It's been coming. I've seen it coming, but kept hoping the "reminders" (or the "thinly veiled threats") would do the trick. But no, eventually, they will stop believing you when you say they have it easy. Eventually, my friends, they will call your bluff.
Our regular course of academics includes math, Latin, reading, science, history, art, music, and general language arts (literature, spelling, grammar, etc.). But the Bare Bones are math, Latin and reading. If we have a particularly busy day, or are experiencing a plague, those must get done. You can curl up and die under the coffee table after, and only after, your math-Latin-and-reading are done.
Somehow, at some unknown point, that devolved to doing only math, Latin and reading every day. That should take an hour, tops, right? Yet, how did I not really catch on that this was *all* we were accomplishing? Well, they were taking four or five hours to accomplish those three. That's how. Still, I could have spotted it earlier.
I mean, they were more than happy to complain that we didn't do art. But they didn't hear me when I explained that we weren't doing art because art comes after history and spelling in the Grand Scheme of Things, and we weren't getting to those, either. (Of course, obviously, I didn't hear me, either. I'm pretty sure once my throat tightens past a certain point, only dogs and the occasional armadillo can hear me).
And so, last Thursday, at approximately a quarter past three, when there came upon us a Whining of Immeasurable Proportions that I would dare to ask them to unload the dishwasher while they were slaving away at math. Or reading. Or whatever it was at that point. And they were starving, to boot! ...well, I snapped.
They were starving because I had yet to prepare a mid-day meal, hence the request that the dishwasher be unloaded, which is normally done when the Big 3 are completed, but they weren't done yet, but we were hungry, so could you pleeeeeaassseee... ah, but you get the point. Things were, quite simply, out of hand.
This week, we're on an 8-3 schedule. Fifteen minute recess. Outside. (Because it's important for them to be out. side.) Thirty minute lunch. Timers and schedules and... my favorite part... homework. Heh. Yes, I'm spending this week lecturing for a full 35 minutes per subject, doling out the busy work, and then assigning as "homework" the very pages they'd have done during the day if they hadn't pushed that envelope. Although I haven't let them know, yet, that that's exactly what's happening. We'll see if they catch on. I figure if they do catch on on their own, hold a pow-wow, and articulate their understanding of the situation, then, sure, we'll stop this little experiment. That will be worth the effort going into it.
If they do not figure it out by Friday, I will fill them in on the fact that their evenings, which have been so full of work thus far, could easily be free from strife and worry if only they would stick to the Task At Hand during the day. AND we could be done before three. AND they'd still get a fantastic education in the end. It'll probably also make them more observant creatures in the future, I'm sure.
The scary part, though, is that although the actual time-frame is pretty rotten, the timer thing, and the uber-scheduling, and so on... it's been a pretty nice day. It's 1:30, and all we have left to do is art. Fortunately, I began homeroom (ha - I'm such a dork, I know) this morning by explaining that this "isn't a punishment, but rather an opportunity to see things through a different lens" - they didn't buy it, but I did let them know that if they find things they do enjoy this week, things they'd like to incorporate into our regular schedule, by all means -- glean away, wee ones! This is your life, your education. Whatever it takes to keep you actively involved, I'm good with it. (Although I do hope they don't opt to keep the 7:30 start time... that was a bit rough.)
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Showing posts with label parenting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label parenting. Show all posts
Monday, November 17
Friday, September 26
A Sense of Humor
I love it when the kids get a sense of humor. Not that all the kids haven't been funny. They have. We've had years of humor from them. But mostly, when they're little, they're funny in the way that they're also cute when they wear their underwear on their heads, they tell jokes with no punchline, and a variety of other humorous, weird, quirky things that you enjoy because you know (hope) they won't be doing them when they're 30. Then, just as Grouch Marx's version of a knock-knock joke begins to wear on your cheeks, they get other humor.
Last night at supper, we were talking about weird dreams, lucid dreaming, and a slew of other random topics. We asked James if he remembered when he was afraid of the computer in his room. (He was three at the time, and no, he didn't remember it.) He asked us how we handled it. Zorak told him that when he and John were asleep, we went down to the thrift store and bought fifty computers, then set them up all around his bed while he slept.
He cracked up at the sheer absurdity.
Then the boys got another twenty minutes' worth of material thinking of other cool ways to "handle" the situation. They had us in stitches.
And... I really hope they were joking...
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Last night at supper, we were talking about weird dreams, lucid dreaming, and a slew of other random topics. We asked James if he remembered when he was afraid of the computer in his room. (He was three at the time, and no, he didn't remember it.) He asked us how we handled it. Zorak told him that when he and John were asleep, we went down to the thrift store and bought fifty computers, then set them up all around his bed while he slept.
He cracked up at the sheer absurdity.
Then the boys got another twenty minutes' worth of material thinking of other cool ways to "handle" the situation. They had us in stitches.
And... I really hope they were joking...
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Thursday, September 25
Can I buy a weekday for a hundred, please?
I lost the standard-issue, five-day week. Kept the boys in utter chaos today by continually suggesting that tomorrow is, in fact, Saturday. Ha. Just one of the many joys of having me for your Mother, I suppose.
And it doesn't look like their week is going to be much better tomorrow. Poor kids - I actually feel for them. (Though not enough to cave.) You see, James' birthday gift arrived this afternoon. He is STOKED. His brothers are stoked. (It's a link cable for the video game thingies.)
Really, I'm okay with it. And I even allotted that they would probably blow an entire afternoon trying it out. Pretty much free range. The one-and-only stipulation I put on this whole stoopid thing was that their school work be done before they could use it.
Well, they picked it up tonight after Scouts. And tomorrow they will learn an important lesson: when it comes to scheduling, listen to your Mother.
Since I had to be at the dentist at 10:30 this morning, we left at 9:30. That gave us just enough time to eat a bowl of oats (in a glass, so you can pretty much just drink it down), dress (kind of - I didn't really enforce the "going to town" guidelines), grab our books and leave. We're slow starters.
I had them take their math, Latin, and reading. I didn't even ask James to take his math, as he needs to start a new chapter. They had two hours in the lobby to get it done - more than ample time. Everything was lined up, explained, and ready to be done. When Zorak arrived, I told him, "They have their math, Latin and reading, and they know what needs to be done." They knew we had to hit Sam's after the dentist, and then they had Scouts tonight. That was the only time available to them to get their work done today. I was pretty upfront about the importance of this.
I hadn't been in the chair 30 minutes, when I popped out between sessions to see how things were going, and the lobby was *empty*.
Husband. Children. Diaper bag. Gone. All gone.
The receptionist told me they'd "gone for donuts".
"Wow, they must have worked really hard to get done that quickly." I thought.
But, no. No, as a matter of fact, James got *nothing* done. John got "a little" done. I think Zorak got bored. He's awesome with the kids, on all levels. He's just a stellar dad, and a fantastic guy. But he doesn't really get stuck in businesses with them for prolonged periods of time, and I think that's one of those things you only get the hang of through painful repetition.
And so, off they went.
They did bring me a Krispy Kreme hat. That was nice of them.
But I'd have preferred page or two of work, at least.
However, I didn't throw a rod, because they're little - and it's somewhat unfair to expect them, at ten and eight, to say, "Can we finish our work first?" when offered a free ride to the donut shop. I do get that. (And I wore the hat to Sam's, to show my filial affection and solidarity, even.) But... the work still needs to be done.
So tomorrow morning, while the link cable is calling to them from the shelf way up high, they're going to have to finish today's work on top of Friday's work, before they can veg-out on the video games. I hope to make it as easy on them as possible, and we do have some fun lessons planned. So. It will be either the world's fastest day, or the world's longest. We'll see.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
And it doesn't look like their week is going to be much better tomorrow. Poor kids - I actually feel for them. (Though not enough to cave.) You see, James' birthday gift arrived this afternoon. He is STOKED. His brothers are stoked. (It's a link cable for the video game thingies.)
Really, I'm okay with it. And I even allotted that they would probably blow an entire afternoon trying it out. Pretty much free range. The one-and-only stipulation I put on this whole stoopid thing was that their school work be done before they could use it.
Well, they picked it up tonight after Scouts. And tomorrow they will learn an important lesson: when it comes to scheduling, listen to your Mother.
Since I had to be at the dentist at 10:30 this morning, we left at 9:30. That gave us just enough time to eat a bowl of oats (in a glass, so you can pretty much just drink it down), dress (kind of - I didn't really enforce the "going to town" guidelines), grab our books and leave. We're slow starters.
I had them take their math, Latin, and reading. I didn't even ask James to take his math, as he needs to start a new chapter. They had two hours in the lobby to get it done - more than ample time. Everything was lined up, explained, and ready to be done. When Zorak arrived, I told him, "They have their math, Latin and reading, and they know what needs to be done." They knew we had to hit Sam's after the dentist, and then they had Scouts tonight. That was the only time available to them to get their work done today. I was pretty upfront about the importance of this.
I hadn't been in the chair 30 minutes, when I popped out between sessions to see how things were going, and the lobby was *empty*.
Husband. Children. Diaper bag. Gone. All gone.
The receptionist told me they'd "gone for donuts".
"Wow, they must have worked really hard to get done that quickly." I thought.
But, no. No, as a matter of fact, James got *nothing* done. John got "a little" done. I think Zorak got bored. He's awesome with the kids, on all levels. He's just a stellar dad, and a fantastic guy. But he doesn't really get stuck in businesses with them for prolonged periods of time, and I think that's one of those things you only get the hang of through painful repetition.
And so, off they went.
They did bring me a Krispy Kreme hat. That was nice of them.
But I'd have preferred page or two of work, at least.
However, I didn't throw a rod, because they're little - and it's somewhat unfair to expect them, at ten and eight, to say, "Can we finish our work first?" when offered a free ride to the donut shop. I do get that. (And I wore the hat to Sam's, to show my filial affection and solidarity, even.) But... the work still needs to be done.
So tomorrow morning, while the link cable is calling to them from the shelf way up high, they're going to have to finish today's work on top of Friday's work, before they can veg-out on the video games. I hope to make it as easy on them as possible, and we do have some fun lessons planned. So. It will be either the world's fastest day, or the world's longest. We'll see.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Thursday, September 11
What Works For Some...
It's probably just us. I get that. But tonight, when Zorak returned with the Big Boys from Scouts, he told me just not to bother trying to take them next week. (He's got work stuff to do, and so I'd planned to take them, instead.)
You see, our Pack seems to have a few... oh, "behavioral issues". Some of it's not dangerous, just rude. Things like making loud fake snoring noises while the den leader is trying to discuss the calendar; making rude and inappropriate jokes about the adults, in front of everyone; squirrelling around at inappropriate times; getting into scraps when physical horseplay gets out of hand. The bigger kids show absolutely no cognizance that there are smaller ones in the Pack, and the tone is definitely one of every-man-for-himself.
But some of it is also pretty dangerous. There's a marked lack of respect for private property, personal space, and basic safety guidelines. More than once, Zorak has overheard and thwarted schemes that, if enacted, would have had disastrous results for everyone involved.
And the thing is, while it's not the entire group, it's not just one or two troublemakers, either. It's your traditional bell curve, only the bulk of it in the middle is poorly behaved kids, with a few truly stellar little snarkbats at one end and a few truly delightful kids on the other end. The meetings are a constant series of interruptions, to the point that very little gets done.
The leadership seems to be at a loss as to how to deal with it. And since it all takes place in front of the very parents, themselves, who also do nothing to rectify the situation (they are busily chatting away, ignoring the meeting and the business at hand, themselves - too occupied to listen to what's taking place, let alone address their children's behaviors), that leaves us lacking warm fuzzies. We aren't certain if they just don't know how to deal with it, or if this is their "normal". Once we figure that out, we'll know better how to proceed. Now, how to figure that part out?
