- Do not pull into the lane, get out and leave your vehicle unattended while you escort your child into the building. This is not dropping off, this is taking your child into the school. Park in a designated parking space if you want to take your child into the building.
- Pull forward as far as you can into the lane when you come to pick up your child. The people stuck waiting in their cars out in the street can see that if you'd just pull up we could fit 3 more cars in the lane.
- Pick up time is not the time for a parent-teacher conference.
- Don't get huffy at me because I'm waiting for my children to buckle up before I pull away from the curb. It is the law. And I happen to love my children enough to keep them safe.
- Smile and acknowledge your child or children when dropping off and picking up. Your phone call can wait a few minutes.
- The bus lane is NOT a drop-off or pick-up lane. The rest of us are waiting in line like we're supposed to. Despite what you think you are not special...even if you think your yellow car qualifies as a bus.
Showing posts with label crazy mom rants. Show all posts
Showing posts with label crazy mom rants. Show all posts
Monday, August 23, 2010
Tips for Using the Drop Off Lane at School
I posted this two years ago, but since school has started for some of us, and will be starting soon for the rest of you I thought it was necessary to re post this. Already I have dealt with all of this again this year.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
The Day That Could Have Been Much Worse and Why I'm Thankful
Yesterday was the kind of day that would have been defined in terms of complete suckage in the past and sent me completely over the edge of reason. However, I have made changes lately and the events of yesterday took on a different tone mostly because of how I have relearned to react to things (most of the time).
It was an ordinary enough morning but as I was in the shower I remembered that my son had brought home a homework assignment to do this weekend. It wasn't a big thing, just read a very short book and answer a couple of questions. But since I forgot about it until early Monday morning it was pretty much like pulling teeth from a boy who probably stayed up too late the previous night playing Legos surreptitiously in his room long after he was told to go to sleep.
But we got through it. In time to pile into the car...Ms. D with her new ball that her cousin sweetly decided she should have because she enjoyed it at his house so much (she has brought it with her ever since)...M and K with their backpacks and rowdy attitudes. I had little hope for civilized schooling. Small prayers sent to their teachers.
D and I went on to her "school" a parent and child activity mostly unique to Minnesota. (ECFE if you're interested.) The kids in her class had started tentatively separating from their parents and now, with almost 8 months of class and practice at separating from parents for about an hour or so, most of the kids are separating without fuss. D had some issues for the first half of the school year but since January she has been completely comfortable when I've left the room.
When I returned to the room today to pick her up one of the teachers rushed to us. It was unusual and for a split second I thought she was going to tell me about a potty training success or something similar. That was where my mind was I guess.
It was not the case.
No, instead I was told that my little bitty pretty baby girl almost hung herself from a toddler slide by way of some plastic Mardi-Gras style necklaces. There was a red mark on her neck remaining from the incident when I arrived in the room after parent time ended. I was calm. She was fine. Later, as I was thinking about what might have happened I grew angry. I wondered why I was not summoned to the room immediately following the incident. I worried about whether they had removed all of the necklaces from now on. I was assured that D was never really choking and that the incident happened and was over in a matter of seconds (resulting in the necklaces being cut from around her neck.)
I could be irate. I'm not. I'm happy my child is safe. I hope all necklaces are gone. I will check today. FYI--necklaces in a toddler room are not well-advised.
Later in the day D slept for almost 2 hours. She didn't really nap the previous day so she was extra tired anyway and I suspect that nearly hanging oneself may be a little tiring. (Thank the Lord she is fine I would be even more nuts than I already am if she were not fine.) I joke but it is not funny. Had I lost my littlest one (any of my kids) I would fear for my own sanity.
I nudged D awake slightly before we needed to go pick up her siblings. She was groggy, sweaty, bright-eyed and independent. Typical child of mine.
We went to pick up her siblings. We've gotten into the habit as the weather has gotten so atypically beautiful so quickly that we've walked outside of the BIGS' school while they've finished their lessons. D pulls and resists my handhold, but we manage to reach a compromise.
We pick up her siblings and drive home. It is uneventful. Normal. I think my unusual day has past the unusual bit but it hasn't.
The kids put their stuff away. K goes out to play, M does her homework then goes out to play. I check her work and discover it's lacking so I call her indoors again.
She reworks the problems and returns outdoors.
Minutes later I hear wailing, crying, "don't tell mom!" "I'm telling mom!"
Miss M enters, crying hysterically. It takes a few moments for me to realize her face and neck are covered in paint. Not good. The Boy is sent to his room. He's clearly remorseful yet not that sure he's done something wrong. How do you know that you've done something wrong??? Especially when you're five?
I call their dad to ask how to remove spray paint from faces. He suggests olive oil and it works. My son is cowering in his room. My oldest is laughing because I've come up with ways to make her see the humor. The toddler nearly died this morning.
The day was emotional. A set of near misses. M may have lost sight because she had spray paint all over her face (thankfully missing eyes) and neck.
This day could have been much worse. I spent the day being calm. Every incident, I was calm, understanding, loving. I'm not sure that is good.
It was an ordinary enough morning but as I was in the shower I remembered that my son had brought home a homework assignment to do this weekend. It wasn't a big thing, just read a very short book and answer a couple of questions. But since I forgot about it until early Monday morning it was pretty much like pulling teeth from a boy who probably stayed up too late the previous night playing Legos surreptitiously in his room long after he was told to go to sleep.
But we got through it. In time to pile into the car...Ms. D with her new ball that her cousin sweetly decided she should have because she enjoyed it at his house so much (she has brought it with her ever since)...M and K with their backpacks and rowdy attitudes. I had little hope for civilized schooling. Small prayers sent to their teachers.
D and I went on to her "school" a parent and child activity mostly unique to Minnesota. (ECFE if you're interested.) The kids in her class had started tentatively separating from their parents and now, with almost 8 months of class and practice at separating from parents for about an hour or so, most of the kids are separating without fuss. D had some issues for the first half of the school year but since January she has been completely comfortable when I've left the room.
When I returned to the room today to pick her up one of the teachers rushed to us. It was unusual and for a split second I thought she was going to tell me about a potty training success or something similar. That was where my mind was I guess.
It was not the case.
No, instead I was told that my little bitty pretty baby girl almost hung herself from a toddler slide by way of some plastic Mardi-Gras style necklaces. There was a red mark on her neck remaining from the incident when I arrived in the room after parent time ended. I was calm. She was fine. Later, as I was thinking about what might have happened I grew angry. I wondered why I was not summoned to the room immediately following the incident. I worried about whether they had removed all of the necklaces from now on. I was assured that D was never really choking and that the incident happened and was over in a matter of seconds (resulting in the necklaces being cut from around her neck.)
I could be irate. I'm not. I'm happy my child is safe. I hope all necklaces are gone. I will check today. FYI--necklaces in a toddler room are not well-advised.
Later in the day D slept for almost 2 hours. She didn't really nap the previous day so she was extra tired anyway and I suspect that nearly hanging oneself may be a little tiring. (Thank the Lord she is fine I would be even more nuts than I already am if she were not fine.) I joke but it is not funny. Had I lost my littlest one (any of my kids) I would fear for my own sanity.
I nudged D awake slightly before we needed to go pick up her siblings. She was groggy, sweaty, bright-eyed and independent. Typical child of mine.
We went to pick up her siblings. We've gotten into the habit as the weather has gotten so atypically beautiful so quickly that we've walked outside of the BIGS' school while they've finished their lessons. D pulls and resists my handhold, but we manage to reach a compromise.
We pick up her siblings and drive home. It is uneventful. Normal. I think my unusual day has past the unusual bit but it hasn't.
The kids put their stuff away. K goes out to play, M does her homework then goes out to play. I check her work and discover it's lacking so I call her indoors again.
She reworks the problems and returns outdoors.
Minutes later I hear wailing, crying, "don't tell mom!" "I'm telling mom!"
Miss M enters, crying hysterically. It takes a few moments for me to realize her face and neck are covered in paint. Not good. The Boy is sent to his room. He's clearly remorseful yet not that sure he's done something wrong. How do you know that you've done something wrong??? Especially when you're five?
I call their dad to ask how to remove spray paint from faces. He suggests olive oil and it works. My son is cowering in his room. My oldest is laughing because I've come up with ways to make her see the humor. The toddler nearly died this morning.
The day was emotional. A set of near misses. M may have lost sight because she had spray paint all over her face (thankfully missing eyes) and neck.
This day could have been much worse. I spent the day being calm. Every incident, I was calm, understanding, loving. I'm not sure that is good.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Whatever Happened To Manners?
