I've noticed a lot of people participating in the Facebook tradition of listing one thing they're thankful for each day of November. While part of me would like to participate, most of me knows that I'd get through four days, skip a couple, make them up all at once, skip a few more, and give up on the whole deal before we even hit the 10th. So, because I know myself, I'm going to cheat and do the entire month all at once.
#1-7: My family. Parents, sisters, kids. I would not be the person I am today (or, in the case of my parents, here at all) without them, and couldn't imagine my life without each of them in it (although if the kids could just go on "vacation" for awhile...KIDDING). I am not about to rank anyone in order of importance...just know you're somewhere in the top 7.
#8. My boyfriend. Who is probably the best thing Texas has given me, and is actually in the top 7 and not in 8th place, but you try telling a family member they've been knocked down a spot...
#9. Extended family & friends. I am grateful to have people in my life that have my back. Especially the people that have no obligation to be there anymore, but have chosen to stay anyway.
#10. Texas. It seemed crazy to pack up and move halfway across the country with nothing lined up for me when I got there...but holy crap has this turned out to be the best thing I could have ever done! Everything that was wrong in CA is right in TX. My budget situation is better, my standard of living is better, I've had great job opportunities, I've met amazing people...I could not possibly be in a better place.
#11. My job. I get to TEACH!! I feel lucky to be a part of the public school system. The system in general may need some overhaul, but there is no other place I'd rather spend my working hours than in a classroom.
#12. My health. Because seriously, how screwed would I be if I had these kids to take care of alone, and wasn't physically able to do so? I've been very fortunate these past five years.
#13. My kids' health. Because, again, while it's been hard at times to do this parenting thing by myself, I can't imagine what it would have been like if anyone had had a serious health condition.
#14. Running. While I still say I dislike training, the races and events are a blast, and I've met some great people at them. I love that I have an outlet for stress and something that keeps me busy and fit at the same time.
#15. Technology. Because I would be very unhappy if laundry involved a tub of water and a clothesline. And because it's pretty awesome when I can still talk to and SEE one of the people I love most in the world even when that person is nine or so time zones away. For a year.
#16. Shoes. GORUCK people know why.
#17. Clean floors. I'd like to say "clean floors that someone else made that way," but I don't think such a phenomenon exists...
#18. Hugs. There is something magic about a hug that makes everything bad seem less so. And happily all three kids still like giving them...because it would be weird to try to meet my hug quota with strangers...
#19. Music. I wouldn't have my sanity without it.
#20. Adventure. I'm glad for opportunities to try things that are completely new and to go places I've never been...all my best memories start that way.
#21. Books. Best ready-made entertainment ever.
#22. Fresh starts. Because while there is no "do-over" option in life, it's awesome to know that wherever you are isn't where you have to stay. See #10.
#23. Hindsight. It's a tough teacher, but the lessons are good ones.
#24. Actual sight. I didn't expect to ever be listing my glasses on a list of things I'm thankful for, but I have to admit, it is pretty nice to see things clearly.
#25. Ice cream. It fixes everything.
#26. Coffee. This should have been much, much higher on the list.
#27. Water. Not the drinking kind (though I suppose that ought to be on the list too, what with the whole "being necessary for life" thing it has going for it), but the body-of kind. Oceans in particular, but lakes and rivers will do in the absence of a good ocean. Nothing rivals a good, long drive along a coastline in the category of "things that soothe the soul."
#28. Being a grownup...and being able to say "I don't care that this is not 30 things, I'm done anyway." While there are definitely more things in life I'm glad to have, I'm leaving the last couple spots on the list to be open for more good things to come. Because I'd like to think there's more awesomeness headed my way that would rank above whatever I'd think up for spots #29 and #30.
Sunday, November 4, 2012
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
Picture Day
Well, it's fall, and since we've already seen the first hectic back-to-school weeks and the first fundraiser of the year (thankfully all cookies and pies this time), that means it's time for the second-worst day of the school year so far: picture day. (The first-worst day is the first day, obviously, as that requires not only prepwork in the form of outfit-planning and haircut-inspecting, but also marks the much-dreaded End of Sleeping In.)
Since I have children of both genders, I have two distinctly different problems with picture day.
Getting the boys ready for picture day involves mandatory showers (then mandatory second showers that actually include soap and shampoo), frantic laundering of acceptable clothing, and then crossed fingers and prayers that pictures will take place before lunch/recess/other messy or sweaty times.
Getting the girl ready for picture day is a much more intense and drawn-out experience. The evening begins with outfit selection: it is not enough, she insists, to look "normal." She needs to look "so good that the teachers will all say 'Wow, Erin, that's a great outfit for picture day!'" And apparently intends to make that happen by wearing a dress she wore to a dance two years ago that is now at least three inches too short and may or may not meet the school's dress code regarding straps/sleeves. I veto that dress; she responds by carrying in three other also-too-small dresses and exasperatedly sighing that those dresses are also "acceptable" and I should pick one of those for her to wear instead, then. I encourage a shirt-and-skirt combination, hoping to at least get her in a shirt that looks seasonally appropriate and not like I think I am sending her to a beach party. This brings about wailing that ALL OF THOSE DRESSES ARE JUST FINE and THERE IS NOTHING ELSE THAT IS "PICTURE DAY" NICE in her drawers, but she finally comes back with two "also acceptable" outfits for consideration. The first is a shirt-and-pants combo, which would be perfect if the pants were pants and not super-tight black tights that are not sufficiently covered by the lacking-in-length shirt she chose to go with them. Hoping to not get my daughter labeled a pole dancer in fourth grade, I ask to see the second outfit, which is a glorious mismatch of striped/vested shirt and poofy floral skirt. The skirt won't show in pictures, so I want to choose that one, but can no longer remember what she wore last year or when the shirt in question was purchased...I seem to recall a photo of her in purple last year...I can't be sure it's not a repeat. It's a risk I'm willing to take. I acquiesce. She takes her piles of clothing, though not her attitude, out of my room...and returns with a pile of obnoxious, non-matching hair accessories. It's as if she wants her school picture to be a visual scrapbook of all her favorite, non-related things.
