For this week I chose two favorites, because the first is insanely short and they both involve an obsession with undergarments.
The first is from last fall, the second from Februaryish. Enjoy! (Sometime I may even get back to writing new posts...
All Thing Bra
We went to Arby's for lunch today, and the kid was in the process of a ham and cheese sandwich massacre when a long piece of stringy ham slid off her sandwich. She picked it up off the paper and examined it as it dangled in all of its stringiness. I was on the edge of "stop playing with your food and eat it" when she beat me to opening her mouth, and here is what tumbled out in the most quizzical manner:
"Is this a bra?"
What?! Mom and I both just stared at her, dumbfounded, waiting for the punchline. It never happened. She repeated the question, just to cement that she did indeed mean it. We just laughed our heads off. It was probably ten minutes before we could speak enough to give her an English answer (not to mention a complex). I don't know where she got this wild idea, because she knows what a bra is. She's obsessed with them.
More proof of this fact (but first some background):
My child only asked for one thing for Christmas this year, and she got it, so now I think she's starting to see her fault in the asking process. Somewhere along the way, her brain has decided "I get everything I want for Christmas...I should have asked for 50 million things instead of just one." Ever since the day after Christmas, we can't leave the house without her seeing at least 27 things she wants for Christmas next year.
We were at the mall a couple of weeks ago, and we were getting ready to leave Old Navy, and I was having trouble keeping the offspring tethered. This was an unplanned trip, so we were lacking in the stroller department. Anyway, I was using the old "follow me or get left here by yourself" threat. It was working quite nicely...until I looked back and no longer had her in my sight. (I think kids play that game on purpose and they're watching you and laughing because they can somehow see that your stomach just fell out of your butt from the panic.)
It was only for a split second, mind you, because after that second, here she comes, running through the crowded store, waving a sports bra over her head.
"MOMMY MOMMY! I WANT THIS FOR CHRISTMAS TO PUT MY BOOBIES IN!" I quickly glanced around. Just as I suspected. Everyone in America was watching and snickering.
"Honey, let's put that back...you don't have any boobies to put in there yet." I thought this was a tactful enough answer, but of COURSE she just couldn't let it go.
"Well then I want BOOBIES for Christmas TOO!" Yes. The whole population of our lovely state is still watching, don't worry.
I pondered for a moment, and decided it wasn't fair for her to get all the laughs at my expense and loudly replied, "ME TOO!"
I bet neither of us will get our wish.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Friday, October 22, 2010
Favorite Story Friday: Change in Her "Pocket"!
This story may never be outdone, and it may always remain at the top of my favorite list, so I felt it appropriate for it to be displayed during Favorite Story Friday!
September 2009 (The Kid is 2.5 at the time of this event)
I finally went to the store the other day for the big "stock the new kitchen" trip, and I explained to the kid "we're going to the store and it's going to take awhile, so you're going to have to be a big girl and help mommy, no whining" etc, etc. My child, who has odd favorites for her age(including her preference for Captain D's over McDonald's), became OVER exuberant with the idea of going to the grocery store and immediately began excited preparations for the big trip. She was running through the house almost as fast as her mouth was running as it spewed a list of contents she needed to find.
"Wait mommy! I will help you! Let me find my list. Where's my keys? I need my phone in case Connie calls me."
"I have all that stuff, let's just get your shoes on and go."
So she ran back to the living room and pulled open a drawer in the end table where Brandon has been stashing change and exclaims,
"Let me get some money case I need to buy something at the store, ok?"
"Ok, give it to me and I'll put it in my pocket for you to pick out something if you're good." I couldn't help one last bribe.
"No, that's ok, I'll put it in MY pocket." She's too smart for me. But wait! I realize I haven't been outsmarted yet:
"Honey, you don't have pockets in your skirt!" I was proud of myself.
"Yes I do!" She exclaimed, in a very frustrated voice. Then out came the waistband of her skirt and down went the handful of change. Right down into her underwear. Oh well. What's the worst that could happen?
On the way to the store I started musing over that idea: the worst thing that could happen... Well, let's see...money's pretty dirty. I suppose she could get some kind of infection in her little girl parts and then I would have to explain to the pediatrician that it's perfectly normal for little girls to go around with pennies in their privates and no one did anything in the least unusual to her! That wouldn't be a big deal, right? Riiiiiight...
We arrived at the store and I shoved my fantasy aside, because regardless of how many times I've cleaned that area during the diaper season of her life and baths, I'm sure not fishing money out of it in the middle of the grocery store. That seems like a good way to entice a stranger to call child services.
Instead, I got busy with the shopping trip, went home, and unloaded in a hurry so that we could go on a previously promised bike adventure. I assembled the bike seat, strapped on helmets, whipped out our shades, and took off downtown to meet Mom. I didn't forget to mention removing the money from its cozy nest in my daughter's Dora panties. It didn't happen. I forgot about the change. Go ahead, judge if you want. I left pennies in my daughter's hoo-ha.
We reached Mom's office and the kid was thrilled to jump off the bike and run into the office to show off her helmet and sunglasses. It was only when mom questioned the sound did I remember.
"Gracie...why is your bum jingling?" Mom questioned.
"Oh, my Lord. Please tell me I didn't forget that change."
"I can't." He responded. "That would be a lie and I am not capable of lying."
When I returned from my silent prayer, this is the answer I heard from my child:
"My bum's jingly 'cause I got change in my pocket!!" She grinned real big and continued her run down the row of cubicles to Mom's office, jingling all the way.
"But you don't have any pockets in your skirt..." Mom started eyeballing me, probably judging me just like you are about now.
"Nope! Not in my skirt! In my PANTIES!!" She yelled down the hall for all the busy real estate agents anywhere in the building to hear. Awesome. We went on into Mom's office and closed the door. I proceeded to try to convince her to give up the loot, but she wasn't budging and I was already embarrassed, so I caved. I mean, heck, it's been there all day, what's it gonna hurt? The damage has already been done. So we went to lunch.
It was only after 30 minutes of her showing off for the ladies at the Sandwich Shop (or the "nice ladies' shop", as she refers to it) that real disaster struck. I asked her if she wanted to put some change from my wallet in the tip jar for the nice ladies that made our food. I thought it was a good teaching moment, but she proved me wrong again. She's awesome at that.
"No Mommy! I want to put MY money in!" she wailed. Everyone thought that was simply adorable. That's because they didn't know where she was storing it.
I tried to quietly insist otherwise, but I could see she wasn't going down without a real big fight. How quickly that teachable moment had changed. It also became clear while watching her try that she couldn't retrieve the coins herself. Seems every time she tried, her little arm was too short to reach the "pocket" in her sagging panties. Bending her knees, though try as she may, only drooped the pocket lower.
"Mommy! Please get it!" was her pitiful cry for help. I surrendered to my shame and very nonchalantly escorted her to the only corner in the small shop, which was made of a wall and the store front window. (Of course. Shops never have a private "retrieving pennies from your young daughter's privates" corner when you need one. I mean, I was lucky to find a nursing mother's room in public back in the breast feeding days.) As I reached down the front of my daughter's skirt and fished out all the money, I could only imagine what people walking down 9th Street must have thought as they looked in that window.
I was at least able to swap the money out for some of my own on our way to the tip jar, in case you were wondering.
Good times.
September 2009 (The Kid is 2.5 at the time of this event)
I finally went to the store the other day for the big "stock the new kitchen" trip, and I explained to the kid "we're going to the store and it's going to take awhile, so you're going to have to be a big girl and help mommy, no whining" etc, etc. My child, who has odd favorites for her age(including her preference for Captain D's over McDonald's), became OVER exuberant with the idea of going to the grocery store and immediately began excited preparations for the big trip. She was running through the house almost as fast as her mouth was running as it spewed a list of contents she needed to find.
"Wait mommy! I will help you! Let me find my list. Where's my keys? I need my phone in case Connie calls me."
"I have all that stuff, let's just get your shoes on and go."
So she ran back to the living room and pulled open a drawer in the end table where Brandon has been stashing change and exclaims,
"Let me get some money case I need to buy something at the store, ok?"
"Ok, give it to me and I'll put it in my pocket for you to pick out something if you're good." I couldn't help one last bribe.
"No, that's ok, I'll put it in MY pocket." She's too smart for me. But wait! I realize I haven't been outsmarted yet:
"Honey, you don't have pockets in your skirt!" I was proud of myself.
"Yes I do!" She exclaimed, in a very frustrated voice. Then out came the waistband of her skirt and down went the handful of change. Right down into her underwear. Oh well. What's the worst that could happen?
On the way to the store I started musing over that idea: the worst thing that could happen... Well, let's see...money's pretty dirty. I suppose she could get some kind of infection in her little girl parts and then I would have to explain to the pediatrician that it's perfectly normal for little girls to go around with pennies in their privates and no one did anything in the least unusual to her! That wouldn't be a big deal, right? Riiiiiight...
We arrived at the store and I shoved my fantasy aside, because regardless of how many times I've cleaned that area during the diaper season of her life and baths, I'm sure not fishing money out of it in the middle of the grocery store. That seems like a good way to entice a stranger to call child services.
