could happen anywhere.
The tragedy isn't as unlikely as you might think, as any city council reporter could tell you.
In my younger reporting days, I'd seen more than a few city council gadflies who seemed around the bend. They'd get up, rant for quite a while, until someone from the council, usually the mayor or city attorney, managed to cut them off. Some cities imposed time limits during public comment just to make sure they had a legal way to shut the mikes off.
Honestly, I'm not surprised this happened. I was stalked by a gadfly who was convinced I was the answer to all of his troubles, if only I'd listen to him and his issues. And not that he didn't have issues or a justifiable complaint, but it wasn't truly news. Or verifyable.
Quite frankly, the fact that he was convinced the power lines in town were a form of mind control impugned his credibility. In that case, the very police I was investigating escorted my pregnant self from City Hall to my car twice a month after meetings. It was only about 50 steps, but this guy would stalk my every step, then try to follow me home. I had cops sitting near me in meetings to protect me. I didn't ask for it, but they didn't trust him, and they worried about me, even though I was doing investigative reporting on their department, which was in the midst of a horrible scandal.
I'm not sure what the answer is, but know this: Every elected official takes a risk by putting themselves out there on the dais to make decisions. Some people take those decisions much, much, much too seriously. When that happens, the potential for a mass shooting in a council chamber is there.
08 February 2008
07 February 2008
Oh, how I hate the carpool line
I rarely pick the kids up in the carpool line. We pay for aftercare; I work until 5.
But today, we had an appointment, so I had to pick the eldest up in the line.
I get that some parents get there 30 minutes early to be first in line. I tried to do that today, but alas, I was only 15 minutes early, and thus 10th in line. No biggie.
But man alive, I HATE the parents and grandparents who think they are more important or more rushed than the rest of us. The line is supposed to circle around the perimeter of the playground, out the gate, then north on the street.
We had parents pulling in and parking in the middle of the semicircle. We had them parking three deep in the middle of the semicircle, which makes it dangerous to even pull up in the semicircle when they are trying to unwedge their cars and get out before the rest of us.
I saw one woman squeeze her huge Dodge Durango in a spot wayyyy too small for her car. Still not sure how she didn't manage to clip either car in front or behind her. Then she nearly clipped the person who was first in the line and trying to pull out as Ms. Dodge was backing up to rush out of the lot.
Seriously, the whole line moves through in 15 minutes, tops. Usually when I do carpool line, I come 15 minutes after school is out, because the line is gone and I can wing in and wing out. Alas, today, our appointment was at 3:30, and we'd not be able to pull it off if I'd not gotten there right as school let out.
What are you teaching your kids, presumably at a Catholic school to learn values and ethics, when you place yourself, your time, and your safety (not to mention the safety of other people's children) ahead of others at all costs?
But today, we had an appointment, so I had to pick the eldest up in the line.
I get that some parents get there 30 minutes early to be first in line. I tried to do that today, but alas, I was only 15 minutes early, and thus 10th in line. No biggie.
But man alive, I HATE the parents and grandparents who think they are more important or more rushed than the rest of us. The line is supposed to circle around the perimeter of the playground, out the gate, then north on the street.
We had parents pulling in and parking in the middle of the semicircle. We had them parking three deep in the middle of the semicircle, which makes it dangerous to even pull up in the semicircle when they are trying to unwedge their cars and get out before the rest of us.
I saw one woman squeeze her huge Dodge Durango in a spot wayyyy too small for her car. Still not sure how she didn't manage to clip either car in front or behind her. Then she nearly clipped the person who was first in the line and trying to pull out as Ms. Dodge was backing up to rush out of the lot.
Seriously, the whole line moves through in 15 minutes, tops. Usually when I do carpool line, I come 15 minutes after school is out, because the line is gone and I can wing in and wing out. Alas, today, our appointment was at 3:30, and we'd not be able to pull it off if I'd not gotten there right as school let out.
What are you teaching your kids, presumably at a Catholic school to learn values and ethics, when you place yourself, your time, and your safety (not to mention the safety of other people's children) ahead of others at all costs?
05 February 2008
Legacy
Walking into the Catholic church where I've spent many a major family event, where I spent Sundays as a kid with my grandparents in the front pew on the right-hand side, in the church where just eight months ago one of my cousins was married, I followed my grandmother's casket.
Standing there in the pew, looking around at my family, I was thinking about the legacy she and my grandfather left behind.
Six children.
Sixteen grandchildren.
Eleven great-grandchildren.
All good people. We have our problems, like any family. We have our difficulties with each other. But we are all strong, confident, trustworthy people. Every one of us you can rely on in a pinch.
I looked at my sister and our other female cousins and saw a group of strong, confident women. Each one of us has a different profession, from homemaker to engineer to nurse to teacher and everything in between. But we are all, each one of us, confident at what we do and who we are.
I looked at my brother and our male cousins and saw a bunch of guys who I would trust with my life. Each one of them, in his own way, is the type of guy you'd want your sister to marry. (There are still a few single ones, folks. :)
But the best legacy my grandparents left was laughter.
We are a family who teases constantly. In any situation. That can take outsiders a bit to get used to. I'm pretty sure that most receiving lines at funerals do not have people telling the bereaved: "I'm so sorry. Truly. Very sorry you have to stand next to him." (Insert person pointing at one of my mom's brothers, the one who is the family cut-up; his friends are very like him.)
Sitting in the funeral home's family room, trying to help my youngest cousin write a eulogy, all 16 of us were laughing like loons at our memories of our grandparents.
The cookies hidden in the Tupperware container in the dryer.
The fact that my grandmother would mix both chocolate chip and oatmeal raisin cookies together, so well disguised that you couldn't tell the difference. You had to take the first one you picked. I was unnaturally good at picking the chocolate chip oatmeal cookies -- they are slightly flatter than the raisin ones.
My grandmother chasing the dogs away from Easter eggs so the younger grandkids could actually find a few.
My grandparents loved to laugh. And they passed that ability along to all of us. Somehow, I think that's among one of the better legacies they could have left to us.
So, in honor of Tillie and Bill, do me a favor: Laugh with someone you love today.
Standing there in the pew, looking around at my family, I was thinking about the legacy she and my grandfather left behind.
Six children.
Sixteen grandchildren.
Eleven great-grandchildren.
All good people. We have our problems, like any family. We have our difficulties with each other. But we are all strong, confident, trustworthy people. Every one of us you can rely on in a pinch.
I looked at my sister and our other female cousins and saw a group of strong, confident women. Each one of us has a different profession, from homemaker to engineer to nurse to teacher and everything in between. But we are all, each one of us, confident at what we do and who we are.
I looked at my brother and our male cousins and saw a bunch of guys who I would trust with my life. Each one of them, in his own way, is the type of guy you'd want your sister to marry. (There are still a few single ones, folks. :)
But the best legacy my grandparents left was laughter.
We are a family who teases constantly. In any situation. That can take outsiders a bit to get used to. I'm pretty sure that most receiving lines at funerals do not have people telling the bereaved: "I'm so sorry. Truly. Very sorry you have to stand next to him." (Insert person pointing at one of my mom's brothers, the one who is the family cut-up; his friends are very like him.)
Sitting in the funeral home's family room, trying to help my youngest cousin write a eulogy, all 16 of us were laughing like loons at our memories of our grandparents.
The cookies hidden in the Tupperware container in the dryer.
The fact that my grandmother would mix both chocolate chip and oatmeal raisin cookies together, so well disguised that you couldn't tell the difference. You had to take the first one you picked. I was unnaturally good at picking the chocolate chip oatmeal cookies -- they are slightly flatter than the raisin ones.
My grandmother chasing the dogs away from Easter eggs so the younger grandkids could actually find a few.
My grandparents loved to laugh. And they passed that ability along to all of us. Somehow, I think that's among one of the better legacies they could have left to us.
So, in honor of Tillie and Bill, do me a favor: Laugh with someone you love today.
31 January 2008
Eulogy
Last night, I lost the woman who most made me who I am today.
My grandmother's been slipping away from us for a while. She lost herself to dementia last summer, and it has been hit or miss whether we would see her lucid or see her in some decade long past when we'd visit.
We had a complicated relationship. She had very traditional views on what a girl or a woman should be. I fought against those at nearly every turn. While she and my mom were in the kitchen, cooking supper, I'd try to sneak out and go hang in the living room and talk politics with my grandpa.
She attempted to instill the "womanly" arts on my fellow female cousins and me. We were given embroidery kits for Christmas, and we were expected to learn how to do it. We were taught to quilt. We were taught to cook and how to maintain a garden during our week-long visits with her each summer.
Looking back, I loved the gardening and the cooking, heck, even the cleaning, but that embroidery still makes my fingers hurt. She'd make me pick out numerous stitches and insist I do it right.
She was very focused on what was right and proper. There was a *right* way to do things. That's part of why I think I'm so obsessive compulsive about things (especially cleaning) today. She taught me the *right* way; to me, that's the only way.
And yet . . .
I fought back against her ideas of how to be a woman at every turn. I didn't want to be relegated to the kitchen. I didn't want to sew. Heaven knows I hated every embroidery stitch.
It took me years to learn that in her world, the gossip with her friends over coffee that I so disdained was her way of consolidating power and keeping control of her world. My grandmother was a bit Machiavellian, honestly.
I love her, and yet . . . I rejected her at every turn, because what she wanted me to be I just couldn't be. I had to get away. I was stifled by living in a place where everyone not only knew everyone else but also knew every family scandal going back five generations, back to freaking Prussia, and carrying those grudges and stereotypes and misperceptions through the generations. I turned my back on that, and opened up to other people from other places, other backgrounds.
When I married someone who wasn't Catholic, you would have thought I'd completely rocked their worlds. Maybe, in a way, I had.
I was the first to go away to college.
I was the first to marry (and no, none of us saw that coming). The fact that I married a Methodist took them some getting used to.
I was the first to keep working outside the home once my kids were born.
She made me that way. As much as she tried to force me into her mold, I'd fight back so hard to do the exact opposite.
Neither of us were right. There are different ways for different people. That's a lesson I've learned, and she was the one who, inadvertently perhaps, taught it.
My grandmother's been slipping away from us for a while. She lost herself to dementia last summer, and it has been hit or miss whether we would see her lucid or see her in some decade long past when we'd visit.
We had a complicated relationship. She had very traditional views on what a girl or a woman should be. I fought against those at nearly every turn. While she and my mom were in the kitchen, cooking supper, I'd try to sneak out and go hang in the living room and talk politics with my grandpa.
She attempted to instill the "womanly" arts on my fellow female cousins and me. We were given embroidery kits for Christmas, and we were expected to learn how to do it. We were taught to quilt. We were taught to cook and how to maintain a garden during our week-long visits with her each summer.
Looking back, I loved the gardening and the cooking, heck, even the cleaning, but that embroidery still makes my fingers hurt. She'd make me pick out numerous stitches and insist I do it right.
She was very focused on what was right and proper. There was a *right* way to do things. That's part of why I think I'm so obsessive compulsive about things (especially cleaning) today. She taught me the *right* way; to me, that's the only way.
And yet . . .
I fought back against her ideas of how to be a woman at every turn. I didn't want to be relegated to the kitchen. I didn't want to sew. Heaven knows I hated every embroidery stitch.
It took me years to learn that in her world, the gossip with her friends over coffee that I so disdained was her way of consolidating power and keeping control of her world. My grandmother was a bit Machiavellian, honestly.
I love her, and yet . . . I rejected her at every turn, because what she wanted me to be I just couldn't be. I had to get away. I was stifled by living in a place where everyone not only knew everyone else but also knew every family scandal going back five generations, back to freaking Prussia, and carrying those grudges and stereotypes and misperceptions through the generations. I turned my back on that, and opened up to other people from other places, other backgrounds.
When I married someone who wasn't Catholic, you would have thought I'd completely rocked their worlds. Maybe, in a way, I had.
I was the first to go away to college.
I was the first to marry (and no, none of us saw that coming). The fact that I married a Methodist took them some getting used to.
I was the first to keep working outside the home once my kids were born.
She made me that way. As much as she tried to force me into her mold, I'd fight back so hard to do the exact opposite.
Neither of us were right. There are different ways for different people. That's a lesson I've learned, and she was the one who, inadvertently perhaps, taught it.
29 January 2008
For a minute, I was in Chi
It was an illusion, but a nice one.
A stiff, warm gale was blowing -- the kind that will knock you over when you turn a building's corner -- as I walked along a main thoroughfare downtown. Two city buses rushed by me, and I watched a window washer ply his trade on the second story while he dripped on first-floor retail/restaurant customers passing on the sidewalk below.
Just for a minute, I felt like I was back in Chicago. The wind. The buses. The window washer. The retail/mixed use configuration of the buildings. It all took me right back. I just felt at peace.
I love big cities. I love being anonymous and melting into the crowd on city streets as I walk by first-floor retail and gaze in windows as I rush home.
I had that feeling again . . .and then, when I crossed the street, and the buses were gone and the window washer behind me, it was gone.
I really need to move. This place, as one of my grad school professors aptly put it, is the biggest small town you'll ever live in. I can't go anywhere and not see someone I know. Some people like it, but I find it stifling.
I need more Chi moments around here.
A stiff, warm gale was blowing -- the kind that will knock you over when you turn a building's corner -- as I walked along a main thoroughfare downtown. Two city buses rushed by me, and I watched a window washer ply his trade on the second story while he dripped on first-floor retail/restaurant customers passing on the sidewalk below.
Just for a minute, I felt like I was back in Chicago. The wind. The buses. The window washer. The retail/mixed use configuration of the buildings. It all took me right back. I just felt at peace.
I love big cities. I love being anonymous and melting into the crowd on city streets as I walk by first-floor retail and gaze in windows as I rush home.
I had that feeling again . . .and then, when I crossed the street, and the buses were gone and the window washer behind me, it was gone.
I really need to move. This place, as one of my grad school professors aptly put it, is the biggest small town you'll ever live in. I can't go anywhere and not see someone I know. Some people like it, but I find it stifling.
I need more Chi moments around here.
25 January 2008
Super Tuesday, here I come!