Sometimes progress and technology are very bad things. People no longer connect beyond a superficial level. You used to know your butcher, your grocer, your postal carrier. I don't know the man who delivers my mail. I have a slight relationship with some of the people at one branch of our local post office, merely because I choose to go there to ship packages when people buy stuff from my shop.
This lack of connection seems to allow people to forget common manners...or maybe it's just my city. I guess when I've been in other cities the salespeople have been more pleasant. My city is full of people who have a strong sense of entitlement.
Clerks in stores no longer think it's necessary to thank you for your purchase. Instead, they hand you your receipt and say "here you go" as though they are doing you a favor.
I went into one store for the first time ever (so it was a liquor store, so?) and the clerk barked at me "what's your birth date?" I looked at him incredulously because it's quite obvious I am older than 21. I thought he was joking. No. "What's your birth date?" he barked at me again. The cash register apparently required him to enter a birth date before he could ring in the sale. I told him the date, he took my money and said "here you go" as he handed me my receipt. I said "you're welcome" as he rolled his eyes and thought I was a bitch.
Honestly, how hard is it to treat people nicely? If you don't like your job, find another one. If that's not possible, find some joy in the work you are currently doing. Why spread the misery? Sometimes all it takes is a shift in your own perspective to make a job more enjoyable.
How could this exchange at the store gone better?
Clerk: "Hello" [smiling] "Could I have your birth date please?"
Me: [pleasantly surprised that someone is courteous] "suchandsuchadate" (Did you really think I'd post that info? Come on!)
Clerk: "Thank you" [rings up sale] "That will be $10.35."
[I pay.]
Clerk: "Here's your receipt. Thank you!"
{end scene}
It's a similar tale at other stores that want to know your zip code so they can track where their customers are coming from. "Zip code?" the cashier will demand. Maybe it takes longer to be polite, but what's a few words to make an exchange better? "Could you please tell me your zip code?" sets the tone for the transaction at a much nicer note.
I worked in retail for I think 14 years. I can admit I wasn't always happy to be at my job, but I always thanked the customer and I almost never acted like I was bothered they were there. (I say almost never because there was that one time, a story for another day.)
Is it really just my city that has rude salespeople? (Although the people at our post office are really fantastic. I'm thinking I need to do something to acknowledge that.) Do you agree that technology and the impersonal nature of the Internet is to blame for the decline of simple manners?
This lack of connection seems to allow people to forget common manners...or maybe it's just my city. I guess when I've been in other cities the salespeople have been more pleasant. My city is full of people who have a strong sense of entitlement.
Clerks in stores no longer think it's necessary to thank you for your purchase. Instead, they hand you your receipt and say "here you go" as though they are doing you a favor.
I went into one store for the first time ever (so it was a liquor store, so?) and the clerk barked at me "what's your birth date?" I looked at him incredulously because it's quite obvious I am older than 21. I thought he was joking. No. "What's your birth date?" he barked at me again. The cash register apparently required him to enter a birth date before he could ring in the sale. I told him the date, he took my money and said "here you go" as he handed me my receipt. I said "you're welcome" as he rolled his eyes and thought I was a bitch.
Honestly, how hard is it to treat people nicely? If you don't like your job, find another one. If that's not possible, find some joy in the work you are currently doing. Why spread the misery? Sometimes all it takes is a shift in your own perspective to make a job more enjoyable.
How could this exchange at the store gone better?
Clerk: "Hello" [smiling] "Could I have your birth date please?"
Me: [pleasantly surprised that someone is courteous] "suchandsuchadate" (Did you really think I'd post that info? Come on!)
Clerk: "Thank you" [rings up sale] "That will be $10.35."
[I pay.]
Clerk: "Here's your receipt. Thank you!"
{end scene}
It's a similar tale at other stores that want to know your zip code so they can track where their customers are coming from. "Zip code?" the cashier will demand. Maybe it takes longer to be polite, but what's a few words to make an exchange better? "Could you please tell me your zip code?" sets the tone for the transaction at a much nicer note.
I worked in retail for I think 14 years. I can admit I wasn't always happy to be at my job, but I always thanked the customer and I almost never acted like I was bothered they were there. (I say almost never because there was that one time, a story for another day.)
Is it really just my city that has rude salespeople? (Although the people at our post office are really fantastic. I'm thinking I need to do something to acknowledge that.) Do you agree that technology and the impersonal nature of the Internet is to blame for the decline of simple manners?
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Do not parent my children for me
There are few things that raise my dander as much as people parenting my children for me. I am not a slacker parent. I do not (for the most part) use force to make my children mind. I will admit I have spanked my kids once or twice (honestly, not often) but the situation seemed extraordinarily important at the time.
It always astounds me when people think it is okay to discipline my child when I am already CLEARLY working on this. I do not think it is fine for my kids to run around in a store. Have they done it? Yes. Have I dragged kids out of the store kicking and screaming? Yep.
Do I think it's appropriate for some stranger to step in and discipline my kids? Hell to the no.
If you touch my children inappropriately I will be pissed. Do it in secret? I'll find out. In front of me? Protect your balls.
There are few things that irk me more that someone stepping in to the parent role when I am clearly doing so already. Obviously I am sensitive about my role as a parent but I can assure you I know my children better than the stockboy/man at Wal-Mart.
Have you ever witnessed clear parental neglect in public? I have. It's not pretty. Did I do anything? No. And I can't say I'm proud of that, but what is appropriate? In most cases the parent who is yelling at the kids is just frustrated. We cannot know what happens at home. Perhaps that is the problem.
In most cases though, I think parents need someone to say "hey, it's okay. I've had kids act crazy in the store. People look at you and you feel like a complete jerk but you're really an awesome mom."
I have felt tempted to offer suggestions to parents of younger kids who are acting up. I don't offer mainly because I would have been defensive if someone had approached me in the same situation.
I obviously want my kids to behave themselves in a store. If they are not, we leave. I have carried both big kids out of Target, kicking and screaming, while I was 8 months pregnant. I do not need any stranger correcting my kids for me.
Have you had a stranger try to discipline your child?
It always astounds me when people think it is okay to discipline my child when I am already CLEARLY working on this. I do not think it is fine for my kids to run around in a store. Have they done it? Yes. Have I dragged kids out of the store kicking and screaming? Yep.
Do I think it's appropriate for some stranger to step in and discipline my kids? Hell to the no.
If you touch my children inappropriately I will be pissed. Do it in secret? I'll find out. In front of me? Protect your balls.
There are few things that irk me more that someone stepping in to the parent role when I am clearly doing so already. Obviously I am sensitive about my role as a parent but I can assure you I know my children better than the stockboy/man at Wal-Mart.
Have you ever witnessed clear parental neglect in public? I have. It's not pretty. Did I do anything? No. And I can't say I'm proud of that, but what is appropriate? In most cases the parent who is yelling at the kids is just frustrated. We cannot know what happens at home. Perhaps that is the problem.
In most cases though, I think parents need someone to say "hey, it's okay. I've had kids act crazy in the store. People look at you and you feel like a complete jerk but you're really an awesome mom."
I have felt tempted to offer suggestions to parents of younger kids who are acting up. I don't offer mainly because I would have been defensive if someone had approached me in the same situation.
I obviously want my kids to behave themselves in a store. If they are not, we leave. I have carried both big kids out of Target, kicking and screaming, while I was 8 months pregnant. I do not need any stranger correcting my kids for me.
Have you had a stranger try to discipline your child?
Monday, July 13, 2009
Open Letter to Service Workers in Rochester
Dear checkers, baggers, waiters, etc.,
Please to not be acting like I am ruining your good time when I patronize the establishment you are being paid to work in. I can guarantee you that I am having less fun than you are because unlike you, I am not being paid to be there. In fact, I am spending money.
It would be especially helpful if you all could break up your little party in the middle of the aisle without me having to say excuse me so I can get around you to continue my shopping.
Finally (and this is a big one for me) when I've paid for my junk and you give me my receipt, I'd appreciate a "thank you" and a smile would be extra lovely. I don't particularly like being handed my receipt and told "here you go." And when I say "thank you" when you hand me my receipt like that (backwards much?) don't just say "yep." The least you could do is realize your mistake and say "thank you" then.
Thank you.
Heather
Please to not be acting like I am ruining your good time when I patronize the establishment you are being paid to work in. I can guarantee you that I am having less fun than you are because unlike you, I am not being paid to be there. In fact, I am spending money.
It would be especially helpful if you all could break up your little party in the middle of the aisle without me having to say excuse me so I can get around you to continue my shopping.