Instead, I got busy with the shopping trip, went home, and unloaded in a hurry so that we could go on a previously promised bike adventure. I assembled the bike seat, strapped on helmets, whipped out our shades, and took off downtown to meet Mom. I didn't forget to mention removing the money from its cozy nest in my daughter's Dora panties. It didn't happen. I forgot about the change. Go ahead, judge if you want. I left pennies in my daughter's hoo-ha.
We reached Mom's office and the kid was thrilled to jump off the bike and run into the office to show off her helmet and sunglasses. It was only when mom questioned the sound did I remember.
"Gracie...why is your bum jingling?" Mom questioned.
"Oh, my Lord. Please tell me I didn't forget that change."
"I can't." He responded. "That would be a lie and I am not capable of lying."
When I returned from my silent prayer, this is the answer I heard from my child:
"My bum's jingly 'cause I got change in my pocket!!" She grinned real big and continued her run down the row of cubicles to Mom's office, jingling all the way.
"But you don't have any pockets in your skirt..." Mom started eyeballing me, probably judging me just like you are about now.
"Nope! Not in my skirt! In my PANTIES!!" She yelled down the hall for all the busy real estate agents anywhere in the building to hear. Awesome. We went on into Mom's office and closed the door. I proceeded to try to convince her to give up the loot, but she wasn't budging and I was already embarrassed, so I caved. I mean, heck, it's been there all day, what's it gonna hurt? The damage has already been done. So we went to lunch.
It was only after 30 minutes of her showing off for the ladies at the Sandwich Shop (or the "nice ladies' shop", as she refers to it) that real disaster struck. I asked her if she wanted to put some change from my wallet in the tip jar for the nice ladies that made our food. I thought it was a good teaching moment, but she proved me wrong again. She's awesome at that.
"No Mommy! I want to put MY money in!" she wailed. Everyone thought that was simply adorable. That's because they didn't know where she was storing it.
I tried to quietly insist otherwise, but I could see she wasn't going down without a real big fight. How quickly that teachable moment had changed. It also became clear while watching her try that she couldn't retrieve the coins herself. Seems every time she tried, her little arm was too short to reach the "pocket" in her sagging panties. Bending her knees, though try as she may, only drooped the pocket lower.
"Mommy! Please get it!" was her pitiful cry for help. I surrendered to my shame and very nonchalantly escorted her to the only corner in the small shop, which was made of a wall and the store front window. (Of course. Shops never have a private "retrieving pennies from your young daughter's privates" corner when you need one. I mean, I was lucky to find a nursing mother's room in public back in the breast feeding days.) As I reached down the front of my daughter's skirt and fished out all the money, I could only imagine what people walking down 9th Street must have thought as they looked in that window.
I was at least able to swap the money out for some of my own on our way to the tip jar, in case you were wondering.
Good times.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Favorite Story: My child thinks she owns WalMart
Ok. So I know it's not Friday yet (and also that I missed like three Fridays since I declared "Favorite Stories Friday"...) but I just read this note on facebook and literally laughed out loud at my own self. So either I'm really conceited or truly hilarious. I'll let you judge. (And if you pick conceited that's fine-I'll still think I'm hilarious anyway so it won't matter a bit.)
I intended to edit and rewrite stories that I've previously written for this occaison, but I'm lazy at getting this started so I pretty much copy-pasted this one. Judge that, too if you want. Won't hurt my feelings; I already know I'm lazy.
*Eh Hem* Here goes:
Don't you love it when your children act foolish in public? I mean, they wouldn't want to act that way in private. No strangers would be around to hold up a "9.5" scorecard for the "Your Mom's Failure Rating" system.
Shortly after moving back to my hometown last year (too bad no one I know witnessed this-that adds points to my Fail score), we were at WalMart buying some more things off the "I thought we owned this but can't seem to find it since we moved even though we're completely unpacked" list. (I like to give my lists very long titles. Saves me money since it takes up so much space on the paper, because there's barely room left for actual items.)
Anyway, I'm chatting with the super nice lady that checked us out last week (because it's my full time job to go to the store now. I can't just do it once a month anymore. Crap.) I had given Gracie a few things to throw on and was putting the last items on the belt, still chatting with the cashier. Grace began tell the elderly lady behind us what a big girl she was for helping mommy and continued to sweet talk her for a few more minutes (which of course the lady was eating with a spoon). But THEN...the lady inched up her buggy...didn't even REACH for the divider bar or THINK about placing items on the belt (which would have been acceptable, since I was already signing my check.) and my sweet little child went Jekyll and Hyde on the old lady.
"NO NO NO! STOP! It's not your TURN!" she wailed.
"Oh Lord," I prayed silently, "please tell me I bought dog food on this trip. I need an excuse for why I'm now ducked under the grocery cart."
The lady looked rather shocked. I can't say I blame her.
"GRACIE!" I hissed from my safe haven rack under the cart.
"Mommy! She's pushing her buggy and it's not her turn!" Really? The lady was like 70...I think it was her turn before either of us or WalMart even existed!
"Gracie! It IS her turn! Stop that!"
"Mom!" I think I forgot to mention that she stated to me the other day that she was too big to say Mommy. I told her if that was the case, then I was too little to fix her food, wash her clothes, etc.
Anyway, I made MUCH haste in finishing my transaction (the cashier turned her light off...I wonder, was it already break time, or did my child drive her to break time?) gave all appropriate looks of "gee I'm really embarrassed that my kid's being a turd. sorry about that!" and put the buggy in fifth gear.
Needless to say, the kid got the full name followed by many "unacceptables" on the way out the door.
I got all the groceries in the car and started to put her in the car seat when she reminded me that in our last aisle of shopping she had told me she needed to potty. I had forgotten during the fit. Now I'M the bad guy. She always wins.
.
I intended to edit and rewrite stories that I've previously written for this occaison, but I'm lazy at getting this started so I pretty much copy-pasted this one. Judge that, too if you want. Won't hurt my feelings; I already know I'm lazy.
*Eh Hem* Here goes:
Don't you love it when your children act foolish in public? I mean, they wouldn't want to act that way in private. No strangers would be around to hold up a "9.5" scorecard for the "Your Mom's Failure Rating" system.
Shortly after moving back to my hometown last year (too bad no one I know witnessed this-that adds points to my Fail score), we were at WalMart buying some more things off the "I thought we owned this but can't seem to find it since we moved even though we're completely unpacked" list. (I like to give my lists very long titles. Saves me money since it takes up so much space on the paper, because there's barely room left for actual items.)
Anyway, I'm chatting with the super nice lady that checked us out last week (because it's my full time job to go to the store now. I can't just do it once a month anymore. Crap.) I had given Gracie a few things to throw on and was putting the last items on the belt, still chatting with the cashier. Grace began tell the elderly lady behind us what a big girl she was for helping mommy and continued to sweet talk her for a few more minutes (which of course the lady was eating with a spoon). But THEN...the lady inched up her buggy...didn't even REACH for the divider bar or THINK about placing items on the belt (which would have been acceptable, since I was already signing my check.) and my sweet little child went Jekyll and Hyde on the old lady.
"NO NO NO! STOP! It's not your TURN!" she wailed.
"Oh Lord," I prayed silently, "please tell me I bought dog food on this trip. I need an excuse for why I'm now ducked under the grocery cart."
The lady looked rather shocked. I can't say I blame her.
"GRACIE!" I hissed from my safe haven rack under the cart.
"Mommy! She's pushing her buggy and it's not her turn!" Really? The lady was like 70...I think it was her turn before either of us or WalMart even existed!
"Gracie! It IS her turn! Stop that!"
"Mom!" I think I forgot to mention that she stated to me the other day that she was too big to say Mommy. I told her if that was the case, then I was too little to fix her food, wash her clothes, etc.
Anyway, I made MUCH haste in finishing my transaction (the cashier turned her light off...I wonder, was it already break time, or did my child drive her to break time?) gave all appropriate looks of "gee I'm really embarrassed that my kid's being a turd. sorry about that!" and put the buggy in fifth gear.
Needless to say, the kid got the full name followed by many "unacceptables" on the way out the door.
I got all the groceries in the car and started to put her in the car seat when she reminded me that in our last aisle of shopping she had told me she needed to potty. I had forgotten during the fit. Now I'M the bad guy. She always wins.
.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
First Day of School
I'm officially old. The kid went to school. She started off the day like a typical school aged child. (Half slung out of her bed, drool covered pillow, lots of mumbling when I woke her up-obviously too early.) Baby was our (obvious) first topic of conversation.
"Good morning Pumkin! Do you know what today is?"
*rubbing eyes* "What?"
"Where do you go today?"
"School." *yawn*
"Are you excited?"
*flatline* "Yeah."
I could barely hold the giggles. She sounded like she'd done this a million times. I asked her if she was sure she was excited and she very flatly insisted. Then came a final attempt at saving her relationship with her best friend.
"Can I take baby?"
"Honey, we already talked about that. Where does baby have to stay?"
"In my backpack. Why does School not let us have our babies?"
And so it begins. I wanted to tell her that school was The Man and to get used to it.
We went on downstairs to eat oats and watch part of a Veggie Tale. I was very unsure about how we were going to get ready in time, because she is slower than a sleeping turtle. She also still needed a bath because she insisted on waiting till morning to take one so we could fix her hair. Teenhood is going to kill me. I rushed some oats down her face, bathed her so quickly that I almost drowned her without even noticing and stuffed her into her dress. We ran downstairs to fix her hair and of course I got the brush stuck in it while we were working on that. "Oh gee!" I thought. "PERFECT! I hope we're late the very first day!" We can just barely afford the school she's going to, and I'm already worried about stupid things that don't matter. (Like her walmart backpack hanging in a row with everyone's LL Bean personalized backpacks...) I don't need to look dumb running in late also.