This was fun. Confirmed what I already suspected, but fun all the same:
88% Barack Obama
86% Mike Gravel
85% Chris Dodd
85% Dennis Kucinich
85% John Edwards
84% Hillary Clinton
83% Joe Biden
74% Bill Richardson
41% Rudy Giuliani
32% John McCain
23% Ron Paul
23% Mitt Romney
22% Mike Huckabee
21% Tom Tancredo
11% Fred Thompson
2008 Presidential Candidate Matching Quiz
88% Barack Obama
86% Mike Gravel
85% Chris Dodd
85% Dennis Kucinich
85% John Edwards
84% Hillary Clinton
83% Joe Biden
74% Bill Richardson
41% Rudy Giuliani
32% John McCain
23% Ron Paul
23% Mitt Romney
22% Mike Huckabee
21% Tom Tancredo
11% Fred Thompson
2008 Presidential Candidate Matching Quiz
18 January 2008
Oh, happy day
The youngest decided to do No. 2 on the potty last night.
We praised her and gave her tons of Skittles.
If she does it again, we're going to Mr. Bulky for a mass jellybean purchase.
The days of not needing diapers and PullUps are at hand, folks. When that happens, I'm throwing a party.
So. Very. Serious. about the party.
We praised her and gave her tons of Skittles.
If she does it again, we're going to Mr. Bulky for a mass jellybean purchase.
The days of not needing diapers and PullUps are at hand, folks. When that happens, I'm throwing a party.
So. Very. Serious. about the party.
15 January 2008
I *so* rock
I just found out that I won an award for my Bob B. press packet.
Oh, and my designer and I won something for the Cindy S. stuff, too.
Oh, and our team won a sweepstakes award (most points).
I really, really, really needed that news today. My ego is back where it should be (not too big, but not three sizes too small, either).
Oh, and my designer and I won something for the Cindy S. stuff, too.
Oh, and our team won a sweepstakes award (most points).
I really, really, really needed that news today. My ego is back where it should be (not too big, but not three sizes too small, either).
11 January 2008
Look, redesigned Mommy-Tracked!
I finally took a few hours to update the site. It's a bit more like my real-life personality now.
I've been tired of the green bubbles for a while. I started playing around this summer while I was in grad school, but I never had the time to do what I wanted.
With a little assistance from Mr. Mommy-Tracked in deciphering Blogger's style sheets, I now have it set up the way I want it. Almost. I still can't get the news feed to work.
But I have a few new features besides the new color scheme and layout.
Note on the right that you can now go to my Facebook and LinkedIn profiles. Connect with me!
I've also officially put on the legalese to copyright my work. Note the button at the bottom from Creative Commons. That's the fine print, folks. You can link to me, but if you want to use my stuff in publishing, you have to credit me when you quote my stuff in fair use, or contact me for details on how to publish my work.
Want to use me in an anthology or journal article? Awesome.
Pay me.
I'm a writer. I live by my words. So sorry, you can read for free, but if you want to publish me in print, you have to talk to Mommy-Tracked. Or Mommy-Tracked's cousin--the lawyer--if I catch you busting my copyright.
I've been tired of the green bubbles for a while. I started playing around this summer while I was in grad school, but I never had the time to do what I wanted.
With a little assistance from Mr. Mommy-Tracked in deciphering Blogger's style sheets, I now have it set up the way I want it. Almost. I still can't get the news feed to work.
But I have a few new features besides the new color scheme and layout.
Note on the right that you can now go to my Facebook and LinkedIn profiles. Connect with me!
I've also officially put on the legalese to copyright my work. Note the button at the bottom from Creative Commons. That's the fine print, folks. You can link to me, but if you want to use my stuff in publishing, you have to credit me when you quote my stuff in fair use, or contact me for details on how to publish my work.
Want to use me in an anthology or journal article? Awesome.
Pay me.
I'm a writer. I live by my words. So sorry, you can read for free, but if you want to publish me in print, you have to talk to Mommy-Tracked. Or Mommy-Tracked's cousin--the lawyer--if I catch you busting my copyright.
08 January 2008
We're fine
Our worst damage is a large tree branch down in the yard. But we had two that came really close (as in, within a mile).
There's a Home Depot/Expo kind of place across the expressway from our university, and its roof was obliterated. I had to pick my way around sheet metal and lining to get the kids to school.
It was a long night. To quote child three: "Tomadoes freak me out."
No kidding. And I like stuff like that. But that was too close for me.
There's a Home Depot/Expo kind of place across the expressway from our university, and its roof was obliterated. I had to pick my way around sheet metal and lining to get the kids to school.
It was a long night. To quote child three: "Tomadoes freak me out."
No kidding. And I like stuff like that. But that was too close for me.
07 January 2008
I like warm January weather
because it means I can Rollerblade in short sleeves.
I dislike warm January weather because it means we have a chance for tornadoes tonight as the cold front blasts through.
I dislike warm January weather because it means we have a chance for tornadoes tonight as the cold front blasts through.
02 January 2008
Relentless
There is nothing more determined than my youngest at 8:30 a.m. when she's convinced that her mom should get up, vacation or no vacation.
28 December 2007
Head . . . throbbing
No, not from the kids playing the Wii that Santa brought.
No, not from incessant Christmas music.
No, not from the huge 40-minute line I stood in yesterday to buy cheap Bath & Body Works stuff.
I have yet another *)(&^*&^ sinus infection.
These things hit me like a freight train. I got one at Thanksgiving, and now another one is in full swing. I'm off to go take a nap with my Vaporizer running full tilt and load up on Sudafed. Even my teeth hurt.
This is one Christmas gift I could have done without.
Hopefully I'll rise from the throbbing in time to raise a glass of bubbly on New Year's Eve.
No, not from incessant Christmas music.
No, not from the huge 40-minute line I stood in yesterday to buy cheap Bath & Body Works stuff.
I have yet another *)(&^*&^ sinus infection.
These things hit me like a freight train. I got one at Thanksgiving, and now another one is in full swing. I'm off to go take a nap with my Vaporizer running full tilt and load up on Sudafed. Even my teeth hurt.
This is one Christmas gift I could have done without.
Hopefully I'll rise from the throbbing in time to raise a glass of bubbly on New Year's Eve.
20 December 2007
Dear Santa
In shamelessly stealing from Ms.G and C2, I'm doing this blog post in honor of a fine Maneater tradition. Although I was only a groupie, and not a staff member, I fondly recall the wacky notes that they'd use to fill out the ad columns around Christmas.
In that spirit --
Dear Santa:
I know I've been incredibly whiny this year, but I've tried to be patient and good whenever possible. Give me bonus points for not actually ripping several peoples' heads off during long meetings this year, even when they deserved it.
My list, to wit:
* A lovely new silver MacBookPro to call my own, complete with decent audio editing software (Garage Band is good, not great).
* A new freelance website. My husband says he'll build one, but he never has time.
* Clients. Lots of them. Well-paying clients.
* The Registrar's Office to not mess with my classes so that I can earn my graduate degree in Dec. 08.
* Patience. I know I ask for this every year, but I need more. A lot more.
* V.Sattui reds. Cases of them. Greg Norman Cab Sav will do as well. Preferably 2002.
* A new school board that understands the wonder and great possibilities within my kids' school. They are on the warpath again to shut it down, and I'm tired of this battle. It would be a tragedy for it to be shut down, and I need you to help them see that.
* More time for my husband.
* Better jobs for both of us. Ones that don't drive us crazy, require us to care about school closings other than the ones our kids attend, and ones that pay well.
* My husband could really use some free time. And help him to find a hobby. He needs to remember how to play.
* A Wii. And hopefully, said Wii will help us get off the couch and move more.
* Unlimited clothing and shoe money. Ann Taylor Loft and Target could really, really, really use an economic boost, don'tcha think?
* A handyman. We really need to finish a zillion projects around the house, and neither of us have time or skills to do it. At the very least, could I get someone to paint the ceilings and the living room in my house?
* Healthy kids. Thank you for that gift this year. I'd like it again next year.
In that spirit --
Dear Santa:
I know I've been incredibly whiny this year, but I've tried to be patient and good whenever possible. Give me bonus points for not actually ripping several peoples' heads off during long meetings this year, even when they deserved it.
My list, to wit:
* A lovely new silver MacBookPro to call my own, complete with decent audio editing software (Garage Band is good, not great).
* A new freelance website. My husband says he'll build one, but he never has time.
* Clients. Lots of them. Well-paying clients.
* The Registrar's Office to not mess with my classes so that I can earn my graduate degree in Dec. 08.
* Patience. I know I ask for this every year, but I need more. A lot more.
* V.Sattui reds. Cases of them. Greg Norman Cab Sav will do as well. Preferably 2002.
* A new school board that understands the wonder and great possibilities within my kids' school. They are on the warpath again to shut it down, and I'm tired of this battle. It would be a tragedy for it to be shut down, and I need you to help them see that.
* More time for my husband.
* Better jobs for both of us. Ones that don't drive us crazy, require us to care about school closings other than the ones our kids attend, and ones that pay well.
* My husband could really use some free time. And help him to find a hobby. He needs to remember how to play.
* A Wii. And hopefully, said Wii will help us get off the couch and move more.
* Unlimited clothing and shoe money. Ann Taylor Loft and Target could really, really, really use an economic boost, don'tcha think?
* A handyman. We really need to finish a zillion projects around the house, and neither of us have time or skills to do it. At the very least, could I get someone to paint the ceilings and the living room in my house?
* Healthy kids. Thank you for that gift this year. I'd like it again next year.
11 December 2007
Where I Stand
If John Cardinal Henry Newman doesn't sum up my ideas on truth, faith, and belief within a university setting, I don't know what does:
Where I work right now would have some disagreements with Cardinal Newman. So would some of the hierarchy within my church.
I'd noticed a few years ago that place my husband and I were married no longer referred to itself as The Newman Center. Not that the saint they now tout (St. Thomas More) is a slouch. But somehow I missed that Cardinal Newman is not only uncool, but a threat.
In National Catholic Reporter this week, there's a good analysis of how critical thinking and questioning seem to be discouraged in Catholicism lately. That is a loss. Rigidity lead us to the Reformation and the Inquisition. Do we really want to go back to that?
“a place to which a thousand schools make contributions; in which the intellect may safely range and speculate, sure to find its equal in some antagonist activity, and its judge in the tribunal of truth.”
Where I work right now would have some disagreements with Cardinal Newman. So would some of the hierarchy within my church.
I'd noticed a few years ago that place my husband and I were married no longer referred to itself as The Newman Center. Not that the saint they now tout (St. Thomas More) is a slouch. But somehow I missed that Cardinal Newman is not only uncool, but a threat.
In National Catholic Reporter this week, there's a good analysis of how critical thinking and questioning seem to be discouraged in Catholicism lately. That is a loss. Rigidity lead us to the Reformation and the Inquisition. Do we really want to go back to that?
08 December 2007
Day in the life: Weekend
7:30 a.m.: Hear youngest screaming "MOOOOOOMMMMMYYYYYYYY!!!" Try to ignore.
7:31 a.m.: Give up. Get youngest. Bribe her with "snuggle" in bed in attempt to sleep in.
7:32 a.m.-7:47 a.m.: Have youngest thwap me with stupid bunny blankets. Stick fingers in my eye. Whap me on the chest for fun.
8 a.m. Ask second child to take sister with him and feed her breakfast. Shove husband out of bed, under pretense of concern that he needs to go to the gym.
8:15 a.m.: Youngest comes in to torture me further. Chase out.
8:30 a.m.: See above.
9 a.m.: Shout at younger two kids, who come into room to torment me while I attempt to sleep.
10 a.m.: Wake up. Consider getting up.
10:15 a.m.: Get up. Clean bathroom before taking shower.
10:39 a.m.: Take shower. Enjoy hot water, which I rarely get because our hot water heater does not work well in winter.
11 a.m.: Make coffee. Consider options for lunch. Alert husband that I am awake.
11:15 a.m.: Make peanut butter fudge.
11:30 a.m.: Start lunch.
11:50 a.m.: Call kids down for lunch.
11:53 a.m.: Yell at kids for complaining about all the food on table.
Noon: Clean up lunch. Start cleaning toilets. Discover eldest didn't really scrub one sink well, bring her back to redo.
12:30 p.m.: Throw tablecloth and rugs in the wash.
12:50 p.m.: Toss wash in dryer. Beg husband to take youngest and tuck her in nap, as youngest is whiny and annoying.
1:20 p.m.: Husband finishes work on computer, tucks youngest in nap.
1:24 p.m.: Inform elder children to find somewhere else to play, as Mom must work on research paper.
1:45 p.m.: Get really annoyed that APA style takes for-freaking-ever to do references page.
2 p.m.: Stall for bit on Fark.com.
3:36 p.m.: Decide hands are freezing, reference page almost done, go make hot chocolate.
3:47 p.m.: Praise elder two on the tent/fort they made upstairs in guest room. Ask them to come down for hot chocolate and peppermint Jo Jos from Trader Joes.
3:51 p.m.: Lick fingers from Jo Jo, take hot chocolate upstairs to re-read research paper and revise.
4:30 p.m.: Finish research paper (thank God!) and decide to start dinner.
5 p.m.: Get little one up from nap.
5:12 p.m.: Ask husband to come upstairs and pry youngest off my leg, so I can work on dinner.
5:13 p.m.: Remember stuff in dryer. Get tablecloth out and put on table.
5:14 p.m.-5:45 p.m.: Make dinners (one for tonight, one that can simmer on wood stove, should we lose power in ice storm tomorrow).
5:50 p.m.: 6:15 p.m.: Eat dinner.
6:16 p.m.: Send husband off to bathe younger kids. Tell eldest to take long shower and get a break. Clean dinner dishes.
6:20 p.m.: Discover son wet bed. Son did not tell anyone he wet bed. Strip sheets. Shove new sheets at husband and march off to laundry room to wash &*)(^%*&%^ sheets.
6:30 p.m.: Decide to make bar cookies, because I like them and they won't take long to make.
6:47 p.m.: Toss sheets in dryer.
6:55 p.m.: Slide bar cookies in oven, head off to take long hot bath while husband has kids occupied with SpongeBob.
7:30 p.m.: Shout vaguely at husband as he announces he is leaving for poker game.
7:31 p.m.: Get out of bath, dress, go fetch cookies out of oven.