But on the upside...at least she'll bathe, and I won't have to worry she'll look homeless.
Since I have children of both genders, I have two distinctly different problems with picture day.
Getting the boys ready for picture day involves mandatory showers (then mandatory second showers that actually include soap and shampoo), frantic laundering of acceptable clothing, and then crossed fingers and prayers that pictures will take place before lunch/recess/other messy or sweaty times.
Getting the girl ready for picture day is a much more intense and drawn-out experience. The evening begins with outfit selection: it is not enough, she insists, to look "normal." She needs to look "so good that the teachers will all say 'Wow, Erin, that's a great outfit for picture day!'" And apparently intends to make that happen by wearing a dress she wore to a dance two years ago that is now at least three inches too short and may or may not meet the school's dress code regarding straps/sleeves. I veto that dress; she responds by carrying in three other also-too-small dresses and exasperatedly sighing that those dresses are also "acceptable" and I should pick one of those for her to wear instead, then. I encourage a shirt-and-skirt combination, hoping to at least get her in a shirt that looks seasonally appropriate and not like I think I am sending her to a beach party. This brings about wailing that ALL OF THOSE DRESSES ARE JUST FINE and THERE IS NOTHING ELSE THAT IS "PICTURE DAY" NICE in her drawers, but she finally comes back with two "also acceptable" outfits for consideration. The first is a shirt-and-pants combo, which would be perfect if the pants were pants and not super-tight black tights that are not sufficiently covered by the lacking-in-length shirt she chose to go with them. Hoping to not get my daughter labeled a pole dancer in fourth grade, I ask to see the second outfit, which is a glorious mismatch of striped/vested shirt and poofy floral skirt. The skirt won't show in pictures, so I want to choose that one, but can no longer remember what she wore last year or when the shirt in question was purchased...I seem to recall a photo of her in purple last year...I can't be sure it's not a repeat. It's a risk I'm willing to take. I acquiesce. She takes her piles of clothing, though not her attitude, out of my room...and returns with a pile of obnoxious, non-matching hair accessories. It's as if she wants her school picture to be a visual scrapbook of all her favorite, non-related things.
But on the upside...at least she'll bathe, and I won't have to worry she'll look homeless.
Sunday, September 16, 2012
Rain, rain, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD GO AWAY.
It's raining, and I'm beginning to think all three of the kids have Seasonal Affective Disorder. At the very least, they're suffering from what I'd like to call It's Raining So I'm Going To Be A Butt To Everyone Syndrome.
All day long they've been tv-watching, computer-game-playing zombie children. Since there is a direct correlation between how much time they spend vegging in front of electronics and how late at night they stay up insisting they are not remotely tired, I decided five or so hours of the tv blaring one episode of Malcom in the Middle after another was quite enough and it was high time for them to find Something Else To Do. My helpful suggestions to take out the trash and recycling were somehow not appreciated, so they all decided instead to make themselves scarce and find alternate activities.
Unfortunately, said alternate activities included making obnoxious noises without stopping for 10 minutes straight, yelling at the sibling making obnoxious noises (also for 10 minutes straight), sitting on the bed of a sibling trying to read a book in peace, whining and crying that someone was sitting too close and therefore somehow preventing him from reading, arguing over whether or not sitting on the wooden bed frame counted as "being on the bed," and just generally yelling in a cranky voice anything at all that needed to be said to anyone for any reason--or anything that didn't need to be said, too.
I know this is Texas and everyone is excited we're getting some badly needed rain, but if this doesn't stop soon I'm going to send them outside for the rest of the day and look forward to the pneumonia they might catch because then maybe they'll BE QUIET for a few minutes...
All day long they've been tv-watching, computer-game-playing zombie children. Since there is a direct correlation between how much time they spend vegging in front of electronics and how late at night they stay up insisting they are not remotely tired, I decided five or so hours of the tv blaring one episode of Malcom in the Middle after another was quite enough and it was high time for them to find Something Else To Do. My helpful suggestions to take out the trash and recycling were somehow not appreciated, so they all decided instead to make themselves scarce and find alternate activities.
Unfortunately, said alternate activities included making obnoxious noises without stopping for 10 minutes straight, yelling at the sibling making obnoxious noises (also for 10 minutes straight), sitting on the bed of a sibling trying to read a book in peace, whining and crying that someone was sitting too close and therefore somehow preventing him from reading, arguing over whether or not sitting on the wooden bed frame counted as "being on the bed," and just generally yelling in a cranky voice anything at all that needed to be said to anyone for any reason--or anything that didn't need to be said, too.
I know this is Texas and everyone is excited we're getting some badly needed rain, but if this doesn't stop soon I'm going to send them outside for the rest of the day and look forward to the pneumonia they might catch because then maybe they'll BE QUIET for a few minutes...
Monday, May 7, 2012
Probably shouldn't have gone there...
I was in the middle of the kids' requested nightly reading of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy tonight when, as tends to happen when three kids plus one adult are all squished in one bed, things got a little rambunctious. I was trying to get Brian to stop fake-slapping Erin when she shouted a perfectly timed, "Can't touch this!" that gave me a giggling fit. "Okay, MC Hammer," I told her, "calm down and I'll keep reading." The boys laughed at that and asked why in the world I called her MC Hammer, and in a state of shock, I headed to my laptop to give them a musical education courtesy of youtube.