In the meantime, though, the boys enjoy the work, the projects, and the activities. So, it's worth slogging through the weirdness and finding a happy middle ground. Thankfully, the boys also tend to gravitate on their own toward the better-behaved kids, which keeps our stress levels from skyrocketing.
Zorak plans to continue on, trying to help redirect the kids who need redirecting, and in the meantime, he hopes to figure out if this is an area where he can help make a difference. If it turns out that the kids and the adults are all quite happy with the status quo, and have no desire to make changes, then we definitely are not going to try to strongarm them into doing it "our way". I mean, if you're happy, you're happy, and we can certainly respect that. We, however, can't be happy with this situation for a long-term choice, for our family. We really do think children can do better, when they have the guidance and modeling to figure it out.
So next week, we'll have a Scout Night at home and work on something the boys have been wanting to tackle. It should be fun.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
You see, our Pack seems to have a few... oh, "behavioral issues". Some of it's not dangerous, just rude. Things like making loud fake snoring noises while the den leader is trying to discuss the calendar; making rude and inappropriate jokes about the adults, in front of everyone; squirrelling around at inappropriate times; getting into scraps when physical horseplay gets out of hand. The bigger kids show absolutely no cognizance that there are smaller ones in the Pack, and the tone is definitely one of every-man-for-himself.
But some of it is also pretty dangerous. There's a marked lack of respect for private property, personal space, and basic safety guidelines. More than once, Zorak has overheard and thwarted schemes that, if enacted, would have had disastrous results for everyone involved.
And the thing is, while it's not the entire group, it's not just one or two troublemakers, either. It's your traditional bell curve, only the bulk of it in the middle is poorly behaved kids, with a few truly stellar little snarkbats at one end and a few truly delightful kids on the other end. The meetings are a constant series of interruptions, to the point that very little gets done.
The leadership seems to be at a loss as to how to deal with it. And since it all takes place in front of the very parents, themselves, who also do nothing to rectify the situation (they are busily chatting away, ignoring the meeting and the business at hand, themselves - too occupied to listen to what's taking place, let alone address their children's behaviors), that leaves us lacking warm fuzzies. We aren't certain if they just don't know how to deal with it, or if this is their "normal". Once we figure that out, we'll know better how to proceed. Now, how to figure that part out?
In the meantime, though, the boys enjoy the work, the projects, and the activities. So, it's worth slogging through the weirdness and finding a happy middle ground. Thankfully, the boys also tend to gravitate on their own toward the better-behaved kids, which keeps our stress levels from skyrocketing.
Zorak plans to continue on, trying to help redirect the kids who need redirecting, and in the meantime, he hopes to figure out if this is an area where he can help make a difference. If it turns out that the kids and the adults are all quite happy with the status quo, and have no desire to make changes, then we definitely are not going to try to strongarm them into doing it "our way". I mean, if you're happy, you're happy, and we can certainly respect that. We, however, can't be happy with this situation for a long-term choice, for our family. We really do think children can do better, when they have the guidance and modeling to figure it out.
So next week, we'll have a Scout Night at home and work on something the boys have been wanting to tackle. It should be fun.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
"Organized Mom" Survived Auditions
Well, toss me a cold one, we survived. I learned a few things last night:
~ It's fairly safe to say that my "spiritual gifts" do not include theatrical productions, large group child ministry, or dealing with people who are trying to live the Big City Life in a Small Town. Yup. We can just cross all three of those right off my list.
~ James seems to have no clue how to listen in large groups, and yet he also seems to have a bent for performing. (There's a niggling bit in the back of my head that says this is going to be an interesting combination.)
~ I never noticed that the baby probably could have used a bath and a change of clothes until we were already out in public, standing beneath fluorescent lighting. Spit-up glows in that lighting, did you know that? Oops.
~ If you're hungry enough, McDonald's isn't that bad.
~ Now I understand why they started this all last week. This is a Big Production. I'm not sure how they'll pull it together by Christmas. However, I'm sure if they fail it won't be from lack of effort or vision.
~ And, finally, I think I'm going to have the children start journaling. This way, I can remind them to write in their journals, "another example of how much Mom loves me and does things Just For Me". They can write that part in red, so that, in the adolescent years to come, if they're ever feeling neglected or unpampered, I can easily direct them to their journals for hard evidence to the contrary.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
~ It's fairly safe to say that my "spiritual gifts" do not include theatrical productions, large group child ministry, or dealing with people who are trying to live the Big City Life in a Small Town. Yup. We can just cross all three of those right off my list.
~ James seems to have no clue how to listen in large groups, and yet he also seems to have a bent for performing. (There's a niggling bit in the back of my head that says this is going to be an interesting combination.)
~ I never noticed that the baby probably could have used a bath and a change of clothes until we were already out in public, standing beneath fluorescent lighting. Spit-up glows in that lighting, did you know that? Oops.
~ If you're hungry enough, McDonald's isn't that bad.
~ Now I understand why they started this all last week. This is a Big Production. I'm not sure how they'll pull it together by Christmas. However, I'm sure if they fail it won't be from lack of effort or vision.
~ And, finally, I think I'm going to have the children start journaling. This way, I can remind them to write in their journals, "another example of how much Mom loves me and does things Just For Me". They can write that part in red, so that, in the adolescent years to come, if they're ever feeling neglected or unpampered, I can easily direct them to their journals for hard evidence to the contrary.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Sunday, August 10
It was bound to happen.
Five kids. Way too much creativity. All that pesky craft time, learning how to use scissors...
We hung out in the deliriously gorgeous weather earlier this week. It was nice, but the kids were a bit sweaty. I brushed Em's silky locks back from her face, and *sproing* a handful of little spikes appeared at her hairline. What the-- I tried to smooth them out. They would not smooth. Only sproing. Oh, no. NOOO.
I swallowed the shriek. If I've learned nothing else in nearly ten years of parenting, I have at least learned that if you shriek before you start asking questions, your odds of getting the Truth, The Whole Truth, or Anything Resembling The Truth go waaayyyy down.
So, um, did somebody cut Em's hair? (I ask, in what I hope to be my least suspicious voice.) The answer surprised me.
Smidge. "Yep, I did it." *grin* (It was a grin that says, "Don't mention it. Glad to be of service." You know, rather than the grin that pleads, "Look, I'm still cute and my eyes are REALLY BIG. Don't kill me yet.")
Why? (Another question that has a number of surprising, interesting answers when not prefaced with some kind of gutteral noise, I've found.)
"So her hair wouldn't get in her eyes." *grin* Again. He's really thinking this was a fantastic move.
And yes, her hairdoes er, did get in her eyes...
But-but-but... it had FINALLY grown out enough that it would stay back in a rubber band. And now, she has Buster Brown bangs. *sob*
But at least they're not in her eyes. We acknowledged Smidge for his thoughtfulness, and then filled him in on the whole "only grownups get to take sharp objects to other people's heads" rule. We let James know that yes, that's just another perk of being a grown up. Right up there with staying up late, paying the bills, and going to work whether you want to or not. We gave John the hairy eyeball to let him know that she's not traumatized now, so please don't laugh and give her a complex.
We hung out in the deliriously gorgeous weather earlier this week. It was nice, but the kids were a bit sweaty. I brushed Em's silky locks back from her face, and *sproing* a handful of little spikes appeared at her hairline. What the-- I tried to smooth them out. They would not smooth. Only sproing. Oh, no. NOOO.
I swallowed the shriek. If I've learned nothing else in nearly ten years of parenting, I have at least learned that if you shriek before you start asking questions, your odds of getting the Truth, The Whole Truth, or Anything Resembling The Truth go waaayyyy down.
So, um, did somebody cut Em's hair? (I ask, in what I hope to be my least suspicious voice.) The answer surprised me.
Smidge. "Yep, I did it." *grin* (It was a grin that says, "Don't mention it. Glad to be of service." You know, rather than the grin that pleads, "Look, I'm still cute and my eyes are REALLY BIG. Don't kill me yet.")
Why? (Another question that has a number of surprising, interesting answers when not prefaced with some kind of gutteral noise, I've found.)
"So her hair wouldn't get in her eyes." *grin* Again. He's really thinking this was a fantastic move.
And yes, her hair
But-but-but... it had FINALLY grown out enough that it would stay back in a rubber band. And now, she has Buster Brown bangs. *sob*But at least they're not in her eyes. We acknowledged Smidge for his thoughtfulness, and then filled him in on the whole "only grownups get to take sharp objects to other people's heads" rule. We let James know that yes, that's just another perk of being a grown up. Right up there with staying up late, paying the bills, and going to work whether you want to or not. We gave John the hairy eyeball to let him know that she's not traumatized now, so please don't laugh and give her a complex. No blood, no foul. It's all good.
Wednesday, July 30
Let the Games Begin!
"Family Game Night" That sounds so idyllic, doesn't it? Conjures images of contented adults gathered around a table, gleeful children perched upon their parents' laps. Maybe there's hot cocoa, or a plate of cookies. Perry Como croons in the background...
Some things, (right up there with read-alouds and "quiet time") don't work out quite that way, though. The whole Family Game Night thing has gone a little differently for us...
It started off when we had the lack of foresight to have our children more than 9.5 months apart. This pretty much ensures that they will not be able to play the same standard games, simultaneously. Ever.
And on the odd, totally freak opportunity that their skills come within a level of magnitude that might allow something like CandyLand or Chutes and Ladders to be a possibility for play, it'll then be a sure bet that their tastes will vary so wildly we'll never manage to get a consensus on which game to play. Ever. (Which doesn't really hurt our feelings, as we're not big board game players, Zorak and I.)
Cards? Did someone mention cards? Kill us now. Zorak and I are not card players. We both come from families of card players. They can do that for hours, speaking their foreign language of tricks and passes and liquor and internal organs*. We don't get it. Didn't get the gene. Don't have it in us to cultivate the desire. The boys got it. They got it, bad. So, in order not to be completely awful parents, we've taught the boys one card game: solitaire. (But hey, we have enough decks of cards that they can all play at the same time! That counts, doesn't it?) Random family members who felt the need to "share" the joy of other card games, games that require we play, too, have been written out of the will. (Such that it is, I know, not a big slap on the wrist. But it could be, okay? It could be.)
Still, the Rockwell-esque imagery of Family Game Night haunts us. We get caught up in the oily, painted goodness of Americana, rapidly forgetting that somebody ate the cheese pieces to Mousetrap, that Scrabble's no fun if you can't spell or read yet, that Jenga *will* drive the eldest insane and the smallest to tears, and that at some point, someone's gonna take it personally. When the call gets too strong to ignore, much like it does with my twice-annual attempt to keep my toenails painted, and Zorak's occasional wild foray into follicular maintenance (he grows a beard once every couple of years), we fire up the jukebox, break out the cookie plate, and try for game night.
It's not all lost, really. Some of our experiments have been a bit self-defeating. Some have left scars that the boys will have to dip into their college/therapy accounts to deal with. But not too deeply. In all, I think, we've found some workable, enjoyable things. Mostly, what we've realized over the years is that the block is the build-up, the planning, the need to make Family Game Night something that might need to be capitalized. Sometimes, it's just the fun of doing it together.
So while we don't have official game nights, we do, on occasion, get a wild hair and decide to go for it after supper. It's not always neat and tidy. It's not really even a big deal, as deals go. But the kids love it. We love seeing them love it. I think, second only to spur-of-the-moment desserts, a quick game after supper is one of the best bang-for-the-buck family activities we can offer. It really is a nice way to end the day, and we never regret doing it.