7:45 p.m.: Feed kids snack, chase to bed.
8 p.m.: Help brush teeth. Tuck in bed.
8:15 p.m.: Tuck youngest in again.
8:30 p.m.: Start freelance project.
8:40 p.m.: Figure out freelance site won't let me in.
8:45 p.m.: Grumpily discover youngest is banging on her door. Ask eldest to go to bed 15 minutes early, tuck youngest in again.
9ish: Send note to freelance client that system not working.
9:17 p.m.: Tuck youngest in AGAIN!
9:20 p.m.: Decide to read Fark.com
9:24 p.m.: Blog pathetic day.
And that's it. I'm going to bed. I might read Real Simple. I can't bear to watch TV. It's weather porn right now, as every station spazzes about the ice storm that may or may not hit. If it does hit, you probably won't hear from me for days.
7:31 a.m.: Give up. Get youngest. Bribe her with "snuggle" in bed in attempt to sleep in.
7:32 a.m.-7:47 a.m.: Have youngest thwap me with stupid bunny blankets. Stick fingers in my eye. Whap me on the chest for fun.
8 a.m. Ask second child to take sister with him and feed her breakfast. Shove husband out of bed, under pretense of concern that he needs to go to the gym.
8:15 a.m.: Youngest comes in to torture me further. Chase out.
8:30 a.m.: See above.
9 a.m.: Shout at younger two kids, who come into room to torment me while I attempt to sleep.
10 a.m.: Wake up. Consider getting up.
10:15 a.m.: Get up. Clean bathroom before taking shower.
10:39 a.m.: Take shower. Enjoy hot water, which I rarely get because our hot water heater does not work well in winter.
11 a.m.: Make coffee. Consider options for lunch. Alert husband that I am awake.
11:15 a.m.: Make peanut butter fudge.
11:30 a.m.: Start lunch.
11:50 a.m.: Call kids down for lunch.
11:53 a.m.: Yell at kids for complaining about all the food on table.
Noon: Clean up lunch. Start cleaning toilets. Discover eldest didn't really scrub one sink well, bring her back to redo.
12:30 p.m.: Throw tablecloth and rugs in the wash.
12:50 p.m.: Toss wash in dryer. Beg husband to take youngest and tuck her in nap, as youngest is whiny and annoying.
1:20 p.m.: Husband finishes work on computer, tucks youngest in nap.
1:24 p.m.: Inform elder children to find somewhere else to play, as Mom must work on research paper.
1:45 p.m.: Get really annoyed that APA style takes for-freaking-ever to do references page.
2 p.m.: Stall for bit on Fark.com.
3:36 p.m.: Decide hands are freezing, reference page almost done, go make hot chocolate.
3:47 p.m.: Praise elder two on the tent/fort they made upstairs in guest room. Ask them to come down for hot chocolate and peppermint Jo Jos from Trader Joes.
3:51 p.m.: Lick fingers from Jo Jo, take hot chocolate upstairs to re-read research paper and revise.
4:30 p.m.: Finish research paper (thank God!) and decide to start dinner.
5 p.m.: Get little one up from nap.
5:12 p.m.: Ask husband to come upstairs and pry youngest off my leg, so I can work on dinner.
5:13 p.m.: Remember stuff in dryer. Get tablecloth out and put on table.
5:14 p.m.-5:45 p.m.: Make dinners (one for tonight, one that can simmer on wood stove, should we lose power in ice storm tomorrow).
5:50 p.m.: 6:15 p.m.: Eat dinner.
6:16 p.m.: Send husband off to bathe younger kids. Tell eldest to take long shower and get a break. Clean dinner dishes.
6:20 p.m.: Discover son wet bed. Son did not tell anyone he wet bed. Strip sheets. Shove new sheets at husband and march off to laundry room to wash &*)(^%*&%^ sheets.
6:30 p.m.: Decide to make bar cookies, because I like them and they won't take long to make.
6:47 p.m.: Toss sheets in dryer.
6:55 p.m.: Slide bar cookies in oven, head off to take long hot bath while husband has kids occupied with SpongeBob.
7:30 p.m.: Shout vaguely at husband as he announces he is leaving for poker game.
7:31 p.m.: Get out of bath, dress, go fetch cookies out of oven.
7:45 p.m.: Feed kids snack, chase to bed.
8 p.m.: Help brush teeth. Tuck in bed.
8:15 p.m.: Tuck youngest in again.
8:30 p.m.: Start freelance project.
8:40 p.m.: Figure out freelance site won't let me in.
8:45 p.m.: Grumpily discover youngest is banging on her door. Ask eldest to go to bed 15 minutes early, tuck youngest in again.
9ish: Send note to freelance client that system not working.
9:17 p.m.: Tuck youngest in AGAIN!
9:20 p.m.: Decide to read Fark.com
9:24 p.m.: Blog pathetic day.
And that's it. I'm going to bed. I might read Real Simple. I can't bear to watch TV. It's weather porn right now, as every station spazzes about the ice storm that may or may not hit. If it does hit, you probably won't hear from me for days.
02 December 2007
Stupid Sooner Saturday
It was a busy Saturday for us:
Breakfast with Santa in the morning. The eldest was rolling her eyes, because she's clued into the Jolly Old Elf. The youngest was terrified, to the point that she shrieked, and NOT with glee when Santa made his appearance. We hid out by a coworker who came in late and was seated far, far, far away from Santa.
We put up Christmas decorations during the day.
At night, we started the M-I-Z chant, but the flipping Sooners started off strong in the second half, and our defense AND offense didn't show. Bummer, baby.
Being ranked No. 1 was good while it lasted.
Breakfast with Santa in the morning. The eldest was rolling her eyes, because she's clued into the Jolly Old Elf. The youngest was terrified, to the point that she shrieked, and NOT with glee when Santa made his appearance. We hid out by a coworker who came in late and was seated far, far, far away from Santa.
We put up Christmas decorations during the day.
At night, we started the M-I-Z chant, but the flipping Sooners started off strong in the second half, and our defense AND offense didn't show. Bummer, baby.
Being ranked No. 1 was good while it lasted.
26 November 2007
M-I-Z
No. 1.
I never thought I'd see it in my lifetime. Seriously.
I'm on cloud 9. Forget turkey. The best part of Thanksgiving happened Saturday night.
And to celebrate (with apologies to KU fans Allison and Kathy, and NU fan Brad):
Four football fans go rock climbing one afternoon, a Nebraska fan, an Oklahoma fan, a Kansas fan, and a Mizzou fan. They had been arguing all the way up the mountain about who among them was the most die-hard fan.
Upon reaching the top of the mountain, the Nebraska fan proclaimed to the other three, "THIS IS FOR THE HUSKERS!" and promptly threw himself off the mountain as a form of sacrifice, screaming "GO BIG RED!" as he fell to his death.
Not to be outdone, the Oklahoma fan jumped up and shouted, "THIS IS FOR THE SOONERS!" and threw himself off the mountain.
Refusing to be outdone by the Nebraska and Oklahoma fans, the Mizzou fan rose to his feet and yelled at the top of his lungs, "THIS IS FOR THE MU TIGERS!" and without hesitation pushed the KU fan off the mountain.
I never thought I'd see it in my lifetime. Seriously.
I'm on cloud 9. Forget turkey. The best part of Thanksgiving happened Saturday night.
And to celebrate (with apologies to KU fans Allison and Kathy, and NU fan Brad):
Four football fans go rock climbing one afternoon, a Nebraska fan, an Oklahoma fan, a Kansas fan, and a Mizzou fan. They had been arguing all the way up the mountain about who among them was the most die-hard fan.
Upon reaching the top of the mountain, the Nebraska fan proclaimed to the other three, "THIS IS FOR THE HUSKERS!" and promptly threw himself off the mountain as a form of sacrifice, screaming "GO BIG RED!" as he fell to his death.
Not to be outdone, the Oklahoma fan jumped up and shouted, "THIS IS FOR THE SOONERS!" and threw himself off the mountain.
Refusing to be outdone by the Nebraska and Oklahoma fans, the Mizzou fan rose to his feet and yelled at the top of his lungs, "THIS IS FOR THE MU TIGERS!" and without hesitation pushed the KU fan off the mountain.
16 November 2007
He'll either be a brilliant lawyer
or a psychopath. Or a brilliant psychopath lawyer.
(is that redundant? --sorry my lawyer relatives and friends, couldn't resist--)
My middle son, age 5, is showing a great capacity for drawing very, very fine lines with ethics. He's also good at pushing and pushing and pushing right up until he finds where the line is.
Point No. 1:
Amazingly, he does nothing wrong. It's always his younger sister. Or some kid at school.
Point No. 2:
When he stole a magnet from school yesterday, he informed my spouse that "The guardian angel on my shoulder must have been looking away for a minute."
Point No. 3:
He informed me early in the school year that he could get into some trouble at school every day, but not a lot of trouble.
How is this possible, you ask?
His teacher does the green-yellow-orange-red system. You get in trouble, you lose your green popsicle stick and get a yellow, and so on.
But to get to yellow, you get three strikes.
So my son, Lord love him, has been getting two strikes, knowing that he can.
I informed his kindergarten teacher of this at parent-teacher conferences a month ago. She was, um, a bit surprised he figured that one out so fast. So she's been keeping a hawk's eye on him to nip him in the bud.
Yet, he managed to steal a magnet from school yesterday. My poor spouse got to lower the boom on him, because I was in grad school last night. When I got home, the boy was chastened (sort of).
We sent him to school with the magnet, a note, and the requirement that he apologize to his teacher and fess up to what he did.
I'm going to pick him up from aftercare in 20 minutes. I'm really hoping that he had a good day, but yet, still learned a lesson.
This parenting thing is HARD, y'all.
(is that redundant? --sorry my lawyer relatives and friends, couldn't resist--)
My middle son, age 5, is showing a great capacity for drawing very, very fine lines with ethics. He's also good at pushing and pushing and pushing right up until he finds where the line is.
Point No. 1:
Amazingly, he does nothing wrong. It's always his younger sister. Or some kid at school.
Point No. 2:
When he stole a magnet from school yesterday, he informed my spouse that "The guardian angel on my shoulder must have been looking away for a minute."
Point No. 3:
He informed me early in the school year that he could get into some trouble at school every day, but not a lot of trouble.
How is this possible, you ask?
His teacher does the green-yellow-orange-red system. You get in trouble, you lose your green popsicle stick and get a yellow, and so on.
But to get to yellow, you get three strikes.
So my son, Lord love him, has been getting two strikes, knowing that he can.
I informed his kindergarten teacher of this at parent-teacher conferences a month ago. She was, um, a bit surprised he figured that one out so fast. So she's been keeping a hawk's eye on him to nip him in the bud.
Yet, he managed to steal a magnet from school yesterday. My poor spouse got to lower the boom on him, because I was in grad school last night. When I got home, the boy was chastened (sort of).
We sent him to school with the magnet, a note, and the requirement that he apologize to his teacher and fess up to what he did.
I'm going to pick him up from aftercare in 20 minutes. I'm really hoping that he had a good day, but yet, still learned a lesson.
This parenting thing is HARD, y'all.
12 November 2007
AAUUUUGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH
People at work are driving me nuts.
Others are being supportive.
It really is a toss-up some days on who outnumbers whom.
Others are being supportive.
It really is a toss-up some days on who outnumbers whom.
07 November 2007
New Crockpot Recipe
I tried a new one tonight. It went over so-so, but I suspect it is because I live with picky people.
Chicken Burritos
1 14 oz. can of corn
1 14 oz. can of black beans
1 package of taco seasoning
1 package of ranch dressing mix
4 chicken breasts
1 16 oz. jar of salsa.
Mix the undrained corn and beans into crockpot with spices. Add chicken on top. Pour salsa over all. Cook in crockpot on high for 4-5 hours.
Heat up tortillas when you get home. Shred chicken, and add your favorite toppings w/bean and corn mix.
I like it. The chicken went over well with the picky. Most of my crew hates beans (black, pinto or kidney), so that part was a hard sell.
Warning: This is very filling.
Chicken Burritos
1 14 oz. can of corn
1 14 oz. can of black beans
1 package of taco seasoning
1 package of ranch dressing mix
4 chicken breasts
1 16 oz. jar of salsa.
Mix the undrained corn and beans into crockpot with spices. Add chicken on top. Pour salsa over all. Cook in crockpot on high for 4-5 hours.
Heat up tortillas when you get home. Shred chicken, and add your favorite toppings w/bean and corn mix.
I like it. The chicken went over well with the picky. Most of my crew hates beans (black, pinto or kidney), so that part was a hard sell.
Warning: This is very filling.
03 November 2007
Note the (small) changes
I still haven't gotten around to doing the template the way I want it, but I did edit the left bar.
Note the new books we at Mommy-Tracked are reading, as well as the link to the Amazon.com gift list. It is under my name, but it reflects the wants of our entire Mommy-Tracked family for the upcoming holidays (and in the case of the eldest, Turkey-day birthdays).
That latter change is for family only. For those in the friend/outside unknown reader loop, you can browse to see what we are up to, but do not buy us anything. : )
Note the new books we at Mommy-Tracked are reading, as well as the link to the Amazon.com gift list. It is under my name, but it reflects the wants of our entire Mommy-Tracked family for the upcoming holidays (and in the case of the eldest, Turkey-day birthdays).
That latter change is for family only. For those in the friend/outside unknown reader loop, you can browse to see what we are up to, but do not buy us anything. : )
30 October 2007
21 Deer
Imagine that old Johnny Carson Carnac sketch:
Answer:
21 deer, one skunk, one possum.
Question:
What are the potential animal ping-pong balls aiming for your new car as you drive up Hwy. 5 in Arkansas at midnight on the way to visit the grandparents for a long weekend?
Yeah, that was fun. I'm never driving that curvy, nasty stretch of road late at night ever again.
On the upside, kids had great time with grandparents, and we didn't actually hit any of the targets. Or have the targets jump into us.
Answer:
21 deer, one skunk, one possum.
Question:
What are the potential animal ping-pong balls aiming for your new car as you drive up Hwy. 5 in Arkansas at midnight on the way to visit the grandparents for a long weekend?
Yeah, that was fun. I'm never driving that curvy, nasty stretch of road late at night ever again.