I explained MC Hammer was the person responsible for the song Erin referenced, and Chris exclaimed, "Oh, I think I remember seeing something about a McHammer guy!" "Not McHammer!" I shrieked--"Em. Cee. Not Mc! He wasn't Scottish!!"
Youtube provided a grainy quality video of "You Can't Touch This" that had my kids in a laughing fit within three seconds, providing commentary like "what in the world is he wearing, a blanket?" and "look at how he dances--jiggly jiggly oh, jiggly jiggly oh!" I tried to explain that THIS was rap, circa when I was their age. Brian face-palmed.
After that we looked up the top ten songs of 1990, viewed some Madonna, and ridiculed Sinead O'Conner and LL Cool J before stumbling upon the terrifically horrific Deee-Light. Then I remembered that Supersonic song all the girls went around singing when I was in elementary school, where we didn't remember any of the words except that the S is for Super and the U is for Unique...(you're welcome ;)
The kids were pretty much horrified that THAT is what music videos consisted of when I was young, and what got lots of airplay on the radio. Erin patted my shoulder. "I feel so sorry for you," she sympathized. "How did you survive?" At some point they started making obligatory "you're really old" comments that I showed obligatory annoyance about, so Brian offered an apology.
"I'm sorry for making fun of your culture."
:/
I was going to explain that soon after this regrettable era in music I discovered The Cure and Guns N Roses, and soon after that, punk rock...but found it much easier to just send them all to bed instead. ;)
I explained MC Hammer was the person responsible for the song Erin referenced, and Chris exclaimed, "Oh, I think I remember seeing something about a McHammer guy!" "Not McHammer!" I shrieked--"Em. Cee. Not Mc! He wasn't Scottish!!"
Youtube provided a grainy quality video of "You Can't Touch This" that had my kids in a laughing fit within three seconds, providing commentary like "what in the world is he wearing, a blanket?" and "look at how he dances--jiggly jiggly oh, jiggly jiggly oh!" I tried to explain that THIS was rap, circa when I was their age. Brian face-palmed.
After that we looked up the top ten songs of 1990, viewed some Madonna, and ridiculed Sinead O'Conner and LL Cool J before stumbling upon the terrifically horrific Deee-Light. Then I remembered that Supersonic song all the girls went around singing when I was in elementary school, where we didn't remember any of the words except that the S is for Super and the U is for Unique...(you're welcome ;)
The kids were pretty much horrified that THAT is what music videos consisted of when I was young, and what got lots of airplay on the radio. Erin patted my shoulder. "I feel so sorry for you," she sympathized. "How did you survive?" At some point they started making obligatory "you're really old" comments that I showed obligatory annoyance about, so Brian offered an apology.
"I'm sorry for making fun of your culture."
:/
I was going to explain that soon after this regrettable era in music I discovered The Cure and Guns N Roses, and soon after that, punk rock...but found it much easier to just send them all to bed instead. ;)
Thursday, April 19, 2012
Of love and bike-wrangling
If there were ever any doubt in the kids' minds as to whether or not I love them and care about their happiness, there should not be any longer. Today is all the proof they will ever need. Today is Bike Rodeo day at the elementary school.
Erin has been talking for months about the bike rodeo, and by "talking about" I mean "demanding to 'practice' every time she was instructed to do anything less pleasant than bike riding, such as room-cleaning or going to bed"...pretty much ever since it was announced, several weeks after she learned to ride her two-wheeler. It was originally scheduled for last month, but got rescheduled due to rain, which was good because I forgot about it and didn't send her to school with her bike. Luckily I got to claim that I had advance notice about the cancellation--more proof for her that Mothers Know Everything.
This month I was determined to remember the bike rodeo and not repeat my past fails in the departments of school fundraisers and permission slips. Erin's heart was set on participating, and darn it, I was determined to let her. It would be easy enough, I figured, to load her bike in the car and drive her to school; if I left at the same time the bus usually picks her up, I'd still make it to work at my usual time.
Then at 11 pm last night, Chris informed me that he, too, would like to participate in the bike rodeo. This development made things exponentially more interesting, as with the back seats folded down for bike transport, only one child could then fit in the car, and no one wanted to ride the bus and entrust their bike to me alone.
So here's how the morning went:
6 am: Wake up to an alarm set half an hour before I've been rolling out of bed lately, programmed to the sound of obnoxiously loud church bells to ensure I pay attention and wake up. Panic because I don't usually wake up to church bells and in my half-asleep state, momentarily wonder if I have been transported during the night to a village in England.
6:02 am: Realize I am indeed still in Texas and need to get up right away because it's Bike Rodeo Day. Scurry to the bathroom to get ready.
6:25 am: Wake the children and realize too late I have not made coffee. Dash off to the kitchen, where I get distracted mid-coffee-preparing by unloading the dishwasher. (???) Remember I haven't started brewing coffee. Priorities!
6:45 am: Kids are now ready. I load Erin's bike into the back of my car. Spend 10 minutes trying to load Chris's bike on top of it, but apparently his bike is made of solid iron. Tell Chris I'll have to transport them one at a time, and will come back in 15 minutes or so for him. Realize I have no eyeliner on. Grab eyeliner to put on in car on way to work.
7:00 am: Arrive at school with Erin's bike. Get her checked in, get instructions on where/when to retrieve bike later. As I turn to leave, she informs me she'd like me to come and watch her--which up until this point she had not wanted, so I hadn't arranged any time off from work. Make promises to do my best to return, and do my best to not look at her puppy-dog eyes. I have no time for guilt this morning!