Some of the games we've found particularly adaptable to various ages and temperaments:
Charades - we really like to play charades with the boys. Actually, we like to sit there and laugh until the tears soak our shirts while the boys try to figure out the answer. As the boys get older, they've begun to catch on that repeating the same exact motion none of us could identify the first time, varying only your facial expression as your frustration over our idiocy mounts, isn't really going to work. That has both improved the game for everyone, and cut back on the inner dialogue Zorak and I keep going in our heads - the one that makes us laugh until we cry. Probably a good thing, all around.
Pictionary - or, for us cheap folks, pictures-drawn-on-a-dry-erase-board and random-made-up-words (we do have the game, with the box and the little pencils and all, but the dry erase is so stinkin' handy for this). This one isn't so much fun for the literalist in the family, but the rest of the brood has a really good sense of humor about it all. We can usually play this one for an hour before anybody overloads.
Mumbly Peg - because you know it just can't be all Victorian, all the time, right?
(I'm KIDDING! But that is an interesting link. I had no idea there was so much to the game. And I'm not telling the boys, either.)
Boggle - yes, Boggle. You'd think, since Scrabble can be such a joy-sucking excursion with two kids who can't spell and one who is just now getting the hang of it, that Boggle would be on the Nix-it List, but no. The kids love it. We play House Rules, and everybody joins in. Adults can't use words of less than four letters. Kids can use any words they can find. We cut some slack on spelling for new readers, but not much, and they get up to speed pretty quickly.
Smidge loves to play along with us. He mostly copies letters from the box and presents his paper to Zorak at the end of each round for a point tally. Zorak gets into doing this, and gives Smidge enthusiastic feedback and various points for his efforts. 9/16 of a point, or 3/8 of a point. Smidge made a most impressive string of letters tonight, for which he was rewarded with a score of "one point three repitend". Oh, the giddy, giddy joy of getting such a score!
EmBaby loves to shake the box, turn the timer (sometimes she runs off with the timer, but we're usually thankful for the extra few minutes to find more words, so nobody complains terribly), and help me write. It's important to keep spare pencils on hand if you're going to play with Em, because nobody feels bad for you when you try to claim that you got spanked on that round for lack of a writing utensil.
We don't have to do it like everybody else does. We've just got to get in there and find a way that works for us. Then do it. And enjoy it. (Life, not necessarily games. But it could be games, too.) Sometimes, it really is that simple. I cling to that knowledge.
And in the meantime, the boys are counting down the days until somebody will come play cards with them. Anybody? Any takers?
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
*gin and hearts
Some things, (right up there with read-alouds and "quiet time") don't work out quite that way, though. The whole Family Game Night thing has gone a little differently for us...
It started off when we had the lack of foresight to have our children more than 9.5 months apart. This pretty much ensures that they will not be able to play the same standard games, simultaneously. Ever.
And on the odd, totally freak opportunity that their skills come within a level of magnitude that might allow something like CandyLand or Chutes and Ladders to be a possibility for play, it'll then be a sure bet that their tastes will vary so wildly we'll never manage to get a consensus on which game to play. Ever. (Which doesn't really hurt our feelings, as we're not big board game players, Zorak and I.)
Cards? Did someone mention cards? Kill us now. Zorak and I are not card players. We both come from families of card players. They can do that for hours, speaking their foreign language of tricks and passes and liquor and internal organs*. We don't get it. Didn't get the gene. Don't have it in us to cultivate the desire. The boys got it. They got it, bad. So, in order not to be completely awful parents, we've taught the boys one card game: solitaire. (But hey, we have enough decks of cards that they can all play at the same time! That counts, doesn't it?) Random family members who felt the need to "share" the joy of other card games, games that require we play, too, have been written out of the will. (Such that it is, I know, not a big slap on the wrist. But it could be, okay? It could be.)
Still, the Rockwell-esque imagery of Family Game Night haunts us. We get caught up in the oily, painted goodness of Americana, rapidly forgetting that somebody ate the cheese pieces to Mousetrap, that Scrabble's no fun if you can't spell or read yet, that Jenga *will* drive the eldest insane and the smallest to tears, and that at some point, someone's gonna take it personally. When the call gets too strong to ignore, much like it does with my twice-annual attempt to keep my toenails painted, and Zorak's occasional wild foray into follicular maintenance (he grows a beard once every couple of years), we fire up the jukebox, break out the cookie plate, and try for game night.
It's not all lost, really. Some of our experiments have been a bit self-defeating. Some have left scars that the boys will have to dip into their college/therapy accounts to deal with. But not too deeply. In all, I think, we've found some workable, enjoyable things. Mostly, what we've realized over the years is that the block is the build-up, the planning, the need to make Family Game Night something that might need to be capitalized. Sometimes, it's just the fun of doing it together.
So while we don't have official game nights, we do, on occasion, get a wild hair and decide to go for it after supper. It's not always neat and tidy. It's not really even a big deal, as deals go. But the kids love it. We love seeing them love it. I think, second only to spur-of-the-moment desserts, a quick game after supper is one of the best bang-for-the-buck family activities we can offer. It really is a nice way to end the day, and we never regret doing it.
Some of the games we've found particularly adaptable to various ages and temperaments:
Charades - we really like to play charades with the boys. Actually, we like to sit there and laugh until the tears soak our shirts while the boys try to figure out the answer. As the boys get older, they've begun to catch on that repeating the same exact motion none of us could identify the first time, varying only your facial expression as your frustration over our idiocy mounts, isn't really going to work. That has both improved the game for everyone, and cut back on the inner dialogue Zorak and I keep going in our heads - the one that makes us laugh until we cry. Probably a good thing, all around.
Pictionary - or, for us cheap folks, pictures-drawn-on-a-dry-erase-board and random-made-up-words (we do have the game, with the box and the little pencils and all, but the dry erase is so stinkin' handy for this). This one isn't so much fun for the literalist in the family, but the rest of the brood has a really good sense of humor about it all. We can usually play this one for an hour before anybody overloads.
Mumbly Peg - because you know it just can't be all Victorian, all the time, right?
(I'm KIDDING! But that is an interesting link. I had no idea there was so much to the game. And I'm not telling the boys, either.)
Boggle - yes, Boggle. You'd think, since Scrabble can be such a joy-sucking excursion with two kids who can't spell and one who is just now getting the hang of it, that Boggle would be on the Nix-it List, but no. The kids love it. We play House Rules, and everybody joins in. Adults can't use words of less than four letters. Kids can use any words they can find. We cut some slack on spelling for new readers, but not much, and they get up to speed pretty quickly.
Smidge loves to play along with us. He mostly copies letters from the box and presents his paper to Zorak at the end of each round for a point tally. Zorak gets into doing this, and gives Smidge enthusiastic feedback and various points for his efforts. 9/16 of a point, or 3/8 of a point. Smidge made a most impressive string of letters tonight, for which he was rewarded with a score of "one point three repitend". Oh, the giddy, giddy joy of getting such a score!
EmBaby loves to shake the box, turn the timer (sometimes she runs off with the timer, but we're usually thankful for the extra few minutes to find more words, so nobody complains terribly), and help me write. It's important to keep spare pencils on hand if you're going to play with Em, because nobody feels bad for you when you try to claim that you got spanked on that round for lack of a writing utensil.
We don't have to do it like everybody else does. We've just got to get in there and find a way that works for us. Then do it. And enjoy it. (Life, not necessarily games. But it could be games, too.) Sometimes, it really is that simple. I cling to that knowledge.
And in the meantime, the boys are counting down the days until somebody will come play cards with them. Anybody? Any takers?
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
*gin and hearts
Wednesday, July 23
Happy Together!
These two are such a riot. They irritate each other for fun, but they are seldom found more than three feet from one another. They're only 2/7 of the population, yet they produce approximately 90% of the noise in our little compound. And, this is how they learn. (Shortly after this picture was taken, they learned that if man was supposed to use his elbows to play the piano, the keys would be elbow-sized. They thought that was funny.)We had a productive day, but it took ALL DAY to do it. James was still doing Latin at eight tonight, but he pulled it off and finished in time to have cookies with everyone else. John was still doing spelling around the same time. Same eleventh-hour save. I guess I shouldn't say "was still doing" - I should say "finally got around to doing". These kids like to liven things up with a little pressure now and then. Nothing says, "Yeah, I'm really serious" quite like, "I'll eat your cookies if you don't hurry up."
And no, I wasn't flogging them all day long to complete three conjugations in four tenses and a 100-word pre-test. This was one page. Each. Basic review stuff. If any of you tell me this is what testosterone does to the mind, I. will. cry. okay? Yeah, just so's we're clear, here. ;-)
It reminds me of a joke I need to share with the boys...
A man entered a marathon. His first one, ever. He wasn't fast, and he wasn't much of a runner, but he was determined to do it. He came in dead last, a solid 10 hours behind the first place runner, who clocked in at a little over two hours. Dead tired from running all day, the man slipped into a pub on his way home to enjoy a cold one before heading home to collapse. He hadn't been there long before another man entered the pub with a group of people, and was instantly recognized as the day's marathon winner.
Tired as he was, the man just had to meet this man who could run a marathon in two and a half hours. He inched up to him, introduced himself and offered to buy the man a drink in honor of the day's win. The winning runner asked if he'd seen the race, to which the man replied, "Oh, no, I was in the race. I don't know how you do it so quickly, and still have the energy to go out with friends." The runner asked how the man did in the race. "Oh. It took me twelve and a half hours." Sheepishly, he added, "And I'm exhausted."
The runner smiled, clapped the man on the back and said, "Well, then I think you should be the one we're toasting tonight."
Baffled, the man asked why.
"To be perfectly honest," said the runner, "You must have an incredible amount of fortitude. Personally, I can't imagine doing *anything* for twelve and a half hours!"
... I wonder if they'll get that joke...
Ah, and it's time for bed! Kiss those babies! And smile - it's contagious.
~Dy
Tuesday, July 8
Sibling Differences
I feel like Jane Goodall, but without the smell. Or fear of being attacked by my subjects.
EmBaby stands directly in front of the TV, blocking the boys' view of the screen. They all respond so differently:
James: EmBaby, scootch over here out of the way, please. Down in front, Baby.
John: *sigh* Moooooove, Emily. *sigh* Please.
Smidge: I can make her move. *evil cackle*
Yet when it's Smidge who is in the way, it's a different scenario entirely:
James: Smidge, moveit.
John: DOWN IN FRONT!
Emily: I can make him move. *evil cackle*
(Well, perhaps not "entirely" different...)
They aren't usually this abrupt with one another, which is good. It's just the "down in front" thing that seems to irritate them. (And they do have to re-request if they put it like this. The rule being, "Would you happily comply with a request someone made of you in that tone? If not, then try again, please.") They'll willing help one another with most things. They split treats evenly and without being asked to. They include everyone in their outings and adventures. They do try to antagonize one another on occasion, seemingly for the fun of it (although I've found there's usually some underlying point that's niggling away at the antagonist and since he/she can't quite articulate it, it comes out in huffing and posturing and nose-picking). But for the most part, they're very good to each other.
Yet, I remember a time when the boys were so deferential toward Smidge. Now, he's just another pup in the litter. Already, I can see that EmBaby is losing her Preferred Sibling status. Everybody warned me that once the babies are mobile, they loose their cute-factor, but it seems that in our house, it's not when they can move, it's when they can argue that the siblings tip them off the pedestal. Weird.
However, I've also noticed that once the sibling has been tipped off the pedestal, that's when the real fun begins. That's when he (or she) is considered an equal in all things play, gets a vote in the tribal concessions, gets a storefront in the front yard. That's about the same time the newly-dethroned sibling starts clearing his/her own spot at the table without being reminded, gets to pick a table-setting chore (which the boys allow without any territorial nitpicking) and gains access to the "special things" of the others. (Each child has things over which he has sharing veto power, and it seems to become a non-issue to share with the ex-baby at some unspoken point.)
It's all very interesting, actually. The dynamics of sibling interaction fascinate me. Have you noticed trends and patterns in how your children interact?