Finally (and this is a big one for me) when I've paid for my junk and you give me my receipt, I'd appreciate a "thank you" and a smile would be extra lovely. I don't particularly like being handed my receipt and told "here you go." And when I say "thank you" when you hand me my receipt like that (backwards much?) don't just say "yep." The least you could do is realize your mistake and say "thank you" then.
Thank you.
Heather
Thursday, May 28, 2009
I Never Thought I'd Owe the Cat an Apology
Oh the joys of taking the cat to the vet. If you have never done so, you are indeed a fortunate person.
On this trip, it took me approximately 15 minutes to even find the cat, which has to be the all-time slowest cat-finding expedition, especially considering the size of our house. I looked in all the usual spots--or so I thought--no Chat. So I get the treat jar and shake it at random points throughout the house.
Bottom of living room stairs. **shake shake shake** Chat! Treat!?!
Top of kitchen stairs. **shake shake shake** Chat! Treat??! Even I am not convinced I'd get up from a nap for a treat at this point.
**shake shake** **rattle rattle** Chat?
I realize we made the mistake of getting the cat carrier out of storage just the night before instead of a few days in advance. We have to set the cage out days before so that the cat can start to think that maybe, just maybe, we will forget to take her to the vet.
Finally, as I watch the time ticking closer to when she's supposed to be having a thermometer shoved up her butt,* I desperately open another can of cat food even though she woke me up at 5 a.m. for her breakfast. Within seconds she appears in the doorway of the basement. Of course she was in there, it was the one room I didn't look in because I couldn't imagine any comfortable place in there she could possibly have been lounging. Whatever Cat. She tries to escape as I approach her, but even in my old age I am faster than her. I shove her butt into the cage with surprising ease, grab the baby and away we go.
**Meow meow meow meow**
Chat feels the need to express her misery.
*Meow meow*
**
*meow*
Wow, a small pause in the whining! I enjoyed those blissful 3 seconds.
Dear cat, You are just riding in the car. You're in a cage. No one is hurting you. I can assure you that this whole trip will be more uncomfortable for me than for you. Enough with the whining. Cordially, Me
Did I mention that it is raining? No? Of course it is raining and not the lovely sprinkling that feels so nice on a hot day, not the intermittent drizzle, no, it's a steady downpour.
**shakes fist** Who scheduled this appointment for today anyway? Why is everyone looking at me?
So I'm driving along listening to Chat complain about the horrors of riding in the car in a cozy little cat carrier and I start to compose a blog post (quite possibly this blog post) in my head because that's what I do. When life hands me lemons, I write a blog post about it in my head because I'm nothing if not considerate enough to share my pain with others.
Then I start to realize that the Baby is kind of quiet so, oh joy, she has probably fallen asleep and I will have to rouse my sleeping baby to carry her and my whiny cat through the rain into the vet's office. Who scheduled this appointment for nap time? Who? Me? Why? Oh yeah, because I'm STOO-PID.
But as luck would have it, D woke up just as I pulled into the parking lot and the rain let up to a slower downpour so we only got soaked enough to be mildly uncomfortable during the entire visit to the vet. I should note that the whiny cat was completely dry.
I've grown weary of explaining that my cat's name is Chat, pronounced Shaw, which means cat in French, so I just say yes when they ask if I've brought Chat-like the conversation-with me. What kind of weirdo do they think I am for naming my cat after a conversation?
*turns out they take the cat's temp with an ear thermometer now.
Once we get in the exam room, the real fun begins with the laundry list of things wrong with the cat, which, interestingly enough does NOT include the arthritis the vet last year told us that she was developing. It does, however, include impacted anal glands. Say that 5 times fast without cringing. Then the vet said "I'll evacuate those for you before you leave" and I'll admit "thank you" didn't seem quite like the most appropriate response to that statement, but there you have it.
Apparently I was wrong about this visit being harder on me this time.
On the way home with my baby in the back seat and my cat with the newly-cleared anus on the seat beside me I pondered the estimate for $700 of workups and procedures for my 13-year-old cat. Cat's don't live that much longer than 13 do they? I mean I love my cat but I don't have $700 to spend on a cat that is going to die in a year anyway. Plus we have human medical bills to pay at this point. I know, I'm a terrible pet owner, but there you have it. So I don't know what to do about the cat now.
But hey, at least the butt probe was free!
On this trip, it took me approximately 15 minutes to even find the cat, which has to be the all-time slowest cat-finding expedition, especially considering the size of our house. I looked in all the usual spots--or so I thought--no Chat. So I get the treat jar and shake it at random points throughout the house.
Bottom of living room stairs. **shake shake shake** Chat! Treat!?!
Top of kitchen stairs. **shake shake shake** Chat! Treat??! Even I am not convinced I'd get up from a nap for a treat at this point.
**shake shake** **rattle rattle** Chat?
I realize we made the mistake of getting the cat carrier out of storage just the night before instead of a few days in advance. We have to set the cage out days before so that the cat can start to think that maybe, just maybe, we will forget to take her to the vet.
Finally, as I watch the time ticking closer to when she's supposed to be having a thermometer shoved up her butt,* I desperately open another can of cat food even though she woke me up at 5 a.m. for her breakfast. Within seconds she appears in the doorway of the basement. Of course she was in there, it was the one room I didn't look in because I couldn't imagine any comfortable place in there she could possibly have been lounging. Whatever Cat. She tries to escape as I approach her, but even in my old age I am faster than her. I shove her butt into the cage with surprising ease, grab the baby and away we go.
**Meow meow meow meow**
Chat feels the need to express her misery.
*Meow meow*
**
*meow*
Wow, a small pause in the whining! I enjoyed those blissful 3 seconds.
Dear cat, You are just riding in the car. You're in a cage. No one is hurting you. I can assure you that this whole trip will be more uncomfortable for me than for you. Enough with the whining. Cordially, Me
Did I mention that it is raining? No? Of course it is raining and not the lovely sprinkling that feels so nice on a hot day, not the intermittent drizzle, no, it's a steady downpour.
**shakes fist** Who scheduled this appointment for today anyway? Why is everyone looking at me?
So I'm driving along listening to Chat complain about the horrors of riding in the car in a cozy little cat carrier and I start to compose a blog post (quite possibly this blog post) in my head because that's what I do. When life hands me lemons, I write a blog post about it in my head because I'm nothing if not considerate enough to share my pain with others.
Then I start to realize that the Baby is kind of quiet so, oh joy, she has probably fallen asleep and I will have to rouse my sleeping baby to carry her and my whiny cat through the rain into the vet's office. Who scheduled this appointment for nap time? Who? Me? Why? Oh yeah, because I'm STOO-PID.
But as luck would have it, D woke up just as I pulled into the parking lot and the rain let up to a slower downpour so we only got soaked enough to be mildly uncomfortable during the entire visit to the vet. I should note that the whiny cat was completely dry.
I've grown weary of explaining that my cat's name is Chat, pronounced Shaw, which means cat in French, so I just say yes when they ask if I've brought Chat-like the conversation-with me. What kind of weirdo do they think I am for naming my cat after a conversation?
*turns out they take the cat's temp with an ear thermometer now.
Once we get in the exam room, the real fun begins with the laundry list of things wrong with the cat, which, interestingly enough does NOT include the arthritis the vet last year told us that she was developing. It does, however, include impacted anal glands. Say that 5 times fast without cringing. Then the vet said "I'll evacuate those for you before you leave" and I'll admit "thank you" didn't seem quite like the most appropriate response to that statement, but there you have it.
Apparently I was wrong about this visit being harder on me this time.
On the way home with my baby in the back seat and my cat with the newly-cleared anus on the seat beside me I pondered the estimate for $700 of workups and procedures for my 13-year-old cat. Cat's don't live that much longer than 13 do they? I mean I love my cat but I don't have $700 to spend on a cat that is going to die in a year anyway. Plus we have human medical bills to pay at this point. I know, I'm a terrible pet owner, but there you have it. So I don't know what to do about the cat now.
But hey, at least the butt probe was free!
Saturday, January 3, 2009
What NOT to do
It seemed like a great idea at the time. We would go to the Minnesota Zoo (where we have a membership but we have only gone 3 times since July) and meet up with our friends there.
I made our lunches, being a responsible mom, but cut the sandwiches into dinosaurs (because I can also be a wild and crazy mom) I threw in some carrots, (the super sweet baby carrots) because the kids will eat the whole bag at home and ask for more. I should have known that they'd reject the carrots out in public because it's just natural to make me look like a moron for packing such a thing as carrots.