We made it (fixed hair, pictures, and all) to the parking lot with ten minutes to spare. (Woot!) I parked, sighed, and relaxed into my seat. Then I started feeling kind of closed in. I looked to my left. Navigator. I looked to my right. Escalade. That's funny, I pulled in between the two biggest cars here and my car is so tiny. I looked out the windshield at the row in front of me. Honda minivan. Yukon. Town and Country. Escalade. Honda Minivan. Honda minivan. Navigator. Oh! A car! Oh...BMW. Town and Country. BMW. Oh well. At least my car is from Germany. Sucks for Brandon when he has to drop her off in his $700 station wagon that has a primer gray hood.
I grabbed the kid and stuffed her into her WalMart backpack and headed for the door. On the way across the parking lot, I noticed that everyone had taken the day off from doctoring and lawyering and brought the whole family to the first day of school in their sunday clothes. Crap. I needed a memo for that. Here I am in my running clothes without my husband in a VW. Unexpected failure.
Despite all my worries, she had a fantastic first day. (Apparently kids that young aren't ashamed of WalMart backpacks yet.) She didn't stop talking about it all night and or all day Thursday. She was very dissapointed when she didn't get to go on Thursday. Friday morning I woke her up and this is what I got:
"It's time to go to school again!"
Rolls over and sighs "That's ok, Mommy. I don't really feel like going. I'll just stay here today."
Excuse me?! Are you a senior in College?! "Um...well baby, that's not really a choice. Besides, I thought you liked school?"
"I did. It was fun. But I don't need to go anymore." Riiiiiight...
I think we exhausted every spectrum of feelings toward school in a 48 hour period. I hope she sticks close to the "love it" end!
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Baby's Bath
Have I mentioned that my kid is hilarious? Ok, not lately, so here's a long awaited bout of hilarity.
My kid carries around this "baby" that's really a bear head with a blanket for a body. You know, the kind of thing that you're always supposed to own a second one? Of course, we have one. Anyway, she calls it Bear Baby. The only problem she's going to have next week when she starts preschool is that Bear Baby must stay in her backpack. Good thing she loves her backpack. I still feel sorry for her teacher.
I used to be able to get her to put Bear Baby in the front loading washing machine for a bath. It was working fine as long as I planned baths far enough away from nap or bedtime. However, suddenly she has decided that she can no longer be away from Baby for that hour, so Baby hasn't had a bath in, let's say...a month?
Baby has been to church, the pool, many public restrooms, restaurants, Camden Park (probably 6 times), and a large variety of other places in the last month. Baby smells like a butt. And every night when my darling sleeps she sucks her thumb and rubs her fingers through the germs from church, the pool, many public restrooms, restaurants, Camden Park, and a large variety of other places. And it doesn't seem to phase her that Baby smells like a butt.
I realize this is disgusting. But you should really see the enormous drawn out Scarlett O'Hara monologue that ensues every time I try to inch Baby toward the washer. It should win and Emmy. I tried stealing it from her in her sleep but she caught me. So I let the kid win one...hey...it doesn't happen often.
Well, today I got a whiff and had quite enough. I decided I was winning and it didn't matter how much I had to use my huge powers as a big mean parent to do it-Baby was getting a bath. Period. I began making announcements concerning the event upon the departure from Grammy's house. I rode all the way across town with Scarlett.
When we arrive at our house I tried giving her the option of putting it in herself.
"Don't you want to be a Mommy and give your Baby a bath?"
"NO! I CAN'T Mommy! I just CAN'T give her UP! I CAN'T give up my BABY!" Of course with this notion (which I'm thinking she might have acquired from accidentally overhearing a lifetime movie) she threw herself on the floor and began to literally wail.
"Well, pumpkin, she has to go in and get clean. Either you put her or Mommy's going to."
Of course she only clutched her tighter and rolled over on her and continued her routine. This forced me to use physical force to pry it away. (Didn't I feel totally tough for being able to overpower a 25 pound preschooler.) I carried baby off to the laundry room and the kid followed close behind crawling and sobbing. I tried to stay cheerful so I wouldn't be painted as an ogre when she tells it. I told her to tell her Baby to have a good bath and she actually said these words:
"I didn't want to give you up. She made me do it! Mommy MADE you get a bath. I hope you feel clean when you're done. I don't want to be without you."
Drama. Queen.
I finally just left her sobbing at the washer door with her face pressed to the plastic. I came back to the living room and a few minutes later she came shuffling in, shoulders hunched, head down, feet scuffing, and nose sniffling so hard I think some brain damage went on.
"What's wrong pumpkin?"
"I...can't...see...my...*sniiiiiiiiiff*...Baby any...more...*sniff sniff sniff*...She got covered up by the...blaaaaaaankies..."
"Honey...it's really going to be ok. She'll be out before you know it, and she won't STINK. I've got another blanky you can hold until then."
"Is it soft?"
"Yes! and it's CLEAN!"
"Is it pink?"
"It has some pink on it."
"Does it have a Bear for a head?"
"Um...no. But it has all those other things!"
"I guess I can hold it."
I already know this isn't going to work, but I thought it might at least hold her off for twenty minutes and she could have a visitation on Baby's way to the dryer. I gave her the insufficient Baby replacement. She held it quietly for 37 seconds.
"Mommy?"
"Yes, pumpkin?"
"Can you draw me a picture of my Bear Baby?"
"What for, honey?"
"So I can cuddle the paper you draw her on. I need to be with her."
She meant it. God be with her Preschool teachers.
My kid carries around this "baby" that's really a bear head with a blanket for a body. You know, the kind of thing that you're always supposed to own a second one? Of course, we have one. Anyway, she calls it Bear Baby. The only problem she's going to have next week when she starts preschool is that Bear Baby must stay in her backpack. Good thing she loves her backpack. I still feel sorry for her teacher.
I used to be able to get her to put Bear Baby in the front loading washing machine for a bath. It was working fine as long as I planned baths far enough away from nap or bedtime. However, suddenly she has decided that she can no longer be away from Baby for that hour, so Baby hasn't had a bath in, let's say...a month?
Baby has been to church, the pool, many public restrooms, restaurants, Camden Park (probably 6 times), and a large variety of other places in the last month. Baby smells like a butt. And every night when my darling sleeps she sucks her thumb and rubs her fingers through the germs from church, the pool, many public restrooms, restaurants, Camden Park, and a large variety of other places. And it doesn't seem to phase her that Baby smells like a butt.
I realize this is disgusting. But you should really see the enormous drawn out Scarlett O'Hara monologue that ensues every time I try to inch Baby toward the washer. It should win and Emmy. I tried stealing it from her in her sleep but she caught me. So I let the kid win one...hey...it doesn't happen often.
Well, today I got a whiff and had quite enough. I decided I was winning and it didn't matter how much I had to use my huge powers as a big mean parent to do it-Baby was getting a bath. Period. I began making announcements concerning the event upon the departure from Grammy's house. I rode all the way across town with Scarlett.
When we arrive at our house I tried giving her the option of putting it in herself.
"Don't you want to be a Mommy and give your Baby a bath?"
"NO! I CAN'T Mommy! I just CAN'T give her UP! I CAN'T give up my BABY!" Of course with this notion (which I'm thinking she might have acquired from accidentally overhearing a lifetime movie) she threw herself on the floor and began to literally wail.
"Well, pumpkin, she has to go in and get clean. Either you put her or Mommy's going to."
Of course she only clutched her tighter and rolled over on her and continued her routine. This forced me to use physical force to pry it away. (Didn't I feel totally tough for being able to overpower a 25 pound preschooler.) I carried baby off to the laundry room and the kid followed close behind crawling and sobbing. I tried to stay cheerful so I wouldn't be painted as an ogre when she tells it. I told her to tell her Baby to have a good bath and she actually said these words:
"I didn't want to give you up. She made me do it! Mommy MADE you get a bath. I hope you feel clean when you're done. I don't want to be without you."
Drama. Queen.
I finally just left her sobbing at the washer door with her face pressed to the plastic. I came back to the living room and a few minutes later she came shuffling in, shoulders hunched, head down, feet scuffing, and nose sniffling so hard I think some brain damage went on.
"What's wrong pumpkin?"
"I...can't...see...my...*sniiiiiiiiiff*...Baby any...more...*sniff sniff sniff*...She got covered up by the...blaaaaaaankies..."
"Honey...it's really going to be ok. She'll be out before you know it, and she won't STINK. I've got another blanky you can hold until then."
"Is it soft?"
"Yes! and it's CLEAN!"
"Is it pink?"
"It has some pink on it."
"Does it have a Bear for a head?"
"Um...no. But it has all those other things!"
"I guess I can hold it."
I already know this isn't going to work, but I thought it might at least hold her off for twenty minutes and she could have a visitation on Baby's way to the dryer. I gave her the insufficient Baby replacement. She held it quietly for 37 seconds.
"Mommy?"
"Yes, pumpkin?"
"Can you draw me a picture of my Bear Baby?"
"What for, honey?"