7:10 am: Return home and load Chris's iron bike into the car. Run into the house for coffee. Apparently still with eyeliner in hand, which I apparently leave on the kitchen counter without realizing it.
7:20 am: Arrive at school again, where I am now stuck in a line of 20 other parents all dropping off bikes. Discover that I have been wrong about Chris's bike--it is not made of iron. It is made of solid lead. Grunt and groan and eventually get said 500-lb bike out of the back of my car. Escape bike gridlock and head to work.
7:30 am: Sit in gridlock because I am now on the freeway when all of San Antonio drives to work. Glance in rearview mirror and realize my eyes are naked. My eyeliner! Mentally exclaim "Nooooooooo!" a la Star Wars.
8:05 am: Arrive at work and make plans to leave again in just over two hours so that I can go watch Erin weave her bike through six cones and ride in a circle as slow as she can go without falling off. Yes, those are the skills tested in the bike rodeo. With a name like Bike Rodeo and taking place in a state like Texas, I'd expect there to be some lassoing or clowns...but no, I will be missing an hour or so of work to watch my daughter ride in a small circle at .00000001 miles per hour for maybe two minutes.
Yes...THIS is love. Either that, or insanity.
Erin has been talking for months about the bike rodeo, and by "talking about" I mean "demanding to 'practice' every time she was instructed to do anything less pleasant than bike riding, such as room-cleaning or going to bed"...pretty much ever since it was announced, several weeks after she learned to ride her two-wheeler. It was originally scheduled for last month, but got rescheduled due to rain, which was good because I forgot about it and didn't send her to school with her bike. Luckily I got to claim that I had advance notice about the cancellation--more proof for her that Mothers Know Everything.
This month I was determined to remember the bike rodeo and not repeat my past fails in the departments of school fundraisers and permission slips. Erin's heart was set on participating, and darn it, I was determined to let her. It would be easy enough, I figured, to load her bike in the car and drive her to school; if I left at the same time the bus usually picks her up, I'd still make it to work at my usual time.
Then at 11 pm last night, Chris informed me that he, too, would like to participate in the bike rodeo. This development made things exponentially more interesting, as with the back seats folded down for bike transport, only one child could then fit in the car, and no one wanted to ride the bus and entrust their bike to me alone.
So here's how the morning went:
6 am: Wake up to an alarm set half an hour before I've been rolling out of bed lately, programmed to the sound of obnoxiously loud church bells to ensure I pay attention and wake up. Panic because I don't usually wake up to church bells and in my half-asleep state, momentarily wonder if I have been transported during the night to a village in England.
6:02 am: Realize I am indeed still in Texas and need to get up right away because it's Bike Rodeo Day. Scurry to the bathroom to get ready.
6:25 am: Wake the children and realize too late I have not made coffee. Dash off to the kitchen, where I get distracted mid-coffee-preparing by unloading the dishwasher. (???) Remember I haven't started brewing coffee. Priorities!
6:45 am: Kids are now ready. I load Erin's bike into the back of my car. Spend 10 minutes trying to load Chris's bike on top of it, but apparently his bike is made of solid iron. Tell Chris I'll have to transport them one at a time, and will come back in 15 minutes or so for him. Realize I have no eyeliner on. Grab eyeliner to put on in car on way to work.
7:00 am: Arrive at school with Erin's bike. Get her checked in, get instructions on where/when to retrieve bike later. As I turn to leave, she informs me she'd like me to come and watch her--which up until this point she had not wanted, so I hadn't arranged any time off from work. Make promises to do my best to return, and do my best to not look at her puppy-dog eyes. I have no time for guilt this morning!
7:10 am: Return home and load Chris's iron bike into the car. Run into the house for coffee. Apparently still with eyeliner in hand, which I apparently leave on the kitchen counter without realizing it.
7:20 am: Arrive at school again, where I am now stuck in a line of 20 other parents all dropping off bikes. Discover that I have been wrong about Chris's bike--it is not made of iron. It is made of solid lead. Grunt and groan and eventually get said 500-lb bike out of the back of my car. Escape bike gridlock and head to work.
7:30 am: Sit in gridlock because I am now on the freeway when all of San Antonio drives to work. Glance in rearview mirror and realize my eyes are naked. My eyeliner! Mentally exclaim "Nooooooooo!" a la Star Wars.
8:05 am: Arrive at work and make plans to leave again in just over two hours so that I can go watch Erin weave her bike through six cones and ride in a circle as slow as she can go without falling off. Yes, those are the skills tested in the bike rodeo. With a name like Bike Rodeo and taking place in a state like Texas, I'd expect there to be some lassoing or clowns...but no, I will be missing an hour or so of work to watch my daughter ride in a small circle at .00000001 miles per hour for maybe two minutes.
Yes...THIS is love. Either that, or insanity.
Saturday, April 7, 2012
Kids' memories: like elephants, but for all the wrong things
I am continually amazed at the sheer power my children have to recall the most minute details of seemingly insignificant moments that happened long ago. I won't go so far as to say they have good memories, because these same children don't remember what happened at school that day, to give me a permission slip for a field trip due that week, their house keys, their homework, their jackets, or even to put away groceries that they were RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE of putting away. No, when it comes to anything actually important, my kids' minds are a sieve.