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
EmBaby stands directly in front of the TV, blocking the boys' view of the screen. They all respond so differently:
James: EmBaby, scootch over here out of the way, please. Down in front, Baby.
John: *sigh* Moooooove, Emily. *sigh* Please.
Smidge: I can make her move. *evil cackle*
Yet when it's Smidge who is in the way, it's a different scenario entirely:
James: Smidge, moveit.
John: DOWN IN FRONT!
Emily: I can make him move. *evil cackle*
(Well, perhaps not "entirely" different...)
They aren't usually this abrupt with one another, which is good. It's just the "down in front" thing that seems to irritate them. (And they do have to re-request if they put it like this. The rule being, "Would you happily comply with a request someone made of you in that tone? If not, then try again, please.") They'll willing help one another with most things. They split treats evenly and without being asked to. They include everyone in their outings and adventures. They do try to antagonize one another on occasion, seemingly for the fun of it (although I've found there's usually some underlying point that's niggling away at the antagonist and since he/she can't quite articulate it, it comes out in huffing and posturing and nose-picking). But for the most part, they're very good to each other.
Yet, I remember a time when the boys were so deferential toward Smidge. Now, he's just another pup in the litter. Already, I can see that EmBaby is losing her Preferred Sibling status. Everybody warned me that once the babies are mobile, they loose their cute-factor, but it seems that in our house, it's not when they can move, it's when they can argue that the siblings tip them off the pedestal. Weird.
However, I've also noticed that once the sibling has been tipped off the pedestal, that's when the real fun begins. That's when he (or she) is considered an equal in all things play, gets a vote in the tribal concessions, gets a storefront in the front yard. That's about the same time the newly-dethroned sibling starts clearing his/her own spot at the table without being reminded, gets to pick a table-setting chore (which the boys allow without any territorial nitpicking) and gains access to the "special things" of the others. (Each child has things over which he has sharing veto power, and it seems to become a non-issue to share with the ex-baby at some unspoken point.)
It's all very interesting, actually. The dynamics of sibling interaction fascinate me. Have you noticed trends and patterns in how your children interact?
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Thursday, June 26
Oh, Good Heck
Like we don't have enough of a challenge getting organized, now we have to figure this out?
So, the boys are in Cub Scouts. They love it. They love the kids, the handbooks, the projects. They love the outings and the ceremonies. They love that they get a night out with Zorak. Smidge is DYING to be able to join, too. (Last week, he asked Zorak, "Can I go to Scouts?" Before Zorak could answer, he put his hands out in a negotiating type gesture and added, "I just want to watch." How could Zorak resist that much cuteness?) In general, I've been pleasantly surprised with the experience so far.
HowEVer...
These leaders are going to be the reason I arrive at the Pearly Gates two or three years earlier than I'd originally been scheduled.
I can sign off in John's handbook, since he's just a Bear. But he has to bring his projects in to show the Scoutmaster. OK, that's fine. We put them by the front door, and he remembers to take them. Every week. And not once has there been any time set aside for the Scoutmaster to take a look at them and okay the whateveritis. Tried going early. Tried staying late. No dice. His Alabama state flag poster has been loitering and hitching rides for a month and a half now, and it's lookin' just a tad less impressive than it did when it was flat. And clean. *snarl* John missed out on getting his Wolf badge, not because he didn't complete the work, but because there was never a point at which the Scoutmaster was available to do whatever he needed to do to get it recorded by the deadline. I don't think John has realized this, yet, but he's going to be quite disappointed. And to be honest, I'm a little torqued. The kid knew he'd come into Scouting late in the year, and he chose to work his wee tail off, all on his own, in order to do double time and get caught up. How is this workin' for him?
And then, there's James. Webelos have to have their Den Master sign off on their things because they are growing up, preparing to be Boy Scouts, and they need to rely less on their parents and more on themselves. Sounds fantastic. In theory. The reality is that there is no time for his Den Master to keep up with a child like James. He's had all the requirements for his engineering badge completed for two months, now. But he doesn't have the badge because the Den Master wants to see the bridges and the pulleys before he'll sign off on them... and, you guessed it, he never gets around to doing it before or after meetings. I've got to give James credit - he does try. But he's not going to get in an adult's face and demand attention when he has already requested the adult's attention and the adult is busy doing something (like, oh, say, rein in a disruptive child, or talk with another adult, or... oh, wait, HE LEFT, AGAIN.) But the guy has no problem sending out a mass email "reminding" parents that they are not to sign off on their Webelos' projects anymore!
And... that was when my blood pressure started to eke up a bit. I have to let Zorak handle this. I really have to, because this is simply maddening. If you're going to insist on guidelines like this, then you simply must also accomodate the meeting of said guidelines. I don't see any way around it, and this current method is making. me. nuts. I'm already post-partum. They SO don't want to see me go all PPD on them at a meeting over this. Yeah. So, I am trying to stay out of it. But I'm such a control freak, particularly when it pertains to my children. I guess it would be more accurate to say that I'm working behind the scenes to find a way to allow the boys to succeed without having to drag my hormonal, irritated, pimply/yet dry (what's up with that, anyway?) self down there for a hashing out session. So, here is The Plan:
1. Stay calm. Stay rational. (Mostly, this involves discussing it with Zorak after the boys have gone to bed. At least this way, they think I'm calm and rational, since I am in the morning aftergriping, erm, brainstorming with Zorak all night.)
2. I've asked Zorak to email (with cc to me) the Pubah's and ask for clarification and protocol dileantion, as well as what our role in supporting them might be, so that this does not continue to happen. (In other words - we get that you're busy, but this isn't working. How can we help make it better?)
3. Photographs! From now on, I will be photographing the projects that the boys complete on their own. They can type up the documentation. I'll put it together in a nifty two-to-four page spread, print it out, and they can just hand it over. Voila! Project, proof, and woudja-sign-here, please! Also, much easier than transporting blocks and tackles and poster collages that won't make it to the Pubah at any point, anyway.
4. Rum. We're almost out. Not a huge investment, seeing as this last bottle lasted six+ years. No bets on how long the new one will hold out, though.
5. Tally this whole process up under "Life Lessons". This is good training for serving in the military. You have to keep your own copies of your records, or you'll end up getting vaccinated for Measles and Yellow Fever three or four times. Not to mention, you'll never get a bene-sug for the contributions you've made unless you provide thorough documentation.
So, we're good to go. But it's still a bit irritating. Thanks for letting me let off a little steam. If you've been there and have some tips that will help facilitate making this situation better without alienating the boys from their Scout/Den Masters, and without making their jobs harder (I do get that they are volunteers, and they are busy - totally get that, which is why I want to help and not just harrass), I'd love to hear it. Thanks! :-)
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
So, the boys are in Cub Scouts. They love it. They love the kids, the handbooks, the projects. They love the outings and the ceremonies. They love that they get a night out with Zorak. Smidge is DYING to be able to join, too. (Last week, he asked Zorak, "Can I go to Scouts?" Before Zorak could answer, he put his hands out in a negotiating type gesture and added, "I just want to watch." How could Zorak resist that much cuteness?) In general, I've been pleasantly surprised with the experience so far.
HowEVer...
These leaders are going to be the reason I arrive at the Pearly Gates two or three years earlier than I'd originally been scheduled.
I can sign off in John's handbook, since he's just a Bear. But he has to bring his projects in to show the Scoutmaster. OK, that's fine. We put them by the front door, and he remembers to take them. Every week. And not once has there been any time set aside for the Scoutmaster to take a look at them and okay the whateveritis. Tried going early. Tried staying late. No dice. His Alabama state flag poster has been loitering and hitching rides for a month and a half now, and it's lookin' just a tad less impressive than it did when it was flat. And clean. *snarl* John missed out on getting his Wolf badge, not because he didn't complete the work, but because there was never a point at which the Scoutmaster was available to do whatever he needed to do to get it recorded by the deadline. I don't think John has realized this, yet, but he's going to be quite disappointed. And to be honest, I'm a little torqued. The kid knew he'd come into Scouting late in the year, and he chose to work his wee tail off, all on his own, in order to do double time and get caught up. How is this workin' for him?
And then, there's James. Webelos have to have their Den Master sign off on their things because they are growing up, preparing to be Boy Scouts, and they need to rely less on their parents and more on themselves. Sounds fantastic. In theory. The reality is that there is no time for his Den Master to keep up with a child like James. He's had all the requirements for his engineering badge completed for two months, now. But he doesn't have the badge because the Den Master wants to see the bridges and the pulleys before he'll sign off on them... and, you guessed it, he never gets around to doing it before or after meetings. I've got to give James credit - he does try. But he's not going to get in an adult's face and demand attention when he has already requested the adult's attention and the adult is busy doing something (like, oh, say, rein in a disruptive child, or talk with another adult, or... oh, wait, HE LEFT, AGAIN.) But the guy has no problem sending out a mass email "reminding" parents that they are not to sign off on their Webelos' projects anymore!
And... that was when my blood pressure started to eke up a bit. I have to let Zorak handle this. I really have to, because this is simply maddening. If you're going to insist on guidelines like this, then you simply must also accomodate the meeting of said guidelines. I don't see any way around it, and this current method is making. me. nuts. I'm already post-partum. They SO don't want to see me go all PPD on them at a meeting over this. Yeah. So, I am trying to stay out of it. But I'm such a control freak, particularly when it pertains to my children. I guess it would be more accurate to say that I'm working behind the scenes to find a way to allow the boys to succeed without having to drag my hormonal, irritated, pimply/yet dry (what's up with that, anyway?) self down there for a hashing out session. So, here is The Plan:
1. Stay calm. Stay rational. (Mostly, this involves discussing it with Zorak after the boys have gone to bed. At least this way, they think I'm calm and rational, since I am in the morning after
2. I've asked Zorak to email (with cc to me) the Pubah's and ask for clarification and protocol dileantion, as well as what our role in supporting them might be, so that this does not continue to happen. (In other words - we get that you're busy, but this isn't working. How can we help make it better?)
3. Photographs! From now on, I will be photographing the projects that the boys complete on their own. They can type up the documentation. I'll put it together in a nifty two-to-four page spread, print it out, and they can just hand it over. Voila! Project, proof, and woudja-sign-here, please! Also, much easier than transporting blocks and tackles and poster collages that won't make it to the Pubah at any point, anyway.
4. Rum. We're almost out. Not a huge investment, seeing as this last bottle lasted six+ years. No bets on how long the new one will hold out, though.
5. Tally this whole process up under "Life Lessons". This is good training for serving in the military. You have to keep your own copies of your records, or you'll end up getting vaccinated for Measles and Yellow Fever three or four times. Not to mention, you'll never get a bene-sug for the contributions you've made unless you provide thorough documentation.
So, we're good to go. But it's still a bit irritating. Thanks for letting me let off a little steam. If you've been there and have some tips that will help facilitate making this situation better without alienating the boys from their Scout/Den Masters, and without making their jobs harder (I do get that they are volunteers, and they are busy - totally get that, which is why I want to help and not just harrass), I'd love to hear it. Thanks! :-)
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Friday, June 13
Need Your Best Stories!
OK, it's time to rally 'round a post-partum Mom, and I need you guys to help me. Hit me with your best post-partum, totally overwhelmed stories. The ones you can laugh about now, not the one that may have made you cry this morning. This is for a wonderful friend and mother who is currently having a post-partum ack-attack.
You know the feeling. You've spent the last two and a half months of your pregnancy thinking that as soon as you can eat more than a tablespoon of food without getting heartburn, as soon as your ankles no longer have the same girth as your thighs, as soon as you can roll over without needing the assistance of three acrobats and a crane, as soon as you can go two hours without needing to pee... as soon as you have. this. baby... life will get back to normal. It's an obsession like few others, and a pregnant woman begins to look toward That Day with the glow and expectancy normally reserved for... well, let's be honest, normally reserved for lunatics who await the return of the MotherShip. It's not rational, but in the third trimester, that doesn't matter.