We woke up...I almost had to wake M up, which never happens unless we have to be somewhere, otherwise she's up before she needs to be and whiny for the rest of the day because she's tired. The kids were excited to go to the zoo, but probably more excited to see their friends.
We put our coats in a locker then set out on the tropical trail. There are several indoor exhibits at the Minnesota zoo that are really essential to keep the zoo inhabited in the winter time, although I'd guess most of the people there today were members.
My friend and I were amazed at the length of time our kids spent at the first few animal exhibits. Generally the kids are running ahead and we're yelling for them to stop. Well, the amazement was short-lived as the kids started running ahead. I tried to not be the shrill mom screaming for her kids to stop, but I probably wasn't successful.
After the tropical trail we decided to eat lunch. My kids ate their dinosaur sandwiches and turned their noses up at the carrots. I, incidentally, ate all of my sandwich, my carrots, AND my two Campari tomatoes that I brought for myself. So, go me!
D nursed while our friends made a bathroom run, then for a little bit when they returned. That pretty much sums up the maintenance of D for the entire trip. She didn't even require a diaper change. Please God, make her continue to be so low-maintenance!
After lunch we went to a discovery play zone where the kids all played for a good while, then we hit the shark and dolphin area. The kids quickly dispersed. It was like they'd had a plan: 2 moms, 6 kids (5 mobile) break!
It was probably my fault for not telling the kids to stick together, but they were so gone! For a while I had no idea where M was, then no idea where K was, then both were gone, then found K, then M, ugh it was exhausting. (D just rode happily in the sling. Not a peep from her. Please God, make her continue to be so low-maintenance!)
When we finally found all of our kids (my friend had equal difficulties) we decided to head to the Minnesota trail. This series of exhibits is inside, but outside. It's covered, but still cold. So we needed to get our coats out of our lockers. I got the key out of my back pocket and opened the locker. First out was D's bunting, which I decided to not put on her at that point. She was riding in the sling and cozy so I decided to just put my coat over both of us and put a blanket over her as well. I handed M her coat and turned to hand K his.
Where's K?
I wasn't immediately concerned because I figured he'd be around the corner. Nope. Not there. My friend started to go one way to look for him while I stayed with the rest of the kids. (We joked when we got there that with the 6 kids between us we'd get asked if we were a daycare.) Unsuccessful, she returned and I went in search. I saw a man in a zoo uniform at an information booth and told him I'd lost my son. He smiled at me and said he'd hold my baby for me. Huh?
Getting no help from the man who I'm hoping was just hard of hearing, I continued searching the crowd. I was taking deep breaths and fluctuating between being irate and devastated. I didn't know what to do. Should I have been screaming his name? Should I just continue to look quietly?
My mind started to wander to the possibility that I would not see my beautiful, happy, vibrant, irritating, handsome, annoying, smart, curious, friendly, loving boy again. I was barely holding back the panicked tears when my friend motioned to me.
They said he's at the Service Desk.
Oh God! Please let him be there! I fast-walked there and at first did not see him. Then one of the women working there moved and I caught sight of my boy sitting at the end of the very long desk. He was smiling and coloring. No worse for wear.
I asked him what happened and he was stuck on the fact that he got to color with a bunch of women around. Lord, I'm in trouble.
I feel proud that I didn't kill him for wandering away from us. I feel irritated that he didn't really learn a thing since he ran ahead of us throughout the Minnesota exhibit.
My friend tells me that M started crying while we were looking for K, so yet more proof that those two love the hell out of each other and that's why they fight so fiercely. Once K was returned to us, M held his hand firmly for about the first 5 minutes, which really was a long time for a little brother to endure such dictatorship.
I'm not sure how to prevent these boisterous, friendly, beautiful, trusting children from running away from their safety zone. We've had talks about bad people (which actually are not that common) but it doesn't seem to faze them. They are wearing rose-colored glasses and I'm not sure that I should take those glasses off.
How do you keep your kids safe?
I made our lunches, being a responsible mom, but cut the sandwiches into dinosaurs (because I can also be a wild and crazy mom) I threw in some carrots, (the super sweet baby carrots) because the kids will eat the whole bag at home and ask for more. I should have known that they'd reject the carrots out in public because it's just natural to make me look like a moron for packing such a thing as carrots.
We woke up...I almost had to wake M up, which never happens unless we have to be somewhere, otherwise she's up before she needs to be and whiny for the rest of the day because she's tired. The kids were excited to go to the zoo, but probably more excited to see their friends.
We put our coats in a locker then set out on the tropical trail. There are several indoor exhibits at the Minnesota zoo that are really essential to keep the zoo inhabited in the winter time, although I'd guess most of the people there today were members.
My friend and I were amazed at the length of time our kids spent at the first few animal exhibits. Generally the kids are running ahead and we're yelling for them to stop. Well, the amazement was short-lived as the kids started running ahead. I tried to not be the shrill mom screaming for her kids to stop, but I probably wasn't successful.
After the tropical trail we decided to eat lunch. My kids ate their dinosaur sandwiches and turned their noses up at the carrots. I, incidentally, ate all of my sandwich, my carrots, AND my two Campari tomatoes that I brought for myself. So, go me!
D nursed while our friends made a bathroom run, then for a little bit when they returned. That pretty much sums up the maintenance of D for the entire trip. She didn't even require a diaper change. Please God, make her continue to be so low-maintenance!
After lunch we went to a discovery play zone where the kids all played for a good while, then we hit the shark and dolphin area. The kids quickly dispersed. It was like they'd had a plan: 2 moms, 6 kids (5 mobile) break!
It was probably my fault for not telling the kids to stick together, but they were so gone! For a while I had no idea where M was, then no idea where K was, then both were gone, then found K, then M, ugh it was exhausting. (D just rode happily in the sling. Not a peep from her. Please God, make her continue to be so low-maintenance!)
When we finally found all of our kids (my friend had equal difficulties) we decided to head to the Minnesota trail. This series of exhibits is inside, but outside. It's covered, but still cold. So we needed to get our coats out of our lockers. I got the key out of my back pocket and opened the locker. First out was D's bunting, which I decided to not put on her at that point. She was riding in the sling and cozy so I decided to just put my coat over both of us and put a blanket over her as well. I handed M her coat and turned to hand K his.
Where's K?
I wasn't immediately concerned because I figured he'd be around the corner. Nope. Not there. My friend started to go one way to look for him while I stayed with the rest of the kids. (We joked when we got there that with the 6 kids between us we'd get asked if we were a daycare.) Unsuccessful, she returned and I went in search. I saw a man in a zoo uniform at an information booth and told him I'd lost my son. He smiled at me and said he'd hold my baby for me. Huh?
Getting no help from the man who I'm hoping was just hard of hearing, I continued searching the crowd. I was taking deep breaths and fluctuating between being irate and devastated. I didn't know what to do. Should I have been screaming his name? Should I just continue to look quietly?
My mind started to wander to the possibility that I would not see my beautiful, happy, vibrant, irritating, handsome, annoying, smart, curious, friendly, loving boy again. I was barely holding back the panicked tears when my friend motioned to me.
They said he's at the Service Desk.
Oh God! Please let him be there! I fast-walked there and at first did not see him. Then one of the women working there moved and I caught sight of my boy sitting at the end of the very long desk. He was smiling and coloring. No worse for wear.
I asked him what happened and he was stuck on the fact that he got to color with a bunch of women around. Lord, I'm in trouble.
I feel proud that I didn't kill him for wandering away from us. I feel irritated that he didn't really learn a thing since he ran ahead of us throughout the Minnesota exhibit.
My friend tells me that M started crying while we were looking for K, so yet more proof that those two love the hell out of each other and that's why they fight so fiercely. Once K was returned to us, M held his hand firmly for about the first 5 minutes, which really was a long time for a little brother to endure such dictatorship.
I'm not sure how to prevent these boisterous, friendly, beautiful, trusting children from running away from their safety zone. We've had talks about bad people (which actually are not that common) but it doesn't seem to faze them. They are wearing rose-colored glasses and I'm not sure that I should take those glasses off.
How do you keep your kids safe?
Monday, December 29, 2008
Weeks
I’ve realized that I don’t know the weeks.
You know when you’re pregnant with your first child and someone asks you how far along you are? You answer, all giddy with the knowledge that you’re growing your baby: 24 weeks and 3 days.
You know. You know exactly to the day how far along you are.
The knowledge of the weeks continues once the baby is born. Any innocent inquiry to the baby’s age is met with: 16 weeks. 22 weeks. 34 weeks.
You just know. You keep track. The poor stranger that asked you the question is left to the math to try to figure out how old your child is, and you feel confident that you’ve given the most accurate response to the question.