On the upside, kids had great time with grandparents, and we didn't actually hit any of the targets. Or have the targets jump into us.
14 October 2007
The Wisdom of Anne
Anne-with-an-E, Anne of Green Gables.
Whenever I get downright depressed, demoralized, and discouraged, I pull out my Anne of Green Gables novels. In this latest re-reading, I'm amazed at how true so much of what L.M. Montgomery wrote a century ago is.
When I was 12, I was the red-headed misfit who daydreamed too much. I never read the other novels at that time (and just as well, because I wasn't emotionally ready or mature enough for them). But Anne spoke to me. I was a "kindred spirit."
When I was in high school, I discovered the other novels. One of my college roommates and I read those books again and again. We sobbed when Ruby Gillis died a horrid death. We felt Anne's agony of knowing Gilbert cared too much, and then died a death with her when she learned that she really did love him.
When I lost my first child to miscarriage, I wept when I re-read the chapter where Anne and Gilbert lost their little Joyce.
Now, re-reading again (and sobbing again when Ruby Gillis died, which convinced my eldest that her mom really is nuts), I'm amazed at how well Montgomery knew human nature and how well she portrayed love and marriage. In Anne of Ingleside, the final chapters are focused on an Anne my age, who is feeling neglected, overworked, and unloved.
Everything ends up all right between Anne and Gilbert, but the overall message -- that we mustn't become so self-centered that we forget our loved ones have weighy things on their shoulders, too, and that we should care for ourselves, and not just our houses, our children, and our careers -- just brought tears to my eyes.
That passage spoke to my heart. I feel that way now. And the fact that women a century ago had those same feelings just makes me realize it is natural. We must take a break to feed our souls.
I've been doing that this weekend. Fall break is this week. Two of my grad classes are cancelled. I put things (like housework and writing) on hold, to take time for me, for my children, and for my husband.
Anne (and L.M.M.) is wise. I'm taking a century's worth of wisdom to heart.
Whenever I get downright depressed, demoralized, and discouraged, I pull out my Anne of Green Gables novels. In this latest re-reading, I'm amazed at how true so much of what L.M. Montgomery wrote a century ago is.
When I was 12, I was the red-headed misfit who daydreamed too much. I never read the other novels at that time (and just as well, because I wasn't emotionally ready or mature enough for them). But Anne spoke to me. I was a "kindred spirit."
When I was in high school, I discovered the other novels. One of my college roommates and I read those books again and again. We sobbed when Ruby Gillis died a horrid death. We felt Anne's agony of knowing Gilbert cared too much, and then died a death with her when she learned that she really did love him.
When I lost my first child to miscarriage, I wept when I re-read the chapter where Anne and Gilbert lost their little Joyce.
Now, re-reading again (and sobbing again when Ruby Gillis died, which convinced my eldest that her mom really is nuts), I'm amazed at how well Montgomery knew human nature and how well she portrayed love and marriage. In Anne of Ingleside, the final chapters are focused on an Anne my age, who is feeling neglected, overworked, and unloved.
Everything ends up all right between Anne and Gilbert, but the overall message -- that we mustn't become so self-centered that we forget our loved ones have weighy things on their shoulders, too, and that we should care for ourselves, and not just our houses, our children, and our careers -- just brought tears to my eyes.
That passage spoke to my heart. I feel that way now. And the fact that women a century ago had those same feelings just makes me realize it is natural. We must take a break to feed our souls.
I've been doing that this weekend. Fall break is this week. Two of my grad classes are cancelled. I put things (like housework and writing) on hold, to take time for me, for my children, and for my husband.
Anne (and L.M.M.) is wise. I'm taking a century's worth of wisdom to heart.
08 October 2007
Resolution
Remember last winter' when a child was kidnapped from one of the stops on my bus route?
The guy who did it pleaded guilty today. He'll be in jail for life. Good.
In a message he passed on through his lawyer, he says he feels at peace with his decision.
You know what, NO. I want him to have no peace. What he did to those two families, those two boys, was horrific. I want him to be remorseful, guilty, and agonize over what he did for the rest of his confined days.
Story is here
The guy who did it pleaded guilty today. He'll be in jail for life. Good.
In a message he passed on through his lawyer, he says he feels at peace with his decision.
You know what, NO. I want him to have no peace. What he did to those two families, those two boys, was horrific. I want him to be remorseful, guilty, and agonize over what he did for the rest of his confined days.
Story is here
03 October 2007
Mr. Goodbear visits
We had a furry visitor last night. He was about three feet tall, caramel-colored fur, and very polite.
Mr. Goodbear only visits kindergarteners who are good for an entire month. "Good" is determined by keeping your popsicle stick green. If you act up after three warnings, you go to yellow. Then orange. Then red.
My little guy, suprisingly, kept his popsicle stick green an entire month. He was the first kindergartener to have Mr. Goodbear visit. So Mr. Goodbear hung out at aftercare with my little guy. He rode home in our van. He ate dinner with us, he watched SpongeBob with us, he ate a snack, brushed his teeth, and went to bed.
My little guy, who can be the rowdiest, goofiest, silliest five-year-old boy you've ever met, was just glowing the entire visit.
Mr. Goodbear only visits kindergarteners who are good for an entire month. "Good" is determined by keeping your popsicle stick green. If you act up after three warnings, you go to yellow. Then orange. Then red.
My little guy, suprisingly, kept his popsicle stick green an entire month. He was the first kindergartener to have Mr. Goodbear visit. So Mr. Goodbear hung out at aftercare with my little guy. He rode home in our van. He ate dinner with us, he watched SpongeBob with us, he ate a snack, brushed his teeth, and went to bed.
My little guy, who can be the rowdiest, goofiest, silliest five-year-old boy you've ever met, was just glowing the entire visit.
27 September 2007
Oh, for the love of Riley
Guess what?
Latest Thomas recall . . .
Yup. We have Toad. And I'm pretty sure it was the one they sent to us as a freebie for turning all the other lead-coated stuff earlier this summer.
You have got to be kidding me. This is a farce at this point. We are checking the Consumer Product Safety Commission website almost every other week and then searching through the piles of toys in our house.
I don't care if it would cost more for toys if they were produced in the U.S. Move the manufacturing back here. This is ridiculous.
Latest Thomas recall . . .
Yup. We have Toad. And I'm pretty sure it was the one they sent to us as a freebie for turning all the other lead-coated stuff earlier this summer.
You have got to be kidding me. This is a farce at this point. We are checking the Consumer Product Safety Commission website almost every other week and then searching through the piles of toys in our house.
I don't care if it would cost more for toys if they were produced in the U.S. Move the manufacturing back here. This is ridiculous.
19 September 2007
In honor of my husband
Because without him, there is no way I could stay even semi-sane after all the stress of the past 18 months:
Powered by AOL Video
17 September 2007
Too many great-grandmothers
We were at a family wedding this weekend. My family.
With 16 cousins on one side and 14 on the other, we go to a LOT of weddings.
At any rate, I'm herding the younger two out to gather more food from the snack line at the reception. I'm leading them out, my grandmother (my kids' great-grandmother) is being wheeled in.
Now, keep in mind, my grandmother has been slipping in and out of reality for months. You never know what you'll get.
She sees my son, calls him over, and asks, "Are you the little boy I used to watch?"
Oh, Lord, thinks I. I have NO clue what she's talking about, or who she thinks my son is. Could be anyone over a 60-year span of time. So I whisper to my five-year-old guy, "Play along."
So he does, he nods, he smiles. Then he says:
"I thought you were dead!"
Oh God. Save me now.
Keep in mind, one of his great-grandmothers did die recently.
"Other great-grandma," I hiss. "Other great-grandma." And I shuttle them away. Thankfully, no one but me heard him.
Kids: You never know what will come out of their mouths. Be warned.
With 16 cousins on one side and 14 on the other, we go to a LOT of weddings.
At any rate, I'm herding the younger two out to gather more food from the snack line at the reception. I'm leading them out, my grandmother (my kids' great-grandmother) is being wheeled in.
Now, keep in mind, my grandmother has been slipping in and out of reality for months. You never know what you'll get.
She sees my son, calls him over, and asks, "Are you the little boy I used to watch?"
Oh, Lord, thinks I. I have NO clue what she's talking about, or who she thinks my son is. Could be anyone over a 60-year span of time. So I whisper to my five-year-old guy, "Play along."
So he does, he nods, he smiles. Then he says:
"I thought you were dead!"
Oh God. Save me now.
Keep in mind, one of his great-grandmothers did die recently.
"Other great-grandma," I hiss. "Other great-grandma." And I shuttle them away. Thankfully, no one but me heard him.
Kids: You never know what will come out of their mouths. Be warned.
14 September 2007
Nary a bubble skirt to be seen
Thank goodness!
Being sick means I've missed the NY fall fashion shows. But NY magazine has a good wrap up, with photos.
No bubble skirts. Normal, cute slip dresses. Suits I'd wear.
The insanity is over, thank God.
Being sick means I've missed the NY fall fashion shows. But NY magazine has a good wrap up, with photos.
No bubble skirts. Normal, cute slip dresses. Suits I'd wear.
The insanity is over, thank God.
12 September 2007
Cough, hack, wheeze
I have been down and out with one of the worst illnesses I've ever had.
Seven days of hacking, wheezing, fevers that come and go, lack of appetite, and utter exhaustion. I finally dragged myself to the doctor yesterday and now have a lovely stash of antibiotics and other drugs.
I've never taken five sick days in a row. Never. Not even with morning sickness at its worst. But this totally kicked my tuckus.
Let's just hope the kids don't get it. If they do, we're toast.
Seven days of hacking, wheezing, fevers that come and go, lack of appetite, and utter exhaustion. I finally dragged myself to the doctor yesterday and now have a lovely stash of antibiotics and other drugs.
I've never taken five sick days in a row. Never. Not even with morning sickness at its worst. But this totally kicked my tuckus.
Let's just hope the kids don't get it. If they do, we're toast.
03 September 2007
Death in our family
My husband's grandmother passed away last week.
We had just visited her during our vacation, as a part of the trip we stopped at a family reunion, planned partly to celebrate the 65 years she and his grandfather had been married.
She was a wonderful woman. She welcomed me to the family with open arms. Literally. She swallowed me in a bear hug after our college commencement ceremonies. This was the first time I had met most of my husband's extended family, a mere two weeks before our wedding. His grandmother made me feel comfortable within their family.
She called herself the weather witch, and she took responsibility for any and all weather. She apologized for the drizzle on our wedding day, and then reminded me that rain on anyone's wedding day is a sign of good luck.
I loved her like my own grandmother. In fact, she felt like my grandmother. When we lived in New York, we'd drive up to their house for holidays and sleep in the cramped back bedroom, and eat from a groaning table filled with food fixed by my husband's grandfather.
My only fault, as far as she was concerned, is that I hated playing cards. Oh, I often did, but I am a miserable card player (I really do hate playing card games). Right now, I'm treasuring those memories of her attempting to teach me how to play hand and foot.
She loved my kids dearly, and always e-mailed to ask for pictures.
I miss her dearly, and she hasn't even been gone a week. It seems slightly unreal, because I was just talking to her three weeks ago.
I'm not sure who would be designated the new family weather witch, but I'd like to apply for the position, in honor of her.
We had just visited her during our vacation, as a part of the trip we stopped at a family reunion, planned partly to celebrate the 65 years she and his grandfather had been married.
She was a wonderful woman. She welcomed me to the family with open arms. Literally. She swallowed me in a bear hug after our college commencement ceremonies. This was the first time I had met most of my husband's extended family, a mere two weeks before our wedding. His grandmother made me feel comfortable within their family.
She called herself the weather witch, and she took responsibility for any and all weather. She apologized for the drizzle on our wedding day, and then reminded me that rain on anyone's wedding day is a sign of good luck.
I loved her like my own grandmother. In fact, she felt like my grandmother. When we lived in New York, we'd drive up to their house for holidays and sleep in the cramped back bedroom, and eat from a groaning table filled with food fixed by my husband's grandfather.
My only fault, as far as she was concerned, is that I hated playing cards. Oh, I often did, but I am a miserable card player (I really do hate playing card games). Right now, I'm treasuring those memories of her attempting to teach me how to play hand and foot.
She loved my kids dearly, and always e-mailed to ask for pictures.
I miss her dearly, and she hasn't even been gone a week. It seems slightly unreal, because I was just talking to her three weeks ago.
I'm not sure who would be designated the new family weather witch, but I'd like to apply for the position, in honor of her.
31 August 2007
Start o' school
Actually, we started two weeks ago. This year has been a blur. Immediately after school started, my husband came down with the flu, then I caught it, and my grad classes started that same week. So it actually was a miracle that our children were dressed, homework finished, and at school on time at all.
Eldest starts middle school/jr. high. Sixth, seventh and eighth graders at her school change classes. This is her first taste of the rotating days, juggling multiple assignments from multiple teachers. It's also the science fair year.
Remember my post on recorders?
This is worse.
My only saving grace is that I a) sort of like science and b) her teacher believes it should be a part of their class work each day. Bless her.
Middle son started kindergarten. He was a little nervous this year, but once he settled in, he was okay.
I went back to my office and cried. I dropped him off at kindergarten in the same car we brought him home from the hospital in. He shouldn't have grown up so darn fast. He's still my little guy, one who loves to snuggle and cuddle. I know those days are numbered. I don't want to lose my little guy, but he's getting bigger each day.
Littlest one has become very independent. "I cawn do IT mySELF!" is her favorite line. Unless, of course, we ask her to do No. 2 on the potty. Then we get: "No, I cawn't do it."
Sigh.
I'm thinking next semester I will only take one seated course for grad school. I'm starting to feel overwhelmed, and I'm only two weeks in. It probably isn't as bad as I feel it is, and once I get some homework done, I'll feel better, I know.
Plus, my boss gave us all the afternoon off. Happy Labor Day, y'all. Enjoy the last blast of summer!
Eldest starts middle school/jr. high. Sixth, seventh and eighth graders at her school change classes. This is her first taste of the rotating days, juggling multiple assignments from multiple teachers. It's also the science fair year.
Remember my post on recorders?
This is worse.