Then the baby comes.
And the learning curve can seem just as steep as it did the first time.
And the baby seems to sleep only when you aren't needed by the other children, or by your partner, or by a jury selection team.
And you can't figure out why you feel so grimy, until you do the math and realize you haven't showered since Tuesday. Or shaved since that first glorious day you could reach your legs again.
And suddenly, it feels like your 24 hours in each day only have maybe 45 minutes in each one. Yet your to-do list has somehow quadrupled.
And that glorious return of the MotherShip seems to have only brought you more demands and less ability to fulfill them. And of course, there's no chocolate, or beer, or help.
Yeah. It's normal. But in the midst of it, you look around and feel like every other mother on the face of the planet has it totally together, didn't blink twice after having her umpteenth child, and would probably snort derisively, flick you in the back of the head and tell you to get it together if only she could see the paralysis taking over your brain.
Would you share your stories to help a Mom-in-Need today? C'mon, let's make her smile. Let's remind her (and maybe someone else who might read this and recognize herself in our stories) that she's not alone, it's not going to last forever, and it's all gonna be OK!
You can post your stories on your blog and put a link in the comments. Or, you can post your stories under the comments, here. It's all good. Just please share your stories with her.
I'll add mine tomorrow. Sometimes, it's difficult to articulate, and we do tend to be hard on ourselves when we can't just snap back into shape like Elasti-Girl and start living like Martha Stewart three weeks after giving birth. (Even if we didn't live like Martha, or have any elastic left *before* we got pregnant!) I've written about it a couple of times here, and here, and here, but in the spirit of full disclosure I'll add more.
Your turn!
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
You know the feeling. You've spent the last two and a half months of your pregnancy thinking that as soon as you can eat more than a tablespoon of food without getting heartburn, as soon as your ankles no longer have the same girth as your thighs, as soon as you can roll over without needing the assistance of three acrobats and a crane, as soon as you can go two hours without needing to pee... as soon as you have. this. baby... life will get back to normal. It's an obsession like few others, and a pregnant woman begins to look toward That Day with the glow and expectancy normally reserved for... well, let's be honest, normally reserved for lunatics who await the return of the MotherShip. It's not rational, but in the third trimester, that doesn't matter.
Then the baby comes.
And the learning curve can seem just as steep as it did the first time.
And the baby seems to sleep only when you aren't needed by the other children, or by your partner, or by a jury selection team.
And you can't figure out why you feel so grimy, until you do the math and realize you haven't showered since Tuesday. Or shaved since that first glorious day you could reach your legs again.
And suddenly, it feels like your 24 hours in each day only have maybe 45 minutes in each one. Yet your to-do list has somehow quadrupled.
And that glorious return of the MotherShip seems to have only brought you more demands and less ability to fulfill them. And of course, there's no chocolate, or beer, or help.
Yeah. It's normal. But in the midst of it, you look around and feel like every other mother on the face of the planet has it totally together, didn't blink twice after having her umpteenth child, and would probably snort derisively, flick you in the back of the head and tell you to get it together if only she could see the paralysis taking over your brain.
Would you share your stories to help a Mom-in-Need today? C'mon, let's make her smile. Let's remind her (and maybe someone else who might read this and recognize herself in our stories) that she's not alone, it's not going to last forever, and it's all gonna be OK!
You can post your stories on your blog and put a link in the comments. Or, you can post your stories under the comments, here. It's all good. Just please share your stories with her.
I'll add mine tomorrow. Sometimes, it's difficult to articulate, and we do tend to be hard on ourselves when we can't just snap back into shape like Elasti-Girl and start living like Martha Stewart three weeks after giving birth. (Even if we didn't live like Martha, or have any elastic left *before* we got pregnant!) I've written about it a couple of times here, and here, and here, but in the spirit of full disclosure I'll add more.
Your turn!
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Thursday, June 5
Fifteen Minutes a Day
You really can do just about anything in fifteen minutes a day. John learned that this week.
The boys' piano teacher got into the habit of scrunching up her face when she talked about how "average" John is, only to absolutely explode with enthusiasm when she dove into how "exceptional" James is. Kinda-sorta irked me, to be honest. I don't claim to think the boys' gifts lie in the same areas (heaven above knows they usually don't even lie in the same general realm!) However, I do expect a child's instructor to be encouraging, kind in both word and attitude, and at least try not to pigeon-hole the children. So, I talked with her about it, and explained that I do not believe a child must be "gifted" to enjoy music, nor do I believe that a special talent for any particular skill necessitates a love-fest at the drop of a hat. I want both of the children to work hard, do their best, progress as well as they can. I want them to be able to be proud of their hard work and accomplishments, and I was worried that they might fall into the tendency to either think they can't do something, or that they don't need to work hard to do "well" (respectively for each child). She took it well. She quit with the face-scrunching.
Meanwhile, we kept practicing and learning and doing those things we do. Every morning, the boys start their day with piano and typing. Fifteen minutes is all I ask that they do, on each one. I set the timer, they work, timer dings, they switch. Easy as pre-made pie crust, for those of us pastry impaired. The piano is free for anybody to use at any other time during the day, but they're little and I figured the Zen-like "one arrow" approach to practice would best suit their current needs.
That was a month ago.
Today, their teacher just about beat John out of the room, and she was beaming. The first thing she said was, "This was a FANTASTIC lesson! He played so well!" He grinned from ear-to-ear. I think he actually blushed. That was so incredibly cool. He passed all the songs, and she assigned him eight new ones for next week. He's feeling pretty darned competent this evening.
After James' lesson, she was still beaming when they entered the lobby. I asked if he'd done his work (we have had questions about that this week, as everytime he's supposed to be practicing, he's making up songs or playing other things that aren't in his book). She said, "Oh, yeah. He's mastered things I haven't given him yet. This book is just too easy, so he'll get new books next week."
Yay. They're working, she's meeting their needs, and I don't have to deal with bad attitudes all the way around. I love it when it all comes together!
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
The boys' piano teacher got into the habit of scrunching up her face when she talked about how "average" John is, only to absolutely explode with enthusiasm when she dove into how "exceptional" James is. Kinda-sorta irked me, to be honest. I don't claim to think the boys' gifts lie in the same areas (heaven above knows they usually don't even lie in the same general realm!) However, I do expect a child's instructor to be encouraging, kind in both word and attitude, and at least try not to pigeon-hole the children. So, I talked with her about it, and explained that I do not believe a child must be "gifted" to enjoy music, nor do I believe that a special talent for any particular skill necessitates a love-fest at the drop of a hat. I want both of the children to work hard, do their best, progress as well as they can. I want them to be able to be proud of their hard work and accomplishments, and I was worried that they might fall into the tendency to either think they can't do something, or that they don't need to work hard to do "well" (respectively for each child). She took it well. She quit with the face-scrunching.
Meanwhile, we kept practicing and learning and doing those things we do. Every morning, the boys start their day with piano and typing. Fifteen minutes is all I ask that they do, on each one. I set the timer, they work, timer dings, they switch. Easy as pre-made pie crust, for those of us pastry impaired. The piano is free for anybody to use at any other time during the day, but they're little and I figured the Zen-like "one arrow" approach to practice would best suit their current needs.
That was a month ago.
Today, their teacher just about beat John out of the room, and she was beaming. The first thing she said was, "This was a FANTASTIC lesson! He played so well!" He grinned from ear-to-ear. I think he actually blushed. That was so incredibly cool. He passed all the songs, and she assigned him eight new ones for next week. He's feeling pretty darned competent this evening.
After James' lesson, she was still beaming when they entered the lobby. I asked if he'd done his work (we have had questions about that this week, as everytime he's supposed to be practicing, he's making up songs or playing other things that aren't in his book). She said, "Oh, yeah. He's mastered things I haven't given him yet. This book is just too easy, so he'll get new books next week."
Yay. They're working, she's meeting their needs, and I don't have to deal with bad attitudes all the way around. I love it when it all comes together!
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Dressed.
You. Are. Getting. Dressed.
(child runs back down the hall for the fortieth time in ten minutes)
ACK. I realize I've left off a pertinent piece of direction, so, breaking several of my house rules, I yell (in the house) to someone (who is not in the room with me)...
AND PUT ON CLEAN, FRESH UNDERWEAR!
*sigh*
No wonder they're confused. At least I didn't use a specific name, so there's hope that each one of them thought I was talking to him, specifically, and I won't have to repeat that last part.
Kiss those distracted, smelly babies.
Dy
(child runs back down the hall for the fortieth time in ten minutes)
ACK. I realize I've left off a pertinent piece of direction, so, breaking several of my house rules, I yell (in the house) to someone (who is not in the room with me)...
AND PUT ON CLEAN, FRESH UNDERWEAR!
*sigh*
No wonder they're confused. At least I didn't use a specific name, so there's hope that each one of them thought I was talking to him, specifically, and I won't have to repeat that last part.
Kiss those distracted, smelly babies.
Dy
Monday, May 19
Conversations and Tidbits
James: Will aphids bite?
Me: No, they're just irritating.
James: Oh. Ok-- uh, irritating, as in annoying? Or irritating as in, they will irritate your skin?
Me: Just annoying.
James: Well, that's good!
****************************************************
We have decorative ivy climbing the new fence! It's pretty cool.
We have poison ivy climbing everything else. Not so cool.
We found earthworms.
We found fire ants.
We found a butterfly.
We found grubby, leggy, swarmy things. (I think it was a disturbed ant bed.)
So, in general, we're not making fantastic headway out there.
But it's not all bad, either.
But I am seriously done with the Mary Poppins attitude to landscaping today.
*****************************************************
James: I found a swarm of something in one of the bricks. They look like maggots, with legs. Like this. (Makes legs with his fingers sticking from his abdomen.) Can I touch it?
Me: (It's only 12:26, and I am SO done doing the yardwork-with-kids thing already.) Honey, if you find a brick swarming with anything, just leave it be.
James: (Not looking at me...) Like that?
Me: What?
James: Like that.
Me: Like... what?
James: Like that bee? (Points at a hovering bee on the porch.)
*sigh*
******************************************************
EmBaby: Em 'a want 'a swing!
Me: (There's an empty swing right in front of her.) Well, ok, go swing.
EmBaby: Em 'a want 'a THAT swing. (The one her brother is in, of course.)
Me: Well, that one's in use, Baby. You can pick one of the other swings...
EmBaby: *bursts into tears*
Me: Well, Love, a fit won't get you what you want. If you need to throw this fit, you can do it in your room. If you want to swing, you need to stop with the fit.
EmBaby: *sniff* *sniff* OK. I all done. *sniff* Em 'a want 'a swing.
(What's the computer code for an endless loop? Yeah, insert that right about... here.)
************************************************
And the general MO of the day: don't think about what you do before you do it.
EmBaby comes to me, crying that John bonked her in the head with a dirt clod.
Gah. We have discussed this, I don't know how many times. We. Do. Not. Throw. Dirt. Period. (But particularly not at people.)
Me: JOHN! Did you throw dirt clods?
John: (in his most humble, I really don't want to be telling the truth right now, voice) Yes.
Me: Don't we have some kind of guideline about that?
John: Don't do it.
James: Um, Mom. I was part of that. You know how when you throw dirt clods and they come apart due to the... something-something... friction and gravity... mumble-something... time-space continuum... average PSI... inhalation... (OK, I wasn't paying attention - his explanations get overly involved and unnecessarily exhausting. I've taken to standing there, looking stern until his lips stop moving and he makes eye contact again. So shoot me. But I did give him immediate credit for 'fessing up to his part in it before I even had to ask.)