But leave it to Erin to remember a conversation we must have had at least four months ago when I was likely busy doing something requiring concentration, and she was supposed to be cleaning her room. I don't quite recall how it came about, but she must have found an unused bedsheet in her room, and decided it would make a beautiful tablecloth. Knowing Erin, she probably decreed that the sheet, with its purple floral pattern, would make a great tablecloth for X holiday or for spring or even right that minute...and knowing me, I probably mumbled something to the effect of "uh huh, oh, but not now, let's try that later, go put it away," which of course means "that's a craptastic idea, it's a BEDSHEET, it doesn't go on a table, but I'm not going to hurt your feelings so go put it away and I'll hope you forget all about it." Which it appeared she did, as it wasn't mentioned for four months.
Fast forward to today, and the girl who can't remember where she put her shoes five minutes ago suddenly has an epiphany. "MOM! MOM! Tomorrow is EASTER! We need the special tablecloth!!! You know, the one with all the flowers!" I am wracking my brain, trying to recall what Easter tablecloth I have and where it might be packed away, when she returns with...a sheet. "HERE MOM USE THIS IT'S SO PRETTY IT'S PERFECT FOR EASTER LOOK AT ALL THE FLOWERS! Isn't it BEAUTIFUL?!!" And I try to explain again it's a SHEET, for her BED, and she has SLEPT on it and we don't particularly want to eat a meal on something she's slept on. And there are puppy dog eyes and crocodile tears and stomping of feet and protests that "BUT MOM YOU PROMISED, DON'T YOU REMEMBER?"
Sigh.
So it may be a good thing we don't have company this year for Easter. And if the tablecloth that shows in our Easter morning pictures tomorrow looks a little...off...all I can say is Erin is pretty darn persuasive. Which is a polite way to say "loud and obnoxious and sometimes it's easier to just give in than try logic and reason."
But leave it to Erin to remember a conversation we must have had at least four months ago when I was likely busy doing something requiring concentration, and she was supposed to be cleaning her room. I don't quite recall how it came about, but she must have found an unused bedsheet in her room, and decided it would make a beautiful tablecloth. Knowing Erin, she probably decreed that the sheet, with its purple floral pattern, would make a great tablecloth for X holiday or for spring or even right that minute...and knowing me, I probably mumbled something to the effect of "uh huh, oh, but not now, let's try that later, go put it away," which of course means "that's a craptastic idea, it's a BEDSHEET, it doesn't go on a table, but I'm not going to hurt your feelings so go put it away and I'll hope you forget all about it." Which it appeared she did, as it wasn't mentioned for four months.
Fast forward to today, and the girl who can't remember where she put her shoes five minutes ago suddenly has an epiphany. "MOM! MOM! Tomorrow is EASTER! We need the special tablecloth!!! You know, the one with all the flowers!" I am wracking my brain, trying to recall what Easter tablecloth I have and where it might be packed away, when she returns with...a sheet. "HERE MOM USE THIS IT'S SO PRETTY IT'S PERFECT FOR EASTER LOOK AT ALL THE FLOWERS! Isn't it BEAUTIFUL?!!" And I try to explain again it's a SHEET, for her BED, and she has SLEPT on it and we don't particularly want to eat a meal on something she's slept on. And there are puppy dog eyes and crocodile tears and stomping of feet and protests that "BUT MOM YOU PROMISED, DON'T YOU REMEMBER?"
Sigh.
So it may be a good thing we don't have company this year for Easter. And if the tablecloth that shows in our Easter morning pictures tomorrow looks a little...off...all I can say is Erin is pretty darn persuasive. Which is a polite way to say "loud and obnoxious and sometimes it's easier to just give in than try logic and reason."
Saturday, March 10, 2012
Common childhood maladies the books don't mention
Every working parent of a school-age child has one number they never want to see on their office phone's caller ID: that of their child's school office. Nine times out of ten, it's the school nurse calling (that tenth time when it's not is a WHOLE different blog post!), and then a decision has to be made: is my kid sick enough for me to need to leave work? The choice is obvious if the kid is puking or feverish...but what about those pesky stomachaches and vague "I don't feel good" complaints?
Many books have been written to guide parents through various common childhood illnesses, but in my experience, a few extremely common maladies have been left out of these manuals. My kids don't tend to break bones or even come down with swine flu, but they definitely have had (sometimes multiple) cases of the following:
1. the "I don't like math" stomachache
This affliction strikes suddenly and with miraculous timing. One minute, your child is happily chatting with classmates and working on an art project...the next, she is slumped over unhappily as her teacher switches gears to her least-favorite subject. Luckily, a trip to the nurse's office removes her from what was once a classroom and now a Dungeon of Math-Related Doom. Recovery is also miraculous: no need to rush to school; the recess bell effects an instant recovery.
2. "I didn't like the lunch" hunger pains
This stomachache normally appears in the afternoon and is sometimes accompanied by overall fatigue or weakness. While at first glance, the child may appear to be genuinely ill, further questioning reveals that the cafeteria served Enchiladas with Sauce That Looks Like Puke again, and the substituted yogurt-with-graham-cracker entree was not very filling. Cured by a snack; if none is available, this illness is not contagious and no classmates will be affected if your child is sent back to class to suffer through the rest of the day.
3. the "my best friend is absent" sniffles
This one is trickier; while most school-related "illnesses" magically disappear at lunchtime or recess, this one lands your kid in the office during recess, making it more likely to appear legitimate. Questioning, however, reveals that whoever your child spends recess with is absent, leaving her with nothing to do. This is usually a 24-hour illness, unless your child's classmate is absent longer than a day. Note: more common among girls than boys.