My only saving grace is that I a) sort of like science and b) her teacher believes it should be a part of their class work each day. Bless her.
Middle son started kindergarten. He was a little nervous this year, but once he settled in, he was okay.
I went back to my office and cried. I dropped him off at kindergarten in the same car we brought him home from the hospital in. He shouldn't have grown up so darn fast. He's still my little guy, one who loves to snuggle and cuddle. I know those days are numbered. I don't want to lose my little guy, but he's getting bigger each day.
Littlest one has become very independent. "I cawn do IT mySELF!" is her favorite line. Unless, of course, we ask her to do No. 2 on the potty. Then we get: "No, I cawn't do it."
Sigh.
I'm thinking next semester I will only take one seated course for grad school. I'm starting to feel overwhelmed, and I'm only two weeks in. It probably isn't as bad as I feel it is, and once I get some homework done, I'll feel better, I know.
Plus, my boss gave us all the afternoon off. Happy Labor Day, y'all. Enjoy the last blast of summer!
24 August 2007
Oh, ick
So, I suspected that a mouse might have gotten in our house, and I've found confirmation today: mouse doo-doo and Fruit Loops scattered all through the cabinent with cereal and the utensil drawer, too.
Oh, ick, ick, ick, ick, ick.
I can handle snakes and all sorts of creepy crawly things, but not rodents.
I want it out of my house. I don't even care about painlessly. I just want it GONE.
The kids are appalled that I want to kill, and I quote, "One of God's creatures."
My response: "God's creatures are welcome outside. Where. They. Belong."
I have never wanted our bitter, angry cat back more than I do at this minute. I may ask the parents to bring her back from the farm for a week or so if we can't get rid of the rodent quickly. Ick. Ick. Ick. Ick. Ick.
Oh, ick, ick, ick, ick, ick.
I can handle snakes and all sorts of creepy crawly things, but not rodents.
I want it out of my house. I don't even care about painlessly. I just want it GONE.
The kids are appalled that I want to kill, and I quote, "One of God's creatures."
My response: "God's creatures are welcome outside. Where. They. Belong."
I have never wanted our bitter, angry cat back more than I do at this minute. I may ask the parents to bring her back from the farm for a week or so if we can't get rid of the rodent quickly. Ick. Ick. Ick. Ick. Ick.
15 August 2007
We're back
I didn't mean to go on hiatus there, folks. I had two papers to finish and a web project to do the first week of August for class. Then things hit the fan at work. Then we went on vacation.
So I sort of dropped out of sight.
Vacation was good. We met up with hubby's extended family in upstate NY. Corning of Corning Glass fame. It's gorgeous up there.
I know I hit the jackpot with my in-laws. I love them all. We don't get together often (maybe that helps), but we do get along well when we do. It was nice to commiserate with my husband's cousins, get sympathy from his aunts, and see my sister-in-law and brother-in-law in person again, as opposed to communicating via blog entry. :)
The kids had a great time. My eldest played with her older second cousins. My middle son had a blast with the second cousin who is only a year older than he is. Both boys spent a lot of time exploring physics and gravity with a see saw. The youngest charmed everyone, mostly because she was the youngest there, and most of them haven't seen her in person.
We also hit the Baseball Hall of Fame, Gettysburg and King's Island on the way home. The Hall of Fame was packed and not much fun because of it. Barry Bonds kind of ruined it, too. The Wall of Records on the third floor is updated constantly, and he's on quite a few. Depressing.
Gettysburg was humbling. Just thinking of the sheer numbers of men who died on those fields is overwhelmingly sad. It was hot, so we didn't hike many of the stops, but we did manage to paint a visual picture for the older two, enough to keep them occupied and interested. We did have to tell them to, um, stop pretending to be exuberant Union soldiers at the Hornet's Nest on the Little Big Top, because there were relatives of Confederates there, too. I didn't want to offend, or get into an argument about the War of Northern Aggression.
King's Island was fun, albeit hot. It was 101 the day we were there. I forced the little one to go through a SpongeBob maze that involved sprinklers, even though she hates things like that. I was so darn hot. Middle child learned that not watching where Mom is will result in you getting lost. He wandered away from me in the maze, and I couldn't catch him. Luckily, he did the right thing, and found a worker who led my sobbing little guy to me. It was a lesson painfully learned for him.
We'll go back someday. And hopefully the littlest will acquire some daredevil tendencies. She rode three rides, total. All tame, and one only after much convincing. The carousel was much too scary for her, believe it or not. This is the same kid I caught jumping from hotel bed to hotel bed, covering a gap bigger than she is.
So I sort of dropped out of sight.
Vacation was good. We met up with hubby's extended family in upstate NY. Corning of Corning Glass fame. It's gorgeous up there.
I know I hit the jackpot with my in-laws. I love them all. We don't get together often (maybe that helps), but we do get along well when we do. It was nice to commiserate with my husband's cousins, get sympathy from his aunts, and see my sister-in-law and brother-in-law in person again, as opposed to communicating via blog entry. :)
The kids had a great time. My eldest played with her older second cousins. My middle son had a blast with the second cousin who is only a year older than he is. Both boys spent a lot of time exploring physics and gravity with a see saw. The youngest charmed everyone, mostly because she was the youngest there, and most of them haven't seen her in person.
We also hit the Baseball Hall of Fame, Gettysburg and King's Island on the way home. The Hall of Fame was packed and not much fun because of it. Barry Bonds kind of ruined it, too. The Wall of Records on the third floor is updated constantly, and he's on quite a few. Depressing.
Gettysburg was humbling. Just thinking of the sheer numbers of men who died on those fields is overwhelmingly sad. It was hot, so we didn't hike many of the stops, but we did manage to paint a visual picture for the older two, enough to keep them occupied and interested. We did have to tell them to, um, stop pretending to be exuberant Union soldiers at the Hornet's Nest on the Little Big Top, because there were relatives of Confederates there, too. I didn't want to offend, or get into an argument about the War of Northern Aggression.
King's Island was fun, albeit hot. It was 101 the day we were there. I forced the little one to go through a SpongeBob maze that involved sprinklers, even though she hates things like that. I was so darn hot. Middle child learned that not watching where Mom is will result in you getting lost. He wandered away from me in the maze, and I couldn't catch him. Luckily, he did the right thing, and found a worker who led my sobbing little guy to me. It was a lesson painfully learned for him.
We'll go back someday. And hopefully the littlest will acquire some daredevil tendencies. She rode three rides, total. All tame, and one only after much convincing. The carousel was much too scary for her, believe it or not. This is the same kid I caught jumping from hotel bed to hotel bed, covering a gap bigger than she is.
22 July 2007
I believed in Severus Snape
SPOILER ALERT . . . . . . . IF YOU HAVE NOT FINISHED THE DEATHLY HALLOWS, READ NO FURTHER.
I believed. I was right.
I cried buckets. RIP Dobby, Fred, Lupin, Tonks and Hedwig.
It was a wonderful book. A wonderful series. Now I have to keep my opinions under wraps, so my kids can find out in their own times.
Thanks J.K.R.
I believed. I was right.
I cried buckets. RIP Dobby, Fred, Lupin, Tonks and Hedwig.
It was a wonderful book. A wonderful series. Now I have to keep my opinions under wraps, so my kids can find out in their own times.
Thanks J.K.R.
18 July 2007
Someone else like me
I'm trying to get a news ticker on this blog. I have one on the one for class, and it is nice. But because this blog goes through our server rather than Blogger's, I have issues.
One of the stories that popped up on my ticker (set to "working mom") pretty much sums it up for me on the economic impacts of having kids:
If I continue my accounting of the annual bill for my working summer, I can't omit one number that begins to explain why my work can't possibly cover the costs of the childcare that makes it possible: government statistics say that mothers like me have to stomach a 7% hourly wage penalty per child. I have three kids. That's 21%. Ouch. The survey cites the usual reasons--loss of job experience; employer discrimination against women with children; and the one I'm most interested in for the sake of this argument--a tendency to seek lower-paying, mother-friendly jobs. I have to be in a flex job, working freelance from home instead of full-time in my old office at Fortune magazine. How else am I going to stop at four o'clock to pick up all these kids from all these camps?
I fail to understand why, as a nation, we persist in structuring the year this way.
Stephanie Losee continues to explain the true cost of working. It's not a choice for a lot of families like ours. We need two incomes, plain and simple. The price we pay is a high one, folks.
Read the full article
One of the stories that popped up on my ticker (set to "working mom") pretty much sums it up for me on the economic impacts of having kids:
If I continue my accounting of the annual bill for my working summer, I can't omit one number that begins to explain why my work can't possibly cover the costs of the childcare that makes it possible: government statistics say that mothers like me have to stomach a 7% hourly wage penalty per child. I have three kids. That's 21%. Ouch. The survey cites the usual reasons--loss of job experience; employer discrimination against women with children; and the one I'm most interested in for the sake of this argument--a tendency to seek lower-paying, mother-friendly jobs. I have to be in a flex job, working freelance from home instead of full-time in my old office at Fortune magazine. How else am I going to stop at four o'clock to pick up all these kids from all these camps?
I fail to understand why, as a nation, we persist in structuring the year this way.
Stephanie Losee continues to explain the true cost of working. It's not a choice for a lot of families like ours. We need two incomes, plain and simple. The price we pay is a high one, folks.
Read the full article
16 July 2007
Gah. Too much (home) work
Okay. My name is Mommy-tracked, and I admit it: Taking six hours of grad school classes within a month's time was not smart.
I'm drowning here. Okay, I wouldn't be drowning if the Harry Potter book wasn't due to land on my doorstep in a few days, tempting me to read the book rather than write the two five- to six-page papers I have due before August starts.
Um, yeah. I can do it. Really, I can. I just have to avoid HP temptation and not blog much.
Sorry guys.
On the upside:
Second child has learned how to read a bit. He's very excited.
Youngest child has figured out how to use the potty doing No. 1. Anyone who has tips on getting her to do No. 2 is welcome to offer them below. Blackmail of more jellybeans is not working.
Eldest is awesome child who is helping me get through this with some semblance of sanity intact. I owe her. What to get child to show her how much I appreciate her help? Ideas helpful.
I'm drowning here. Okay, I wouldn't be drowning if the Harry Potter book wasn't due to land on my doorstep in a few days, tempting me to read the book rather than write the two five- to six-page papers I have due before August starts.
Um, yeah. I can do it. Really, I can. I just have to avoid HP temptation and not blog much.
Sorry guys.
On the upside:
Second child has learned how to read a bit. He's very excited.
Youngest child has figured out how to use the potty doing No. 1. Anyone who has tips on getting her to do No. 2 is welcome to offer them below. Blackmail of more jellybeans is not working.
Eldest is awesome child who is helping me get through this with some semblance of sanity intact. I owe her. What to get child to show her how much I appreciate her help? Ideas helpful.
11 July 2007
Fiddling
I'm messing around with the blog, so please ignore any goofy layout or settings. I'm doing it when I have time. Apologies.
09 July 2007
Back to School, Day One
So, I survived day one of grad school.
Actually, it wasn't that hard. I showed up with my notebook, my pen, and sat at the computer. The class is taught by a former co-worker, and they've lumped grad students in with undergrads (joy). There are probably 10 of us.
Our task today: Set up a blog on Blogger.
Seriously.
Two of us already blog, so it took us about five minutes. Several others had never heard of a blog or Blogger or TypePad or Wordpress.
Seriously.
If you are a communications undergrad (and as best I can tell, I'm the only grad student in there), how can you NOT know about this? I was amazed.
So, I now have two blogs, one here, and one for class. I have to do a major project. No idea what that might be, but if you have ideas for a multimedia one that I can do in a month, shout out below.
The rest of the class will involve things that I barely know how to do . . . building a website using Dreamweaver, podcasting, vidcasting, all those cool toys I barely know how to use.
But day one was just easy. Hope it stays that way.
Actually, it wasn't that hard. I showed up with my notebook, my pen, and sat at the computer. The class is taught by a former co-worker, and they've lumped grad students in with undergrads (joy). There are probably 10 of us.
Our task today: Set up a blog on Blogger.
Seriously.
Two of us already blog, so it took us about five minutes. Several others had never heard of a blog or Blogger or TypePad or Wordpress.
Seriously.
If you are a communications undergrad (and as best I can tell, I'm the only grad student in there), how can you NOT know about this? I was amazed.
So, I now have two blogs, one here, and one for class. I have to do a major project. No idea what that might be, but if you have ideas for a multimedia one that I can do in a month, shout out below.
The rest of the class will involve things that I barely know how to do . . . building a website using Dreamweaver, podcasting, vidcasting, all those cool toys I barely know how to use.
But day one was just easy. Hope it stays that way.
28 June 2007
'I get beanbeans?'
So, we're potty training. Again.
This is one of my least favorite tasks in child rearing. It involves brainwashing a small, strong-willed person that the way they've been doing things for years is now unacceptable, and that sitting on a large (to them) suction device is the way to go. Literally.
It bites.
Our first put us through 18 months of battling, screaming, pleading hell. I still have nightmares about potty training that child.
The second was a breeze. I took away his diapers about two weeks into changing two kids' diapers, and never looked back. He bought into the whole concept within a weekend. I marvel at how easy that was.
The last one is somewhere between the two. For weeks, we've heard "I cawn't doooooo it!" plaintively said while perched on the big potty. So we hauled out the training potty seat. I was hoping to avoid this, because, honestly, cleaning out the sucker is gross. And a pain. So much easier to do it directly where you want it, kwim?
So, the potty seat's been a hit. I plop her on it, put on SpongeBob, and wait. Unfortunately, this child has better bladder control than anyone I've ever seen.
Thus, I give you the following play, "Extortion by Two-Year-Old, in One Act":
SCENE: Living room. Toys are scattered everywhere. TV is blaring Winnie the Pooh, Classic Version.
Child sitting on potty seat, watching TV. Mother collapsed on couch, arm over eyes, trying to rest.
CHILD, who stands up, happy: "I diwd it, I diwd it!"
Mom gets up, looking in potty seat, sees five drops of urine. After weeks of no output, decides this is probably worth praising, and shrugs, then . . .
MOM: "Good job! High five!" (Child high-fives Mom.) "Okay, let's go get a jellybean! Great job!"
