrhoid's not a pain in the butt, I don't know what is!)
Anyway, the rest of what was promised to be set up for people to enjoy at this Faire wasn't all there. The children's games did not have people manning them. There were only two people handling the other two things that would attract kidlets, face painting and balloons. The pirates alone certainly weren't worth the thirty bucks for admission that it cost our family of five. I think if we go to another Ren Faire any time in the near future, it shall be one of the huge events with a zillion vendors and plenty of shows in which to partake. None of this small stuff where the absence of enough actors, vendors, or volunteers puts a huge dent in the scheduled plans for the day.
I think I shall practice a medieval way of telling other parents to "get thine brood in line where thou dost belong," too. I might even throw in a "wench," just for good measure.
Friday, June 22, 2012
A contract for my kidlets...
Now that summer vacation is upon us, I have the strangest urge to request my kidlets sign a contract declaring exactly how they will behave on our break from school...
I, [insert kidlet's name here], being the obedient offspring of [insert parents' names here], do solemnly pledge to adhere to the following declarations to the best of my ability:
1) The only person I have control over is me. I will not yell at my siblings, boss them around, or tell them they have to do exactly as I say. I don't like it when they do that to me, so I shall do my best to lead by example and not treat them as if they are my minions.
2) The word "compromise" does not mean you have to do what I say or vice versa. Everybody has to give a little, especially when playing together as a group. I will neither be part of a group trying to exclude someone, nor will I be the lone holdout refusing to do anything but the one thing I want to do that everyone else hates.
3) Taking turns is not an option. It is mandatory. We cannot all do everything at exactly the same time. Also, if someone agrees to play a game I want to play, I will agree to take a turn playing a game they want to play.
4) The words, "I'm telling," shall not be reiterated over and over until Mommy starts twitching and making comments about a "broken record-player," whatever that is. If I have a legitimate reason to not want to play with someone (i.e. because they pinch me when their mom isn't looking), or if someone is going to hurt themselves or others, I will let an adult know immediately. Otherwise, I shall refrain from being a tattle-tale.
5) Mom, Dad, and/or any babysitter left in charge are the only ones who have the right to boss me around. Even then, I have the right to ignore what they say for me to do. I acknowledge and accept that there will be consequences for disobeying or ignoring the adult in charge. If I do not like the consequences, I have no one to blame but myself.
6) I shall look out for those who are unable to defend themselves. I shall speak out against bullying even if it occurs away from the schoolyard. Telling someone to stop picking on someone else is not bossing someone around. It is doing the right thing. And telling an adult if the bullying does not stop is not tattling.
7) I will work on my summer math and reading packets a little bit almost every day. I will not cause gray hairs to sprout on Mommy's head because I left it all to the last week in August and now I don't have time to finish. My education is my responsibility. That is my job, and I shall do it to the best of my ability.
8) I will read for at least twenty minutes every day, and I will do this without an adult having to tell me to do so. Nagging is not an Olympic sport, and my folks should not have to practice their nagging skills as if trying out to receive a gold medal in that category.
9) I will not ask to watch television, play on an electronic gadget, or otherwise attempt to rot my brain until after my chores and school-related tasks are completed. I understand that my chores are based on my age and ability level, and shall not gripe that I have more to do than my younger sibling(s). I also understand that failure to complete my tasks or doing a shoddy job on them will result in me losing privileges and/or being forced to do them over again. I recognize that Mom does check underneath my bed and in my closet to make sure a clean room is indeed clean. If there's a chance she pulled a similar stunt as a kidlet, I shall not be shocked or offended when she catches me if I attempt the same thing.
10) I will not declare having to make my bed, fold and put away clothing, and keep my room clean to be tantamount to torture. If I am old enough to read this form, I am old enough to do those tasks and more. Also, if additional chores are required of me when I am home from school, I shall acknowledge that these are assigned not to torture me, but because I am a member of this family and we all have to chip in and do our part.
11) If I have a friend over to play, his or her actions are my responsibility. If he or she steals my little brother's toys, breaks something intentionally or through carelessness, or hits my sister, I am just as guilty. It is possible that a particular kidlet will be sent home early or not allowed back in our house if they misbehave badly while here. Guilt by association will mean additional consequences shall follow for me, too.
12) If any amendments are needed, this contract can and will be changed by the aforementioned adult(s), without any moaning or complaining on my part.
Signed,
[insert kidlet's signature]
Witnessed by: [insert signature of witnessing adults]
I, [insert kidlet's name here], being the obedient offspring of [insert parents' names here], do solemnly pledge to adhere to the following declarations to the best of my ability:
1) The only person I have control over is me. I will not yell at my siblings, boss them around, or tell them they have to do exactly as I say. I don't like it when they do that to me, so I shall do my best to lead by example and not treat them as if they are my minions.
2) The word "compromise" does not mean you have to do what I say or vice versa. Everybody has to give a little, especially when playing together as a group. I will neither be part of a group trying to exclude someone, nor will I be the lone holdout refusing to do anything but the one thing I want to do that everyone else hates.
3) Taking turns is not an option. It is mandatory. We cannot all do everything at exactly the same time. Also, if someone agrees to play a game I want to play, I will agree to take a turn playing a game they want to play.
4) The words, "I'm telling," shall not be reiterated over and over until Mommy starts twitching and making comments about a "broken record-player," whatever that is. If I have a legitimate reason to not want to play with someone (i.e. because they pinch me when their mom isn't looking), or if someone is going to hurt themselves or others, I will let an adult know immediately. Otherwise, I shall refrain from being a tattle-tale.
5) Mom, Dad, and/or any babysitter left in charge are the only ones who have the right to boss me around. Even then, I have the right to ignore what they say for me to do. I acknowledge and accept that there will be consequences for disobeying or ignoring the adult in charge. If I do not like the consequences, I have no one to blame but myself.
6) I shall look out for those who are unable to defend themselves. I shall speak out against bullying even if it occurs away from the schoolyard. Telling someone to stop picking on someone else is not bossing someone around. It is doing the right thing. And telling an adult if the bullying does not stop is not tattling.
7) I will work on my summer math and reading packets a little bit almost every day. I will not cause gray hairs to sprout on Mommy's head because I left it all to the last week in August and now I don't have time to finish. My education is my responsibility. That is my job, and I shall do it to the best of my ability.
8) I will read for at least twenty minutes every day, and I will do this without an adult having to tell me to do so. Nagging is not an Olympic sport, and my folks should not have to practice their nagging skills as if trying out to receive a gold medal in that category.
9) I will not ask to watch television, play on an electronic gadget, or otherwise attempt to rot my brain until after my chores and school-related tasks are completed. I understand that my chores are based on my age and ability level, and shall not gripe that I have more to do than my younger sibling(s). I also understand that failure to complete my tasks or doing a shoddy job on them will result in me losing privileges and/or being forced to do them over again. I recognize that Mom does check underneath my bed and in my closet to make sure a clean room is indeed clean. If there's a chance she pulled a similar stunt as a kidlet, I shall not be shocked or offended when she catches me if I attempt the same thing.
10) I will not declare having to make my bed, fold and put away clothing, and keep my room clean to be tantamount to torture. If I am old enough to read this form, I am old enough to do those tasks and more. Also, if additional chores are required of me when I am home from school, I shall acknowledge that these are assigned not to torture me, but because I am a member of this family and we all have to chip in and do our part.
11) If I have a friend over to play, his or her actions are my responsibility. If he or she steals my little brother's toys, breaks something intentionally or through carelessness, or hits my sister, I am just as guilty. It is possible that a particular kidlet will be sent home early or not allowed back in our house if they misbehave badly while here. Guilt by association will mean additional consequences shall follow for me, too.
12) If any amendments are needed, this contract can and will be changed by the aforementioned adult(s), without any moaning or complaining on my part.
Signed,
[insert kidlet's signature]
Witnessed by: [insert signature of witnessing adults]
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
The last day of school...in theory...
The kidlets have emptied their backpacks. Countless trees, in the form of miscellaneous papers, have been chucked into the recycling pile. Spare crayons have been thrown into bags already teeming with years' worth of accumulated drawing implements.
I took a look at report cards brought home by all three kidlets. Horse had straight A-pluses. Rooster had a number of "Exceeds Expectations" and a bunch of "Meets Grade Level Standards" on her form. (They do not assign letter grades in first grade in our district.) Pig Jr. had a ton of "Partially Proficient" marks on his preschool progress report, with a few M's for "Mastered" thrown in for good measure. All in all, our three kidlets did quite well this past marking period.
We celebrated the end of the school year by putting on a movie and having a picnic lunch in our living room. The temperature today, on this first day of summer, was in the high nineties, so we wanted to keep as cool as possible. Chilling in the air conditioning while noshing on lunch and watching a movie fit the bill nicely. Afterwards, we took a trip to the library to check out a bunch of books and get Pig Jr. his very first library card.
Truth be told, we are celebrating our summer vacation prematurely. We only have a four-day weekend before Pig Jr. has to go back to school. He qualifies for the Extended School Year program, so he'll be continuing to go to school for another month or so. We still wanted to pretend it was really the start of our vacation.