4. Sympathy Flu
This "illness" strikes when half the class has been absent within the past week because the flu is going around. After watching one classmate after another fall ill in the bathroom, or perhaps the hallway, and get sent home from school, your child decides he could use a day off as well. Your insistence to the nurse that your child is Just Fine and Appeared Normal This Morning falls on deaf ears, because she has seen all too many kids claiming to not feel good go on to actually vomit, and not always in the trash can, to want to take any chances with yours. While she can't force you to pick up a child that has not yet been physically ill, she can absolutely make you feel like a terrible parent for refusing to do so. Most likely to hit during cold and flu season.
and my personal favorite...
5. Leaf-Eating secondary to Acute Boredom
This one may, in fact, require early pickup from school, especially if your child's math teacher made the mistake of placing somewhat poisonous-if-eaten plants in the classroom thinking that surely second graders are old enough not to take bites of the classroom foliage. The phone call from the hesitant-voiced nurse, who is probably thinking "my medical training never prepared me to make a call like this...", will inform you that unfortunately, your child appears to have ingested a leaf that has caused his tongue to swell and his throat to become sore, and while research indicates the plant is not deadly, you are advised to keep an eye on him and take him to the doctor if it gets worse. More likely to affect boys, especially those known for taking dares to do things like chew gum found on hallway walls, or poke sticks into toilets. Bonus: you get a partially eaten plant leaf in a bag as a souvenir.
Because my children come down with the above at least 5 times as often as they are actually sick, I've instituted a rule with the school nurse: do not bother calling me unless there is (a) blood, and a considerable amount of it; (b) visibly broken bones; (c) a fever above the school's limit; or (d) actual vomit, and someone must have witnessed it. Saying "I threw up...in the bathroom" is not enough. The more witnesses, the more believable the story and the greater the likelihood I will show up to retrieve the possibly-sick child. Spontaneously becoming violently ill in the middle of the classroom during a favorite subject, although unfortunate for the teacher, is the best way to guarantee getting to go home--because my kids haven't found out a way to fake that...yet!
Many books have been written to guide parents through various common childhood illnesses, but in my experience, a few extremely common maladies have been left out of these manuals. My kids don't tend to break bones or even come down with swine flu, but they definitely have had (sometimes multiple) cases of the following:
1. the "I don't like math" stomachache
This affliction strikes suddenly and with miraculous timing. One minute, your child is happily chatting with classmates and working on an art project...the next, she is slumped over unhappily as her teacher switches gears to her least-favorite subject. Luckily, a trip to the nurse's office removes her from what was once a classroom and now a Dungeon of Math-Related Doom. Recovery is also miraculous: no need to rush to school; the recess bell effects an instant recovery.
2. "I didn't like the lunch" hunger pains
This stomachache normally appears in the afternoon and is sometimes accompanied by overall fatigue or weakness. While at first glance, the child may appear to be genuinely ill, further questioning reveals that the cafeteria served Enchiladas with Sauce That Looks Like Puke again, and the substituted yogurt-with-graham-cracker entree was not very filling. Cured by a snack; if none is available, this illness is not contagious and no classmates will be affected if your child is sent back to class to suffer through the rest of the day.
3. the "my best friend is absent" sniffles
This one is trickier; while most school-related "illnesses" magically disappear at lunchtime or recess, this one lands your kid in the office during recess, making it more likely to appear legitimate. Questioning, however, reveals that whoever your child spends recess with is absent, leaving her with nothing to do. This is usually a 24-hour illness, unless your child's classmate is absent longer than a day. Note: more common among girls than boys.
4. Sympathy Flu
This "illness" strikes when half the class has been absent within the past week because the flu is going around. After watching one classmate after another fall ill in the bathroom, or perhaps the hallway, and get sent home from school, your child decides he could use a day off as well. Your insistence to the nurse that your child is Just Fine and Appeared Normal This Morning falls on deaf ears, because she has seen all too many kids claiming to not feel good go on to actually vomit, and not always in the trash can, to want to take any chances with yours. While she can't force you to pick up a child that has not yet been physically ill, she can absolutely make you feel like a terrible parent for refusing to do so. Most likely to hit during cold and flu season.
and my personal favorite...
5. Leaf-Eating secondary to Acute Boredom
This one may, in fact, require early pickup from school, especially if your child's math teacher made the mistake of placing somewhat poisonous-if-eaten plants in the classroom thinking that surely second graders are old enough not to take bites of the classroom foliage. The phone call from the hesitant-voiced nurse, who is probably thinking "my medical training never prepared me to make a call like this...", will inform you that unfortunately, your child appears to have ingested a leaf that has caused his tongue to swell and his throat to become sore, and while research indicates the plant is not deadly, you are advised to keep an eye on him and take him to the doctor if it gets worse. More likely to affect boys, especially those known for taking dares to do things like chew gum found on hallway walls, or poke sticks into toilets. Bonus: you get a partially eaten plant leaf in a bag as a souvenir.
Because my children come down with the above at least 5 times as often as they are actually sick, I've instituted a rule with the school nurse: do not bother calling me unless there is (a) blood, and a considerable amount of it; (b) visibly broken bones; (c) a fever above the school's limit; or (d) actual vomit, and someone must have witnessed it. Saying "I threw up...in the bathroom" is not enough. The more witnesses, the more believable the story and the greater the likelihood I will show up to retrieve the possibly-sick child. Spontaneously becoming violently ill in the middle of the classroom during a favorite subject, although unfortunate for the teacher, is the best way to guarantee getting to go home--because my kids haven't found out a way to fake that...yet!
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Mom's math
Your son has karate from 7:15 pm to 8:00 pm at a location 8 miles from your house. Your daughter wants to attend a school function that runs from 6:40 pm to 7:40 pm at her elementary school, which is located 1.5 miles from home. You work until 5:30 pm and will likely not be home until 6:15 pm.