With the second child, you still know the weeks of gestation, after all, you’re carrying that kid around and he’s bouncing on your pelvis and making you wonder what the H you were thinking about carrying another baby around for 40 weeks.
When people ask after baby #2 is born, how old he is, half the time you know to the week, the other half of the time you just round to the nearest half-month. Let’s face it, people don’t need that accurate information.
The third child? I was supremely happy to discover that I was finally pregnant. I counted down the days to my first OB appointment so that I could see that the being inside me was doing well and growing fine. After that first appointment? No, really after the thirteenth week, I lost track. People would ask how many weeks I was pregnant (obviously other pregnant moms or recently pregnant moms) and I would falter. I didn’t know. Often I’d just blurt out a number then go home and look at my calendar and discover I was further along than I had said I was.
Since she was born it’s no less a wonderful thing. It’s no less a joy to have an infant around our house. In fact, in some ways, it is the best time that I’ve had an infant around the house. She smiles, she giggles, she is easy to please.
If you ask me how old she is, however, I will round to the nearest half-month. Every time. Sometimes that might mean that I round up to the half-month before it’s actually warranted. To tell the truth, I have no idea whatsoever how many weeks old my third child is at any given time.
I can tell you that it doesn’t mean that I love her any less than I love her siblings. Love does, indeed, multiply with each child. However, the concept of time seems to fade with each birth.
One moment they’re babies, the next they’re going away to college.
You know when you’re pregnant with your first child and someone asks you how far along you are? You answer, all giddy with the knowledge that you’re growing your baby: 24 weeks and 3 days.
You know. You know exactly to the day how far along you are.
The knowledge of the weeks continues once the baby is born. Any innocent inquiry to the baby’s age is met with: 16 weeks. 22 weeks. 34 weeks.
You just know. You keep track. The poor stranger that asked you the question is left to the math to try to figure out how old your child is, and you feel confident that you’ve given the most accurate response to the question.
With the second child, you still know the weeks of gestation, after all, you’re carrying that kid around and he’s bouncing on your pelvis and making you wonder what the H you were thinking about carrying another baby around for 40 weeks.
When people ask after baby #2 is born, how old he is, half the time you know to the week, the other half of the time you just round to the nearest half-month. Let’s face it, people don’t need that accurate information.
The third child? I was supremely happy to discover that I was finally pregnant. I counted down the days to my first OB appointment so that I could see that the being inside me was doing well and growing fine. After that first appointment? No, really after the thirteenth week, I lost track. People would ask how many weeks I was pregnant (obviously other pregnant moms or recently pregnant moms) and I would falter. I didn’t know. Often I’d just blurt out a number then go home and look at my calendar and discover I was further along than I had said I was.
Since she was born it’s no less a wonderful thing. It’s no less a joy to have an infant around our house. In fact, in some ways, it is the best time that I’ve had an infant around the house. She smiles, she giggles, she is easy to please.
If you ask me how old she is, however, I will round to the nearest half-month. Every time. Sometimes that might mean that I round up to the half-month before it’s actually warranted. To tell the truth, I have no idea whatsoever how many weeks old my third child is at any given time.
I can tell you that it doesn’t mean that I love her any less than I love her siblings. Love does, indeed, multiply with each child. However, the concept of time seems to fade with each birth.
One moment they’re babies, the next they’re going away to college.
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Chill Out Time
Sitting in the car waiting for my son to emerge from his preschool building, I pushed the lock button on the door with a satisfying clunk. I sighed heavily, sank back into my seat and allowed my eyes to close for a few moments.
I usually bring along things to do in the car while I’m waiting for my children at their schools, sometimes a tutu, sometimes a notebook to pen potential blog posts, sometimes supplies for cards that I’m working on. It’s rare these days that I just sit in the car without my hands working on something.
It was nice to let my mind drift a little, at least at first. In my mind’s eye I could see my baby girl tucked securely into her car seat, that baby girl who has such a sunny disposition the majority of the time. The baby girl that I almost stopped dreaming about.
I realized how lucky I am, while sitting there in my warm car with that beautiful baby slumbering behind me.
As soon as I registered the fact of my good fortune, I thought of my other two children. They are just as treasured and I am just as lucky that I have them, yet lately I imagine my children are not feeling as lucky to be my children. If there were a tape recorder (I know, I am a dinosaur) recording my interactions with them what would I hear upon playback?
My tone is often impatient, clearly conveying my displeasure with whatever they are doing. Sometimes all they are doing is giggling together and I find myself shushing them. What is wrong with me? They are obviously cheerful, happy children. Why do I seem to want to stifle that?
When we were kids, my brother and I played messily. We had 436 Matchbox and Hot Wheels cars between us and when we played with them we had every one of them out. Our miniature car cities stretched across the back of the davenport (for my mom), drifted into the hall and spilled into our bedrooms. I don’t remember my mother ever yelling at us to get it cleaned up. In fact, she often let us leave our cities out for days if we were still playing with them.
When my kids get a bunch of toys out I start to get tense and immediately remind them that they’ll have to clean everything up the minute they’re finished playing. I don’t know why I expect them to clean up so much since I have my own crap laying around everywhere. They must be so confused.
Sitting in my car, thinking about these children that I’ve been blessed with, I resolved to change things. Things will not change overnight, but little changes will eventually become big changes.
I’m going to try to get my own crap put away and organized. Perhaps purge some things, difficult as that is for me. I’m going to watch my tone when speaking to my children and let them giggle more. I’m going to let them play with the toys without harping on them before they’ve even begun to play that they’ll need to clean up.
I’m just going to lighten up a little. Life is good. I’m lucky. I should be acting like I know this, because I do.
I usually bring along things to do in the car while I’m waiting for my children at their schools, sometimes a tutu, sometimes a notebook to pen potential blog posts, sometimes supplies for cards that I’m working on. It’s rare these days that I just sit in the car without my hands working on something.
It was nice to let my mind drift a little, at least at first. In my mind’s eye I could see my baby girl tucked securely into her car seat, that baby girl who has such a sunny disposition the majority of the time. The baby girl that I almost stopped dreaming about.
I realized how lucky I am, while sitting there in my warm car with that beautiful baby slumbering behind me.
As soon as I registered the fact of my good fortune, I thought of my other two children. They are just as treasured and I am just as lucky that I have them, yet lately I imagine my children are not feeling as lucky to be my children. If there were a tape recorder (I know, I am a dinosaur) recording my interactions with them what would I hear upon playback?
My tone is often impatient, clearly conveying my displeasure with whatever they are doing. Sometimes all they are doing is giggling together and I find myself shushing them. What is wrong with me? They are obviously cheerful, happy children. Why do I seem to want to stifle that?
When we were kids, my brother and I played messily. We had 436 Matchbox and Hot Wheels cars between us and when we played with them we had every one of them out. Our miniature car cities stretched across the back of the davenport (for my mom), drifted into the hall and spilled into our bedrooms. I don’t remember my mother ever yelling at us to get it cleaned up. In fact, she often let us leave our cities out for days if we were still playing with them.
When my kids get a bunch of toys out I start to get tense and immediately remind them that they’ll have to clean everything up the minute they’re finished playing. I don’t know why I expect them to clean up so much since I have my own crap laying around everywhere. They must be so confused.
Sitting in my car, thinking about these children that I’ve been blessed with, I resolved to change things. Things will not change overnight, but little changes will eventually become big changes.
I’m going to try to get my own crap put away and organized. Perhaps purge some things, difficult as that is for me. I’m going to watch my tone when speaking to my children and let them giggle more. I’m going to let them play with the toys without harping on them before they’ve even begun to play that they’ll need to clean up.
I’m just going to lighten up a little. Life is good. I’m lucky. I should be acting like I know this, because I do.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Moms and Weigh
I took Ms. D to a drop-in "class" for babies 0-6 months. It's a joint program with ECFE and Public Health. Parents can bring their babies each month and have them weighed, then chat with other parents, a licensed parent educator and a public health nurse.
I generally don't have many questions to ask. That's not to say that I know it all, but by this point I know enough about raising babies and know myself enough that I realize any responses I'd get to my question, if it's not what I want to hear, would be soundly rejected anyway.
(I mostly go to have D weighed. Since she is smaller than my other two children were, I'm in uncharted territory with a petite child. "They" say that babies should double their birth weight by 6 months and triple it by 1 year. D is doing just that. No more, no less. She's 14 lbs 4 oz now, just two days shy of 6 months. She was 7 lbs 1 oz at birth.)