Then the girls started fighting. Pig Jr. went into the bathroom for an awfully long time without making any noise. I discovered that he had taken about half of the toilet paper roll and was using (thankfully clean) toilet paper to practice tying knots around the side of the toilet paper holder attached to our vanity. After dismantling that mess, I found two kidlets fighting over who gets to sit in Mommy's comfy chair out in the living room. Then I was informed Rooster had no more socks, which forced me to do more laundry than I was intending on doing on a hot summer day. Rooster then decided she had to use the bathroom while her sister was in the shower, so she went to use the basement half-bath. She screamed bloody murder while down there, completely freaking me out thinking she was ill or injured or both, because the washing machine (with sock load on spin cycle) was draining water properly into the utility sink.
I think I'm ready for September already.
I took a look at report cards brought home by all three kidlets. Horse had straight A-pluses. Rooster had a number of "Exceeds Expectations" and a bunch of "Meets Grade Level Standards" on her form. (They do not assign letter grades in first grade in our district.) Pig Jr. had a ton of "Partially Proficient" marks on his preschool progress report, with a few M's for "Mastered" thrown in for good measure. All in all, our three kidlets did quite well this past marking period.
We celebrated the end of the school year by putting on a movie and having a picnic lunch in our living room. The temperature today, on this first day of summer, was in the high nineties, so we wanted to keep as cool as possible. Chilling in the air conditioning while noshing on lunch and watching a movie fit the bill nicely. Afterwards, we took a trip to the library to check out a bunch of books and get Pig Jr. his very first library card.
Truth be told, we are celebrating our summer vacation prematurely. We only have a four-day weekend before Pig Jr. has to go back to school. He qualifies for the Extended School Year program, so he'll be continuing to go to school for another month or so. We still wanted to pretend it was really the start of our vacation.
Then the girls started fighting. Pig Jr. went into the bathroom for an awfully long time without making any noise. I discovered that he had taken about half of the toilet paper roll and was using (thankfully clean) toilet paper to practice tying knots around the side of the toilet paper holder attached to our vanity. After dismantling that mess, I found two kidlets fighting over who gets to sit in Mommy's comfy chair out in the living room. Then I was informed Rooster had no more socks, which forced me to do more laundry than I was intending on doing on a hot summer day. Rooster then decided she had to use the bathroom while her sister was in the shower, so she went to use the basement half-bath. She screamed bloody murder while down there, completely freaking me out thinking she was ill or injured or both, because the washing machine (with sock load on spin cycle) was draining water properly into the utility sink.
I think I'm ready for September already.
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
But I'm not ready for my baby to graduate preschool...
I knew this day was coming. I faced it with a weird mixture of apprehension and pride. Two times already, I sat through my son's preschool "graduation" ceremony. This is, after all, what happens when you have a child in an integrated preschool program where some students move on to kindergarten each year while others stay behind to greet a new group of preschoolers in the fall.
Pig Jr.'s first "graduation" was a nerve-wracking one, as far as I was concerned. Dressed in red, the color of those students who would be returning to preschool in September, my three-year-old panicked over the sea of faces staring at him. If memory serves, he spent the vast majority of that first program with his hands covering his face and tears coursing down his quivering cheeks. He barely spoke, either in school or out, and he needed an adult to sit behind him to try and keep him even remotely focused on the task at hand. Poor kidlet. He had only started preschool the month before, and probably felt as if he had been thrown to the wolves. The hardest part, perhaps, was that an immature three-year-old is incredibly different from a typically-developing five-year-old, and Pig Jr.'s inability to keep up with his classmates probably bothered him. He just was not able to verbalize any of his frustrations.
My son's second "graduation" last year showed marked improvements. He still wore his red shirt, but tried harder to participate in the various songs his class performed. Once more, an adult needed to sit behind him to make sure he could follow everything, but no tears fell from his eyes. His vocabulary had just started to really take off at that point, but he was still incredibly quiet in school. My four-year-old son still did not seem to pay much attention to the fact that a number of his classmates would be moving on to kindergarten while he was left behind in preschool. At least he was closer in age to them last year. He was narrowing the gap between where he needed to be and where he was.
This year, at the ripe old age of five, my son finally was one of the students who wore blue to show they are entering kindergarten in the fall. Pig Jr. was smiling, energetic, and followed along with everything he was supposed to say and do. Heck, he was one of the two students chosen to hold up a flag for the flag salute that followed the preschoolers' entrance to "Pomp and Circumstance." For the first time, my son did not need an adult close at hand to make sure he did not bolt from his seat.
Back when I was in high school, I used to love the song "Little Bunny Foo Foo." My heart just about swelled to bursting when my son and his class sang that song today. Pig Jr. even had all of the hand gestures down pat, although he rushed through the "bopping them on the head" part. What a far cry this was from the terrified three-year-old whose only movements were ones the adult stationed behind him helped him to accomplish!
I am so incredibly proud of my boy for how hard he worked over these past two-plus years, and for how much he has accomplished.
I am still not sure I am ready to have all three of my offspring in elementary school come September, but I know it is necessary. My baby boy is not a baby anymore. He is going to enter kindergarten. I think I'm going to have to pack some tissues for that first day of school. It was difficult when my oldest entered kindergarten, easier when my second daughter did, but I am finding it extremely emotional to even contemplate my youngest getting ready for that next step in his education.
Pig Jr.'s first "graduation" was a nerve-wracking one, as far as I was concerned. Dressed in red, the color of those students who would be returning to preschool in September, my three-year-old panicked over the sea of faces staring at him. If memory serves, he spent the vast majority of that first program with his hands covering his face and tears coursing down his quivering cheeks. He barely spoke, either in school or out, and he needed an adult to sit behind him to try and keep him even remotely focused on the task at hand. Poor kidlet. He had only started preschool the month before, and probably felt as if he had been thrown to the wolves. The hardest part, perhaps, was that an immature three-year-old is incredibly different from a typically-developing five-year-old, and Pig Jr.'s inability to keep up with his classmates probably bothered him. He just was not able to verbalize any of his frustrations.
My son's second "graduation" last year showed marked improvements. He still wore his red shirt, but tried harder to participate in the various songs his class performed. Once more, an adult needed to sit behind him to make sure he could follow everything, but no tears fell from his eyes. His vocabulary had just started to really take off at that point, but he was still incredibly quiet in school. My four-year-old son still did not seem to pay much attention to the fact that a number of his classmates would be moving on to kindergarten while he was left behind in preschool. At least he was closer in age to them last year. He was narrowing the gap between where he needed to be and where he was.
This year, at the ripe old age of five, my son finally was one of the students who wore blue to show they are entering kindergarten in the fall. Pig Jr. was smiling, energetic, and followed along with everything he was supposed to say and do. Heck, he was one of the two students chosen to hold up a flag for the flag salute that followed the preschoolers' entrance to "Pomp and Circumstance." For the first time, my son did not need an adult close at hand to make sure he did not bolt from his seat.
Back when I was in high school, I used to love the song "Little Bunny Foo Foo." My heart just about swelled to bursting when my son and his class sang that song today. Pig Jr. even had all of the hand gestures down pat, although he rushed through the "bopping them on the head" part. What a far cry this was from the terrified three-year-old whose only movements were ones the adult stationed behind him helped him to accomplish!
I am so incredibly proud of my boy for how hard he worked over these past two-plus years, and for how much he has accomplished.
I am still not sure I am ready to have all three of my offspring in elementary school come September, but I know it is necessary. My baby boy is not a baby anymore. He is going to enter kindergarten. I think I'm going to have to pack some tissues for that first day of school. It was difficult when my oldest entered kindergarten, easier when my second daughter did, but I am finding it extremely emotional to even contemplate my youngest getting ready for that next step in his education.
Monday, June 18, 2012
Update on the crossing guard situation...
Way back when, shortly after one of our district's crossing guards got hit by a car and had to take time off to recover from her injuries, a new crossing guard took her place. He did not take too kindly to me crossing my kidlets when he did not see us there, and there were a couple of pretty messed up days when he either ignored us completely or spoke irately to me. I wound up complaining twice about his behavior to another trusted crossing guard who relayed the information to their boss. Cranky guy was supposedly reprimanded, and I had been quite nervous about having to deal with him on a daily basis while knowing he was miffed at me.
It turns out, he has been an absolute peach ever since. He has been polite, cheerful, and always willing to engage in friendly conversation. He has done his job consistently well, and I have not had one single negative thing to say about his work since then. I was absolutely astounded at his complete turnaround. I guess it just goes to show that having a bad day or two does not guarantee a miserable few months. I wanted to be fair to him here in my blog. Even though I doubt very highly that he would stumble upon my writing accidentally, I needed to follow up on what I had written earlier. He has been a very different person than he had been on those two days when he had done everything in his power to express his disapproval of my actions.