Basically, they were playing some kind of game wherein James rides his bike and John tries to hit him with dirt clods as he goes by. Aside from the fact that I think that's a weird thing to play, I have other problems with it. The thing about moving targets, of course, being that they often bring into the line of fire non-moving, non-targets. And when you're seven, it's not like your aim is the greatest.
So, I ran through my mental parenting rubric:
Told the truth the first time, +5 pts.
...without me reminding him of the importance of doing so. +10 pts.
Spotted the error in their thinking process, +3 pts.
...without me having to point it out. +10 pts.
Sibling coughed up a truthful inclusion confession on his own, +20 pts.
Both parties showed concern (ok, some awareness) that their actions, however unintentional, had negatively affected someone else. +50 pts. (been workin' on that one for a while!)
So it's not 100% (that would be reserved for "thought things through before doing them" - it will be a Very Happy Day when that happens!) But it's not bad for a 7yo and a 9yo. I couldn't really justify leaping into Lecture Land. They handled it well. I'm proud of them.
But I'm still done doing the yardwork-with-kids thing. :-P
That's why I'm in here, blogging, under the pretext of figuring out what to fix for lunch.
Me: No, they're just irritating.
James: Oh. Ok-- uh, irritating, as in annoying? Or irritating as in, they will irritate your skin?
Me: Just annoying.
James: Well, that's good!
****************************************************
We have decorative ivy climbing the new fence! It's pretty cool.
We have poison ivy climbing everything else. Not so cool.
We found earthworms.
We found fire ants.
We found a butterfly.
We found grubby, leggy, swarmy things. (I think it was a disturbed ant bed.)
So, in general, we're not making fantastic headway out there.
But it's not all bad, either.
But I am seriously done with the Mary Poppins attitude to landscaping today.
*****************************************************
James: I found a swarm of something in one of the bricks. They look like maggots, with legs. Like this. (Makes legs with his fingers sticking from his abdomen.) Can I touch it?
Me: (It's only 12:26, and I am SO done doing the yardwork-with-kids thing already.) Honey, if you find a brick swarming with anything, just leave it be.
James: (Not looking at me...) Like that?
Me: What?
James: Like that.
Me: Like... what?
James: Like that bee? (Points at a hovering bee on the porch.)
*sigh*
******************************************************
EmBaby: Em 'a want 'a swing!
Me: (There's an empty swing right in front of her.) Well, ok, go swing.
EmBaby: Em 'a want 'a THAT swing. (The one her brother is in, of course.)
Me: Well, that one's in use, Baby. You can pick one of the other swings...
EmBaby: *bursts into tears*
Me: Well, Love, a fit won't get you what you want. If you need to throw this fit, you can do it in your room. If you want to swing, you need to stop with the fit.
EmBaby: *sniff* *sniff* OK. I all done. *sniff* Em 'a want 'a swing.
(What's the computer code for an endless loop? Yeah, insert that right about... here.)
************************************************
And the general MO of the day: don't think about what you do before you do it.
EmBaby comes to me, crying that John bonked her in the head with a dirt clod.
Gah. We have discussed this, I don't know how many times. We. Do. Not. Throw. Dirt. Period. (But particularly not at people.)
Me: JOHN! Did you throw dirt clods?
John: (in his most humble, I really don't want to be telling the truth right now, voice) Yes.
Me: Don't we have some kind of guideline about that?
John: Don't do it.
James: Um, Mom. I was part of that. You know how when you throw dirt clods and they come apart due to the... something-something... friction and gravity... mumble-something... time-space continuum... average PSI... inhalation... (OK, I wasn't paying attention - his explanations get overly involved and unnecessarily exhausting. I've taken to standing there, looking stern until his lips stop moving and he makes eye contact again. So shoot me. But I did give him immediate credit for 'fessing up to his part in it before I even had to ask.)
Basically, they were playing some kind of game wherein James rides his bike and John tries to hit him with dirt clods as he goes by. Aside from the fact that I think that's a weird thing to play, I have other problems with it. The thing about moving targets, of course, being that they often bring into the line of fire non-moving, non-targets. And when you're seven, it's not like your aim is the greatest.
So, I ran through my mental parenting rubric:
Told the truth the first time, +5 pts.
...without me reminding him of the importance of doing so. +10 pts.
Spotted the error in their thinking process, +3 pts.
...without me having to point it out. +10 pts.
Sibling coughed up a truthful inclusion confession on his own, +20 pts.
Both parties showed concern (ok, some awareness) that their actions, however unintentional, had negatively affected someone else. +50 pts. (been workin' on that one for a while!)
So it's not 100% (that would be reserved for "thought things through before doing them" - it will be a Very Happy Day when that happens!) But it's not bad for a 7yo and a 9yo. I couldn't really justify leaping into Lecture Land. They handled it well. I'm proud of them.
But I'm still done doing the yardwork-with-kids thing. :-P
That's why I'm in here, blogging, under the pretext of figuring out what to fix for lunch.
Thursday, May 15
I thought I'd told you about that.
But I've just searched the blog, and it seems I never mentioned it. However, to tell tonight's story, I have to tell the first story, so...
The first Scout meeting we attended, back in December, turned out to be one where a Sheriff's Deputy spoke about arrest warrants, drug use, and other niceties of the trade. He was very good with the boys, and they were all riveted to the spot. One of the kids asked him what the most common warrant is that they issue. The Deputy said there's actually a lot of meth activity in this area...
Cue James, who listens, kind of, and joins in at random times, occasionally with disjointed information that may - or may not - be pertinent to the discussion. Our first contact with a new group of people seems to be a fairly regular, and not-as-random-as-I'd-prefer, occasion for sharing information out of context.
"Oh, yes! My Mom said meth is easy to make in your basement!"
*blink* *blink*
...Are ya gonna follow up on that comment?
Nope.
A few minutes later, as the Nice Officer explained that marijuana is a plant that is grown, and some of the other drugs are made from chemicals, James again decided to move straight to the head of the class (or right into the interrogation lamp, depending on your perspective) by offering:
"Yeah! My Mom said you can make meth with common household materials."
(Gah. Where IS this kid's mother, huh?!?)
Again, no further explanation. I'm out-to-here pregnant, with kids hanging all over, kind of dirty because we'd been working on the storm windows all day... and I'm wanting to DIE.
Now, what I'd said, in context, during one of our many "Drugs Will Destroy Your Soul And Make You Do Weird Things" discussions, was that meth is commonly made in homes in rural neighborhoods, and that the nice pharmacist asked me to sign for sinus medication because many common household materials, including OTC drugs, are used in the production of methamphetamines and the law enforcement agencies are trying to clamp down on that. THAT is what I said. Sounds totally different, doesn't it?
Right. So, here we are, six months later. I'm hoping the folks at Scouts are starting to get a feel for us (you know, like feeling fairly confident that we aren't whipping out crack in our spare time). James' den is talking about community, taxes, and law enforcement. His contribution to the discussion? Well, when the Scoutmaster pointed out that so-and-so's Dad (sitting right there - same guy who gave the talk in December) is a Deputy, James points out...
Well, if everybody followed the law, he'd be out of a job!
Sooo... this is the Economic Security Through Default Crime approach? Ahhh, yes. I'm kind of glad I wasn't there for that one. Thankfully, however, he's getting better. At least he followed this one up with,
They do learn. It's good stuff.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
The first Scout meeting we attended, back in December, turned out to be one where a Sheriff's Deputy spoke about arrest warrants, drug use, and other niceties of the trade. He was very good with the boys, and they were all riveted to the spot. One of the kids asked him what the most common warrant is that they issue. The Deputy said there's actually a lot of meth activity in this area...
Cue James, who listens, kind of, and joins in at random times, occasionally with disjointed information that may - or may not - be pertinent to the discussion. Our first contact with a new group of people seems to be a fairly regular, and not-as-random-as-I'd-prefer, occasion for sharing information out of context.
"Oh, yes! My Mom said meth is easy to make in your basement!"
*blink* *blink*
...Are ya gonna follow up on that comment?
Nope.
A few minutes later, as the Nice Officer explained that marijuana is a plant that is grown, and some of the other drugs are made from chemicals, James again decided to move straight to the head of the class (or right into the interrogation lamp, depending on your perspective) by offering:
"Yeah! My Mom said you can make meth with common household materials."
(Gah. Where IS this kid's mother, huh?!?)
Again, no further explanation. I'm out-to-here pregnant, with kids hanging all over, kind of dirty because we'd been working on the storm windows all day... and I'm wanting to DIE.
Now, what I'd said, in context, during one of our many "Drugs Will Destroy Your Soul And Make You Do Weird Things" discussions, was that meth is commonly made in homes in rural neighborhoods, and that the nice pharmacist asked me to sign for sinus medication because many common household materials, including OTC drugs, are used in the production of methamphetamines and the law enforcement agencies are trying to clamp down on that. THAT is what I said. Sounds totally different, doesn't it?
Right. So, here we are, six months later. I'm hoping the folks at Scouts are starting to get a feel for us (you know, like feeling fairly confident that we aren't whipping out crack in our spare time). James' den is talking about community, taxes, and law enforcement. His contribution to the discussion? Well, when the Scoutmaster pointed out that so-and-so's Dad (sitting right there - same guy who gave the talk in December) is a Deputy, James points out...
Well, if everybody followed the law, he'd be out of a job!
Sooo... this is the Economic Security Through Default Crime approach? Ahhh, yes. I'm kind of glad I wasn't there for that one. Thankfully, however, he's getting better. At least he followed this one up with,
"But, you know, we should all probably still follow the law."Good save, kiddo! Good save.
They do learn. It's good stuff.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Wednesday, May 14
Party Planners and Parenting
Party Planners: I will never mock them again.
On the other topic...
It was a pretty good day, today. Most of the "stuff" was your normal "stuff" - the kind of mental gymnastics that are part and parcel of parenting. Those, I can handle. I generally ignore them when I blog, because they're just so... mundane... but today, they felt somewhat refreshing. Eh, it's the devil you know, right?
The boys had piano today, since their teacher will be out of town tomorrow. James needs to work with a damper pedal, but do you think they left the damper pedal alone when we first got the keyboard? Do you think they put it where I suggested they put it? Do you think they remember any of those discussions? No, no, they don't. And so, he's a bit upset that he can't do his studies because "we" (he's mastered the Royal We already - see, told you he was advanced! ha-ha.) can't find it. Uh-huh. Okay, then.
Smidge stayed with Zorak because I had to ask him three times to put away the train tracks so we could leave. I'm just having to crack down on this whole, "You need to do what I ask you to do when I ask you to do it" thing. If they don't do it right then, they will forget. They're little, they do that.
Seriously, I work hard at not being a dictator, but a few train tracks before we run to piano, a pair of socks before brushing your teeth, cleats left in the doorway, clean clothes that don't make it to their drawers before lights-out... times four... and suddenly, I live in a home that would shame Samson & Son. Argh! Clutter makes me twitchy. Clutter that is not mine, that I do not want, and that is not picked up makes me think fondly of Joan Crawford. I don't want to live like that, and whether the kids know it or not, they don't want to live like that. So, please, let's stick with the one-thing-out, one-thing-back rule and move on, shall we? Yeah, thanks.
He got to help Zorak and felt pretty good about all the work he did. (All part of my genius! Or, at least I'm going to take credit for it tonight.) And when we got back, even though it was raining, he put a coat over his head and ran out to give me a hug and fill me in on all he accomplished. So I'm guessing he wasn't terribly scarred by not going with us.
EmBaby stayed home because it was, blessedly, naptime, and... because I could get away with it. A sippy cup, a Disney flick, and a molasses cookie and I've not only ensured our dentist's future employment prospects, but she's out in five minutes, flat. Don't judge me too harshly, here, folks. I've only got about six more months where that'll work, and I. need. them.