So once the weighing is done I figure I should still hang around and let D stay out of the car seat for a while. Wednesday afternoons are terrible for us and she often ends up in the car seat a lot since we're picking up siblings and taking them to 231 activities.
To entertain myself I've taken to just openly admitting all the things that I do "wrong" in part to see the reaction of the public health nurse.
My baby sleeps in bed with me.
(Okay, so that one didn't really get the reaction I expected from the nurse. She pointed out that babies are with their moms nonstop (obviously) while mom is pregnant, then generally with mom most of the time for at least the first few weeks. Why wouldn't they want to be with mom when they're supposed to be sleeping? They're used to being with someone all the time, then they're supposed to just sleep soundly all alone in a cold crib? What's the logic in that?)
No, the real fun at these drop-in classes is when there is at least one first-time mom in the class.
We always take turns introducing ourselves and telling the ages of our babies. I always smile at the moms when they say it's their first baby. Then it comes to my turn.
I try to put on the proper crazy lady face and say "This is D. She's my third baby" and drift off in cackling laughter.
The disturbed looks that I get are priceless.
I'm not the only one who does this am I?
I generally don't have many questions to ask. That's not to say that I know it all, but by this point I know enough about raising babies and know myself enough that I realize any responses I'd get to my question, if it's not what I want to hear, would be soundly rejected anyway.
(I mostly go to have D weighed. Since she is smaller than my other two children were, I'm in uncharted territory with a petite child. "They" say that babies should double their birth weight by 6 months and triple it by 1 year. D is doing just that. No more, no less. She's 14 lbs 4 oz now, just two days shy of 6 months. She was 7 lbs 1 oz at birth.)
So once the weighing is done I figure I should still hang around and let D stay out of the car seat for a while. Wednesday afternoons are terrible for us and she often ends up in the car seat a lot since we're picking up siblings and taking them to 231 activities.
To entertain myself I've taken to just openly admitting all the things that I do "wrong" in part to see the reaction of the public health nurse.
My baby sleeps in bed with me.
(Okay, so that one didn't really get the reaction I expected from the nurse. She pointed out that babies are with their moms nonstop (obviously) while mom is pregnant, then generally with mom most of the time for at least the first few weeks. Why wouldn't they want to be with mom when they're supposed to be sleeping? They're used to being with someone all the time, then they're supposed to just sleep soundly all alone in a cold crib? What's the logic in that?)
No, the real fun at these drop-in classes is when there is at least one first-time mom in the class.
We always take turns introducing ourselves and telling the ages of our babies. I always smile at the moms when they say it's their first baby. Then it comes to my turn.
I try to put on the proper crazy lady face and say "This is D. She's my third baby" and drift off in cackling laughter.
The disturbed looks that I get are priceless.
I'm not the only one who does this am I?
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Hrumph! Where's my cane?
I can tell I am getting old. Some of the things those young whipper-snappers say really bug me.
I’ve been considering getting a new sling for the baby. I have one, and it works fairly well most of the time, but it’s a pouch-style sling. I was thinking that I’d like to be able to adjust how high or low I wanted to carry Ms. D and thought that a ring-style sling would probably work best for me.
I looked on Etsy and found a seller that I will probably buy from if I finally decide to get one. She seems willing to make a sling in the colors that I want and even offered to order a special kind of ring for me if I wanted it.
But I was at a store yesterday that sells baby stuff and toys to get one of M’s friends a birthday gift and thought I’d check out the slings since I was there. I found the wall of baby carriers and scanned the options. It didn’t look like they had what I wanted but since there was an employee right there I figured I’d just ask to confirm my suspicions.
No ring slings huh?
Ring slings? {Insert look of confusion and disdain.} I’ve never heard of such a thing. (in all my extensive research into baby slings. You must be a real idiot to come in here and ask for something I’ve never heard of so clearly doesn’t exist.)
Well, it’s a type of sling that uses rings so that you can adjust them instead of latches or buttons or things like that.
Oh. Well, my friend just had a baby and she got one like this (points to a pouch-style sling) then you don’t have to adjust it. (why would you want to adjust it anyway? Idiot.)
I already have one like that, but thank you anyway.
I walked away feeling like a crotchety old man who’d just had an exchange with the hooligans down the street.
I’ve been considering getting a new sling for the baby. I have one, and it works fairly well most of the time, but it’s a pouch-style sling. I was thinking that I’d like to be able to adjust how high or low I wanted to carry Ms. D and thought that a ring-style sling would probably work best for me.
I looked on Etsy and found a seller that I will probably buy from if I finally decide to get one. She seems willing to make a sling in the colors that I want and even offered to order a special kind of ring for me if I wanted it.
But I was at a store yesterday that sells baby stuff and toys to get one of M’s friends a birthday gift and thought I’d check out the slings since I was there. I found the wall of baby carriers and scanned the options. It didn’t look like they had what I wanted but since there was an employee right there I figured I’d just ask to confirm my suspicions.
No ring slings huh?
Ring slings? {Insert look of confusion and disdain.} I’ve never heard of such a thing. (in all my extensive research into baby slings. You must be a real idiot to come in here and ask for something I’ve never heard of so clearly doesn’t exist.)
Well, it’s a type of sling that uses rings so that you can adjust them instead of latches or buttons or things like that.
Oh. Well, my friend just had a baby and she got one like this (points to a pouch-style sling) then you don’t have to adjust it. (why would you want to adjust it anyway? Idiot.)
I already have one like that, but thank you anyway.
I walked away feeling like a crotchety old man who’d just had an exchange with the hooligans down the street.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Pssst...Have you heard?
Hey, I don't know if you've heard or not, but analog TV is going away in February 2009.
In my area you'd have to live under a rock to not know, seeing as every television station has little reminders flashed on the screen at least 4739 times a day. Why couldn't they just make it an even 5000, or even 4740?
We got all excited here and sent away for the coupons to get $40 off on the purchase of a convertor box. We (and by we, I mean Craig) used one of the coupons right away and stuck the other one in a safe place until we could see if we needed another one.
Well, the other coupon expired while we were waiting so that didn't work out so well.
And the digital TV? So far, it's not that great. During inclement weather the signal fades (which I"m fairly certain was supposed to be a benefit of digital TV-that it doesn't fade) and gets all hiccupy. (Yay I'm making up words!) It reminds me of good old Max Headrom. As if it wasn't annoying enough when he was around. (How is old Max these days?)
But just in case you haven't heard: analog TV is going bye bye.
You're welcome.
In my area you'd have to live under a rock to not know, seeing as every television station has little reminders flashed on the screen at least 4739 times a day. Why couldn't they just make it an even 5000, or even 4740?
We got all excited here and sent away for the coupons to get $40 off on the purchase of a convertor box. We (and by we, I mean Craig) used one of the coupons right away and stuck the other one in a safe place until we could see if we needed another one.
Well, the other coupon expired while we were waiting so that didn't work out so well.
And the digital TV? So far, it's not that great. During inclement weather the signal fades (which I"m fairly certain was supposed to be a benefit of digital TV-that it doesn't fade) and gets all hiccupy. (Yay I'm making up words!) It reminds me of good old Max Headrom. As if it wasn't annoying enough when he was around. (How is old Max these days?)
But just in case you haven't heard: analog TV is going bye bye.
You're welcome.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Something I've Been Wondering
Why is it that when a parent stays home with her children full-time she is considered to not have a job and she is considered non-essential when, at the same time, if both parents work the kids need daycare...which for the people who work there is a JOB and is definitely essential?
If it makes people feel better toward me, can't they just consider me my children's daycare?
If it makes people feel better toward me, can't they just consider me my children's daycare?
Friday, August 22, 2008
Soundtracks
Does your life ever have background music? I mean, have you ever been living your life and music starts to swell in your ears like some soundtrack for a movie? Except it’s not a movie, it’s life, real life.
No?
Well I do and yesterday afternoon it sounded something like this: doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo
Which is to say it sounded like circus music.
Ladies and Gentlemen! May I direct your attention to the center ring!?
Yesterday was day 3 of I-don’t-know-what-else-to-do-so-last-ditch-attempt-make-K-sit-on-the-potty-all-afternoon-until-he-poops. Quite frankly I’m tired of having a 4-year-old wearing pull-ups, and if I put him in underwear he just craps those too. And I’m not cleaning poop out of underwear every day (sometimes 3 times a day) when I have an infant to take care of.
We’d picked M up from school, and K was ordered up to the bathroom to begin his sit. M had homework so we were going to get that out of the way right away like we have all week.
Cue music.