"So I can cuddle the paper you draw her on. I need to be with her."
She meant it. God be with her Preschool teachers.
Monday, July 5, 2010
Crispie Treats and Cousin Time
My Uncle John makes the world's best rice crispie treats. Hands down. Once I even requested a pan of them in lieu of a cake for my 14th birthday. This was just an extra perk when our cousins visited last week.
My cousin lives in Arkansas and has a mini-her that's about a year older than my mini-me. Needless to say, we don't see them often, so this was the girls' first meeting. Boy was it a hoot. We started with a cookout at Uncle Eric's house.
Mine is the one that looks like a drowned rat. She suddenly decided it's awesome to run around barefoot (even if her feet get dirty) and play in the rain (even though she hates the shower). Don't get me wrong...I'm TOTALLY fine (maybe "overjoyed" would be a better description) with her willingness to do these things. I'm just confused at the sudden change. Anyway, they used the piece of plastic in Gracie's hand as a dog leash and took each other for walks around the yard. I love preschoolers hard at play. They're ridiculous.
On Tuesday we took our lovely offspring over to West Virginia's one and only amusement park. Close your eyes for a moment (after you read the description, of course) and try to smell a combination of dirty grease, hot asphalt, and corndogs. Now spin around in a thousand circles until you are about to throw up a corndog that you didn't even eat. Ok, open your eyes. You either just flashed back twenty years and were flooded with memories from childhood or maybe that was your first trip to Camden Park. Either way, I just saved you $20.99.
The girls had a blast. They don't know each other at all (in fact, Gracie kept asking what her cousin's name was) but they sure were holding hands and running all over the park like they were lifelong BFFs. (Three words: Move. Back. Home.) My favorite part of the evening was that Ainsley wanted to do everything. Twice. No hands. This was me as a kid. I think they got switched somehow. I hope that if they hang out a few more times before they have their own kids then maybe some of that will rub off on Grace. That would be great.
On Friday we went over and went swimming with Ainsley at her Grandparents' house. My kid loves the water as long as it's nowhere near her face. I cannot comprehend this, because I think I stared swimming then I was three days old. (That's right folks, and I was a December baby, too! And I walked to school uphill both ways in the snow and once in wind that surely would have blown piglet away.) Ainsley is a year older and ten times braver, so of course she was everywhere in the pool. I kept pointing this out to Gracie and saying things like "See? Ainsley puts her whole head in and it's not melting her face off!" She would reply something like "That's ok, I'm fine," and continue her delicate water play.
Ainsley finally had enough of this pansiness and said "See, I'll show you" and with her much bigger size and all of her cousinly love she grabbed the top of Gracie's head and pushed her under. She let go after the bubbles stopped...ok, ok...it wasn't that long, probably like a millisecond. But when your pansy child gets an unexpected baptism, it seems like a lot longer! Anyway, Gracie came sputtering up and looked at Ainsley as if to say "What. was the POINT. of that!?" It didn't help her psyche that my mom, her two cousins, and I were rolling on the grass laughing at her. (That's how our family rolls. "What? You ran a tent stake through your hand? Take an aspirin and put a slab of bacon on it. And don't forget to quit whining about it. It's fine. Man up.") In case you're still on edge-she survived.
She also forgave her cousin. We went back in the house when the kids started turning purple and they played awhile longer. When I started thinking that the Drama Queen might off someone's head if she didn't get some rest soon I started warning her. She began to insist that we didn't need to leave because she wanted to stay and snuggle with Ainsley in her bed. I went to retrieve them from this cuteness a few minutes later and they were hiding. (Seriously kid? I invented that move.) When they returned to the living room the begging began.
"But Mommy! I wanna stay here with Ainsley!"
"Well honey, I would like that, but we have to go."
"But AINSLEY said I could STAY!"
*enter Ainsley, stage left. Delivers sharp elbow jab to Gracie's ribs. Hisses through clenched teeth.* "You weren't supposed to tell them!"
We all died from laughter again. This time at Ainsley's expense. Sorry kiddo-Gracie just has too much to learn about these kinds of things and no cousins around to teach her! Ha! But when you move here, you can teach her. Good plan. See you soon!
My cousin lives in Arkansas and has a mini-her that's about a year older than my mini-me. Needless to say, we don't see them often, so this was the girls' first meeting. Boy was it a hoot. We started with a cookout at Uncle Eric's house.
Mine is the one that looks like a drowned rat. She suddenly decided it's awesome to run around barefoot (even if her feet get dirty) and play in the rain (even though she hates the shower). Don't get me wrong...I'm TOTALLY fine (maybe "overjoyed" would be a better description) with her willingness to do these things. I'm just confused at the sudden change. Anyway, they used the piece of plastic in Gracie's hand as a dog leash and took each other for walks around the yard. I love preschoolers hard at play. They're ridiculous.
On Tuesday we took our lovely offspring over to West Virginia's one and only amusement park. Close your eyes for a moment (after you read the description, of course) and try to smell a combination of dirty grease, hot asphalt, and corndogs. Now spin around in a thousand circles until you are about to throw up a corndog that you didn't even eat. Ok, open your eyes. You either just flashed back twenty years and were flooded with memories from childhood or maybe that was your first trip to Camden Park. Either way, I just saved you $20.99.
The girls had a blast. They don't know each other at all (in fact, Gracie kept asking what her cousin's name was) but they sure were holding hands and running all over the park like they were lifelong BFFs. (Three words: Move. Back. Home.) My favorite part of the evening was that Ainsley wanted to do everything. Twice. No hands. This was me as a kid. I think they got switched somehow. I hope that if they hang out a few more times before they have their own kids then maybe some of that will rub off on Grace. That would be great.
On Friday we went over and went swimming with Ainsley at her Grandparents' house. My kid loves the water as long as it's nowhere near her face. I cannot comprehend this, because I think I stared swimming then I was three days old. (That's right folks, and I was a December baby, too! And I walked to school uphill both ways in the snow and once in wind that surely would have blown piglet away.) Ainsley is a year older and ten times braver, so of course she was everywhere in the pool. I kept pointing this out to Gracie and saying things like "See? Ainsley puts her whole head in and it's not melting her face off!" She would reply something like "That's ok, I'm fine," and continue her delicate water play.
Ainsley finally had enough of this pansiness and said "See, I'll show you" and with her much bigger size and all of her cousinly love she grabbed the top of Gracie's head and pushed her under. She let go after the bubbles stopped...ok, ok...it wasn't that long, probably like a millisecond. But when your pansy child gets an unexpected baptism, it seems like a lot longer! Anyway, Gracie came sputtering up and looked at Ainsley as if to say "What. was the POINT. of that!?" It didn't help her psyche that my mom, her two cousins, and I were rolling on the grass laughing at her. (That's how our family rolls. "What? You ran a tent stake through your hand? Take an aspirin and put a slab of bacon on it. And don't forget to quit whining about it. It's fine. Man up.") In case you're still on edge-she survived.
She also forgave her cousin. We went back in the house when the kids started turning purple and they played awhile longer. When I started thinking that the Drama Queen might off someone's head if she didn't get some rest soon I started warning her. She began to insist that we didn't need to leave because she wanted to stay and snuggle with Ainsley in her bed. I went to retrieve them from this cuteness a few minutes later and they were hiding. (Seriously kid? I invented that move.) When they returned to the living room the begging began.
"But Mommy! I wanna stay here with Ainsley!"
"Well honey, I would like that, but we have to go."
"But AINSLEY said I could STAY!"
*enter Ainsley, stage left. Delivers sharp elbow jab to Gracie's ribs. Hisses through clenched teeth.* "You weren't supposed to tell them!"
We all died from laughter again. This time at Ainsley's expense. Sorry kiddo-Gracie just has too much to learn about these kinds of things and no cousins around to teach her! Ha! But when you move here, you can teach her. Good plan. See you soon!
Monday, June 7, 2010
Just Kidding!
I was just kidding about waiting three months to post. Here's what happened:
First I went back to work. Of course, this is really no excuse, because I only substitute teach two or three days a week. (Subbing is the best job ever. Every day I go in and pop in a movie (at the teacher's request) and sit back and rob the board of education of $127. If I dislike a particular school, I don't have to go back. If I don't feel like getting up, I turn off my phone. It's the best.) And I have no planning to do during the hour and a half breaks I usually have...ample blogging time...
Anyway, my second excuse is that I decided around the time of my last post that I would pretend to be a runner. (You know, kind of like I pretend to be a writer...) I did pretty good for awhile. I broke my pinky toe and got right back on it. I had an asthma attack (for the first time ever) and got right back out there. After about 10 weeks I was on week 7 of the 9 week Couch to 5K program. And then for some reason I just quit. (Kinda like this blog...)
So yesterday, my awesome little cousin reminded me that my blog is hilarious (Shout out to Alex!) and I thought, "oh yeah. I AM pretty funny. I should get back on that." And then I thought "Hmmm...I haven't run for about 6 weeks. I should do that too."
Of course I decided that the proper way to get back to running was to just go out and run 3 miles. No warm-up, no intervals, just do it. More evidence that I'm a pretend runner. I'm feeling that today. But I ran 2.8 miles in 31 minutes. Not really worth publishing, but I was satisfied!