As far as the injured crossing guard is concerned, she recently returned to work at the same intersection where she lost her battle with a distracted driver. When asked, she said she was not feeling one hundred percent better yet, but she was greatly improved from where she had been physically. She still walks a bit slowly, but she looks a heck of a lot better than the last time I had seen her. I am not sure whether she is just finishing up the school year or returning to her post again in September, but I am glad she was able to get back on the proverbial horse.
And as a reminder to others who see crossing guards on a daily basis, I suggest you remember them with a little something at the end of this school year, even if it's just a hand-written thank-you card, for their work in making sure kidlets get to and from school safely every day. We do not have bus drivers in our tiny school district, but the same should apply to those whose kidlets get bussed. These people do their jobs in all sorts of inclement weather while dealing with all sorts of horrible drivers and situations around their appointed routes or posts. And yes, even the cranky ones should get thanked. They might actually just be surly because they are concerned for your little ones' safety.
It turns out, he has been an absolute peach ever since. He has been polite, cheerful, and always willing to engage in friendly conversation. He has done his job consistently well, and I have not had one single negative thing to say about his work since then. I was absolutely astounded at his complete turnaround. I guess it just goes to show that having a bad day or two does not guarantee a miserable few months. I wanted to be fair to him here in my blog. Even though I doubt very highly that he would stumble upon my writing accidentally, I needed to follow up on what I had written earlier. He has been a very different person than he had been on those two days when he had done everything in his power to express his disapproval of my actions.
As far as the injured crossing guard is concerned, she recently returned to work at the same intersection where she lost her battle with a distracted driver. When asked, she said she was not feeling one hundred percent better yet, but she was greatly improved from where she had been physically. She still walks a bit slowly, but she looks a heck of a lot better than the last time I had seen her. I am not sure whether she is just finishing up the school year or returning to her post again in September, but I am glad she was able to get back on the proverbial horse.
And as a reminder to others who see crossing guards on a daily basis, I suggest you remember them with a little something at the end of this school year, even if it's just a hand-written thank-you card, for their work in making sure kidlets get to and from school safely every day. We do not have bus drivers in our tiny school district, but the same should apply to those whose kidlets get bussed. These people do their jobs in all sorts of inclement weather while dealing with all sorts of horrible drivers and situations around their appointed routes or posts. And yes, even the cranky ones should get thanked. They might actually just be surly because they are concerned for your little ones' safety.
Sunday, June 17, 2012
The best man for the job...
It's a tough job, but somebody's gotta do it. In our family, Pig is the one to fill the role. He's the good cop to my bad cop. He's the "fun" one. He is the daredevil who flips the kidlets upside-down and dangles them from their ankles while they shriek with laughter and I panic. He is the only parent left who can still pick up all three of their rapidly-growing bodies.
Pig is the one who taught our daughters how to ride their bicycles without training wheels. Whether he knows it or not, he will likely be the one to teach them to drive eventually, too. He'll play tag with them, toss a ball to them, and encourage them when the only direction they can throw a ball is backwards over their heads. He allows them the freedom to climb, flip themselves all over the place, and tackle one another without having to hear dire warnings about breaking limbs and cracking open skulls. He is really good at teaching them how to do all of the physical stuff that their mother (cranky ole me) would much rather avoid.
Pig plays games with the kidlets. Board games, card games, pretend games, it doesn't really matter. He teaches them how to be competitive while still playing fairly and without being a sore loser. He encourages house rules that make a more level playing field for even the youngest participant.
Daddies and their daughters have a special bond. As babies, they are the first humans to be able to completely manipulate him. I can still remember how Horse had Pig completely trained when she was only about three months old. If Mommy put Horse down for bed, she would fuss for a moment and then go to sleep. If Daddy put her down for bed, she would scream bloody murder so he would scoop her up, sing to her, and dance around with her in order to soothe his little girl. Daddy does not want his baby girl to be hurt or upset for any reason, and woe to the individual who causes her pain! Daddies do not always want to acknowledge their daughters must eventually grow up into women, and it is a bittersweet moment when they realize their baby girl has transformed into a beautiful adult who is fully capable of making decisions without their input. (I'm fairly certain Pig will be more inconsolable than I will be when our eldest goes off to college in another eight years, and forget about when either of the girls gets married!)
Daddies and their sons also have a special bond, although it is different than with Daddy's girls. Daddies see themselves in their sons, and do their best to raise their boy up to be the man they always wished they could be. They teach their sons to respect others in a different way than when Mommy says to say "please" and "thank you." They know the alpha male role will not always be theirs, but put their sons on the best possible path for when their boys must strike out on their own. I love watching Pig and Pig Jr. together. Despite my wanting to keep my little boy young forever, my husband is helping him to grow, and that's how it should be.
Pig is the one who encourages me when I am frustrated with my shortcomings as a mother. He appreciates everything I do as a stay-at-home mom, and never once accused me of sitting around, eating bon-bons, putting my feet up, and watching the soaps. In fact, if I am overwhelmed or not feeling well, he will send me off to bed and do what he can to have the household run smoothly while I recuperate. I am truly blessed to have such a loving and supportive husband.
Pig does not see how wonderful a job he is doing as the father to three beautiful (if I do say so myself) kidlets. However, I do. I see how loving, caring, supportive, and involved he is in their lives. Whether my kidlets realize it or not, they are truly lucky to have Pig for their father. He is absolutely the best man for the job.
Pig is the one who taught our daughters how to ride their bicycles without training wheels. Whether he knows it or not, he will likely be the one to teach them to drive eventually, too. He'll play tag with them, toss a ball to them, and encourage them when the only direction they can throw a ball is backwards over their heads. He allows them the freedom to climb, flip themselves all over the place, and tackle one another without having to hear dire warnings about breaking limbs and cracking open skulls. He is really good at teaching them how to do all of the physical stuff that their mother (cranky ole me) would much rather avoid.
Pig plays games with the kidlets. Board games, card games, pretend games, it doesn't really matter. He teaches them how to be competitive while still playing fairly and without being a sore loser. He encourages house rules that make a more level playing field for even the youngest participant.
Daddies and their daughters have a special bond. As babies, they are the first humans to be able to completely manipulate him. I can still remember how Horse had Pig completely trained when she was only about three months old. If Mommy put Horse down for bed, she would fuss for a moment and then go to sleep. If Daddy put her down for bed, she would scream bloody murder so he would scoop her up, sing to her, and dance around with her in order to soothe his little girl. Daddy does not want his baby girl to be hurt or upset for any reason, and woe to the individual who causes her pain! Daddies do not always want to acknowledge their daughters must eventually grow up into women, and it is a bittersweet moment when they realize their baby girl has transformed into a beautiful adult who is fully capable of making decisions without their input. (I'm fairly certain Pig will be more inconsolable than I will be when our eldest goes off to college in another eight years, and forget about when either of the girls gets married!)
Daddies and their sons also have a special bond, although it is different than with Daddy's girls. Daddies see themselves in their sons, and do their best to raise their boy up to be the man they always wished they could be. They teach their sons to respect others in a different way than when Mommy says to say "please" and "thank you." They know the alpha male role will not always be theirs, but put their sons on the best possible path for when their boys must strike out on their own. I love watching Pig and Pig Jr. together. Despite my wanting to keep my little boy young forever, my husband is helping him to grow, and that's how it should be.
Pig is the one who encourages me when I am frustrated with my shortcomings as a mother. He appreciates everything I do as a stay-at-home mom, and never once accused me of sitting around, eating bon-bons, putting my feet up, and watching the soaps. In fact, if I am overwhelmed or not feeling well, he will send me off to bed and do what he can to have the household run smoothly while I recuperate. I am truly blessed to have such a loving and supportive husband.
Pig does not see how wonderful a job he is doing as the father to three beautiful (if I do say so myself) kidlets. However, I do. I see how loving, caring, supportive, and involved he is in their lives. Whether my kidlets realize it or not, they are truly lucky to have Pig for their father. He is absolutely the best man for the job.
Saturday, June 16, 2012
Rules for naptime for Mommy...
In the off-chance that Mommy actually gets to take a nap during the day, I feel the need to establish some sort of ground rules so that she benefits from said nap. You do, after all, want Mommy to wake feeling rested and rejuvenated instead of cranky and miserable, right?
1) If Mommy is sick, she should not be woken unless it is an emergency. A gas leak, fire, flooding, or a tree crashing on the house constitute an emergency. Not wanting to change Junior's diaper yourself is not.
2) Mommy needs, nay requires, extra time after being woken up before she is to resume her duties. Shaking her awake to tell her dinner needs to be started, beds need to be made, the kidlets need to be showered, and you're jetting off outside to mow the lawn is unacceptable. Yes, she will appreciate you mowing the lawn, but not before she cusses under her breath about being made to function before she's coherent.
3) It is extremely difficult to be on-call twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, three hundred sixty-five days a year, and that's how Mommies live. Naps are a necessity of life from time to time, and should be treated as such, and not as if Mommy is just being "lazy."
4) Kidlets need to respect the need to nap. Them not wanting to take a nap is no excuse for them to destroy Mommy's chance for a little shut-eye when she looks like the walking dead. Train them young that a Quiet Time must be observed while Mommy rests. Climbing all over Mommy and otherwise using her as a jungle gym whilst shouting in her ear does not count as being quiet, contrary to popular beliefs and opinions.