M’s homework consisted of having to write out her telephone number, which she insisted she didn’t know. Then, moments later she recited our number perfectly. I told her she was right and that she should write it on the spaces provided on her sheet. Somehow she forgot the number within 30 seconds. I insisted that she just think for a while and it would come to her. Things quickly degenerated to her crying and wailing “why do you have to keep it a SECRET all the time!?” like it’s just a big conspiracy that she can’t remember what she said two minutes previous and I’m just not telling her because I don’t want her to know how to call home when she runs away.
So, M’s bawling over a telephone number she’s known since she was three and K is upstairs sitting on the potty singing some made up song about pooping in the potty except he’s not doing any of the pooping.
D is lying on a pillow draped across my lap, looking at me and smiling.
This continues until M finally remembers the number that she recited perfectly an hour before. Whew. On to question two on the worksheet: write an emergency telephone number. This could be a relative’s telephone number. Oh for shit’s sake. I just told her what numbers to write on the lines and moved on. The rest of the worksheet was completed without incident just in time for Dad to arrive home.
I whipped up another culinary feast (cough cough) and ate quickly. Craig took a plate up to K who was now sitting in his room on the little potty.
I took my contacts out, put my jammies on, had Craig pack my incision and went into K’s room to get his pj’s out. K’s room was a disaster so I told him he had quite a mess to clean up. O-kay Mommy! he chirped.
I headed downstairs to get Ms. D into her sleeper. I started hearing K cackling maniacally and hearing pinging sounds of projectiles being hurled around the room.
Stop throwing stuff and get it cleaned up!
I’m not!
Yes, you are. I can hear you. Just clean it up.
No! You!
I’d had enough by this point. My fun meter was full for the day.
You know what? Forget it. I’ll just take all the toys out. You go sit in the bathroom.
{Intermission while we scream various things at one another. I doubt either of us knew what the other said.}
So I spent the next half-hour or so packing up all the toys, books, stuffed animals, etc and carting it all out of his room.
Craig sat in the recliner, holding D who fell asleep. M was listening to the High School Musical Soundtrack in her room for most of the spectacle, then just observed, wide-eyed, as her lunatic mother carried boxes of things out of her brother’s room.
He has his pillow, one blanket and one stuffed animal.
I don’t think he cares.
I don’t think I accomplished a thing.
Doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo.
No?
Well I do and yesterday afternoon it sounded something like this: doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo
Which is to say it sounded like circus music.
Ladies and Gentlemen! May I direct your attention to the center ring!?
Yesterday was day 3 of I-don’t-know-what-else-to-do-so-last-ditch-attempt-make-K-sit-on-the-potty-all-afternoon-until-he-poops. Quite frankly I’m tired of having a 4-year-old wearing pull-ups, and if I put him in underwear he just craps those too. And I’m not cleaning poop out of underwear every day (sometimes 3 times a day) when I have an infant to take care of.
We’d picked M up from school, and K was ordered up to the bathroom to begin his sit. M had homework so we were going to get that out of the way right away like we have all week.
Cue music.
M’s homework consisted of having to write out her telephone number, which she insisted she didn’t know. Then, moments later she recited our number perfectly. I told her she was right and that she should write it on the spaces provided on her sheet. Somehow she forgot the number within 30 seconds. I insisted that she just think for a while and it would come to her. Things quickly degenerated to her crying and wailing “why do you have to keep it a SECRET all the time!?” like it’s just a big conspiracy that she can’t remember what she said two minutes previous and I’m just not telling her because I don’t want her to know how to call home when she runs away.
So, M’s bawling over a telephone number she’s known since she was three and K is upstairs sitting on the potty singing some made up song about pooping in the potty except he’s not doing any of the pooping.
D is lying on a pillow draped across my lap, looking at me and smiling.
This continues until M finally remembers the number that she recited perfectly an hour before. Whew. On to question two on the worksheet: write an emergency telephone number. This could be a relative’s telephone number. Oh for shit’s sake. I just told her what numbers to write on the lines and moved on. The rest of the worksheet was completed without incident just in time for Dad to arrive home.
I whipped up another culinary feast (cough cough) and ate quickly. Craig took a plate up to K who was now sitting in his room on the little potty.
I took my contacts out, put my jammies on, had Craig pack my incision and went into K’s room to get his pj’s out. K’s room was a disaster so I told him he had quite a mess to clean up. O-kay Mommy! he chirped.
I headed downstairs to get Ms. D into her sleeper. I started hearing K cackling maniacally and hearing pinging sounds of projectiles being hurled around the room.
Stop throwing stuff and get it cleaned up!
I’m not!
Yes, you are. I can hear you. Just clean it up.
No! You!
I’d had enough by this point. My fun meter was full for the day.
You know what? Forget it. I’ll just take all the toys out. You go sit in the bathroom.
{Intermission while we scream various things at one another. I doubt either of us knew what the other said.}
So I spent the next half-hour or so packing up all the toys, books, stuffed animals, etc and carting it all out of his room.
Craig sat in the recliner, holding D who fell asleep. M was listening to the High School Musical Soundtrack in her room for most of the spectacle, then just observed, wide-eyed, as her lunatic mother carried boxes of things out of her brother’s room.
He has his pillow, one blanket and one stuffed animal.
I don’t think he cares.
I don’t think I accomplished a thing.
Doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Open Letter to a Gas Station
Dear gas station closest to my house,
Let me start by saying how much I appreciate your convenient location. If I notice I’m running low on gas I can pull in and fill up and it takes very little time. Since I’m often running late these days, time is of the essence.
I also appreciate that your price per gallon is often a few cents lower than the gas stations located inside the city of Rochester. It’s nice that there is that perk of living out in the sticks, away from many conveniences for several years.
But I want you to know that I’m considering leaving you. There is a gas station at the Fleet Farm that is not much farther out of my way. In fact, it’s often right along my way since it’s across the road from Target (where I like to give all of our money away).
I have, in the past, pulled my car up to the pump, selected pay at the pump, pressed the “no” button for the car wash, then the “yes” button because I would like a receipt.
Yesterday, you didn’t ask me if I wanted a receipt. I didn’t think about it and filled the tank anyway. After I was done, I hung up the nozzle and waited for my receipt.
Your receipt is inside.
Let me just say that I was a little irked by that. I have three kids that I would need to get out of the car and herd across the busy parking lot, dodging requests for Bug Juice and Cheetos.
Making me go inside the store to get my receipt essentially negates the purpose of paying at the pump.
Yesterday, I just wrote the amount on a scrap paper I had in my purse instead of retrieving the receipt. I had a headache already and I didn’t have the time or the patience to get all the kids out of the car so I could get a slip of paper that should have printed outside.
Be warned, next time I need gas I’ll probably be going somewhere else. But when I get over my irritation enough that I’m willing to give you another chance, I expect my transaction to be completed outside, like I said I wanted.
Sincerely,
Heather
Let me start by saying how much I appreciate your convenient location. If I notice I’m running low on gas I can pull in and fill up and it takes very little time. Since I’m often running late these days, time is of the essence.
I also appreciate that your price per gallon is often a few cents lower than the gas stations located inside the city of Rochester. It’s nice that there is that perk of living out in the sticks, away from many conveniences for several years.
But I want you to know that I’m considering leaving you. There is a gas station at the Fleet Farm that is not much farther out of my way. In fact, it’s often right along my way since it’s across the road from Target (where I like to give all of our money away).
I have, in the past, pulled my car up to the pump, selected pay at the pump, pressed the “no” button for the car wash, then the “yes” button because I would like a receipt.
Yesterday, you didn’t ask me if I wanted a receipt. I didn’t think about it and filled the tank anyway. After I was done, I hung up the nozzle and waited for my receipt.
Your receipt is inside.
Let me just say that I was a little irked by that. I have three kids that I would need to get out of the car and herd across the busy parking lot, dodging requests for Bug Juice and Cheetos.
Making me go inside the store to get my receipt essentially negates the purpose of paying at the pump.
Yesterday, I just wrote the amount on a scrap paper I had in my purse instead of retrieving the receipt. I had a headache already and I didn’t have the time or the patience to get all the kids out of the car so I could get a slip of paper that should have printed outside.
Be warned, next time I need gas I’ll probably be going somewhere else. But when I get over my irritation enough that I’m willing to give you another chance, I expect my transaction to be completed outside, like I said I wanted.
Sincerely,
Heather
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Days of school this week = 1
Okay, one and a half. Seriously, M has only been in school 4 full days out of the 8 (including tomorrow).
So far first grade really rocks.
She went to school yesterday, and was fine. K, D and I all took a nap in the afternoon. It was lovely.
This morning M woke up whining. Her tummy hurt. Really bad.