The kid is plugging along. She tells me to go to work on days that I don't so that she can play with her Grammy. Thanks, kid. She had her third birthday since my last post. I'll go back and talk about that later. It was quite a week of events. Probably the best conversation we've had in awhile went as follows:
Kid *randomly*: Mommy? Where's the north pole?
Me: Way up on top of the world.
Kid: Well...I don't see why Santa doesn't just move here. Then he wouldn't have to come so far to see me.
Awesome.
Well, since I waited so long to blog, there's all kinds of pressure to deliver greatness. I just wanted to get over the hump of getting back on here...sorry to disappoint! :) More laughs next time...
First I went back to work. Of course, this is really no excuse, because I only substitute teach two or three days a week. (Subbing is the best job ever. Every day I go in and pop in a movie (at the teacher's request) and sit back and rob the board of education of $127. If I dislike a particular school, I don't have to go back. If I don't feel like getting up, I turn off my phone. It's the best.) And I have no planning to do during the hour and a half breaks I usually have...ample blogging time...
Anyway, my second excuse is that I decided around the time of my last post that I would pretend to be a runner. (You know, kind of like I pretend to be a writer...) I did pretty good for awhile. I broke my pinky toe and got right back on it. I had an asthma attack (for the first time ever) and got right back out there. After about 10 weeks I was on week 7 of the 9 week Couch to 5K program. And then for some reason I just quit. (Kinda like this blog...)
So yesterday, my awesome little cousin reminded me that my blog is hilarious (Shout out to Alex!) and I thought, "oh yeah. I AM pretty funny. I should get back on that." And then I thought "Hmmm...I haven't run for about 6 weeks. I should do that too."
Of course I decided that the proper way to get back to running was to just go out and run 3 miles. No warm-up, no intervals, just do it. More evidence that I'm a pretend runner. I'm feeling that today. But I ran 2.8 miles in 31 minutes. Not really worth publishing, but I was satisfied!
The kid is plugging along. She tells me to go to work on days that I don't so that she can play with her Grammy. Thanks, kid. She had her third birthday since my last post. I'll go back and talk about that later. It was quite a week of events. Probably the best conversation we've had in awhile went as follows:
Kid *randomly*: Mommy? Where's the north pole?
Me: Way up on top of the world.
Kid: Well...I don't see why Santa doesn't just move here. Then he wouldn't have to come so far to see me.
Awesome.
Well, since I waited so long to blog, there's all kinds of pressure to deliver greatness. I just wanted to get over the hump of getting back on here...sorry to disappoint! :) More laughs next time...
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Revitalization At Its Best
I need winter to end in the worst way. My soul needs an adventure. I need to feel the freedom of carrying the essentials along while I forget the other cares of the world. I need to smell the sunshine when it kisses my bare shoulders each time I venture out of the shade of things that are green. I need to stretch out in a shallow river and feel the water trickle over my weary muscles so that I can bask on a toasty rock the size of my living room while I dry. I need the taste of food that doesn't require a pause in my journey, at the same time knowing that when the time is right, I can make a home with what I have in the middle of nowhere.
I need to travel in step with a soul mate that I don't have to talk to and spend precious time with my Maker while we browse the landscape of His creation. I want to sing at the top of my lungs the joy that overflows when I'm gazing at the wonders of His work.
I need to put miles behind me on a journey that stretches endless more miles ahead- miles that are filled with such beauty that they saturate my senses and revive my soul.
Any takers?
A First Lesson on Driving
I was coming home on Rt. 60 the other day, traveling in a 45 mile per hour zone. Somehow, my child has discovered a need for speed very early in life, and kept asking me to go faster. This is the conversation that followed her request:
"I can't go any faster, baby. I'll get pulled over by the police."
"Why will they pull you over?" She inquired.
"Well...there's only a certain speed you're allowed to drive, and it's the policeman's job to make sure mommy doesn't go any faster." I think I'm keeping it on her level-not real sure.
"Will he be mad because you didn't mind him?" (At least she didn't say "why?" again!)
"Yes! He will! And he'll give me a ticket, which means I have to pay some money because I got in trouble. Kind of like grownup time out." (What she can't understand is that grownups would LOVE to have a traditional time out. What? You want me to sit in a room alone and not talk or be talked to for one minute per year of my age?? GLADLY. Can I get that in writing?)
I continued on down the road after that, satisfied in thinking that she understood my explanation pretty well. We talked some more and sang a couple of songs. She was pretty quiet as we pulled into our neighborhood. I checked the mirror to see if she was looking sleepy, but she sat in obvious contemplation.
"Whatcha doin, babe?" I asked her.
"Do the policemans have strings?" She asked, obviously still stuck on our previous conversation. I tried to approach this, but I honestly couldn't figure out what to do with it.
"Um...what?" Very intellectual, I know.
"Strings," she repeated, because it was clearly more obvious than I was aware. "To pull your car with."
At this point, I caught up with her thinking and laughed my face off. I'm so awesome at explaining adult life to a toddler. Yes, that's me, the master of child development. Just as my head was about to swell out of the sunroof with the greatness of my awesome parenting, I realize that my darling two-and-a-half, but-I'll-be-three-in-April year old now thinks that police officers lasso your car with a string and "pull you over" when they need to ticket you. Boy howdy.
"I can't go any faster, baby. I'll get pulled over by the police."
"Why will they pull you over?" She inquired.
"Well...there's only a certain speed you're allowed to drive, and it's the policeman's job to make sure mommy doesn't go any faster." I think I'm keeping it on her level-not real sure.
"Will he be mad because you didn't mind him?" (At least she didn't say "why?" again!)
"Yes! He will! And he'll give me a ticket, which means I have to pay some money because I got in trouble. Kind of like grownup time out." (What she can't understand is that grownups would LOVE to have a traditional time out. What? You want me to sit in a room alone and not talk or be talked to for one minute per year of my age?? GLADLY. Can I get that in writing?)
I continued on down the road after that, satisfied in thinking that she understood my explanation pretty well. We talked some more and sang a couple of songs. She was pretty quiet as we pulled into our neighborhood. I checked the mirror to see if she was looking sleepy, but she sat in obvious contemplation.
"Whatcha doin, babe?" I asked her.
"Do the policemans have strings?" She asked, obviously still stuck on our previous conversation. I tried to approach this, but I honestly couldn't figure out what to do with it.
"Um...what?" Very intellectual, I know.
"Strings," she repeated, because it was clearly more obvious than I was aware. "To pull your car with."
At this point, I caught up with her thinking and laughed my face off. I'm so awesome at explaining adult life to a toddler. Yes, that's me, the master of child development. Just as my head was about to swell out of the sunroof with the greatness of my awesome parenting, I realize that my darling two-and-a-half, but-I'll-be-three-in-April year old now thinks that police officers lasso your car with a string and "pull you over" when they need to ticket you. Boy howdy.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Next Year's Christmas List
My child only asked for one thing for Christmas this year, and she got it, so now I think she's starting to see her fault in the asking process. Somewhere along the way, her brain has decided "I get everything I want for Christmas...I should have asked for 50 million things instead of just one." Ever since the day after Christmas, we can't leave the house without her seeing at least 27 things she wants for Christmas next year.
So we were at the mall a couple of weeks ago, and we were getting ready to leave Old Navy, and I was having trouble keeping the offspring tethered. This was an unplanned trip, so we were lacking in the stroller department. Anyway, I was using the old "follow me or get left here by yourself" threat. It was working quite nicely...until I looked back and no longer had her in my sight. (I think kids play that game on purpose and they're watching you and laughing because they can somehow see that your stomach just fell out of your butt from the panic.)
It was only for a split second, mind you, because after that second, here she comes, running through the crowded store, waving a sports bra over her head.
"MOMMY MOMMY! I WANT THIS FOR CHRISTMAS TO PUT MY BOOBIES IN!" I quickly glanced around. Just as I suspected. Everyone in America was watching and snickering.
"Hunny, let's put that back...you don't have any boobies to put in there yet." I thought this was a tactful enough answer, but of COURSE she just couldn't let it go.
"Well then I want BOOBIES for Christmas TOO!" Yes. The whole population of our lovely state is still watching, don't worry.
I pondered for a moment, and decided it wasn't fair for her to get all the laughs at my expense and loudly replied, "ME TOO!"
I bet neither of us will get our wish.
So we were at the mall a couple of weeks ago, and we were getting ready to leave Old Navy, and I was having trouble keeping the offspring tethered. This was an unplanned trip, so we were lacking in the stroller department. Anyway, I was using the old "follow me or get left here by yourself" threat. It was working quite nicely...until I looked back and no longer had her in my sight. (I think kids play that game on purpose and they're watching you and laughing because they can somehow see that your stomach just fell out of your butt from the panic.)
It was only for a split second, mind you, because after that second, here she comes, running through the crowded store, waving a sports bra over her head.
"MOMMY MOMMY! I WANT THIS FOR CHRISTMAS TO PUT MY BOOBIES IN!" I quickly glanced around. Just as I suspected. Everyone in America was watching and snickering.
"Hunny, let's put that back...you don't have any boobies to put in there yet." I thought this was a tactful enough answer, but of COURSE she just couldn't let it go.
"Well then I want BOOBIES for Christmas TOO!" Yes. The whole population of our lovely state is still watching, don't worry.
I pondered for a moment, and decided it wasn't fair for her to get all the laughs at my expense and loudly replied, "ME TOO!"