5) Waiting until Mommy is almost asleep to ask permission to do something is just plain mean, and will result in an answer the opposite of what you are hoping to hear. Mommy is not going to want to get up, put down newspapers, and set up a protected area for you to paint a zillion pictures if she just barely closed her eyes when you decided you had to ask. Either ask her before she physically lies down or wait until she has been awake for a few minutes post-nap. (See again Rule #2.)
6) If Mommy asks you to wake her at a certain time and you fail to do so because you were too engrossed in your electronic gadgets, you will have to pay the piper. Mommy will not be amused at all. Mommies generally don't get enough sleep to begin with, so if she is saying she needs to be up at a certain time, there's a strong likelihood that it is because she needs the time to accomplish something.
And finally, 7) Cut Mommy some slack if she says she needs a nap. You all might have a busy weekend planned, but if she is saying she needs to rest, then you let her. A well-rested Mommy is a happy Mommy who can accomplish far more than she could do when physically having to drag her exhausted body from place to place.
Mommies everywhere also reserve the right to add additional rules as needed for their specific households. To be fair to Daddies, they can make their own dang nap rules, too.
1) If Mommy is sick, she should not be woken unless it is an emergency. A gas leak, fire, flooding, or a tree crashing on the house constitute an emergency. Not wanting to change Junior's diaper yourself is not.
2) Mommy needs, nay requires, extra time after being woken up before she is to resume her duties. Shaking her awake to tell her dinner needs to be started, beds need to be made, the kidlets need to be showered, and you're jetting off outside to mow the lawn is unacceptable. Yes, she will appreciate you mowing the lawn, but not before she cusses under her breath about being made to function before she's coherent.
3) It is extremely difficult to be on-call twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, three hundred sixty-five days a year, and that's how Mommies live. Naps are a necessity of life from time to time, and should be treated as such, and not as if Mommy is just being "lazy."
4) Kidlets need to respect the need to nap. Them not wanting to take a nap is no excuse for them to destroy Mommy's chance for a little shut-eye when she looks like the walking dead. Train them young that a Quiet Time must be observed while Mommy rests. Climbing all over Mommy and otherwise using her as a jungle gym whilst shouting in her ear does not count as being quiet, contrary to popular beliefs and opinions.
5) Waiting until Mommy is almost asleep to ask permission to do something is just plain mean, and will result in an answer the opposite of what you are hoping to hear. Mommy is not going to want to get up, put down newspapers, and set up a protected area for you to paint a zillion pictures if she just barely closed her eyes when you decided you had to ask. Either ask her before she physically lies down or wait until she has been awake for a few minutes post-nap. (See again Rule #2.)
6) If Mommy asks you to wake her at a certain time and you fail to do so because you were too engrossed in your electronic gadgets, you will have to pay the piper. Mommy will not be amused at all. Mommies generally don't get enough sleep to begin with, so if she is saying she needs to be up at a certain time, there's a strong likelihood that it is because she needs the time to accomplish something.
And finally, 7) Cut Mommy some slack if she says she needs a nap. You all might have a busy weekend planned, but if she is saying she needs to rest, then you let her. A well-rested Mommy is a happy Mommy who can accomplish far more than she could do when physically having to drag her exhausted body from place to place.
Mommies everywhere also reserve the right to add additional rules as needed for their specific households. To be fair to Daddies, they can make their own dang nap rules, too.
Thursday, June 14, 2012
The best little pit stop we almost missed...
Our last day in Washington, D.C. was a busy one. We were out the hotel door early in the morning for a train ride to Arlington. I wanted to see Arlington National Cemetery and Pig wanted us to see the Lincoln Memorial. After a rather long walk from the Metro stop, we stood staring at an impressively larger-than-life Abraham Lincoln.
When we said our good-byes to Honest Abe, we attempted the return journey in the hopes that we would be able to swing in to pay our respects at the cemetery. Unfortunately, after having to stop to visit the restroom and then hydrate the kidlets, we ran out of time. After seeing zillions of tour buses lined up to go in there, we figured we were probably better off not battling massive crowds. That's our story, and we're sticking with it.
The kidlets were absolutely fine with missing out on paying their respects. They instead filled their water break with watching a squirrel raid a trash can for French Fries. I'm glad I wasn't the one who paid for this trip, or I'd be annoyed that the kidlets would just as soon pass on taking in part of their history to watch a fat rodent stalking some old potato parts.
Anyway, we returned to the hotel in time to eat a quick snack and use the bathroom before loading up the car and checking out. We had a great time in Washington, D.C., but it was good to be heading home.
Now, since we were travelling with kidlets, I'm assuming you know exactly what happened about fifteen minutes later. "Mommy, I really have to go potty!"
Naturally, the kidlet who was in dire straits chose to tell us this when we were in an area with no visible rest areas. Pig, as he was grumbling about barely getting on the road, saw a sign for some visitor center I had never heard of before, and said he was taking that exit because visitor centers should, in theory, have a restroom.
We took the exit and travelled down a very lonely road for what I thought was a rather long time before we finally saw a sign telling us to turn shortly. As we pulled into the National Wildlife Visitor Center entrance, I was more than slightly leery of the sign stating it would be more than a mile until we got to the building. Nobody else was around, and the only sounds I could hear above the whimper of a little girl who had to pee was our car as it took the 25-mph trail that wound its way slowly through the woods.
I really started to get nervous. I'm a girl from the suburbs. Being the only vehicle on a secluded back road somewhere does not appeal to me at all. I informed my husband that if I heard any banjos, or any references to squealing like pigs, I was out of there. I never saw the movie Deliverance, but what little I knew of it was certainly in the forefront of my mind!
When we finally pulled into a parking lot, I was surprised to see a number of cars already there. The building itself sat silently nearby, and I could not honestly tell if it was even open. However, when Pig walked up and opened the door for us, we entered this well-maintained airy room that invited us to spread out and look at all of its treasures.
But first things first. Rooster needed to find a restroom. Truth be told, it was probably the cleanest one we encountered on our entire trip.
After taking care of business, we took a look around. There were a number of animals on display, including a polar bear. (I never knew just how big those suckers are up close and personal!) The kidlets loved the table displaying the pelts of different animals. That one had a sign on it inviting us to touch. (That's always a plus when kidlets are present!) Pig Jr. refused to touch those pelts, but he eagerly ran his fingers over the "okay to touch" beaver display nearby. (We even had to stop him from trying to dismantle the pile of sticks the beaver was supposedly assembling.) We took a quick glance down the hallways and into the other rooms, but ultimately did not have the time to fully explore since we really did have to get home before it was time for dinner.
I can honestly say that I hope we return to the National Wildlife Visitor Center in Laurel, Maryland. It was a gem of a find, with trails and tours, and all sorts of things to explore, and I should probably thank both Rooster and Pig for their contributions towards us finding it. Check it out if you plan on being near the D.C. area. Here's the link to their homepage for those who are interested: http://www.fws.gov/northeast/patuxent/vcdefault.html
When we said our good-byes to Honest Abe, we attempted the return journey in the hopes that we would be able to swing in to pay our respects at the cemetery. Unfortunately, after having to stop to visit the restroom and then hydrate the kidlets, we ran out of time. After seeing zillions of tour buses lined up to go in there, we figured we were probably better off not battling massive crowds. That's our story, and we're sticking with it.
The kidlets were absolutely fine with missing out on paying their respects. They instead filled their water break with watching a squirrel raid a trash can for French Fries. I'm glad I wasn't the one who paid for this trip, or I'd be annoyed that the kidlets would just as soon pass on taking in part of their history to watch a fat rodent stalking some old potato parts.
Anyway, we returned to the hotel in time to eat a quick snack and use the bathroom before loading up the car and checking out. We had a great time in Washington, D.C., but it was good to be heading home.
Now, since we were travelling with kidlets, I'm assuming you know exactly what happened about fifteen minutes later. "Mommy, I really have to go potty!"
Naturally, the kidlet who was in dire straits chose to tell us this when we were in an area with no visible rest areas. Pig, as he was grumbling about barely getting on the road, saw a sign for some visitor center I had never heard of before, and said he was taking that exit because visitor centers should, in theory, have a restroom.
We took the exit and travelled down a very lonely road for what I thought was a rather long time before we finally saw a sign telling us to turn shortly. As we pulled into the National Wildlife Visitor Center entrance, I was more than slightly leery of the sign stating it would be more than a mile until we got to the building. Nobody else was around, and the only sounds I could hear above the whimper of a little girl who had to pee was our car as it took the 25-mph trail that wound its way slowly through the woods.
I really started to get nervous. I'm a girl from the suburbs. Being the only vehicle on a secluded back road somewhere does not appeal to me at all. I informed my husband that if I heard any banjos, or any references to squealing like pigs, I was out of there. I never saw the movie Deliverance, but what little I knew of it was certainly in the forefront of my mind!