CHILD, who lusts after jellybeans: "I get bean bean?"
MOM: "Yup, great job! You get jellybeans for going potty in the potty! What color?"
CHILD: "Orwange."
Mom gives child jellybean from stash kept on high shelf. Both resume positions held previously, child on potty seat, happily chewing jellybean, mom collapsing on couch to get nap. Silence, held for about two minutes, then five seconds later:
CHILD: "I diwd it, I diwd it!"
Mom, looking in potty seat, sees five drops of urine. Decides to keep up positive reinforcement.
MOM: "Good job! High five!" (Child high-fives Mom.) "Okay, let's go get a jellybean! Great job!"
CHILD: "I get bean bean?"
MOM: "Yup, great job! You get jellybeans for going potty in the potty! What color?"
CHILD: "Bwue."
Mom gives child jellybean from stash kept on high shelf. Both resume positions held previously, child on potty seat, happily chewing jellybean, mom collapsing on couch to get nap. Silence, held for about two minutes, then five seconds later:
CHILD: "I diwd it, I diwd it!"
Mom, looking in potty seat, sees five drops of urine. Starting to sense she is being played, mom says lines in less enthusiasic voice:
MOM: "Good job! High five!" (Child high-fives Mom.) "Okay, let's go get a jellybean! Great job!"
CHILD: "I get bean bean?"
MOM: "Yup, great job! You get jellybeans for going potty in the potty! What color?"
CHILD: "yewwow."
Mom gives child jellybean from stash kept on high shelf. Both resume positions held previously, child on potty seat, happily chewing jellybean, mom collapsing on couch to get nap. Silence, held for about two minutes, then five seconds later:
CHILD: "I diwd it, I diwd it!"
Mom, looking in potty seat, sees five drops of urine. KNOWS she is being played, mom drags herself over to jellybean stash and says:
MOM: "Um, could we do more in the potty next time? You might get more jellybeans."
Child considers, then shakes head:
CHILD: "I cawn't do it."
And scene.
Yup. That's pretty much how it's been going, though we've convinced her that for five jellybeans, she can give up most of the um, product, she's withholding.
This is one of my least favorite tasks in child rearing. It involves brainwashing a small, strong-willed person that the way they've been doing things for years is now unacceptable, and that sitting on a large (to them) suction device is the way to go. Literally.
It bites.
Our first put us through 18 months of battling, screaming, pleading hell. I still have nightmares about potty training that child.
The second was a breeze. I took away his diapers about two weeks into changing two kids' diapers, and never looked back. He bought into the whole concept within a weekend. I marvel at how easy that was.
The last one is somewhere between the two. For weeks, we've heard "I cawn't doooooo it!" plaintively said while perched on the big potty. So we hauled out the training potty seat. I was hoping to avoid this, because, honestly, cleaning out the sucker is gross. And a pain. So much easier to do it directly where you want it, kwim?
So, the potty seat's been a hit. I plop her on it, put on SpongeBob, and wait. Unfortunately, this child has better bladder control than anyone I've ever seen.
Thus, I give you the following play, "Extortion by Two-Year-Old, in One Act":
SCENE: Living room. Toys are scattered everywhere. TV is blaring Winnie the Pooh, Classic Version.
Child sitting on potty seat, watching TV. Mother collapsed on couch, arm over eyes, trying to rest.
CHILD, who stands up, happy: "I diwd it, I diwd it!"
Mom gets up, looking in potty seat, sees five drops of urine. After weeks of no output, decides this is probably worth praising, and shrugs, then . . .
MOM: "Good job! High five!" (Child high-fives Mom.) "Okay, let's go get a jellybean! Great job!"
CHILD, who lusts after jellybeans: "I get bean bean?"
MOM: "Yup, great job! You get jellybeans for going potty in the potty! What color?"
CHILD: "Orwange."
Mom gives child jellybean from stash kept on high shelf. Both resume positions held previously, child on potty seat, happily chewing jellybean, mom collapsing on couch to get nap. Silence, held for about two minutes, then five seconds later:
CHILD: "I diwd it, I diwd it!"
Mom, looking in potty seat, sees five drops of urine. Decides to keep up positive reinforcement.
MOM: "Good job! High five!" (Child high-fives Mom.) "Okay, let's go get a jellybean! Great job!"
CHILD: "I get bean bean?"
MOM: "Yup, great job! You get jellybeans for going potty in the potty! What color?"
CHILD: "Bwue."
Mom gives child jellybean from stash kept on high shelf. Both resume positions held previously, child on potty seat, happily chewing jellybean, mom collapsing on couch to get nap. Silence, held for about two minutes, then five seconds later:
CHILD: "I diwd it, I diwd it!"
Mom, looking in potty seat, sees five drops of urine. Starting to sense she is being played, mom says lines in less enthusiasic voice:
MOM: "Good job! High five!" (Child high-fives Mom.) "Okay, let's go get a jellybean! Great job!"
CHILD: "I get bean bean?"
MOM: "Yup, great job! You get jellybeans for going potty in the potty! What color?"
CHILD: "yewwow."
Mom gives child jellybean from stash kept on high shelf. Both resume positions held previously, child on potty seat, happily chewing jellybean, mom collapsing on couch to get nap. Silence, held for about two minutes, then five seconds later:
CHILD: "I diwd it, I diwd it!"
Mom, looking in potty seat, sees five drops of urine. KNOWS she is being played, mom drags herself over to jellybean stash and says:
MOM: "Um, could we do more in the potty next time? You might get more jellybeans."
Child considers, then shakes head:
CHILD: "I cawn't do it."
And scene.
Yup. That's pretty much how it's been going, though we've convinced her that for five jellybeans, she can give up most of the um, product, she's withholding.
20 June 2007
Thomas Trains and China
So, my younger two are Thomas the Tank Engine addicts.
We own several hundred dollars worth of table, track, trains, accessories, DVDs. It is insane. But it is one thing my son, and now my youngest daughter, truly loves and plays with, so I buy the darn things almost every holiday and birthday.
Last week's recall really sucked for us.
One television news tease had my husband looking for more details. A visit to the Consumer Product Safety Commission's website confirmed that we owned several of the lead-paint-coated suckers. We spent a few hours comparing a huge bin of trains and other train-related things to the photos on the website.
They've been mailed off for a refund. I'm just annoyed that no one is bothering to do any oversight of the places that they subcontract with. I mean, I can see el cheapo toys not meeting requirements, but Thomas the Tank Engine sets aren't cheap. Those puppies range from $10-$200 each. At those prices, I expect quality and safety. Not some lame answer about how they didn't know.
We own several hundred dollars worth of table, track, trains, accessories, DVDs. It is insane. But it is one thing my son, and now my youngest daughter, truly loves and plays with, so I buy the darn things almost every holiday and birthday.
Last week's recall really sucked for us.
One television news tease had my husband looking for more details. A visit to the Consumer Product Safety Commission's website confirmed that we owned several of the lead-paint-coated suckers. We spent a few hours comparing a huge bin of trains and other train-related things to the photos on the website.
They've been mailed off for a refund. I'm just annoyed that no one is bothering to do any oversight of the places that they subcontract with. I mean, I can see el cheapo toys not meeting requirements, but Thomas the Tank Engine sets aren't cheap. Those puppies range from $10-$200 each. At those prices, I expect quality and safety. Not some lame answer about how they didn't know.
Back to School
Not the kids.
Me.
As part of my benefits package, I get free tuition. I've never seen how I would have the time, but two summer classes pricked my interest.
If I do two classes, I might as well do the other 10.
So if I blog less, now you know why.
Blame the homework.
Me.
As part of my benefits package, I get free tuition. I've never seen how I would have the time, but two summer classes pricked my interest.
If I do two classes, I might as well do the other 10.
So if I blog less, now you know why.
Blame the homework.
12 June 2007
Poison Ick
Okay, remember the post below, when I mentioned that I had a few bug bites on my arm that looked awful?
Guess what? Not bug bites.
Poison ivy, poison oak or poison sumac. Not sure which I got into while weeding, but it was one of 'em. And it has been years since I've had poison ivy, so I didn't realize what it was.
Also, the Calamine (tm) lotion we had in the house was left over from when eldest had the chicken pox. In 1997. Apparently that stuff doesn't last 10 years, because it didn't dry up the "bites."
By Saturday, it was bad. I was in St. Louis with the parents, when my dad id'ed the nasty stuff. By Sunday, it was spreading.
By Monday, I called in sick, because I had blisters on both arms, my stomach, and one leg. All up and down all four body parts. I was going through half-a-tube of the new Calamine (tm) lotion at a time.
My doc looked at me, sighed, and decided that at this point, the only thing to do was suppress my immune system. It was attacking everything, not just the original ivy. So I'm on pills to keep my immune system down for a couple of weeks, to let the nasty stuff work its way through my system.
I look like I've bathed in Calamine (tm) lotion. Aveeno baths are my savior. Thank God for Benadryl (tm).
I'll look just fine and dandy for my cousin's wedding. Maybe a pantsuit will hide the worst of it, assuming I can bear to wear it.
It could be worse. This isn't nearly as bad as when I had the chicken pox at 12. Close, but not quite there.
Guess what? Not bug bites.
Poison ivy, poison oak or poison sumac. Not sure which I got into while weeding, but it was one of 'em. And it has been years since I've had poison ivy, so I didn't realize what it was.
Also, the Calamine (tm) lotion we had in the house was left over from when eldest had the chicken pox. In 1997. Apparently that stuff doesn't last 10 years, because it didn't dry up the "bites."
By Saturday, it was bad. I was in St. Louis with the parents, when my dad id'ed the nasty stuff. By Sunday, it was spreading.
By Monday, I called in sick, because I had blisters on both arms, my stomach, and one leg. All up and down all four body parts. I was going through half-a-tube of the new Calamine (tm) lotion at a time.
My doc looked at me, sighed, and decided that at this point, the only thing to do was suppress my immune system. It was attacking everything, not just the original ivy. So I'm on pills to keep my immune system down for a couple of weeks, to let the nasty stuff work its way through my system.
I look like I've bathed in Calamine (tm) lotion. Aveeno baths are my savior. Thank God for Benadryl (tm).
I'll look just fine and dandy for my cousin's wedding. Maybe a pantsuit will hide the worst of it, assuming I can bear to wear it.
It could be worse. This isn't nearly as bad as when I had the chicken pox at 12. Close, but not quite there.
08 June 2007
Ahhh. Spaaaaaa.
Today, I cash in my Mother's Day gift: An afternoon at my favorite spa. I can't wait.
I just hope the massage therapist doesn't cringe at my skin. I'm covered in mosquito bites. There was one in the house all week, and it just feasted on my eldest and me. My right arm looks awful.
Maybe I'll bandage that before I go.
I just hope the massage therapist doesn't cringe at my skin. I'm covered in mosquito bites. There was one in the house all week, and it just feasted on my eldest and me. My right arm looks awful.
Maybe I'll bandage that before I go.
30 May 2007
Parenting one is so much easier
This week, the older two are hanging with their grandparents. While they fish, sail, and in general have fun, we only have the youngest.
Ways this has made life easier:
1) The ride back from grandparents' house was silent, as youngest napped most of the way. No squabbling.
2) Youngest knows how to occupy herself, unlike middle child, who treats alone time like solitary confinement.
3) Youngest does not whine incessantly. Yet.
4) No one to pick on. No one to fight with over the couch. No one to fight with toys. Youngest has taken to a "mine, all mine!" attitude with toys. And there is no one around to gainsay her. She's in heaven.
5) Youngest goes to bed at 8 sharp. I have hours of time to do housework, errands, whatever before I collapse.
6) Only one kid means we don't have to wake up as early to start the morning shuffle.
7) Only one place to stop after work for daycare pickup.
8) Possibility that I'll get called out of work due to sick child is now much less.
That's not to say I don't miss the older two. But silence in our house right now is golden.
Plus, it gives me a good chance to fix the popped nails/broken plaster in my son's room without a curious five-year-old around to "help."
Ways this has made life easier:
1) The ride back from grandparents' house was silent, as youngest napped most of the way. No squabbling.
2) Youngest knows how to occupy herself, unlike middle child, who treats alone time like solitary confinement.
3) Youngest does not whine incessantly. Yet.
4) No one to pick on. No one to fight with over the couch. No one to fight with toys. Youngest has taken to a "mine, all mine!" attitude with toys. And there is no one around to gainsay her. She's in heaven.
5) Youngest goes to bed at 8 sharp. I have hours of time to do housework, errands, whatever before I collapse.
6) Only one kid means we don't have to wake up as early to start the morning shuffle.
7) Only one place to stop after work for daycare pickup.
8) Possibility that I'll get called out of work due to sick child is now much less.
That's not to say I don't miss the older two. But silence in our house right now is golden.
Plus, it gives me a good chance to fix the popped nails/broken plaster in my son's room without a curious five-year-old around to "help."
21 May 2007
Me & Bob B. II
Video, now uploaded at YouTube. Props to B.Shipman, the professor who created the video, and did an awesome job helping us out all weekend with the video end of things.
14 May 2007
Me & Bob B.
I survived.
For all the work, it was actually pretty fun. I only got to see Bob up close (and he looks about like what you'd think your 83-year-old grandpa would look like). I didn't get to chat with him. Child 1 got to talk to him and shake his hand; she was mortified. (I was out of the room, answering a question after the magazine photo shoot, she was sitting there, waiting for me, and Bob came up and talked to her.)
Everything went off without a hitch, despite the fact that it was 86 degrees, the gym has no AC. A lot of the photos look like everyone up there in robes has flop sweat. Unavoidable, but still.
I had to use my "Mom Voice" (tm) during the procession. Photographers were leaping into the street and into the line (our students process down the main college street to the gym; Bob and the faculty are at the head of the line). I firmly but loudly asked them to step back off the street. They were crowding the faculty and eventually would crowd Bob, plus they were screwing up the shot for the TV crews, who were behaving.
I'll post video when I can, but for now, Bob gave a great graduation speech, seemed to have a good time, and I'm happy he's now headed back to Cali.
I'm wiped.