I bet neither of us will get our wish.
TV Brainwashing
I should have realized that my kid was watching too much TV. But you know...it just keeps snowing and the days and hours of Nick Jr. are all starting to blur together. I didn't mean to let her watch that much, honest.
It finally started to dawn on me the other day. I asked her to bring something to me (and she actually minded) and I said "Thank you, Baby!" To which she replied, "De nada, Mommy!"
Wait, what?!
Did my child just speak Spanish?! I mean, not like reciting numbers or something, but actually in context?! What's going on here? I demand to know who's teaching my child a foreign language! She knows how to say PLENTY in English, thank you, I don't need her out Spanishing me in a couple of months.
Then, in the background...I hear it..."Come on, vamonos! Everybody let's go..." Ah HA! DORA! It's YOU who takes over the brain in my child's head! "That's it!" I declare. "Turn the TV OFF!"
"But Mommy! I was about to go on an adventure!" I know she's also wondering why I'm wigging out that she's learning a foreign language.
I was convinced that turning off the TV was truly the right thing to do while I was riding in Mom's car yesterday. Mom stopped to run an errand while we waited in the car. The kid was playing with some sunglasses and she pinched her hand in one of the arms. I kid you not, this was her honest-to-goodness-no-frills-added response:
"Ouch, ouch! Mommy, help, help, HELP!" She continued on before I had a chance to respond (as if I weren't even in the car.) "What's that? Do you hear it? It sounds like a baby hand. We better help it!" (Emphasis mine, added to show my disbelief in what was happening.)
*Enter theme music as child continues*
"Wonder pets, wonder pets, we're on our way. We'll help the baby hand and save the day. We're not too big and we're not too tough..." (She did pause briefly to ponder the words, but unable to remember them, she brought it on home for a big finish instead) "GoooooOOOOOO WONDERPETS!"
Wow. "Hunny? Did you just say you're going to save a baby hand?" I mean, I could have heard wrong. I'm prone to delusions.
"Yep! I sure did!" She replied.
"Just checking," I mumbled. And vowed to destroy the TV remote.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
My Little Digital Native
I learned a lot in my short career as a teacher. I know there are many teachers out there that will agree with me that some of the most priceless jewels of knowledge we acquire are the yearly "buzzwords." My husband even sent me an awesome idea for using these terms once. I'll pass it on for any current teachers out there.
Here's how it works:
1. Before (or during) you next meeting, in-service or staff development, prepare yourself by drawing a square. I find that 5' x 5' is a good size. Divide the card into columns, five across and five down. That will give you 25 one-inch blocks.
2. Write one of the following words/phrases in each block:
* no child left behind
* test scores
* core competencies
* standards of learning
* benchmarks
* proactive
* think outside the box
* action plan
* data base
* assessments
* knowledge base
* at the end of the day
* touch base
* mindset
* differentiated
* retention
* skills
* background knowledge
* effective learning
* exemplars
* implementation
* reflection
* writing process
* 21st Century Learning
* Problem solving
3. Check off the appropriate block when you hear one of those words/phrases.
4. When you get five blocks horizontally, vertically, or diagonally stand up and shout 'BULLCRAP!'
I got a real big kick out of this email, needless to say. I even copied it and passed it out to some friends at our next faculty senate meeting. You know, so that those of us who don't care about who's paying for the copy machine had something else to do.
ANYway...I say all this JUST to introduce my real point. (Completely unnecessary, I know, but I thought it was funny and it's my blog. If this were a paid publication, you would have seen my point much earlier. You're getting this hilarity for free, don't complain.)
My favorite buzzword of my last year teaching was "digital native." You see, someone, somewhere, whose job it is to sit and create these ideas for teachers to argue as they attempt to determine which new fad is best for our students, decided that there is an actual difference in the brains of "us teachers" and "them students". They call the students digital natives. And the teachers? You guessed it--immigrants. The thinking behind this theory is that all of the fast paced technology constantly surrounding our students in their lives causes their brains to actually perform differently. They can multitask much easier than we can, they are used to having information at their fingertips at lightening speed, therefore making it difficult for them to READ and actually ANALYZE material in search of answers. They also have the attention span of gnats. This guy says it's because they were born with the internet, I say it's because they're twelve. But then, he probably has money and I'm broke.
So as we sat through endless meetings discussing our disadvantage as "immigrants" and our urgent need to embrace technology and learn to use it effectively so that we may learn to understand the inner workings of the adolescent minds around us, I stuffed my iPod earbuds in, started a text chat with a teacher friend in another county I happened to know was also in a meeting, and pulled out my marching band drill charts and lesson plans.
Waaaaaaait a minute...who you callin "immigrant"...son, I grew up with the internet. I was on AIM before these kids were born. I was in COLLEGE when facebook came out and was only for people in COLLEGE. These other guys are the ones that are Two Thousand and LATE. Not me.
That's what I thought, anyway, until my own child proved me wrong. As usual.
I mean, I was ok with her not knowing that cameras weren't always digital. Even though I was behind and didn't get my own until the summer she was "thought of", the technology had been around for awhile and it never bothered me when she asked to see pictures on the back of a disposable camera. I understand her need for that instant feedback.
Another event that cause me to believe that I was more native than I am occurred when I was visiting my best friend. She has one of those little "built in the wall phone stall" dohickies in her house, and when I was visiting her, we were saying how cute it would be to get a pretty antique phone and put in it (for looks, you know, cause who still has a landline?!) She then mentioned that she thought about putting her cordless phone in there (so apparently some people with security systems DO keep a landline), but there was no electrical outlet--just a phone jack.
We both stood there momentarily, me with my college degree for which the State pays me to educate young minds, and she, a medical student at a very good school, pondering this dilemma. We finally burst into hysterical laughter and began making fun of ourselves, because we each knew what the other was wondering--"How do you NOT plug something in? I mean, how does that even WORK?" I'm embarrassed to even type that, but I have to strengthen my case that I am NOT an immigrant.
My kid busted my pinata with one whack. My husband bought me some new records (yes, vinyl.) for Christmas, and I took them out to the record player in our entry room to try them out. Of course, the kid came with me and had a million questions, which I expected. I know she doesn't know what a record is. Why would she? Some people my own age probably never owned one. But the following conversation is what REALLY got me:
"Mommy, what's THAT?!"
"It's a record, pumpkin." I replied
"What's a record?" This question I expected.
"Well, baby, it's a thing that plays music out of this player, kind of like a CD." I thought this was a sufficient answer, and then she shot me in the heart. Are you ready for this? All babies of the 80's please remain seated for the following comment. I am not responsible for anything that results from your reading of this question:
"Mommy? What's a CD?"
That's it. Stick a fork in me... How do I even respond? I tried to collect my thoughts. I may as well start trying to explain to her how you don't plug something in. Or how to end world hunger.
"Ummm, well hunny..." More time, I need more time. I need Google. I need a shot of espresso. I can DO THIS. She finally bailed me out:
"Is it like an iPod?"
Look at me, trying to mask as a native while my two-year-old gives me a lesson in electronics.
She sealed the deal a couple of weeks ago. We were at mom's house and she was playing on my old upright piano in the basement. After an "inspiring" concert of "variation on twinkle, twinkle little star" that included lyrical arrangements of Jesus loves me, she ran into the room next door and hopped up on the computer desk chair and started going to town on the keyboard. This alarmed my mom.
"No! Gracie, what are you doing? You can't play a concert on Grammy's computer keyboard!"
The kid stopped mid-typing, and slowly turned her head toward my mom (who's pretty savvy around technology herself) and I swear she rolled her eyes.
"Grammy. I'm not playing a concert. I'm emailing my concert to someone."
Um. Well. Mom and I just looked at each other, rolling our own eyes so that we wouldn't have to admit defeat. But I think we were actually had. Offspring are good at that.
Before my child was a walking, talking prover of facts, I was convinced I was a digital native. On second consideration, I think I may have to admit a bit of immigration. I'm still sticking with the fact that it was a short move, because I refuse to be labeled with the illegal technological aliens out there.
Here's how it works:
1. Before (or during) you next meeting, in-service or staff development, prepare yourself by drawing a square. I find that 5' x 5' is a good size. Divide the card into columns, five across and five down. That will give you 25 one-inch blocks.
2. Write one of the following words/phrases in each block:
* no child left behind
* test scores
* core competencies
* standards of learning
* benchmarks
* proactive
* think outside the box
* action plan
* data base
* assessments
* knowledge base
* at the end of the day
* touch base
* mindset
* differentiated
* retention
* skills
* background knowledge
* effective learning
* exemplars
* implementation
* reflection
* writing process
* 21st Century Learning
* Problem solving
3. Check off the appropriate block when you hear one of those words/phrases.
4. When you get five blocks horizontally, vertically, or diagonally stand up and shout 'BULLCRAP!'
I got a real big kick out of this email, needless to say. I even copied it and passed it out to some friends at our next faculty senate meeting. You know, so that those of us who don't care about who's paying for the copy machine had something else to do.
ANYway...I say all this JUST to introduce my real point. (Completely unnecessary, I know, but I thought it was funny and it's my blog. If this were a paid publication, you would have seen my point much earlier. You're getting this hilarity for free, don't complain.)