When we finally pulled into a parking lot, I was surprised to see a number of cars already there. The building itself sat silently nearby, and I could not honestly tell if it was even open. However, when Pig walked up and opened the door for us, we entered this well-maintained airy room that invited us to spread out and look at all of its treasures.
But first things first. Rooster needed to find a restroom. Truth be told, it was probably the cleanest one we encountered on our entire trip.
After taking care of business, we took a look around. There were a number of animals on display, including a polar bear. (I never knew just how big those suckers are up close and personal!) The kidlets loved the table displaying the pelts of different animals. That one had a sign on it inviting us to touch. (That's always a plus when kidlets are present!) Pig Jr. refused to touch those pelts, but he eagerly ran his fingers over the "okay to touch" beaver display nearby. (We even had to stop him from trying to dismantle the pile of sticks the beaver was supposedly assembling.) We took a quick glance down the hallways and into the other rooms, but ultimately did not have the time to fully explore since we really did have to get home before it was time for dinner.
I can honestly say that I hope we return to the National Wildlife Visitor Center in Laurel, Maryland. It was a gem of a find, with trails and tours, and all sorts of things to explore, and I should probably thank both Rooster and Pig for their contributions towards us finding it. Check it out if you plan on being near the D.C. area. Here's the link to their homepage for those who are interested: http://www.fws.gov/northeast/patuxent/vcdefault.html
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
Okay, so we're not always the brightest bulbs in the bunch...
Every family trip has to, by law (Murphy's Law, naturally), include a number of "Why the heck did I do that?" moments. Of course, our family vacation to Washington, D.C. included a fair number of those times. Why, yes. I will share them with you. Did you honestly think I wouldn't?
The vast majority of stupid Brawn family actions consisted of forgetting things that really should not have been forgotten. First realized were Rooster's lunches, which were safely back home in our freezer. Please note that she's the only one of the family with severe enough food allergies to really exclude her from eating out somewhere. Then there were the motion sickness wristbands that Horse wears. We discovered that when I wondered aloud why my daughter didn't look too happy on our first train ride into the city. Then there was the time when I got interrupted by a kidlet shortly after I stepped out of the shower and therefore neglected to put on deodorant. I realized that around the same time I was melting in the 94-degree heat and humidity. Not to be outdone, Pig forgot his insulin when we checked out of our hotel room. This is not the first time we left a place where we were staying only to discover Mr. Insulin-Dependent Diabetic forgot such an important item.
We also had our fair share of tripping on or walking into objects. At one point, Horse tripped on an uneven brick on the sidewalk. Seconds after watching after her do this, another member of our party did the same thing on the same brick. At the Lincoln Memorial, as I was backing up to take a picture, I managed to whack my arm and back into a column that had to have been at least three feet wide. How on earth did I not see that huge pillar? And let's not forget the number of times we were looking up at something above us only to trip over someone or something right under our noses.
The worst of the stupid mistakes we made, however, was when another adult present thought I was keeping an eye on Rooster and I thought she was. I thought Rooster and the other adult left the public restroom where we were while I stayed behind with Horse, and the other adult thought I knew Rooster was in a stall there, too. Talk about a moment of panic upon leaving the restroom and asking where my daughter was, only to be told she was supposed to be with me! Thankfully, Rooster was found within just a few seconds of re-entering the restroom, and there had been another adult from our party standing watch outside, so it would have been impossible for her to have left the room (alone or in the presence of a stranger, kind-hearted or otherwise) without someone knowing. It still likely took a few years off my life in those heart-stopping moments of panic.
All in all, I guess those few stupid mistakes were not the worst things that could have happened. Maybe by our next family vacation, we will have learned from this trip. Trust me when I say I shall not let either Rooster or any medical supplies (hello, insulin!) out of my sight again!
The vast majority of stupid Brawn family actions consisted of forgetting things that really should not have been forgotten. First realized were Rooster's lunches, which were safely back home in our freezer. Please note that she's the only one of the family with severe enough food allergies to really exclude her from eating out somewhere. Then there were the motion sickness wristbands that Horse wears. We discovered that when I wondered aloud why my daughter didn't look too happy on our first train ride into the city. Then there was the time when I got interrupted by a kidlet shortly after I stepped out of the shower and therefore neglected to put on deodorant. I realized that around the same time I was melting in the 94-degree heat and humidity. Not to be outdone, Pig forgot his insulin when we checked out of our hotel room. This is not the first time we left a place where we were staying only to discover Mr. Insulin-Dependent Diabetic forgot such an important item.
We also had our fair share of tripping on or walking into objects. At one point, Horse tripped on an uneven brick on the sidewalk. Seconds after watching after her do this, another member of our party did the same thing on the same brick. At the Lincoln Memorial, as I was backing up to take a picture, I managed to whack my arm and back into a column that had to have been at least three feet wide. How on earth did I not see that huge pillar? And let's not forget the number of times we were looking up at something above us only to trip over someone or something right under our noses.
The worst of the stupid mistakes we made, however, was when another adult present thought I was keeping an eye on Rooster and I thought she was. I thought Rooster and the other adult left the public restroom where we were while I stayed behind with Horse, and the other adult thought I knew Rooster was in a stall there, too. Talk about a moment of panic upon leaving the restroom and asking where my daughter was, only to be told she was supposed to be with me! Thankfully, Rooster was found within just a few seconds of re-entering the restroom, and there had been another adult from our party standing watch outside, so it would have been impossible for her to have left the room (alone or in the presence of a stranger, kind-hearted or otherwise) without someone knowing. It still likely took a few years off my life in those heart-stopping moments of panic.
All in all, I guess those few stupid mistakes were not the worst things that could have happened. Maybe by our next family vacation, we will have learned from this trip. Trust me when I say I shall not let either Rooster or any medical supplies (hello, insulin!) out of my sight again!
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
An Infestation of Scouts
Well, the Brawn family finally made it to Washington, D.C. for our first ever family vacation. Our little group took the train in from nearby Virginia in order to see the sights without actually having to, you know, drive there. After all the horror stories we heard about driving into D.C., can you really blame us? Besides, Pig is a transportation planner, and they kind of prefer people to use mass transit.
The first thing we noticed upon starting our walk from wherever the heck the train spit us out was that there were large groups of people sporting "Rock the Mall" shirts. It seemed like we were the only people around without some different-colored variation of the same thing. Then we started to see a bunch of people wearing Girl Scout vests, badges, and the like. It was when we saw the two combined when we finally put two and two together. We apparently stumbled upon an unexpected infestation of Girl Scouts.
Pig, to his credit, did not actively use his commuting-to-a-city skills and elbow any of the Girl Scouts off of the sidewalks. He was also the one who later used his smarter-than-me phone to figure out why there was such an infestation. According to whatever site he found online, there were about 250,000 Girl Scouts that descended on Washington, D.C. for the 100th celebration of some annual sing-a-long.
I think we picked the wrong weekend to see the sites.
Anyway, we were there, so we were determined to walk around anyway. I have a disclaimer for anyone unlucky enough to be reading these words: I get lost backing out of my driveway. I have no idea what trains we took, what streets we walked, or even some of the buildings and fountains that are currently on my camera. So if I say something in error, please know that geography did not change. I'm just clueless when it comes to this sort of thing.
Well, it was not too long into our first sightseeing walk when we discovered The National Mall was under construction. Now, before you get the impression we were shopping, that's a different type of mall. This one is a huge park with a zillion museums and gardens and whatnot. Pig Jr. was in his element. He loves construction vehicles, piles of dirt, and fences through which you can spy upon the aforementioned items. Pig was not amused. That whole strip of torn up area was supposed to be the feast for our eyes during our walk before the museum he wanted us to go to opened for the day.
We found a fountain somewhere (see disclaimer above) and used the somewhat cooler shade near it to rest and hydrate before heading off to the National Air and Space Museum. If you ever have a chance to visit that museum, I highly recommend you take the opportunity. I was absolutely fascinated by things that housed astronauts, yet were made by the lowest bidder and looked to be held together by duct tape and Mylar balloons. The kidlets loved looking at everything, too. The girls were particularly thrilled to be walking through a portion of an older airplane (from the 1950s, I think). All three kidlets had a blast manipulating levers to see how the cockpit controls of different planes actually moved the different flaps and whatnot. I will say this, though. If you have to use the restrooms there, go to the ones on the second floor. The ones closer to the main entrance were much busier, and the wait time was longer.
When the kidlets were starting to get antsy, we headed back to the hotel for some lunch. The peace and serenity of no longer fighting off hordes of Girl Scouts was lovely. Apparently, those young ladies stayed where they were and let us flee gratefully back to Virginia.
After lunch, we headed back into D.C. to attempt to go to another Smithsonian Museum. Unfortunately, this one must have been jealous of the facelift The Mall was getting, so it decided it was going to undergo some construction, too. So much for that one. We debated going to another museum nearby, but the crowds (250,000 Girl Scouts, remember?) were atrocious, and the wait time to even enter the building was daunting. We settled on waiting to enter the Museum of Natural History.