For all the work, it was actually pretty fun. I only got to see Bob up close (and he looks about like what you'd think your 83-year-old grandpa would look like). I didn't get to chat with him. Child 1 got to talk to him and shake his hand; she was mortified. (I was out of the room, answering a question after the magazine photo shoot, she was sitting there, waiting for me, and Bob came up and talked to her.)
Everything went off without a hitch, despite the fact that it was 86 degrees, the gym has no AC. A lot of the photos look like everyone up there in robes has flop sweat. Unavoidable, but still.
I had to use my "Mom Voice" (tm) during the procession. Photographers were leaping into the street and into the line (our students process down the main college street to the gym; Bob and the faculty are at the head of the line). I firmly but loudly asked them to step back off the street. They were crowding the faculty and eventually would crowd Bob, plus they were screwing up the shot for the TV crews, who were behaving.
I'll post video when I can, but for now, Bob gave a great graduation speech, seemed to have a good time, and I'm happy he's now headed back to Cali.
I'm wiped.
27 April 2007
20 April 2007
Bad things happen
That's what I've been telling my daughter. My son. My students.
Virginia Tech and what happened there is a bad thing. Bad things happen. They happen, and there isn't a darn thing you can do to prevent it.
Scary, but true.
My workplace has been on a low-level freak-out ever since Monday. It amazes me that some people seem to think we can write a crisis plan that would prevent this.
You can't stop someone bent on causing havoc. You can plan, but eventually, bad things happen.
Bad things happened at Virginia Tech. Bad things happened at UT years ago.
I refuse to live my life in fear of bad things. I can't.
Life is risk. You can weigh the risks, but ultimately, risk is there.
Bad things happen. You can't do anything about it. That's life.
Whether you use faith in religon to help you understand, or you are more pragmatic, or both (in my case), you have to be prepared for bad things. You can't wrap yourself or your kids or your other loved ones in bubble wrap.
Go. Live life. Take risk. Celebrate good things, and don't fret about the bad ones.
Virginia Tech and what happened there is a bad thing. Bad things happen. They happen, and there isn't a darn thing you can do to prevent it.
Scary, but true.
My workplace has been on a low-level freak-out ever since Monday. It amazes me that some people seem to think we can write a crisis plan that would prevent this.
You can't stop someone bent on causing havoc. You can plan, but eventually, bad things happen.
Bad things happened at Virginia Tech. Bad things happened at UT years ago.
I refuse to live my life in fear of bad things. I can't.
Life is risk. You can weigh the risks, but ultimately, risk is there.
Bad things happen. You can't do anything about it. That's life.
Whether you use faith in religon to help you understand, or you are more pragmatic, or both (in my case), you have to be prepared for bad things. You can't wrap yourself or your kids or your other loved ones in bubble wrap.
Go. Live life. Take risk. Celebrate good things, and don't fret about the bad ones.
31 March 2007
Quiet Saturday thoughts
I'm at work on a Saturday.
Why? Because our eldest is doing a math competition in another building on campus, and it seemed silly to drive home, then come back. I can crank iTunes as loud as I want, with explicit tunes, and no one will bother me. I can finish a bunch of little projects that have been hanging over my head while she does her thing, then walk over in an hour or so to see the award ceremony.
It's so quiet at work, I figured I'd take a minute to blog about silly things:
Our son has a crush on "Miss Sandy Duncan." Santa brought the first season of The Muppet Show and we watch it quite a bit. My little guy also has a crush on Miss Janice. It is very cute.
My littlest is about to be potty trained. Very sad in some ways (darn it, she's growing up, and I can't deny it), but hey, no more money wasted on diapers. Yay!
Okay, weird. I'm listening to a cd my former boss gave us before he left, a bunch of songs he burned from his eclectic iTunes playlist. This track: Tony Bennett singing Def Leppard's "Jump". Um, ick.
My eldest has a real soccer coach for the first time ever. Usually it is some parent who is just trying to coach. But this year she scored a mom who is a trained coach, trying to build a resume to get a "real" coaching job. My eldest is super-thrilled.
Why? Because our eldest is doing a math competition in another building on campus, and it seemed silly to drive home, then come back. I can crank iTunes as loud as I want, with explicit tunes, and no one will bother me. I can finish a bunch of little projects that have been hanging over my head while she does her thing, then walk over in an hour or so to see the award ceremony.
It's so quiet at work, I figured I'd take a minute to blog about silly things:
Our son has a crush on "Miss Sandy Duncan." Santa brought the first season of The Muppet Show and we watch it quite a bit. My little guy also has a crush on Miss Janice. It is very cute.
My littlest is about to be potty trained. Very sad in some ways (darn it, she's growing up, and I can't deny it), but hey, no more money wasted on diapers. Yay!
Okay, weird. I'm listening to a cd my former boss gave us before he left, a bunch of songs he burned from his eclectic iTunes playlist. This track: Tony Bennett singing Def Leppard's "Jump". Um, ick.
My eldest has a real soccer coach for the first time ever. Usually it is some parent who is just trying to coach. But this year she scored a mom who is a trained coach, trying to build a resume to get a "real" coaching job. My eldest is super-thrilled.
21 March 2007
Six weeks of heck
The next six weeks are going to be bad.
If you think I haven't posted much lately, just wait.
Some of it is child-related: Soccer starts x 2 this year. Middle child's birthday party is in there, too. Oh, and we are going to try and potty train the youngest over Easter break.
Some of it is work-related: Major speaker for Convocation series will come. Complete with protesters, because someone who is anti-war in this town will draw out all the pro-war folks. We've been catching heat on talk radio and letters to the editor for months. This happens the same week as middle child's birthday, btw. Oh, and Bob Barker is coming to speak at our commencement, and the Bob groupies are coming out of the woodwork.
No, I can't get you tickets, btw.
Some of it is politics-related: My kids' school was slated to lose a certified teacher this budget year. Problem: We don't have a teacher to spare. Many parents fought back, and we won a temporary reprieve from the school board. We get to keep the teacher this year. If the numbers aren't higher next year, we lose the teacher. No arguments. Guess who is one of the parents driving the new marketing committee for my kids' school?
Some of it is friend-family-work related: We have one weekend in there that has 1) a wedding 2) a family reunion 3) my husband presenting at a journalism conference.
So if you don't hear from me until after Mother's Day, don't send out search parties. I'm around. Just really, really, really freakin' busy.
If you think I haven't posted much lately, just wait.
Some of it is child-related: Soccer starts x 2 this year. Middle child's birthday party is in there, too. Oh, and we are going to try and potty train the youngest over Easter break.
Some of it is work-related: Major speaker for Convocation series will come. Complete with protesters, because someone who is anti-war in this town will draw out all the pro-war folks. We've been catching heat on talk radio and letters to the editor for months. This happens the same week as middle child's birthday, btw. Oh, and Bob Barker is coming to speak at our commencement, and the Bob groupies are coming out of the woodwork.
No, I can't get you tickets, btw.
Some of it is politics-related: My kids' school was slated to lose a certified teacher this budget year. Problem: We don't have a teacher to spare. Many parents fought back, and we won a temporary reprieve from the school board. We get to keep the teacher this year. If the numbers aren't higher next year, we lose the teacher. No arguments. Guess who is one of the parents driving the new marketing committee for my kids' school?
Some of it is friend-family-work related: We have one weekend in there that has 1) a wedding 2) a family reunion 3) my husband presenting at a journalism conference.
So if you don't hear from me until after Mother's Day, don't send out search parties. I'm around. Just really, really, really freakin' busy.
01 March 2007
Ugh. Mom's tired.
Still no replacement for my boss. The other assistant director and are are starting to fray from the workload. It's been three months, going on four. Two major events around the corner. Not good.
Tornado sirens went off at 4:30 a.m. this morning. Lucky us. I should have stayed up and did laundry. Instead, I attempted to sleep. My four-year-old son made sure I didn't actually get any.
One good thing: Happy birthday Cat in the Hat!!
Tornado sirens went off at 4:30 a.m. this morning. Lucky us. I should have stayed up and did laundry. Instead, I attempted to sleep. My four-year-old son made sure I didn't actually get any.
One good thing: Happy birthday Cat in the Hat!!
12 February 2007
Yay Dixie Chicks!
They cleaned up at the Grammys.
They deserved it. It's a great album, unlike a few others, which I have listened too. Other competitors had good songs, a couple of good hooks, but the Chicks had a solid album of awesomeness.
Other acts also probably didn't get death threats on a daily basis, and other acts actually had their music played on the radio.
I'm getting some sick pleasure from the fact that it also sticks it to the country conglomerate and Clear Channel. Enjoy your preprocessed country crud, which Haggard, Ford, Scruggs, and Lynn despised.
They deserved it. It's a great album, unlike a few others, which I have listened too. Other competitors had good songs, a couple of good hooks, but the Chicks had a solid album of awesomeness.
Other acts also probably didn't get death threats on a daily basis, and other acts actually had their music played on the radio.
I'm getting some sick pleasure from the fact that it also sticks it to the country conglomerate and Clear Channel. Enjoy your preprocessed country crud, which Haggard, Ford, Scruggs, and Lynn despised.
31 January 2007
Working mom survival guide
My sister-in-law discovered the wonder of crockpots recently. They are a complete staple in our house. We couldn't eat without ours. At least once a week I'll cook something in there. Often, it's enough for two meals for us, a family of five. It's a big crockpot. ;)
Work has been awful (note the lack of posts) since my boss left for his new job, and the crockpot has been doing a lot of duty.
Some favorite recipes:
Roast Beef ala Crockpot
1 roast
1-2 cans beef broth or consumme
2 Tbsp. minced garlic
2 bay leaves
Pepper to taste
1 can cola of your choice (diet or regular, does not matter)
Carrots (as many as you like)
Pearl onions (if you like)
Put everything in the crockpot. Order does not matter, though I've noticed that the carrots don't necessarily cook all the way through if they aren't in the liquid. Turn crockpot on high for 10-12 hours.
To mix it up, sometimes I'll add a 1/2 c. of sherry or red wine. Sometimes I add mushrooms (I love portabella).
I'll make either mashed potatoes or noodles when I get home.
Spaghetti Sauce
1 pound ground beef, cooked
1 small can tomato paste
2 jars tomato sauce, or 1 jar Prego or Ragu or your favorite spaghetti sauce.
2 Tbsp. minced garlic (note: I love garlic. If you hate it, leave it out.)
1 Tbsp. Italian seasoning.
Mushrooms (as many as you like)
Mix all in crockpot. Stir mushrooms and meat through well. Cook on high 8 hours. Fix spaghetti when you get home.
For variety, I'll toss in all sorts of veggies (shhhh, don't tell the kids). Green and red and yellow peppers. Leftover eggplant. Whatever works.
A variation is to toss the noodles into the crockpot about 30 minutes before serving. I prefer the more traditional serving method (sauce ladled over spaghetti before eating), but for leftovers, if there are enough noodles, I'll toss 'em in and reheat.
My Mom's Soup, ala Crockpot
1 soup bone
Enough water to cover soup bone
1 28 oz. can tomato juice
1 can crushed tomatoes
Coupious amounts of seasoned salt or Mrs. Dash of your choice
1 bay leaf
Vegatables of your choice, chopped
Throw everything in pot. Cook for 5-6 hours on high, 8 or more on low.
At the last 30 minutes, either toss in rice *uncooked* or alphabet noodles *uncooked*.
I have more; I'll add a few some other time, but SpongeBob's almost over.
One more working mommy recipe to share:
Mommy-tracked's Hot Toddy
1-2 fingers of rum
Squirt of lemon juice
Dash of both nutmeg and cinnamon
1-2 fingers of piping hot water from teakettle
1 sugar cube
Mix. Enjoy!
Work has been awful (note the lack of posts) since my boss left for his new job, and the crockpot has been doing a lot of duty.
Some favorite recipes:
Roast Beef ala Crockpot
1 roast
1-2 cans beef broth or consumme
2 Tbsp. minced garlic
2 bay leaves
Pepper to taste
1 can cola of your choice (diet or regular, does not matter)
Carrots (as many as you like)
Pearl onions (if you like)
Put everything in the crockpot. Order does not matter, though I've noticed that the carrots don't necessarily cook all the way through if they aren't in the liquid. Turn crockpot on high for 10-12 hours.
To mix it up, sometimes I'll add a 1/2 c. of sherry or red wine. Sometimes I add mushrooms (I love portabella).
I'll make either mashed potatoes or noodles when I get home.
Spaghetti Sauce
1 pound ground beef, cooked
1 small can tomato paste
2 jars tomato sauce, or 1 jar Prego or Ragu or your favorite spaghetti sauce.
2 Tbsp. minced garlic (note: I love garlic. If you hate it, leave it out.)
1 Tbsp. Italian seasoning.
Mushrooms (as many as you like)
Mix all in crockpot. Stir mushrooms and meat through well. Cook on high 8 hours. Fix spaghetti when you get home.
For variety, I'll toss in all sorts of veggies (shhhh, don't tell the kids). Green and red and yellow peppers. Leftover eggplant. Whatever works.
A variation is to toss the noodles into the crockpot about 30 minutes before serving. I prefer the more traditional serving method (sauce ladled over spaghetti before eating), but for leftovers, if there are enough noodles, I'll toss 'em in and reheat.
My Mom's Soup, ala Crockpot
1 soup bone
Enough water to cover soup bone
1 28 oz. can tomato juice
1 can crushed tomatoes
Coupious amounts of seasoned salt or Mrs. Dash of your choice
1 bay leaf
Vegatables of your choice, chopped
Throw everything in pot. Cook for 5-6 hours on high, 8 or more on low.
At the last 30 minutes, either toss in rice *uncooked* or alphabet noodles *uncooked*.
I have more; I'll add a few some other time, but SpongeBob's almost over.
One more working mommy recipe to share:
Mommy-tracked's Hot Toddy
1-2 fingers of rum
Squirt of lemon juice
Dash of both nutmeg and cinnamon
1-2 fingers of piping hot water from teakettle
1 sugar cube
Mix. Enjoy!
23 January 2007
Nine days.
That's how long it took to get power back to our house.
We are lucky: There are still about 10,000 people in the city without power. At least one professor I know is living out of his office with his family, still, 10 days after the storm.
Yesterday I took time off to clean the house, scrub the fridge and floors, and move our things over from the rental where we were staying. There's at least one more load left. I still need to clean our deep freeze of the primordal frozen ooze in the bottom. That's tonight's project. Ick.