(1) Allowing 15 minutes to hurriedly cook and eat a rushed dinner, how fast will you need to drive to be able to drop off your son at karate and return in time to take your daughter to Family Literacy Night at school without missing any of the "super fun activities they're going to have in the cafeteria with all my friends, Mom?!"
(2) Once you discover there is no solution to problem 1 that falls within the confines of (a) traffic laws, and (b) physics, what is the percentage of guilt you will feel for (a) having a job, and (b) not having a clone?
Sigh.
(1) Allowing 15 minutes to hurriedly cook and eat a rushed dinner, how fast will you need to drive to be able to drop off your son at karate and return in time to take your daughter to Family Literacy Night at school without missing any of the "super fun activities they're going to have in the cafeteria with all my friends, Mom?!"
(2) Once you discover there is no solution to problem 1 that falls within the confines of (a) traffic laws, and (b) physics, what is the percentage of guilt you will feel for (a) having a job, and (b) not having a clone?
Sigh.
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Mom FAIL: school fundraiser edition
Nothing ruins a morning faster than the kids telling me about something I totally screwed up on another day, and now can't fix. This morning's serving of guilt was thrown at me as Chris and Erin walked out the door to head to the bus stop. "Oh, and Mom? You know the chocolate you said was going to be small? Well it isn't, it was BIG! And now it's TOO LATE to order any!!" While seemingingly coming out of nowhere and not relating in any way to gathering backpacks and ensuring feet had shoes, Erin's complaint nevertheless reminded me in three tenths of a second of what I'd forgotten last week: to fill out their fundraiser order form.
Now, I think we all know how I feel about school fundraisers. And this one was the worst one yet. Normally, I can find one or two overpriced, yet useful or pleasingly decorative things to buy--things I might ordinarily buy if they were 1/4 the cost, would never consider at a store if sold at the fundraiser price, but would be able to at least get some use out of. And darn it, I would use whatever I bought EVERY. STINKING. DAY. That kitchen trivet or pencil holder might cost $30, but at least I'd be able to see it on my dining table or desk for the next twenty-odd years. This school, though, decided it would be a good idea to sell overpriced chocolate. 8-oz bags of chocolate ranged from $10 to $20 and probably tasted something like those Whitman's Samplers at CVS.
Worse, the prizes offered for hitting each level of sales were also terrible. No reward was given for selling one item--instead, you had to sell two just to make it onto the prize board at all. The bottom level prize was a rubber bracelet that reminded me of those little party favor rulers with shapes cut into them. Ugly. The next level up was a tiny rock-and-roll themed eraser. Big spenders, these prize people. I think you had to sell something like 12 or 15 items to be able to get anything that didn't originally come from the dollar store.
But even though this was clearly a fundraiser competing for the title of Biggest Fundraiser Ripoff, I remembered my own feelings of disappointment when classmates came in with lengthy, filled-in order forms and received boxes of full of prizes (probably also from the dollar store, though 8-year-old me never suspected as much) as a reward. My mother's protests that fundraiser items were ripoffs and refusal to buy anything more than a roll of wrapping paper did little to console me. So I told the kids that yes, I'd buy their overpriced candy so they could each get a tacky rubber bracelet.
I meant to, I really did. I had big plans to be Not My Mother and let my kids get prizes. I made a mental note that I needed to send them in with orders by Friday. And then I forgot. And Friday came and went. And now, apparently, I am very solidly in the category of Terrible Mother. At least for today, and probably whatever day the kids' classmates receive their tacky bracelets and cheap erasers.
But as guilty as I feel...I also feel the tiniest bit relieved that I have not wasted $40 on a handful of mediocre-at-best chocolate, and can save my money to waste on another fundraiser's overpriced kitchen gadgets or lawn decorations. That I can use until I'm 50, rather than eating up and only getting to "enjoy" (quotation marks necessary) once.
Just don't tell the kids. I'm hoping to someday claim that Mother of the Year trophy I know is coming my way one of these years. I should totally start working on that acceptance speech...
Now, I think we all know how I feel about school fundraisers. And this one was the worst one yet. Normally, I can find one or two overpriced, yet useful or pleasingly decorative things to buy--things I might ordinarily buy if they were 1/4 the cost, would never consider at a store if sold at the fundraiser price, but would be able to at least get some use out of. And darn it, I would use whatever I bought EVERY. STINKING. DAY. That kitchen trivet or pencil holder might cost $30, but at least I'd be able to see it on my dining table or desk for the next twenty-odd years. This school, though, decided it would be a good idea to sell overpriced chocolate. 8-oz bags of chocolate ranged from $10 to $20 and probably tasted something like those Whitman's Samplers at CVS.
Worse, the prizes offered for hitting each level of sales were also terrible. No reward was given for selling one item--instead, you had to sell two just to make it onto the prize board at all. The bottom level prize was a rubber bracelet that reminded me of those little party favor rulers with shapes cut into them. Ugly. The next level up was a tiny rock-and-roll themed eraser. Big spenders, these prize people. I think you had to sell something like 12 or 15 items to be able to get anything that didn't originally come from the dollar store.
But even though this was clearly a fundraiser competing for the title of Biggest Fundraiser Ripoff, I remembered my own feelings of disappointment when classmates came in with lengthy, filled-in order forms and received boxes of full of prizes (probably also from the dollar store, though 8-year-old me never suspected as much) as a reward. My mother's protests that fundraiser items were ripoffs and refusal to buy anything more than a roll of wrapping paper did little to console me. So I told the kids that yes, I'd buy their overpriced candy so they could each get a tacky rubber bracelet.