The nice thing about museums is that they are air conditioned. Unfortunately, when one feels packed like sardines when trying to look at exhibits, you can't tell that it's cooler inside than outside on a 90+ degree day. I had a panic attack a few feet into the museum, so Pig decided we could just find use the restrooms and then head back out away from the Rock the Mall shirts.
Shortly thereafter, we could not even walk down the sidewalks without being completely blocked by huge groups of Girl Scouts, who, we presume, were gathered for whatever activities had been planned for the day. We waved the white flag of surrender. The Girl Scouts could have D.C. We were done for the day.
All in all, I think our family enjoyed our first full day of vacation. The kidlets slept wonderfully later that evening after all that walking. In the future, however, I think we shall have to check whatever websites we can to ensure we will not have to deal with an onslaught of 250,000 additional tourists when we plan to travel somewhere.
The first thing we noticed upon starting our walk from wherever the heck the train spit us out was that there were large groups of people sporting "Rock the Mall" shirts. It seemed like we were the only people around without some different-colored variation of the same thing. Then we started to see a bunch of people wearing Girl Scout vests, badges, and the like. It was when we saw the two combined when we finally put two and two together. We apparently stumbled upon an unexpected infestation of Girl Scouts.
Pig, to his credit, did not actively use his commuting-to-a-city skills and elbow any of the Girl Scouts off of the sidewalks. He was also the one who later used his smarter-than-me phone to figure out why there was such an infestation. According to whatever site he found online, there were about 250,000 Girl Scouts that descended on Washington, D.C. for the 100th celebration of some annual sing-a-long.
I think we picked the wrong weekend to see the sites.
Anyway, we were there, so we were determined to walk around anyway. I have a disclaimer for anyone unlucky enough to be reading these words: I get lost backing out of my driveway. I have no idea what trains we took, what streets we walked, or even some of the buildings and fountains that are currently on my camera. So if I say something in error, please know that geography did not change. I'm just clueless when it comes to this sort of thing.
Well, it was not too long into our first sightseeing walk when we discovered The National Mall was under construction. Now, before you get the impression we were shopping, that's a different type of mall. This one is a huge park with a zillion museums and gardens and whatnot. Pig Jr. was in his element. He loves construction vehicles, piles of dirt, and fences through which you can spy upon the aforementioned items. Pig was not amused. That whole strip of torn up area was supposed to be the feast for our eyes during our walk before the museum he wanted us to go to opened for the day.
We found a fountain somewhere (see disclaimer above) and used the somewhat cooler shade near it to rest and hydrate before heading off to the National Air and Space Museum. If you ever have a chance to visit that museum, I highly recommend you take the opportunity. I was absolutely fascinated by things that housed astronauts, yet were made by the lowest bidder and looked to be held together by duct tape and Mylar balloons. The kidlets loved looking at everything, too. The girls were particularly thrilled to be walking through a portion of an older airplane (from the 1950s, I think). All three kidlets had a blast manipulating levers to see how the cockpit controls of different planes actually moved the different flaps and whatnot. I will say this, though. If you have to use the restrooms there, go to the ones on the second floor. The ones closer to the main entrance were much busier, and the wait time was longer.
When the kidlets were starting to get antsy, we headed back to the hotel for some lunch. The peace and serenity of no longer fighting off hordes of Girl Scouts was lovely. Apparently, those young ladies stayed where they were and let us flee gratefully back to Virginia.
After lunch, we headed back into D.C. to attempt to go to another Smithsonian Museum. Unfortunately, this one must have been jealous of the facelift The Mall was getting, so it decided it was going to undergo some construction, too. So much for that one. We debated going to another museum nearby, but the crowds (250,000 Girl Scouts, remember?) were atrocious, and the wait time to even enter the building was daunting. We settled on waiting to enter the Museum of Natural History.
The nice thing about museums is that they are air conditioned. Unfortunately, when one feels packed like sardines when trying to look at exhibits, you can't tell that it's cooler inside than outside on a 90+ degree day. I had a panic attack a few feet into the museum, so Pig decided we could just find use the restrooms and then head back out away from the Rock the Mall shirts.
Shortly thereafter, we could not even walk down the sidewalks without being completely blocked by huge groups of Girl Scouts, who, we presume, were gathered for whatever activities had been planned for the day. We waved the white flag of surrender. The Girl Scouts could have D.C. We were done for the day.
All in all, I think our family enjoyed our first full day of vacation. The kidlets slept wonderfully later that evening after all that walking. In the future, however, I think we shall have to check whatever websites we can to ensure we will not have to deal with an onslaught of 250,000 additional tourists when we plan to travel somewhere.
Monday, June 11, 2012
"Are we there yet?"
Well, the Brawn family headed out for our very first family vacation ever, unless you count visiting my grandmother back when we had only a two-year-old and a fetus in utero. We discovered how much more "interesting" it is travelling with three kidlets as opposed to one that was still in diapers.
First of all, travel games do not really work as intended, at least not with my kidlets. Rooster and Horse thought it would be amusing to play a game of Travel Battleship:
Rooster: "B-5."
Horse: "Hit. G-3."
Rooster: "Miss. H-9."
Horse: "That's nowhere near where you hit before! You're supposed to try and sink the ship!"
Rooster: "So what?"
Me: "Just let her play the way she wants to play."
Horse: "Fine. Miss. B-7."
Rooster: "Oops. We have to start over. I accidentally knocked my pieces off my board."
Horse: "Then I'm not playing with you!"
Rooster: "Then I win!"
Fun times.
Then we played the potty game. You don't know that one? That's when the parent erroneously decides it might be a good idea to let the kidlets each have water bottles in the car. Then the kidlets drink it all within thirty seconds and decide they need to go potty RIGHT NOW, despite just having passed a rest stop two miles down the road. This is quite the challenging game for all three kidlets to play, when you take into consideration that Pig Jr. has sensory issues that make it very difficult for him to even consider using a public restroom. He's absolutely petrified of the loud flushing toilets. It got to the point where he physically looked like his bladder was already filled up and pushing out his eyes. He begged and pleaded, but to no avail. The only toilet available to him was in a public restroom. My personal favorite was when he asked me, "But can't I just go potty at home?" Nope, sorry dude. Home is well over an hour away, and you're already doing the potty dance.
Naturally, in the middle of all of this, we had to answer the infamous question a zillion times. I'm sure you know the one. "Are we there yet?" Now, I have yet to meet a kidlet who actually asks this question when the car is parked somewhere. My kidlets always ask it while the vehicle is going sixty-five down a highway with nothing but trees and clouds as far as the eye can see. A number of times, I was temped to respond that yes, we were there, just to see what they would say. Heck, after about three hours on the road, with at least two more to go, I was already getting punchy with my responses.
The lifesaver on our trip was a simple purchase I had made a few weeks back, in the form of these small, handheld personal fans that could spray water. The kidlets loved them. When I say that approximately four solid hours were spent listening to them spray each other, turn the fans on, turn the fans off, blow air at their toys, and try to disassemble the dang things, that was actually a conservative estimate. Best eight bucks (each) I ever spent!
The good news is that we made it safely to our destination, and were rewarded by a set of grandparents doting on the kidlets. Huzzah for vacations!
First of all, travel games do not really work as intended, at least not with my kidlets. Rooster and Horse thought it would be amusing to play a game of Travel Battleship:
Rooster: "B-5."
Horse: "Hit. G-3."
Rooster: "Miss. H-9."
Horse: "That's nowhere near where you hit before! You're supposed to try and sink the ship!"
Rooster: "So what?"
Me: "Just let her play the way she wants to play."
Horse: "Fine. Miss. B-7."
Rooster: "Oops. We have to start over. I accidentally knocked my pieces off my board."
Horse: "Then I'm not playing with you!"
Rooster: "Then I win!"
Fun times.
Then we played the potty game. You don't know that one? That's when the parent erroneously decides it might be a good idea to let the kidlets each have water bottles in the car. Then the kidlets drink it all within thirty seconds and decide they need to go potty RIGHT NOW, despite just having passed a rest stop two miles down the road. This is quite the challenging game for all three kidlets to play, when you take into consideration that Pig Jr. has sensory issues that make it very difficult for him to even consider using a public restroom. He's absolutely petrified of the loud flushing toilets. It got to the point where he physically looked like his bladder was already filled up and pushing out his eyes. He begged and pleaded, but to no avail. The only toilet available to him was in a public restroom. My personal favorite was when he asked me, "But can't I just go potty at home?" Nope, sorry dude. Home is well over an hour away, and you're already doing the potty dance.
Naturally, in the middle of all of this, we had to answer the infamous question a zillion times. I'm sure you know the one. "Are we there yet?" Now, I have yet to meet a kidlet who actually asks this question when the car is parked somewhere. My kidlets always ask it while the vehicle is going sixty-five down a highway with nothing but trees and clouds as far as the eye can see. A number of times, I was temped to respond that yes, we were there, just to see what they would say. Heck, after about three hours on the road, with at least two more to go, I was already getting punchy with my responses.