We made it to piano *EARLY* (two days in a row that we haven't been late for things - it is a personal best - the boys and I did a victory dance in the parking lot to mark the occasion), performed a rain dance (aka - hit the car wash, guaranteed to do the trick every time!), picked up more anchor bolts and a couple of good books (hint: when you want to know whether a book is good and should you buy it, be sure to call the one friend you know who can justify a book purchase under almost any condition. She'll come through for you!)
One of the books I bought is called "Slipcovers Made Easy". Of course, everything about our couch is listed under her "Don't Start With THIS COUCH" section. But that's okay. If she can make it even do-able, I'll be happy. We lost sight of "easy" two months ago. We're almost down to shopping, or arson.
OK, I have more stuff to do before bed. I better go be productive.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
On the other topic...
It was a pretty good day, today. Most of the "stuff" was your normal "stuff" - the kind of mental gymnastics that are part and parcel of parenting. Those, I can handle. I generally ignore them when I blog, because they're just so... mundane... but today, they felt somewhat refreshing. Eh, it's the devil you know, right?
The boys had piano today, since their teacher will be out of town tomorrow. James needs to work with a damper pedal, but do you think they left the damper pedal alone when we first got the keyboard? Do you think they put it where I suggested they put it? Do you think they remember any of those discussions? No, no, they don't. And so, he's a bit upset that he can't do his studies because "we" (he's mastered the Royal We already - see, told you he was advanced! ha-ha.) can't find it. Uh-huh. Okay, then.
Smidge stayed with Zorak because I had to ask him three times to put away the train tracks so we could leave. I'm just having to crack down on this whole, "You need to do what I ask you to do when I ask you to do it" thing. If they don't do it right then, they will forget. They're little, they do that.
Seriously, I work hard at not being a dictator, but a few train tracks before we run to piano, a pair of socks before brushing your teeth, cleats left in the doorway, clean clothes that don't make it to their drawers before lights-out... times four... and suddenly, I live in a home that would shame Samson & Son. Argh! Clutter makes me twitchy. Clutter that is not mine, that I do not want, and that is not picked up makes me think fondly of Joan Crawford. I don't want to live like that, and whether the kids know it or not, they don't want to live like that. So, please, let's stick with the one-thing-out, one-thing-back rule and move on, shall we? Yeah, thanks.
He got to help Zorak and felt pretty good about all the work he did. (All part of my genius! Or, at least I'm going to take credit for it tonight.) And when we got back, even though it was raining, he put a coat over his head and ran out to give me a hug and fill me in on all he accomplished. So I'm guessing he wasn't terribly scarred by not going with us.
EmBaby stayed home because it was, blessedly, naptime, and... because I could get away with it. A sippy cup, a Disney flick, and a molasses cookie and I've not only ensured our dentist's future employment prospects, but she's out in five minutes, flat. Don't judge me too harshly, here, folks. I've only got about six more months where that'll work, and I. need. them.
We made it to piano *EARLY* (two days in a row that we haven't been late for things - it is a personal best - the boys and I did a victory dance in the parking lot to mark the occasion), performed a rain dance (aka - hit the car wash, guaranteed to do the trick every time!), picked up more anchor bolts and a couple of good books (hint: when you want to know whether a book is good and should you buy it, be sure to call the one friend you know who can justify a book purchase under almost any condition. She'll come through for you!)
One of the books I bought is called "Slipcovers Made Easy". Of course, everything about our couch is listed under her "Don't Start With THIS COUCH" section. But that's okay. If she can make it even do-able, I'll be happy. We lost sight of "easy" two months ago. We're almost down to shopping, or arson.
OK, I have more stuff to do before bed. I better go be productive.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
ufda! - but things are getting better
I forgot "the rest of the story" from yesterday - LB asked me about it this morning (I called her yesterday for a little talk-me-down), and honestly, I think I blocked it while I was blogging.
Baby Jason took a tumble while we were in Sam's. Best we can tell, the spring on the locking mechanism came unhooked and so, while we were standing around the basket, enjoying seconds of the tortellini samples (it so helps to have cute kids - the sample ladies offer them extras just to keep them talking!), all of a sudden, the carseat flips up and over. He landed, face-down, on the floor. My heart stopped for a full 30 seconds, I think. The boys didn't fare much better. And every sample lady within view came flocking to make sure "that precious baby" was okay.
He is, thank God, just fine. The straps did their trick, kept him tucked safely within the walls of the carseat, and he, personally, never hit the floor. He shows no signs of discomfort, not having any trouble moving, holding up his head, or focusing on objects. We kept an eye on his eye dilation, looked for signs of lethargy, and put everyone on alert about projectile vomiting. Nothing. But I didn't sleep for squat last night from checking on him regularly. We finished our shopping with him in the sling, with both arms wrapped around him. Tight. He may end up with squished parts from me holding him so snugly!
Today... much more peaceful. We planted the salad bed! We took a slightly unconventional approach, since trying to make neat, perfectly spaced rows with four children and a dog just wasn't happening. We raked back the mulch, turned up a light layer of dirt, scattered seeds in the general vicinity of each section, raked it lightly, and put the mulch back. If it works, it should be a fantastic garden. If it doesn't work, well, we saved some seeds and can always try again. James made a chart which will go up on the corkboard display (um, which I need to make this weekend), John and Smidge watered it. Em, who has had a fever off-and-on for two days (molars, weee!) roamed back and forth from the garden bed to the porch, whining. It's part of the official Toddler Pulmonary Strength and Vocal Training Program, I think.
We dead-headed the rose bush. This is the first year we've had roses on it, and I'm shooting for a second bloom, if we can get it.
We checked on the fruit trees. This year, we're getting fruit! We finally have fruit on the two apple trees, the pears are growing beautifully, and what we've always though was a peach tree down by the propane tank - IS a peach tree - this year we have peaches! The elusive persimmon still hasn't surfaced, but we know it's out there, somewhere. (We found a few over-ripe persimmons our first fall here, but can't find the tree.)
One of the goals we've kept in the forefront of all we do on this property is to make the land healthy as we make it useful. It's a bountiful piece of earth, and, if properly cared for, will yield many wonderful things - not just for our table, but for our children, our life here, and beyond. So far, in spite of our woeful ignorance of Things Agricultural, we've seen many signs that what we're doing is working: new fruit, increased earthworm numbers, better drainage, more birds, fewer trees going down in storms, cleaner creek water, and several flowering plants that hadn't flowered in years now covered in blooms. It's exciting! Just imagine what we'll be able to do once we have some idea what we're doing! :-P The kids are getting a kick out of it, too, because they are a part of it. They help prune, clean, tend, and feed. They get out there and take part in all that happens, and they have a vested interest in the outcome of our work. This is why we bought the place. Definitely why we bought it.
Baby Jason took a tumble while we were in Sam's. Best we can tell, the spring on the locking mechanism came unhooked and so, while we were standing around the basket, enjoying seconds of the tortellini samples (it so helps to have cute kids - the sample ladies offer them extras just to keep them talking!), all of a sudden, the carseat flips up and over. He landed, face-down, on the floor. My heart stopped for a full 30 seconds, I think. The boys didn't fare much better. And every sample lady within view came flocking to make sure "that precious baby" was okay.
He is, thank God, just fine. The straps did their trick, kept him tucked safely within the walls of the carseat, and he, personally, never hit the floor. He shows no signs of discomfort, not having any trouble moving, holding up his head, or focusing on objects. We kept an eye on his eye dilation, looked for signs of lethargy, and put everyone on alert about projectile vomiting. Nothing. But I didn't sleep for squat last night from checking on him regularly. We finished our shopping with him in the sling, with both arms wrapped around him. Tight. He may end up with squished parts from me holding him so snugly!
Today... much more peaceful. We planted the salad bed! We took a slightly unconventional approach, since trying to make neat, perfectly spaced rows with four children and a dog just wasn't happening. We raked back the mulch, turned up a light layer of dirt, scattered seeds in the general vicinity of each section, raked it lightly, and put the mulch back. If it works, it should be a fantastic garden. If it doesn't work, well, we saved some seeds and can always try again. James made a chart which will go up on the corkboard display (um, which I need to make this weekend), John and Smidge watered it. Em, who has had a fever off-and-on for two days (molars, weee!) roamed back and forth from the garden bed to the porch, whining. It's part of the official Toddler Pulmonary Strength and Vocal Training Program, I think.
We dead-headed the rose bush. This is the first year we've had roses on it, and I'm shooting for a second bloom, if we can get it.
We checked on the fruit trees. This year, we're getting fruit! We finally have fruit on the two apple trees, the pears are growing beautifully, and what we've always though was a peach tree down by the propane tank - IS a peach tree - this year we have peaches! The elusive persimmon still hasn't surfaced, but we know it's out there, somewhere. (We found a few over-ripe persimmons our first fall here, but can't find the tree.)
One of the goals we've kept in the forefront of all we do on this property is to make the land healthy as we make it useful. It's a bountiful piece of earth, and, if properly cared for, will yield many wonderful things - not just for our table, but for our children, our life here, and beyond. So far, in spite of our woeful ignorance of Things Agricultural, we've seen many signs that what we're doing is working: new fruit, increased earthworm numbers, better drainage, more birds, fewer trees going down in storms, cleaner creek water, and several flowering plants that hadn't flowered in years now covered in blooms. It's exciting! Just imagine what we'll be able to do once we have some idea what we're doing! :-P The kids are getting a kick out of it, too, because they are a part of it. They help prune, clean, tend, and feed. They get out there and take part in all that happens, and they have a vested interest in the outcome of our work. This is why we bought the place. Definitely why we bought it.
Tuesday, May 13
Oh, for the love of Pete.
I don't know Pete, personally, but I hope he's happy, now, with all the love I've wished him the past 48 hours.
We have new house phones. We've needed to replace ours for a while, but yesterday there was this HUGE straw, and this camel with spinal injuries, and a lot of poop... fortunately (?) it wasn't camel poop... I don't know. It's all relative, really.
So, my plan yesterday was to strip the forms from the weekend's piers. But I couldn't find the square bits. I can't find anything down there. I gave up before I dismantled the forms entirely and left Zorak further behind than when he finished Sunday.
We were going to dig the next hole and start tearing off the back steps. (I really do hate brick. Oh, how I loathe brick. There are so many ant beds inside those steps! YUCK!) But EmBaby needed a bath first, and Smidge needed to get dressed. All was going fairly well, with just a glitch or two here and there. Then, out of nowhere...
One kid had diarrhea.
Em needed to poop.
Since the sole toilet was occupied, why not use the tub? The tub she was bathing in... sure, sounds like a plan.
So Smidge, mostly naked at this point, is running up and down the hall, yelling, "Emily POOPED!" John is trapped in the room with the vile concoction, probably wondering why he continues to eat jalapenos in such large quantities.
Em's standing in the tub, crying.
I pull her out, pull the drain on the tub...
...and drop my phone in the tub.
Cue Angry Baby! Jason wakes up, evidently realizing he got hungry ten minutes earlier. Oy, he's ticked. Smidge is still playing Town Crier, announcing the Great Poop Incident of '08. John's out of toilet paper. I can't find James, and I'm not sure the phone is worth rescuing.
James brings toilet paper. I dig out the phone (fear of electrocution should someone fall into the vile water overrode my squeamishness). I try to redirect Smidge to Get. Dressed. John's starting to look a little light-headed. Emily's still crying.
We have exactly eight drops of bleach left. OK, it'll have to do. Bleach the tub, delegate James to change Jason, threaten Smidge with banishment if he doesn't stop with the play-by-play. John, bless him, tries to switch out the toilet paper roll. (I love that they will replace the empty roll, I do. Just... not. while. you're STILL on the commode, ya know?) The bar falls in. Yeah, it did.