My favorite buzzword of my last year teaching was "digital native." You see, someone, somewhere, whose job it is to sit and create these ideas for teachers to argue as they attempt to determine which new fad is best for our students, decided that there is an actual difference in the brains of "us teachers" and "them students". They call the students digital natives. And the teachers? You guessed it--immigrants. The thinking behind this theory is that all of the fast paced technology constantly surrounding our students in their lives causes their brains to actually perform differently. They can multitask much easier than we can, they are used to having information at their fingertips at lightening speed, therefore making it difficult for them to READ and actually ANALYZE material in search of answers. They also have the attention span of gnats. This guy says it's because they were born with the internet, I say it's because they're twelve. But then, he probably has money and I'm broke.
So as we sat through endless meetings discussing our disadvantage as "immigrants" and our urgent need to embrace technology and learn to use it effectively so that we may learn to understand the inner workings of the adolescent minds around us, I stuffed my iPod earbuds in, started a text chat with a teacher friend in another county I happened to know was also in a meeting, and pulled out my marching band drill charts and lesson plans.
Waaaaaaait a minute...who you callin "immigrant"...son, I grew up with the internet. I was on AIM before these kids were born. I was in COLLEGE when facebook came out and was only for people in COLLEGE. These other guys are the ones that are Two Thousand and LATE. Not me.
That's what I thought, anyway, until my own child proved me wrong. As usual.
I mean, I was ok with her not knowing that cameras weren't always digital. Even though I was behind and didn't get my own until the summer she was "thought of", the technology had been around for awhile and it never bothered me when she asked to see pictures on the back of a disposable camera. I understand her need for that instant feedback.
Another event that cause me to believe that I was more native than I am occurred when I was visiting my best friend. She has one of those little "built in the wall phone stall" dohickies in her house, and when I was visiting her, we were saying how cute it would be to get a pretty antique phone and put in it (for looks, you know, cause who still has a landline?!) She then mentioned that she thought about putting her cordless phone in there (so apparently some people with security systems DO keep a landline), but there was no electrical outlet--just a phone jack.
We both stood there momentarily, me with my college degree for which the State pays me to educate young minds, and she, a medical student at a very good school, pondering this dilemma. We finally burst into hysterical laughter and began making fun of ourselves, because we each knew what the other was wondering--"How do you NOT plug something in? I mean, how does that even WORK?" I'm embarrassed to even type that, but I have to strengthen my case that I am NOT an immigrant.
My kid busted my pinata with one whack. My husband bought me some new records (yes, vinyl.) for Christmas, and I took them out to the record player in our entry room to try them out. Of course, the kid came with me and had a million questions, which I expected. I know she doesn't know what a record is. Why would she? Some people my own age probably never owned one. But the following conversation is what REALLY got me:
"Mommy, what's THAT?!"
"It's a record, pumpkin." I replied
"What's a record?" This question I expected.
"Well, baby, it's a thing that plays music out of this player, kind of like a CD." I thought this was a sufficient answer, and then she shot me in the heart. Are you ready for this? All babies of the 80's please remain seated for the following comment. I am not responsible for anything that results from your reading of this question:
"Mommy? What's a CD?"
That's it. Stick a fork in me... How do I even respond? I tried to collect my thoughts. I may as well start trying to explain to her how you don't plug something in. Or how to end world hunger.
"Ummm, well hunny..." More time, I need more time. I need Google. I need a shot of espresso. I can DO THIS. She finally bailed me out:
"Is it like an iPod?"
Look at me, trying to mask as a native while my two-year-old gives me a lesson in electronics.
She sealed the deal a couple of weeks ago. We were at mom's house and she was playing on my old upright piano in the basement. After an "inspiring" concert of "variation on twinkle, twinkle little star" that included lyrical arrangements of Jesus loves me, she ran into the room next door and hopped up on the computer desk chair and started going to town on the keyboard. This alarmed my mom.
"No! Gracie, what are you doing? You can't play a concert on Grammy's computer keyboard!"
The kid stopped mid-typing, and slowly turned her head toward my mom (who's pretty savvy around technology herself) and I swear she rolled her eyes.
"Grammy. I'm not playing a concert. I'm emailing my concert to someone."
Um. Well. Mom and I just looked at each other, rolling our own eyes so that we wouldn't have to admit defeat. But I think we were actually had. Offspring are good at that.
Before my child was a walking, talking prover of facts, I was convinced I was a digital native. On second consideration, I think I may have to admit a bit of immigration. I'm still sticking with the fact that it was a short move, because I refuse to be labeled with the illegal technological aliens out there.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Joy in His presence
The Lord is so amazing, it's almost hilarious. Sometimes He freaks me out with His knowledge of my every need. I'm doing a Beth Moore study on the fruits of the Holy Spirit. At the same time, I'm still struggling with depression and wrestling with an attitude that needs some major adjustment. Well, God isn't stupid, so of course, He knows all this. I forget sometimes while I'm working on my homework for this study that He hears me thinking "yeah, yeah, yeah, joy...whatever. Let's just get this over with."
While rushing through the homework last week, an interesting thing happened. I was thinking about how the study "wasn't working" on me (while God probably sat in all of His glory laughing his head off at my ridiculous attitude.) and I started trying to remember the last time I really felt like I even heard from God. Or at least in a way that was blatantly obvious to my thick human nature. While scribbling answers to questions about verses I was barely skimming, I was remembering a really neat word I received from the Almighty several years ago.
I was fighting a spiritual battle involving some guilt and regrets from from the past and it was really taking a toll on me. We were at church one Sunday, and the praise team introduced a new song (well, new to us, anyway). Lyrics (emphasis added):
Verse 1
By your great and endless mercy
We have all been born anew
And by Your death and resurrection
You did what I could never do and
(chorus)
I’m amazed, I am amazed
At what Your word tells me You did
I’m amazed, I am amazed
You gave it all so I might live
And I’m amazed with You
Verse 2
Upon a cruel and barren hill
You willingly laid down Your will
You took my sin and stole my sorrows
From my past and my tomorrows
Verse 3
I am bound for paradise
And it is real, and it is right
To believe your words in black and red
That You’ll come back just like you said and
Well, let's just say it was one of those times that He was trying to present me with some comfort in the happenings of everyday life. Enter: thick human shield. I enjoyed the song and all, but failed to see its significance in my current battle. God took care of that. Mr. Bill (Love this man. He's in his 80s and when he speaks a word from the Lord, you darn well better listen.) came up to me after praise and worship with his song lyric sheet all folded up. (This was back in the day when we were power-pointless.) He handed me the sheet and I could see the sheet was folded so that only the following lyrics were visible:
You took my sin and stole my sorrows
From my past and my tomorrows
He said these words to me: "God wanted me to show you these words. I don't know why, but I'm sure you do, so I thought I better do what He told me to. You take those words with you now, you hear?"
Ok, Lord. I heard that. Loud and clear.
Well, I've played this memory over in my mind several times in the last week, longing for that kind of word and comfort again. Which brings me to the interesting thing that unfolded today. Like I said, I've been back in the depression battle, and this week's fruit of study is joy. Great. Just what I'm NOT in the mood for. God knows that, obviously.
The first days of the study were mostly concerning our source of joy. This is where the "yeah, yeah, yeah, I can't handle the thoughts of how little joy I have from these things." I didn't want to dwell on this problem with my relationship with Him, so this is where I spent little time skimming before checking Bible Study off my list of things to do.
Today He slowed me down. The title of the study was Abiding Joy. I started my daily skim and began to wonder how I could remain in a joy I don't have right now. The study was about a page and a half longer than the other days this week and I was was also starting to skim faster in a race to finish before the kid woke up. (It was about ten when I started. Normal kids would have already been up for three hours. Thank you, Jesus, for my child.)
When I turned to the "extra" page, guess what the subtitle was? "We may lose our joy", and it talked about Elijah's depression in I Kings (chapter 19). The third point Beth makes on times that we may lose our joy was when we become "wonder junkies". She explains this really well, so I'll skip trying to recap and give it to you straight:
"Elijah had grown accustomed to seeing God in the midst of magnificence. He had seen God in such miraculous circumstances that he missed Him as the joy in the midst of the mundane. He looked for God in the wind, the earthquake, and the fire, but he did not find Him there. I am convinced that the most intimate times we ever will spend with God will be listening to His gentle whispers. It is there that we will find true [joy]." (Emphasis added and Greek translated.)
Thanks for the extra-loud whisper, Lord. I'm glad You know how hard of hearing I am. It set me up to receive the other interesting tidbit-the last sentence Beth wrote in today's study: "If you've lost your joy, it's right where you left it-in His presence." Let me just say that I'm not necessarily marveling at the revelation of this sentence. In fact, I kind of thought "duh." Followed by "ok, wait for the whisper...OH! What's that, Lord? You inspired that sentence in this study because You knew people (me) need reminded those things sometimes (often). Thanks!!"
Some people who read this may think I'm off my rocker (well, I guess that's not so far from true!) or that I'm just not intelligent enough to find any other answers so I depend on religion instead. Think what you will, but I'm finding there is enough trial and hurt and heartache and other scary things in this world without me missing the joy that comes only from the Father. Can I please get as easily hooked on resting His presence as I can on facebook applications? That would be awesome.
Oh, and also, His grace in spite of my lack of discipline and slow start this morning? The kid slept till eleven.