The lifesaver on our trip was a simple purchase I had made a few weeks back, in the form of these small, handheld personal fans that could spray water. The kidlets loved them. When I say that approximately four solid hours were spent listening to them spray each other, turn the fans on, turn the fans off, blow air at their toys, and try to disassemble the dang things, that was actually a conservative estimate. Best eight bucks (each) I ever spent!
The good news is that we made it safely to our destination, and were rewarded by a set of grandparents doting on the kidlets. Huzzah for vacations!
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
Spellling Bee
Well, the good news is that Horse made it through her classroom spelling bee. She was first in her class, actually. This means that she and the second place individual will be representing their class in the school spelling bee that takes place tomorrow.
Horse and her classmate were the only two students who had no written homework tonight. Their teacher wants them to study the list of 125 words that he sent home last week. Those words are pretty much guaranteed to be on the school spelling bee, so that list was given to everyone who will be participating.
Did I mention Horse had a three-day weekend and did not once take a peek at that list? Procratination, thy name is Horse.
Meanie mother that I am, I am making her study that list today. This would explain all of the loud sighing, moaning, and general griping that people driving by can probably hear over the noise of their blaring car stereos. I suggested that Horse take a dictionary and actually look up how to pronounce a lot of those words so that she does not get tricked by pronunciations that are slightly different than what a typical fourth grader might think. She glared at me, but at least pretended to comply.
Eventually (translation: half an hour later), Horse decided she had enough of studying this nonsense and asked me if she could stop. I told her I would quiz her on a few random words from the list, and if she spelled them correctly, she could stop her studying.
She could not spell one word correctly. Apparently, studying a list of words involves a lot of daydreaming. Either that, or complaining took up all of the time she should have spent spelling each word.
Me: "Let me see...'aborigine.'"
Horse: "A-B-O-R-I-G-I-N-Y."
Me: "Aborigine. A-B-O-R-I-G-I-N-E. Spell 'elucidate.'"
Horse: "I-L-U-C-I-D-A-T-E."
Me: "Elucidate. E-L-U-C-I-D-A-T-E. How about 'feud?'"
Horse: "F-U-E-D."
Me: "Switch the U and the E. F-E-U-D. Endocrine?"
Horse: "Endocrine? That's a word?"
Me: "It's number 105 on your list!"
As Horse's mother, I feel more than slightly miffed that I am expected to drop everything (and that involves a heck of a lot right now, what with errands to run, end-of-the-school-year programs to attend, our house on the market, and a trip coming up that requires packing, baking, and freezing foods for our allergy-prone family to bring with us) just to be at school for a child who had almost a week to not study words for her spelling bee.
As I type this, I hear Horse in her room, presumably studying for tomorrow's spelling bee, but actually complaining to no one about how horrible it is that her mother is having her practice.
I don't honestly care if my daughter fails spectacularly at the spelling bee. (And after testing her on the words today, I'm fairly certain that is the most probable outcome for tomorrow.) I am not one of those mothers who insist my child be the best at everything. She already aced her class bee. That's pretty darn good, in my opinion. I just hate that she won't actually care about learning any of those spelling words until she realizes everyone else spent the past five days studying them.
Parenthood often means having to comfort a distraught kidlet while avoiding the words, "I told you so." I hope I am up to that task tomorrow.
Horse and her classmate were the only two students who had no written homework tonight. Their teacher wants them to study the list of 125 words that he sent home last week. Those words are pretty much guaranteed to be on the school spelling bee, so that list was given to everyone who will be participating.
Did I mention Horse had a three-day weekend and did not once take a peek at that list? Procratination, thy name is Horse.
Meanie mother that I am, I am making her study that list today. This would explain all of the loud sighing, moaning, and general griping that people driving by can probably hear over the noise of their blaring car stereos. I suggested that Horse take a dictionary and actually look up how to pronounce a lot of those words so that she does not get tricked by pronunciations that are slightly different than what a typical fourth grader might think. She glared at me, but at least pretended to comply.
Eventually (translation: half an hour later), Horse decided she had enough of studying this nonsense and asked me if she could stop. I told her I would quiz her on a few random words from the list, and if she spelled them correctly, she could stop her studying.
She could not spell one word correctly. Apparently, studying a list of words involves a lot of daydreaming. Either that, or complaining took up all of the time she should have spent spelling each word.
Me: "Let me see...'aborigine.'"
Horse: "A-B-O-R-I-G-I-N-Y."
Me: "Aborigine. A-B-O-R-I-G-I-N-E. Spell 'elucidate.'"
Horse: "I-L-U-C-I-D-A-T-E."
Me: "Elucidate. E-L-U-C-I-D-A-T-E. How about 'feud?'"
Horse: "F-U-E-D."
Me: "Switch the U and the E. F-E-U-D. Endocrine?"
Horse: "Endocrine? That's a word?"
Me: "It's number 105 on your list!"
As Horse's mother, I feel more than slightly miffed that I am expected to drop everything (and that involves a heck of a lot right now, what with errands to run, end-of-the-school-year programs to attend, our house on the market, and a trip coming up that requires packing, baking, and freezing foods for our allergy-prone family to bring with us) just to be at school for a child who had almost a week to not study words for her spelling bee.
As I type this, I hear Horse in her room, presumably studying for tomorrow's spelling bee, but actually complaining to no one about how horrible it is that her mother is having her practice.
I don't honestly care if my daughter fails spectacularly at the spelling bee. (And after testing her on the words today, I'm fairly certain that is the most probable outcome for tomorrow.) I am not one of those mothers who insist my child be the best at everything. She already aced her class bee. That's pretty darn good, in my opinion. I just hate that she won't actually care about learning any of those spelling words until she realizes everyone else spent the past five days studying them.
Parenthood often means having to comfort a distraught kidlet while avoiding the words, "I told you so." I hope I am up to that task tomorrow.
Monday, June 4, 2012
If I'd only thought of that sooner...
Yesterday, Pig and I completed a packet of paperwork that needed to be mailed out to one of Pig Jr.'s doctors. Today, I realized a whole slew of items I should have written down to describe my son a little more accurately. Did I mention that Pig mailed all of the paperwork out today?
The paperwork asked for us to give examples of my son's speech. I wrote down two examples ("I no want to" and "My name is Pig Jr."), simply to demonstrate how Pig Jr. sometimes speaks in proper sentences and sometimes he doesn't. It did not occur to me until this morning that perhaps I should have given examples of his speech issues, such as when he refers to the living room as the "leeva womb." Oops. At least the copies of evaluations and doctors' reports that we sent included his most recent speech evaluation.
We were supposed to offer specifics about what makes my son's behavior different from a typically-developing child. I could have written about how he is terrified of many toilets because the noise of flushing scares him. (His preschool teacher just recently told me that Pig Jr. only uses the bathroom attached to their classroom, even to the point of walking all the way back there even if he's on the opposite side of the school, because he is afraid of the noise. Yes, he's been going there for over two whole years with this going on and this is the first I've heard of it, and that was only because I told her my concerns about him having to use a restroom while out on a class trip. Turns out she already knew about his bathroom phobias.) I could have written about how no matter how many times we tell him he is allowed to play quietly in his room if he wakes up early on the weekends, he refuses to get out of bed, even to the point of having an accident instead of using the bathroom when needed. Unless either Pig or myself goes into the room to get him up, Pig Jr. will stay in bed indefinitely. I mean seriously, what kidlet doesn't try to get out of bed early from time to time?
I should have written about my son's self-limited diet, or how he had difficulties chewing when he was younger. Perhaps I should have included information about his amazing gag reflex when forced to put an unwanted food in his mouth, yet his bedroom door has bites taken out of it from all of the times he chewed on it.
I suppose remembering all of these things today is better than never remembering them. At least this way, I can make a list of things to mention at Pig Jr.'s appointment later this summer. It still stinks that I stared blankly at that packet of paperwork and could not come up with anything intelligent to say.
Then again, perhaps I am merely proving to Pig Jr.'s doctor that weird wiring runs in the family.
The paperwork asked for us to give examples of my son's speech. I wrote down two examples ("I no want to" and "My name is Pig Jr."), simply to demonstrate how Pig Jr. sometimes speaks in proper sentences and sometimes he doesn't. It did not occur to me until this morning that perhaps I should have given examples of his speech issues, such as when he refers to the living room as the "leeva womb." Oops. At least the copies of evaluations and doctors' reports that we sent included his most recent speech evaluation.
We were supposed to offer specifics about what makes my son's behavior different from a typically-developing child. I could have written about how he is terrified of many toilets because the noise of flushing scares him. (His preschool teacher just recently told me that Pig Jr. only uses the bathroom attached to their classroom, even to the point of walking all the way back there even if he's on the opposite side of the school, because he is afraid of the noise. Yes, he's been going there for over two whole years with this going on and this is the first I've heard of it, and that was only because I told her my concerns about him having to use a restroom while out on a class trip. Turns out she already knew about his bathroom phobias.) I could have written about how no matter how many times we tell him he is allowed to play quietly in his room if he wakes up early on the weekends, he refuses to get out of bed, even to the point of having an accident instead of using the bathroom when needed. Unless either Pig or myself goes into the room to get him up, Pig Jr. will stay in bed indefinitely. I mean seriously, what kidlet doesn't try to get out of bed early from time to time?