If I'd have thought it would clear the p-trap, I'd have just flushed it.
I'm not entirely sure how I got through the whole situation without imploding, or teaching the kids new bad words, but I did. It helps that we've got two older children who can understand when Mom explains, "OK, hey, listen, *everything* is falling down around my ears at the moment. I need you to do x,y, and probably z twice, to help me get it braced back up. Can you do that for me?" Once they stop laughing (they have a beautiful grasp of the absurd), they do help. They don't panic.
I *had* to go get bleach. Simply had to. There is no way I'm going to end up in this exact situation again, folks. So, we got Smidge dressed, tended to Jason, re-washed EmBaby, took a few deep breaths, then loaded up and ran to Sam's. We're now the proud owners of four and a quarter gallons of bleach (should last us a good year or two, right?), some quick-fix food for game night (which, of course, we consumed last night), and another large bag of toilet paper (we were disturbingly close to running out).
This is the third day in a row that's thrown me a few curve balls. I'm so very thankful to have this family, these kids, and that wonderful, wonderful bed to collapse into at the end of days like that. I'm guessing a good sense of humor doesn't hurt, any.
The new phones are charging now. They're lovely. They've never been pooped on. And, they have an intercom feature. I think I may just put one in the bathroom (but you know, up high, and glued to the wall) to facilitate Smidge's journalistic leanings. What do you think?
Today, we're tackling those steps! (And Zorak showed me where he hides the "hot tools" - the ones he's currently using - so maybe I can be a little more helpful down there on the balcony today.)
Kiss those babies ~ they may be what keeps you from the asylum one day! ;-)
~Dy
We have new house phones. We've needed to replace ours for a while, but yesterday there was this HUGE straw, and this camel with spinal injuries, and a lot of poop... fortunately (?) it wasn't camel poop... I don't know. It's all relative, really.
So, my plan yesterday was to strip the forms from the weekend's piers. But I couldn't find the square bits. I can't find anything down there. I gave up before I dismantled the forms entirely and left Zorak further behind than when he finished Sunday.
We were going to dig the next hole and start tearing off the back steps. (I really do hate brick. Oh, how I loathe brick. There are so many ant beds inside those steps! YUCK!) But EmBaby needed a bath first, and Smidge needed to get dressed. All was going fairly well, with just a glitch or two here and there. Then, out of nowhere...
One kid had diarrhea.
Em needed to poop.
Since the sole toilet was occupied, why not use the tub? The tub she was bathing in... sure, sounds like a plan.
So Smidge, mostly naked at this point, is running up and down the hall, yelling, "Emily POOPED!" John is trapped in the room with the vile concoction, probably wondering why he continues to eat jalapenos in such large quantities.
Em's standing in the tub, crying.
I pull her out, pull the drain on the tub...
...and drop my phone in the tub.
Cue Angry Baby! Jason wakes up, evidently realizing he got hungry ten minutes earlier. Oy, he's ticked. Smidge is still playing Town Crier, announcing the Great Poop Incident of '08. John's out of toilet paper. I can't find James, and I'm not sure the phone is worth rescuing.
James brings toilet paper. I dig out the phone (fear of electrocution should someone fall into the vile water overrode my squeamishness). I try to redirect Smidge to Get. Dressed. John's starting to look a little light-headed. Emily's still crying.
We have exactly eight drops of bleach left. OK, it'll have to do. Bleach the tub, delegate James to change Jason, threaten Smidge with banishment if he doesn't stop with the play-by-play. John, bless him, tries to switch out the toilet paper roll. (I love that they will replace the empty roll, I do. Just... not. while. you're STILL on the commode, ya know?) The bar falls in. Yeah, it did.
If I'd have thought it would clear the p-trap, I'd have just flushed it.
I'm not entirely sure how I got through the whole situation without imploding, or teaching the kids new bad words, but I did. It helps that we've got two older children who can understand when Mom explains, "OK, hey, listen, *everything* is falling down around my ears at the moment. I need you to do x,y, and probably z twice, to help me get it braced back up. Can you do that for me?" Once they stop laughing (they have a beautiful grasp of the absurd), they do help. They don't panic.
I *had* to go get bleach. Simply had to. There is no way I'm going to end up in this exact situation again, folks. So, we got Smidge dressed, tended to Jason, re-washed EmBaby, took a few deep breaths, then loaded up and ran to Sam's. We're now the proud owners of four and a quarter gallons of bleach (should last us a good year or two, right?), some quick-fix food for game night (which, of course, we consumed last night), and another large bag of toilet paper (we were disturbingly close to running out).
This is the third day in a row that's thrown me a few curve balls. I'm so very thankful to have this family, these kids, and that wonderful, wonderful bed to collapse into at the end of days like that. I'm guessing a good sense of humor doesn't hurt, any.
The new phones are charging now. They're lovely. They've never been pooped on. And, they have an intercom feature. I think I may just put one in the bathroom (but you know, up high, and glued to the wall) to facilitate Smidge's journalistic leanings. What do you think?
Today, we're tackling those steps! (And Zorak showed me where he hides the "hot tools" - the ones he's currently using - so maybe I can be a little more helpful down there on the balcony today.)
Kiss those babies ~ they may be what keeps you from the asylum one day! ;-)
~Dy
Monday, May 12
A Lovely Day and Big Plans
Well, BabyJ kept me up until about five this morning. I think Zorak had intended to let me sleep in a bit, but the boys were anxious to fix me breakfast in bed for Mother's Day. Had I not been (a) still mostly asleep, and (b) nursing the wee one, when they made their grand entrance (setting the plate on the wee babe, since that was closest to my head, I suppose), I'm sure my gratitude would have been more clearly evident than with my groggy, utterances of, "oh. OH! Oh, um, oh" It was all I could come up with. When they brought in the coffee, I got really nervous, pried myself loose and joined everyone for breakfast at the table.
By the time we'd eaten (and I was a bit morealert, erm, coherent), we decided today should be a work day. Zorak, John and Smidge worked on the balcony piers. I worked in the basement. James watched Jason and Em for me. We talked. We worked. We planned. It's not your typical Mother's Day dream plan, but it's so very "us". Yes, we're geeks. We know this. We embrace it. It's what makes it all work, you know.
Zorak managed to avoid having to discuss his birthday plans with me just long enough that I hit that stage where my voice cracks and my right eye twitches involuntarily. I'd written on my calendar that invitations were to go out Monday. TOMORROW. And here, we didn't even have a menu, or a theme, or a balcony! He took pity on me and nailed down a few details. Invitations won't go out tomorrow, but we have a theme, a menu, and he's promised me a list of names from work by tomorrow evening.
We may, or may not, have a balcony in time. We've decided we're not sweating it. However, since I evidently only work well under incredible pressure with unreasonable expectations, my insane inner self decided that I need to have the basement party-presentable "just in case" the weather is bad.
Right.
Because a tent in the meadow somehow provides less shelter than an open-air balcony.
I know. I don't get it, either. It's a wacky world inside this head. But I seldom get bored. So, there's that.
It's about time for a curriculum and scheduling post, too! I just have to stop hyperventilating over the cost of the new curriculum, first. It'll come.
And now, in case that little bundle of late-night energy decides to wake up and party, I'm going to get some shut-eye, myself.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
By the time we'd eaten (and I was a bit more
Zorak managed to avoid having to discuss his birthday plans with me just long enough that I hit that stage where my voice cracks and my right eye twitches involuntarily. I'd written on my calendar that invitations were to go out Monday. TOMORROW. And here, we didn't even have a menu, or a theme, or a balcony! He took pity on me and nailed down a few details. Invitations won't go out tomorrow, but we have a theme, a menu, and he's promised me a list of names from work by tomorrow evening.
We may, or may not, have a balcony in time. We've decided we're not sweating it. However, since I evidently only work well under incredible pressure with unreasonable expectations, my insane inner self decided that I need to have the basement party-presentable "just in case" the weather is bad.
Right.
Because a tent in the meadow somehow provides less shelter than an open-air balcony.
I know. I don't get it, either. It's a wacky world inside this head. But I seldom get bored. So, there's that.
It's about time for a curriculum and scheduling post, too! I just have to stop hyperventilating over the cost of the new curriculum, first. It'll come.
And now, in case that little bundle of late-night energy decides to wake up and party, I'm going to get some shut-eye, myself.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Sunday, May 11
HI!
Well, yesterday ganged up on me. (If one thing can be said to "gang up", that is.) Everything was going fine until we had an impromptu water-rescue, and that, while it turned out nicely, threw the entire rest of the day into utter chaos. There's just something about having to rip open a box of nursing pads in the checkout line and inconspicuously trying to stuff a couple in while letting your 7yo hold the screaming, hungry baby because you didn't grab a decent nursing shirt, and you can't get home to change (again) if that one gets soaked and you're already running very-very late for something you *swore* you'd be on time for... So, um, let's just say that we called it a successful day when, at the end, nobody was seriously injured or missing, and everybody knew they were loved. That's all it takes to make it a great day, right? (Sometimes, yes.) And to be honest, my 7yo ROCKS. That kid is awesome in a crisis! Wow.
Today? Much better. James and John had games out of town, thankfully both at the same field in the same town (woohoo! yes, it's the small things) so Zorak took them. Smidge had a game in town, so I took him, Em and JasonBaby... yeah, I'm thinkin' his morning went a bit more smoothly than mine. All three boys won their games. But more to the point, all three boys "showed up" for their games, and played well. They felt good, and rightly so. We came home, grilled kabobs, played in the dirt and the grass, and crashed hard at the end of the day.
Zorak and I watched Shaun of the Dead and laughed ourselves silly. I know, it seems weird to laugh at at zombie movie. But what can I say? Well, not much. We are weird, and it was funny. And I'm still giggling.
Then we realized it's been raining for a while, and gee, that lightning seems awfully frequent, and hey - whaddya say we check the weather channel? So, in case you're thinking of calling tomorrow - yes, there were tornadoes, yes, we're okay, and um, no, we didn't go to the basement because by the time we realized there were warnings and watches and alerts galore, they were almost expired. What's the sense in waking everybody at one in the morning, anyway? And it's not like we'd go down there without them! So, the family that's oblivious together... yeah...
So what about you guys? Having a good weekend? Tomorrow is Mother's Day! I'm getting a concrete pier and some extra lovin's. Probably will make pancakes since a little bribery never hurts. Do you know what you're getting/giving/doing for Mother's Day?
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Today? Much better. James and John had games out of town, thankfully both at the same field in the same town (woohoo! yes, it's the small things) so Zorak took them. Smidge had a game in town, so I took him, Em and JasonBaby... yeah, I'm thinkin' his morning went a bit more smoothly than mine. All three boys won their games. But more to the point, all three boys "showed up" for their games, and played well. They felt good, and rightly so. We came home, grilled kabobs, played in the dirt and the grass, and crashed hard at the end of the day.
Zorak and I watched Shaun of the Dead and laughed ourselves silly. I know, it seems weird to laugh at at zombie movie. But what can I say? Well, not much. We are weird, and it was funny. And I'm still giggling.
Then we realized it's been raining for a while, and gee, that lightning seems awfully frequent, and hey - whaddya say we check the weather channel? So, in case you're thinking of calling tomorrow - yes, there were tornadoes, yes, we're okay, and um, no, we didn't go to the basement because by the time we realized there were warnings and watches and alerts galore, they were almost expired. What's the sense in waking everybody at one in the morning, anyway? And it's not like we'd go down there without them! So, the family that's oblivious together... yeah...
So what about you guys? Having a good weekend? Tomorrow is Mother's Day! I'm getting a concrete pier and some extra lovin's. Probably will make pancakes since a little bribery never hurts. Do you know what you're getting/giving/doing for Mother's Day?
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
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