And me, being the stellar mom that I am? I didn't believe her that she was really sick.
Honestly, I took her temp and it was normal. I thought she just wanted to stay home and watch TV.
The school nurse called at noon to tell me to come and get my sick kid. Temp 101.6 supposedly (I could not duplicate that high a reading at home.) so that means she can't go to school tomorrow either.
Great timing with this sickness thing since I'm trying to get things ready for our garage sale. Oh well.
To be fair, M did lay in her bed for a good hour and a half when we got home (following a dose of ibuprofen). So, she must have felt REALLY feel crappy.
Of course now that the ibuprofen is working on the aches and pains, she's right back to fighting with her brother...and asking for desert 2 seconds after she's done eating supper.
I'm thinking more alcohol will be applied tonight.
So far first grade really rocks.
She went to school yesterday, and was fine. K, D and I all took a nap in the afternoon. It was lovely.
This morning M woke up whining. Her tummy hurt. Really bad.
And me, being the stellar mom that I am? I didn't believe her that she was really sick.
Honestly, I took her temp and it was normal. I thought she just wanted to stay home and watch TV.
The school nurse called at noon to tell me to come and get my sick kid. Temp 101.6 supposedly (I could not duplicate that high a reading at home.) so that means she can't go to school tomorrow either.
Great timing with this sickness thing since I'm trying to get things ready for our garage sale. Oh well.
To be fair, M did lay in her bed for a good hour and a half when we got home (following a dose of ibuprofen). So, she must have felt REALLY feel crappy.
Of course now that the ibuprofen is working on the aches and pains, she's right back to fighting with her brother...and asking for desert 2 seconds after she's done eating supper.
I'm thinking more alcohol will be applied tonight.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Sheesh
I've mentioned before that one of the things that make my head want to explode is thinking we are out of something while I'm at the store so I pick some up, only to arrive home and discover I already have THREE tubs of butter in the fridge (or 2 bottles of dish soap).
Here's one of my shelves: (I just picked up 2 of those bad-boys tonight.)
Well, at least they don't spoil.
Friday, May 2, 2008
A little cheese with that?
I'm feeling rather maudlin this morning and I'm not entirely sure why. Well, besides the obvious that I'm 400 weeks pregnant and tired and achy.
My back has started to hurt more than before. I suppose it's because I sat in one of those big bar style chairs last night for entirely too long. The company was good, the service at the restaurant/bar, not-so-good. (I have to say that the pie was pretty yummy though.)
Perhaps the dreary weather is adding to my low mood. It has rained more often than it hasn't lately. We've had one day that reached 70 degrees so far this Spring. Honestly, I'm beginning to wonder if we're ever going to be able to ditch the coats and pull out the shorts.
My hormones are wildly out-of-whack. I'm fairly certain that's the medical term for it. I'm guessing that the extra estrogen from the girlie in my belly is contributing to that.
My poor husband is ready to send me to the funny farm. He tip-toes around me, hoping to not set me off, alternately attempting to be sweet and just ignoring me, depending on what he thinks might be his best shot at not drawing tears (mine) or blood (his).
My kids aren't sure which mommy they're going to get at any given time. Will they get the what the hell, do what you want mommy or the what were you thinking, now I'm going to scream my head off mommy.
Good times.
Oh, and my hair is also driving me insane but I don't know what to do with it. If anyone has any hairdo suggestions, pictures, etc., either email them to me or post a link to the photo on the web so I can check it out. Seriously. Although it has to be a fairly maintenance-free do. Because I prefer sleeping to standing in front of a mirror doing my hair in the morning.
My back has started to hurt more than before. I suppose it's because I sat in one of those big bar style chairs last night for entirely too long. The company was good, the service at the restaurant/bar, not-so-good. (I have to say that the pie was pretty yummy though.)
Perhaps the dreary weather is adding to my low mood. It has rained more often than it hasn't lately. We've had one day that reached 70 degrees so far this Spring. Honestly, I'm beginning to wonder if we're ever going to be able to ditch the coats and pull out the shorts.
My hormones are wildly out-of-whack. I'm fairly certain that's the medical term for it. I'm guessing that the extra estrogen from the girlie in my belly is contributing to that.
My poor husband is ready to send me to the funny farm. He tip-toes around me, hoping to not set me off, alternately attempting to be sweet and just ignoring me, depending on what he thinks might be his best shot at not drawing tears (mine) or blood (his).
My kids aren't sure which mommy they're going to get at any given time. Will they get the what the hell, do what you want mommy or the what were you thinking, now I'm going to scream my head off mommy.
Good times.
Oh, and my hair is also driving me insane but I don't know what to do with it. If anyone has any hairdo suggestions, pictures, etc., either email them to me or post a link to the photo on the web so I can check it out. Seriously. Although it has to be a fairly maintenance-free do. Because I prefer sleeping to standing in front of a mirror doing my hair in the morning.
Friday, April 11, 2008
Crazy Mom Rant?
Wednesday, Miss M went to a children's museum with her school. Three days during their breaks from school, they plan trips that the kids can go on. It's optional if you want to send your kid or not and I figure she's always up for an adventure instead of staying home with boring old mom so I sign her up. It's free and they usually take them to interesting places that I probably wouldn't take my kids without having Craig along too.
Well, when Craig picked her up from her trip that afternoon and brought her home I had just enough time to ask her how it was before I needed to be on my way to the dentist.
We went to Wisconsin Mom!
Wha?
The information on the sign-up sheet clearly says the Minnesota Children's Museum.
Am I wrong to be upset that I had no idea where my daughter was that day? That she was taken into another state without my permission or knowledge?
I asked about it when I dropped her off at the school yesterday before her trip to the Minnesota Zoo (or at least I think she was there). The girl there just laughed and said she wondered why the kids were asking why they were going to Wisconsin.
I'm thankful that the trips were uneventful and they arrived there and back safely. What if they hadn't? I, along with the rest of the parents, might have heard about an accident of a bus on the way to LaCrosse and tuned out because it couldn't be our kids...our kids were in Minneapolis. But they weren't.
I don't know, maybe I'm just hormonal, but it's been a couple of days and I'm still sort of steamed about it.
This is my child after all. There is only one Miss M and she's very precious to me. I don't like it when people mess with that.
Well, when Craig picked her up from her trip that afternoon and brought her home I had just enough time to ask her how it was before I needed to be on my way to the dentist.
We went to Wisconsin Mom!
Wha?
The information on the sign-up sheet clearly says the Minnesota Children's Museum.
Am I wrong to be upset that I had no idea where my daughter was that day? That she was taken into another state without my permission or knowledge?
I asked about it when I dropped her off at the school yesterday before her trip to the Minnesota Zoo (or at least I think she was there). The girl there just laughed and said she wondered why the kids were asking why they were going to Wisconsin.
I'm thankful that the trips were uneventful and they arrived there and back safely. What if they hadn't? I, along with the rest of the parents, might have heard about an accident of a bus on the way to LaCrosse and tuned out because it couldn't be our kids...our kids were in Minneapolis. But they weren't.
I don't know, maybe I'm just hormonal, but it's been a couple of days and I'm still sort of steamed about it.
This is my child after all. There is only one Miss M and she's very precious to me. I don't like it when people mess with that.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Things that make my head want to explode
Common occurrences around our house that make me think my head might explode at any minute:
- M has worn a hole in at least one of the knees in almost every pair of jeans that I've bought for her. If anyone knows of a brand of jeans that is extra tough in the knees, please let me know because this drives me insane.
- Approximately 30 seconds after we're done eating supper, even though she's eaten like a horse, M will ask what is for dessert. (Or what's for snack if it's after lunch.
- K will say he's full and doesn't want supper OR dessert, then approximately half an hour later cry, because he wants dessert.
- If I buy a bunch of bananas at a time, my kids will refuse to eat bananas until they're rotten and I've thrown them away. THEN they will ask for bananas to eat.
- Similarly, if I just buy four bananas the kids will eat all four bananas within hours of me buying them.
- The one thing at the store that I think of buying "just in case" we're getting low will be the thing that we have 4 bottles of stockpiled. (i.e. dish soap or butter)
- Conversely, the thing that I'm certain we have plenty of will be the thing that we're OUT of.
- If I take the kids to a play place or for a walk to "get their energy out" they will be even more hyper than before I took them.
- If I need to get sleep because I need to be somewhere earlier in the morning I will most definitely have trouble sleeping.
- Finally, if I start writing a blog post that I really like, blogger will eat my post when I hit publish (even though it supposedly saves drafts now).
So, what makes your head want to explode?
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