I should have written about my son's self-limited diet, or how he had difficulties chewing when he was younger. Perhaps I should have included information about his amazing gag reflex when forced to put an unwanted food in his mouth, yet his bedroom door has bites taken out of it from all of the times he chewed on it.
I suppose remembering all of these things today is better than never remembering them. At least this way, I can make a list of things to mention at Pig Jr.'s appointment later this summer. It still stinks that I stared blankly at that packet of paperwork and could not come up with anything intelligent to say.
Then again, perhaps I am merely proving to Pig Jr.'s doctor that weird wiring runs in the family.
Sunday, June 3, 2012
Thank goodness carbon copies are no longer necessary...
Later this summer, my son will be going to an appointment with a neurodevelopmental pediatrician. (The translation here is that he was supposed to be seeing one every six months to a year, but we had neglected to follow-up with our last specialist because she took two years, even with hounding, to get us a copy of her report. So now we are going to go to a new neurodevelopmentalist in the hopes that this one actually gets us the necessary reports in a timely manner.)
Any time you sign up to go see one of these specialists, you expect a rather lengthy wait time for an appointment. You also have to send them copies of pretty much every piece of paper you have ever collected during the course of your kidlet's life. In my son's case, this includes every evaluation from every specialist he has ever seen, a copy of his most recent IEP, progress reports from school, his complete medical records (including immunizations) as recorded by his pediatrician, and a bunch of paperwork that is required by this new doctor. The stack of all of these reports and evaluations is over an inch thick.
Being the Nervous Nelly parent that I am, I insisted my husband sit down with me while I filled out the new paperwork and dug out the old. I made sure it was not just my voice that was going to be heard when it came down to describing my son's actions and characteristics. Then I handed Pig the whole stack of papers and made him go make photocopies. (The directions stated to send in only copies. We are to keep all of the originals. For the most part, we complied. We chose to send the original prescription from the pediatrician. Somehow, I don't think they want a copy of that one, although I'm wondering if we will get scolded for not bringing that with us to our appointment instead. I guess we'll find out!)
Thirty-some dollars later at an office supply store that had photocopiers, Pig had completed his task. While I'm less than amused at how much hassle, time, and money was involved in getting all of that paperwork together, I found myself suddenly grateful that we no longer need to use carbon paper to make copies anymore. I had to fill out one form for Pig Jr.'s pediatrician, and a week or so later, copies of his complete medical history were sent to my house. No secretary had to re-type everything. No smudges were on the sides of the papers from where carbon paper had accidentally left it's mark. It took a very short while to receive copies of everything, instead of taking oodles of hours to re-type. Technology can be an amazing thing.
Even better, while my husband was at the store making copies for us, he found a digital camera that just might work for someone as technologically inept as I am. My new toy just finished charging its battery, so I'm going to take a few test pictures in just a couple of minutes. I just might have to thank that neurodevelopmental pediatrician for forcing us to make copies of everything.
Any time you sign up to go see one of these specialists, you expect a rather lengthy wait time for an appointment. You also have to send them copies of pretty much every piece of paper you have ever collected during the course of your kidlet's life. In my son's case, this includes every evaluation from every specialist he has ever seen, a copy of his most recent IEP, progress reports from school, his complete medical records (including immunizations) as recorded by his pediatrician, and a bunch of paperwork that is required by this new doctor. The stack of all of these reports and evaluations is over an inch thick.
Being the Nervous Nelly parent that I am, I insisted my husband sit down with me while I filled out the new paperwork and dug out the old. I made sure it was not just my voice that was going to be heard when it came down to describing my son's actions and characteristics. Then I handed Pig the whole stack of papers and made him go make photocopies. (The directions stated to send in only copies. We are to keep all of the originals. For the most part, we complied. We chose to send the original prescription from the pediatrician. Somehow, I don't think they want a copy of that one, although I'm wondering if we will get scolded for not bringing that with us to our appointment instead. I guess we'll find out!)
Thirty-some dollars later at an office supply store that had photocopiers, Pig had completed his task. While I'm less than amused at how much hassle, time, and money was involved in getting all of that paperwork together, I found myself suddenly grateful that we no longer need to use carbon paper to make copies anymore. I had to fill out one form for Pig Jr.'s pediatrician, and a week or so later, copies of his complete medical history were sent to my house. No secretary had to re-type everything. No smudges were on the sides of the papers from where carbon paper had accidentally left it's mark. It took a very short while to receive copies of everything, instead of taking oodles of hours to re-type. Technology can be an amazing thing.
Even better, while my husband was at the store making copies for us, he found a digital camera that just might work for someone as technologically inept as I am. My new toy just finished charging its battery, so I'm going to take a few test pictures in just a couple of minutes. I just might have to thank that neurodevelopmental pediatrician for forcing us to make copies of everything.
Friday, June 1, 2012
Triple Trouble
Someone, in her infinite lack of wisdom, purchased my son a very noisy game of Trouble. Specifically, she purchased Hasbro's Star Wars R2-D2 Is In Trouble Game. More specifically, I was the foolish woman who purchased said game, so I have no one to blame but myself.
My son adores this game. He loves all of the bleeps, burbles, and random chirps that R2-D2 makes every time someone pushes the pop-o-matic bubble. After hearing these noises approximately twenty zillion times, I can state with great certainty that the noises are not nearly as entertaining to my twitching ears.
Sadly, the noises that are the most frustrating are actually the ones my offspring make while all trying to play this Trouble game together. They fight, argue, battle, quarrel, feud, debate, and quibble with one another. They even throw in some hassling, just for good measure. Today was the perfect example of the fiasco that is my three kidlets trying to play a game together.
Rooster: *pushes the pop-o-matic bubble*
Horse: "Hey! I was supposed to push that! It's my turn!"
Rooster: "No, I'm after Pig Jr!"
Horse: "No, it goes Pig Jr., then me, then you."
Pig Jr.: *pushes the pop-o-matic bubble*
Horse: "Didn't you just hear me say it was my turn?"
Rooster: "I'm going to go now."
Pig Jr.: "R2-D2 is so funny!"
Horse: "Stop moving my guy! It's my turn!"
Rooster: "You were just sitting there!"
Horse: "Ha! I got to move four spaces. That bumps you back to the start!"
Rooster: "But you didn't even pop the button! Pig Jr. did! That doesn't count!"
Pig Jr.: "Is it my turn yet?"
Horse and Rooster: "No!"
And they wondered why I didn't want to play with them...
After approximately half an hour into a game that's only supposed to take a few minutes to play, Rooster quit. Horse declared that meant she won because of a forfeit. Pig Jr. declared he should win because it's his game. I declared I would throw the dang game out if the argument did not stop this very second. That got their attention, and the game was cleaned up with the bare minimum of debate.
Maybe tomorrow will be a good day to sit the kidlets down together to play a game with a parent playing the fourth side. I'm thinking I might have to volunteer my husband for that task. I've heard about as many R2-D2 noises and kidlets arguing as I can stand.
My son adores this game. He loves all of the bleeps, burbles, and random chirps that R2-D2 makes every time someone pushes the pop-o-matic bubble. After hearing these noises approximately twenty zillion times, I can state with great certainty that the noises are not nearly as entertaining to my twitching ears.
Sadly, the noises that are the most frustrating are actually the ones my offspring make while all trying to play this Trouble game together. They fight, argue, battle, quarrel, feud, debate, and quibble with one another. They even throw in some hassling, just for good measure. Today was the perfect example of the fiasco that is my three kidlets trying to play a game together.
Rooster: *pushes the pop-o-matic bubble*
Horse: "Hey! I was supposed to push that! It's my turn!"
Rooster: "No, I'm after Pig Jr!"
Horse: "No, it goes Pig Jr., then me, then you."
Pig Jr.: *pushes the pop-o-matic bubble*
Horse: "Didn't you just hear me say it was my turn?"
Rooster: "I'm going to go now."
Pig Jr.: "R2-D2 is so funny!"
Horse: "Stop moving my guy! It's my turn!"
Rooster: "You were just sitting there!"
Horse: "Ha! I got to move four spaces. That bumps you back to the start!"
Rooster: "But you didn't even pop the button! Pig Jr. did! That doesn't count!"
Pig Jr.: "Is it my turn yet?"
Horse and Rooster: "No!"
And they wondered why I didn't want to play with them...
After approximately half an hour into a game that's only supposed to take a few minutes to play, Rooster quit. Horse declared that meant she won because of a forfeit. Pig Jr. declared he should win because it's his game. I declared I would throw the dang game out if the argument did not stop this very second. That got their attention, and the game was cleaned up with the bare minimum of debate.
Maybe tomorrow will be a good day to sit the kidlets down together to play a game with a parent playing the fourth side. I'm thinking I might have to volunteer my husband for that task. I've heard about as many R2-D2 noises and kidlets arguing as I can stand.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)