I meant to, I really did. I had big plans to be Not My Mother and let my kids get prizes. I made a mental note that I needed to send them in with orders by Friday. And then I forgot. And Friday came and went. And now, apparently, I am very solidly in the category of Terrible Mother. At least for today, and probably whatever day the kids' classmates receive their tacky bracelets and cheap erasers.
But as guilty as I feel...I also feel the tiniest bit relieved that I have not wasted $40 on a handful of mediocre-at-best chocolate, and can save my money to waste on another fundraiser's overpriced kitchen gadgets or lawn decorations. That I can use until I'm 50, rather than eating up and only getting to "enjoy" (quotation marks necessary) once.
Just don't tell the kids. I'm hoping to someday claim that Mother of the Year trophy I know is coming my way one of these years. I should totally start working on that acceptance speech...
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Response.
I printed off a copy of my post below, complete with obligatory clipart of a frazzled mom in a messy kitchen, and put it on the fridge.
They saw the note. They read the note. They bought me a plaque for the wall:
This is not over. ;)
They saw the note. They read the note. They bought me a plaque for the wall:
This is not over. ;)
Memo to all family members:
Conditions in the kitchen are rapidly approaching the point at which I decide to go on strike. To prevent such an occurrence from happening, please review the following list of terms:
1. I am not your maid or janitor. I already have a full-time job. If you would like to contribute $2,000/month to pay the rent and bills so that I can quit that full-time job and be a maid instead, that can be arranged. Otherwise…please clean up after yourself.
2. Food in the fridge must be covered and sealed. Food left open turns hard and crusty, and then nobody wants to eat it. If you prefer bread that is not crunchy for your sandwiches, CLOSE THE BAG UP AGAIN when you are done and use the twist tie. Or a paper clip. Or string. I don’t care, just CLOSE the thing. Leftovers go in a baggie or Tupperware. Your plate of spaghetti will not be so delicious tomorrow if you just stick the plate in there and walk away.
3. If you leave an empty box in the fridge or pantry, I will assume it still has food in it and not buy more. Then you will be stuck with the crusty bread you left open for snacks and not good food.
4. Until people decide to start wiping down the counters and sweeping the floor if they spill, shredded cheese is to be used only as an ingredient for dinner, and not for sandwiches or anything made in the microwave. Apparently ants like cheese, too, while I don’t particularly like ants. Nor do I like cleaning up your spilled cheese to prevent ants. See #1.
5. Dirty dishes go in the sink. Not the counter, not the table, not the floor, not your bedroom. The sink. Where they are to be rinsed before you walk away. A bowl that once contained oatmeal, left in the sink all day, is as easy to clean as a bowl that has had bits of food stuck to it with superglue. Since I don’t have glue-dissolving chemicals in the kitchen to use on the dishes, cleaning up is much easier if dishes are RINSED. I would tell you that you can wash your own dishes if you leave them to sit and get crusty, but I don’t enjoy food poisoning. Nor do I enjoy washing dishes. See #1.
6. Spills are easier to clean up if you wipe them up as soon as they happen. If you spill, YOU should be the one to clean it up. Please see #1.
7. I do not call these things “rules” as much as “common sense and basic courtesy.” However, if these items are not adhered to, I reserve the right to (a) remove all dishes from the kitchen and leave you with paper plates instead, and (b) remove all cookable, spillable food from the kitchen and leave you with things like sandwich ingredients only, since those things cause much less of a mess. Again…see #1.
Thank you for your prompt attention to this matter.
Sincerely,
Overworked
Hmph. ;)
1. I am not your maid or janitor. I already have a full-time job. If you would like to contribute $2,000/month to pay the rent and bills so that I can quit that full-time job and be a maid instead, that can be arranged. Otherwise…please clean up after yourself.
2. Food in the fridge must be covered and sealed. Food left open turns hard and crusty, and then nobody wants to eat it. If you prefer bread that is not crunchy for your sandwiches, CLOSE THE BAG UP AGAIN when you are done and use the twist tie. Or a paper clip. Or string. I don’t care, just CLOSE the thing. Leftovers go in a baggie or Tupperware. Your plate of spaghetti will not be so delicious tomorrow if you just stick the plate in there and walk away.
3. If you leave an empty box in the fridge or pantry, I will assume it still has food in it and not buy more. Then you will be stuck with the crusty bread you left open for snacks and not good food.
4. Until people decide to start wiping down the counters and sweeping the floor if they spill, shredded cheese is to be used only as an ingredient for dinner, and not for sandwiches or anything made in the microwave. Apparently ants like cheese, too, while I don’t particularly like ants. Nor do I like cleaning up your spilled cheese to prevent ants. See #1.
5. Dirty dishes go in the sink. Not the counter, not the table, not the floor, not your bedroom. The sink. Where they are to be rinsed before you walk away. A bowl that once contained oatmeal, left in the sink all day, is as easy to clean as a bowl that has had bits of food stuck to it with superglue. Since I don’t have glue-dissolving chemicals in the kitchen to use on the dishes, cleaning up is much easier if dishes are RINSED. I would tell you that you can wash your own dishes if you leave them to sit and get crusty, but I don’t enjoy food poisoning. Nor do I enjoy washing dishes. See #1.
6. Spills are easier to clean up if you wipe them up as soon as they happen. If you spill, YOU should be the one to clean it up. Please see #1.
7. I do not call these things “rules” as much as “common sense and basic courtesy.” However, if these items are not adhered to, I reserve the right to (a) remove all dishes from the kitchen and leave you with paper plates instead, and (b) remove all cookable, spillable food from the kitchen and leave you with things like sandwich ingredients only, since those things cause much less of a mess. Again…see #1.
Thank you for your prompt attention to this matter.
Sincerely,
Overworked
Hmph. ;)
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