While rushing through the homework last week, an interesting thing happened. I was thinking about how the study "wasn't working" on me (while God probably sat in all of His glory laughing his head off at my ridiculous attitude.) and I started trying to remember the last time I really felt like I even heard from God. Or at least in a way that was blatantly obvious to my thick human nature. While scribbling answers to questions about verses I was barely skimming, I was remembering a really neat word I received from the Almighty several years ago.
I was fighting a spiritual battle involving some guilt and regrets from from the past and it was really taking a toll on me. We were at church one Sunday, and the praise team introduced a new song (well, new to us, anyway). Lyrics (emphasis added):
Verse 1
By your great and endless mercy
We have all been born anew
And by Your death and resurrection
You did what I could never do and
(chorus)
I’m amazed, I am amazed
At what Your word tells me You did
I’m amazed, I am amazed
You gave it all so I might live
And I’m amazed with You
Verse 2
Upon a cruel and barren hill
You willingly laid down Your will
You took my sin and stole my sorrows
From my past and my tomorrows
Verse 3
I am bound for paradise
And it is real, and it is right
To believe your words in black and red
That You’ll come back just like you said and
Well, let's just say it was one of those times that He was trying to present me with some comfort in the happenings of everyday life. Enter: thick human shield. I enjoyed the song and all, but failed to see its significance in my current battle. God took care of that. Mr. Bill (Love this man. He's in his 80s and when he speaks a word from the Lord, you darn well better listen.) came up to me after praise and worship with his song lyric sheet all folded up. (This was back in the day when we were power-pointless.) He handed me the sheet and I could see the sheet was folded so that only the following lyrics were visible:
You took my sin and stole my sorrows
From my past and my tomorrows
He said these words to me: "God wanted me to show you these words. I don't know why, but I'm sure you do, so I thought I better do what He told me to. You take those words with you now, you hear?"
Ok, Lord. I heard that. Loud and clear.
Well, I've played this memory over in my mind several times in the last week, longing for that kind of word and comfort again. Which brings me to the interesting thing that unfolded today. Like I said, I've been back in the depression battle, and this week's fruit of study is joy. Great. Just what I'm NOT in the mood for. God knows that, obviously.
The first days of the study were mostly concerning our source of joy. This is where the "yeah, yeah, yeah, I can't handle the thoughts of how little joy I have from these things." I didn't want to dwell on this problem with my relationship with Him, so this is where I spent little time skimming before checking Bible Study off my list of things to do.
Today He slowed me down. The title of the study was Abiding Joy. I started my daily skim and began to wonder how I could remain in a joy I don't have right now. The study was about a page and a half longer than the other days this week and I was was also starting to skim faster in a race to finish before the kid woke up. (It was about ten when I started. Normal kids would have already been up for three hours. Thank you, Jesus, for my child.)
When I turned to the "extra" page, guess what the subtitle was? "We may lose our joy", and it talked about Elijah's depression in I Kings (chapter 19). The third point Beth makes on times that we may lose our joy was when we become "wonder junkies". She explains this really well, so I'll skip trying to recap and give it to you straight:
"Elijah had grown accustomed to seeing God in the midst of magnificence. He had seen God in such miraculous circumstances that he missed Him as the joy in the midst of the mundane. He looked for God in the wind, the earthquake, and the fire, but he did not find Him there. I am convinced that the most intimate times we ever will spend with God will be listening to His gentle whispers. It is there that we will find true [joy]." (Emphasis added and Greek translated.)
Thanks for the extra-loud whisper, Lord. I'm glad You know how hard of hearing I am. It set me up to receive the other interesting tidbit-the last sentence Beth wrote in today's study: "If you've lost your joy, it's right where you left it-in His presence." Let me just say that I'm not necessarily marveling at the revelation of this sentence. In fact, I kind of thought "duh." Followed by "ok, wait for the whisper...OH! What's that, Lord? You inspired that sentence in this study because You knew people (me) need reminded those things sometimes (often). Thanks!!"
Some people who read this may think I'm off my rocker (well, I guess that's not so far from true!) or that I'm just not intelligent enough to find any other answers so I depend on religion instead. Think what you will, but I'm finding there is enough trial and hurt and heartache and other scary things in this world without me missing the joy that comes only from the Father. Can I please get as easily hooked on resting His presence as I can on facebook applications? That would be awesome.
Oh, and also, His grace in spite of my lack of discipline and slow start this morning? The kid slept till eleven.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Wishing they were home for Christmas
It's been two years since my Grandparents left for Utah--something I don't talk about much, mostly because I'm supposed to be funny. That's how I usually handle the serious that life throws my way. You know, with humor. I cringe when people tell me of tragedy in their own lives. Partly because I feel for them, and partly because I cannot function in these situations without trying to make light of them.
Anyway, I haven't found anything remotely amusing about Granny and Pawpaw's relocation, so I just don't say anything. I've been thinking a lot about them since Christmas, because The Kid unintentionally broke my heart on Christmas Eve. It was our third Christmas that we didn't go to Granny and Pawpaw's house for Christmas Eve, and even though the last few were something of a ritual, I can't forget that it's what I'm supposed to be doing.
We were sitting at our house with Mom and Dad after a Christmas light drive with the kid, trying to create new traditions. We ate pizza and opened one present each. I strategically gave The Kid her package that "Big Pawpaw" sent her, because I had already peeked and knew they contained a pair of Christmas PJs that she would love to sleep in that night. I also figured that for me, it would be the only small way I could pretend they were here.
When I told her who gave them to her, her face lit up. "Big Pawpaw and Granny?! Awwwww...I think he would like to see me. And I would give Granny a hug so she'll feel better." She doesn't know that there isn't a cure for Alzheimer's, but I sure do wish a hug would do it. Or at least that I could be young enough to believe that it might. Or at the very least that my child could give it a try. It sure wouldn't hurt.
I sat there, soaking in these statements "from the mouth of a babe", and I just wanted to die. I didn't even know she knew (or remembered, since it was apparently mentioned to her at some point) that Granny was sick. I went to visit in May, and all I told her was who I was visiting and that she couldn't go because she was too little for the airplane. If only I could be as sensitive as my child, then I might begin to deal with some things.
My dad called Big Pawpaw to let The Kid thank him, and I know he couldn't hear a word she was saying, but my heart was longing for him to know her. She told him she would like to come and see him, but she was too big to fit on the airplane. So she may have been a little confused on the reason I gave her...it was still better than "You can't come with me because 1) I can't afford to buy you a ticket 2) I'm afraid I won't be able to keep up with everything and you in the airport in Atlanta when I have to change planes alone and 3) I don't want you to remember Granny sickly and dying when you didn't know her before."
I guess when she's older I'll be able to tell her all about them. I was never as close to them as I wanted to be or wished I was, and if I had known how quickly they would be gone, I would have tried even harder. Maybe this summer we'll go on some bike rides by their old house. I might even take her down to the boat docks to feed the ducks. I know her memories of them won't be her own, but maybe some day we can share mine. Until then, I hope I can learn to share my daughter's ability to know just the right thing to say.
Anyway, I haven't found anything remotely amusing about Granny and Pawpaw's relocation, so I just don't say anything. I've been thinking a lot about them since Christmas, because The Kid unintentionally broke my heart on Christmas Eve. It was our third Christmas that we didn't go to Granny and Pawpaw's house for Christmas Eve, and even though the last few were something of a ritual, I can't forget that it's what I'm supposed to be doing.
We were sitting at our house with Mom and Dad after a Christmas light drive with the kid, trying to create new traditions. We ate pizza and opened one present each. I strategically gave The Kid her package that "Big Pawpaw" sent her, because I had already peeked and knew they contained a pair of Christmas PJs that she would love to sleep in that night. I also figured that for me, it would be the only small way I could pretend they were here.
When I told her who gave them to her, her face lit up. "Big Pawpaw and Granny?! Awwwww...I think he would like to see me. And I would give Granny a hug so she'll feel better." She doesn't know that there isn't a cure for Alzheimer's, but I sure do wish a hug would do it. Or at least that I could be young enough to believe that it might. Or at the very least that my child could give it a try. It sure wouldn't hurt.
I sat there, soaking in these statements "from the mouth of a babe", and I just wanted to die. I didn't even know she knew (or remembered, since it was apparently mentioned to her at some point) that Granny was sick. I went to visit in May, and all I told her was who I was visiting and that she couldn't go because she was too little for the airplane. If only I could be as sensitive as my child, then I might begin to deal with some things.
My dad called Big Pawpaw to let The Kid thank him, and I know he couldn't hear a word she was saying, but my heart was longing for him to know her. She told him she would like to come and see him, but she was too big to fit on the airplane. So she may have been a little confused on the reason I gave her...it was still better than "You can't come with me because 1) I can't afford to buy you a ticket 2) I'm afraid I won't be able to keep up with everything and you in the airport in Atlanta when I have to change planes alone and 3) I don't want you to remember Granny sickly and dying when you didn't know her before."
I guess when she's older I'll be able to tell her all about them. I was never as close to them as I wanted to be or wished I was, and if I had known how quickly they would be gone, I would have tried even harder. Maybe this summer we'll go on some bike rides by their old house. I might even take her down to the boat docks to feed the ducks. I know her memories of them won't be her own, but maybe some day we can share mine. Until then, I hope I can learn to share my daughter's ability to know just the right thing to say.
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