This weekend will probably be spent chainsawing the brush and trees down in our back yard. We need to reset the rock around a flowerbed, too. The ice played havoc with that, as well.
All in all, we came out well, if a bit cranky and frazzled. And now we know what to do next time:
* Have water. Lots of bottled water. We never lost water, but I know people who did. Best to have enough to get each person through at least two days.
* Put fuel in your cars before the storm hits. We actually know this, but didn't do it. We've lived north for years, and before a blizzard comes, you fill your tank. This time, we were busy and rushed, I was sick, and so it didn't get done. Then we were among those scrambling for gas after the storm, when 90 percent of the city was out of power. No power = No working gas pumps.
* Plan what you'll need for at least a week if you have to leave your home. On this, we did pretty well. I packed clothing to get us through, warm things, and as much as I could cram in a suitcase.
* Take all your important papers with you. We forgot this, but at least we had the option of going back to our house a day later and getting them. If it had been a hurricane, we'd have been screwed. Insurance papers, passports, birth certificates, financial statements. Take them with you. Buy a fireproof safe to keep them in, one that you can carry.
* Check the batteries. The first night, we figured out we had two working flashlights, and one was a Fisher Price kids' version. Ditto on the weather radio/battery-operated radio. Once power's gone, you are toast.
* Keep a landline phone. We have this, and it helped family members to know they could call us. Our cells stayed charged (car chargers), but there's no guarantee of the towers staying up (my coverage was awful, and I had tons of dropped calls while I was trying to work that first Monday).
* Have food ready that can be cooked over a fire. Again, I did well. We had tons of canned food. We had a woodstove, so we could eat.
* Have tons of firewood. Again, we did fine here. My parents delivered a stack this fall, and it was enough to get us through.
* Wrap pipes. My husband had to scramble to Lowe's late one night to get insulation to wrap our pipes. We should have done it years ago (just good fuel economy, actually). But it keep our pipes from freezing.
* Have a back-up, back-up, back-up plan. Our back-up plan fell through when my cousin lost power. So did our back-up back-up. It was sheer luck that we found a place to stay, and didn't have to spend a fortune in hotel fees. Plan three steps away from what you think you'll need to do. Next time, we know we can go to our church and stay. Or my office. Neither is ideal, but both were warm and had access to showers.
The more you know.
May none of you ever have to use these tips, but get them lined up, just in case.
We are lucky: There are still about 10,000 people in the city without power. At least one professor I know is living out of his office with his family, still, 10 days after the storm.
Yesterday I took time off to clean the house, scrub the fridge and floors, and move our things over from the rental where we were staying. There's at least one more load left. I still need to clean our deep freeze of the primordal frozen ooze in the bottom. That's tonight's project. Ick.
This weekend will probably be spent chainsawing the brush and trees down in our back yard. We need to reset the rock around a flowerbed, too. The ice played havoc with that, as well.
All in all, we came out well, if a bit cranky and frazzled. And now we know what to do next time:
* Have water. Lots of bottled water. We never lost water, but I know people who did. Best to have enough to get each person through at least two days.
* Put fuel in your cars before the storm hits. We actually know this, but didn't do it. We've lived north for years, and before a blizzard comes, you fill your tank. This time, we were busy and rushed, I was sick, and so it didn't get done. Then we were among those scrambling for gas after the storm, when 90 percent of the city was out of power. No power = No working gas pumps.
* Plan what you'll need for at least a week if you have to leave your home. On this, we did pretty well. I packed clothing to get us through, warm things, and as much as I could cram in a suitcase.
* Take all your important papers with you. We forgot this, but at least we had the option of going back to our house a day later and getting them. If it had been a hurricane, we'd have been screwed. Insurance papers, passports, birth certificates, financial statements. Take them with you. Buy a fireproof safe to keep them in, one that you can carry.
* Check the batteries. The first night, we figured out we had two working flashlights, and one was a Fisher Price kids' version. Ditto on the weather radio/battery-operated radio. Once power's gone, you are toast.
* Keep a landline phone. We have this, and it helped family members to know they could call us. Our cells stayed charged (car chargers), but there's no guarantee of the towers staying up (my coverage was awful, and I had tons of dropped calls while I was trying to work that first Monday).
* Have food ready that can be cooked over a fire. Again, I did well. We had tons of canned food. We had a woodstove, so we could eat.
* Have tons of firewood. Again, we did fine here. My parents delivered a stack this fall, and it was enough to get us through.
* Wrap pipes. My husband had to scramble to Lowe's late one night to get insulation to wrap our pipes. We should have done it years ago (just good fuel economy, actually). But it keep our pipes from freezing.
* Have a back-up, back-up, back-up plan. Our back-up plan fell through when my cousin lost power. So did our back-up back-up. It was sheer luck that we found a place to stay, and didn't have to spend a fortune in hotel fees. Plan three steps away from what you think you'll need to do. Next time, we know we can go to our church and stay. Or my office. Neither is ideal, but both were warm and had access to showers.
The more you know.
May none of you ever have to use these tips, but get them lined up, just in case.
19 January 2007
Crabby, man, am I ever
Still no power. At last count, there were 18,000 of us in the city without it. Snowstorm is on its way here, too. Joy.
Our yard is a wreck, limbs and two trees down. More could fall later, we'll just have to wait and see. Yet, we have it good: Some neighbors have trees on their homes, others are trapped by fallen trees in the next block up. They can't chainsaw the suckers: Powerlines are threaded throughout the mess.
You can tell at work now who has power and who doesn't: Those of us without power are cranky as all get out. It's been a week (as of 8 p.m. tonight). Most of us have been living elsewhere (hotels, offices, one friend had her family living in their restaurant). We've been checking property compulsively, both to keep pipes from freezing and to make sure our homes haven't been broken into yet.
It's exhausting.
Those of us still waiting for power are feeling a lot of sympathy for those who have been in hurricane hell. Katrina takes on a new perspective now. At least we can get to our stuff, and it hasn't washed away. I now understand how short-tempered you can get in a crisis. I'm trying to keep a good face for the kids and the overworked hubby (day 13 working now). But it is freakin' hard.
Does NOT help that I'm in a position of some limited power at work, and I'm getting heavier workloads from above, and folks from below who still need their projects done.
Crabby, thy name is Mommy-Tracked.
Our yard is a wreck, limbs and two trees down. More could fall later, we'll just have to wait and see. Yet, we have it good: Some neighbors have trees on their homes, others are trapped by fallen trees in the next block up. They can't chainsaw the suckers: Powerlines are threaded throughout the mess.
You can tell at work now who has power and who doesn't: Those of us without power are cranky as all get out. It's been a week (as of 8 p.m. tonight). Most of us have been living elsewhere (hotels, offices, one friend had her family living in their restaurant). We've been checking property compulsively, both to keep pipes from freezing and to make sure our homes haven't been broken into yet.
It's exhausting.
Those of us still waiting for power are feeling a lot of sympathy for those who have been in hurricane hell. Katrina takes on a new perspective now. At least we can get to our stuff, and it hasn't washed away. I now understand how short-tempered you can get in a crisis. I'm trying to keep a good face for the kids and the overworked hubby (day 13 working now). But it is freakin' hard.
Does NOT help that I'm in a position of some limited power at work, and I'm getting heavier workloads from above, and folks from below who still need their projects done.
Crabby, thy name is Mommy-Tracked.
17 January 2007
Happy news followed by citywide crisis
On Friday night, I learned that they found not only the kidnapped boy from my hometown, but another boy who had been missing for four years. We couldn't have had better news.
Two hours later, we were in the middle of a horrid ice storm without power and only a wood stove for heat.
Five days later, we still don't have electricity at our house. We're fine, thanks to the generosity of my husband's boss, who has a vacant rental home in the 10 percent of the city that never lost power. The kids are safe and relatively happy.
Until the ice melts (tomorrow, hopefully it will start melting), we're in danger of having one of several trees land on our home. Our house is surrounded by trees, which are right now coated in an inch of ice. So far, so good. We've lost trees, but they've avoided hitting anything important.
Photos will go up at a later date, but you can check our local newspaper for the damage photos around town. I've lived through ice storms before, but nothing like this.
Two hours later, we were in the middle of a horrid ice storm without power and only a wood stove for heat.
Five days later, we still don't have electricity at our house. We're fine, thanks to the generosity of my husband's boss, who has a vacant rental home in the 10 percent of the city that never lost power. The kids are safe and relatively happy.
Until the ice melts (tomorrow, hopefully it will start melting), we're in danger of having one of several trees land on our home. Our house is surrounded by trees, which are right now coated in an inch of ice. So far, so good. We've lost trees, but they've avoided hitting anything important.
Photos will go up at a later date, but you can check our local newspaper for the damage photos around town. I've lived through ice storms before, but nothing like this.
10 January 2007
Security shattered
I know that we can't keep our kids safe forever. The big bad world intervenes.
I know, for example, that there are three listed pedophiles within a mile of our house. Our kids know, too. They know pictures of these guys. They know that's why they can only play in the back yard, or the front yard with adult supervision.
But Monday afternoon, something happened to completely shatter my sense of having any secure place in this world.
A boy was kidnapped from a stop on my old childhood bus route. He's still not been found. I know his mother.
I grew up in a very rural area. People think (thought) nothing of letting kids walk a half mile home from the bus stop. Most of us hunted or hiked over miles of woods alone from the age of 10. I personally would go off on my bike with a neighbor boy and we'd go for five- or six-mile rides alone at 13.
Once, I was so annoyed at my mom, I took off through the woods for a waterfall I knew was on a neighbor's property. The sounds of water plunging four feet off the precipice soothed me.
My mother was frantic when I didn't come back for an hour. She had my uncle out searching for me. Not because she feared kidnapping, but because she feared I'd be shot.
It was deer season. I was wearing a brown coat. It was, in retrospect, an incredibly stupid thing to do.
But kidnapping was miles from her mind.
Now, when my kids go with me to the farm, I'm going to think twice about letting them hike alone. My eldest is at the same age I was granted freedom to wander the 300+ acres alone.
I can't let her do that now.
And the fact that I can't just breaks my heart.
I know, for example, that there are three listed pedophiles within a mile of our house. Our kids know, too. They know pictures of these guys. They know that's why they can only play in the back yard, or the front yard with adult supervision.
But Monday afternoon, something happened to completely shatter my sense of having any secure place in this world.
A boy was kidnapped from a stop on my old childhood bus route. He's still not been found. I know his mother.
I grew up in a very rural area. People think (thought) nothing of letting kids walk a half mile home from the bus stop. Most of us hunted or hiked over miles of woods alone from the age of 10. I personally would go off on my bike with a neighbor boy and we'd go for five- or six-mile rides alone at 13.
Once, I was so annoyed at my mom, I took off through the woods for a waterfall I knew was on a neighbor's property. The sounds of water plunging four feet off the precipice soothed me.
My mother was frantic when I didn't come back for an hour. She had my uncle out searching for me. Not because she feared kidnapping, but because she feared I'd be shot.
It was deer season. I was wearing a brown coat. It was, in retrospect, an incredibly stupid thing to do.
But kidnapping was miles from her mind.
Now, when my kids go with me to the farm, I'm going to think twice about letting them hike alone. My eldest is at the same age I was granted freedom to wander the 300+ acres alone.
I can't let her do that now.
And the fact that I can't just breaks my heart.
08 January 2007
New year, new post
Dude . . . I know you are in a rush and all, and it's Sunday at Target, which is only slightly less hellish than Sunday at Wal-Mart.
But. . .
This is a parking lot, not Le Mans.
Don't run me down as you move that Suburban around the lanes, trying to find the. perfect. close. parking. spot.
Just park the damn thing and walk like the rest of us.
Thank you.
But. . .
This is a parking lot, not Le Mans.
Don't run me down as you move that Suburban around the lanes, trying to find the. perfect. close. parking. spot.
Just park the damn thing and walk like the rest of us.
Thank you.
27 December 2006
Stay-at-home mom
The way the holidays landed this year, I decided it made sense to stay home this week. I get paid to stay with my kids and we don't spend on daycare.
Bonus.
So far, so good. This week has gone better than planned. Sure, we've had whining and fights, but not many. They've been playing together fairly well (thank you Santa for Hullaballo and more Thomas bridges).
We even survived a trip to Wal-Mart this morning for groceries, all three in tow, something I rarely attempt because it is a nightmare. Instead, the gentleman behind us in line complimented the kids on how well-behaved they were. Shocked, I am. But happy.
Tomorrow is a playdate with middle child's best friend. I'd like to catch a couple of movies and go ice skating, too, before the week is over.
If we could afford to have me stay at home full time, I think I'd do it. I feel so relaxed and on top of my mommy game right now. I'm getting projects done around the house that have piled up. I have time to play with the kids and enjoy them without being tired. The laundry isn't overwhelming, because I can do two loads a day and keep up.
Work seems more stressful than it is worth. I've been working so long for the paycheck, and not enjoying what I do, that this refresher was sorely needed.
Honestly, I'm dreading going back. It's not fulfilling or fun any longer. Work is a long, hard slog.
The kids are much more fun.
Bonus.
So far, so good. This week has gone better than planned. Sure, we've had whining and fights, but not many. They've been playing together fairly well (thank you Santa for Hullaballo and more Thomas bridges).
We even survived a trip to Wal-Mart this morning for groceries, all three in tow, something I rarely attempt because it is a nightmare. Instead, the gentleman behind us in line complimented the kids on how well-behaved they were. Shocked, I am. But happy.
Tomorrow is a playdate with middle child's best friend. I'd like to catch a couple of movies and go ice skating, too, before the week is over.
If we could afford to have me stay at home full time, I think I'd do it. I feel so relaxed and on top of my mommy game right now. I'm getting projects done around the house that have piled up. I have time to play with the kids and enjoy them without being tired. The laundry isn't overwhelming, because I can do two loads a day and keep up.
Work seems more stressful than it is worth. I've been working so long for the paycheck, and not enjoying what I do, that this refresher was sorely needed.
Honestly, I'm dreading going back. It's not fulfilling or fun any longer. Work is a long, hard slog.
The kids are much more fun.
12 December 2006
06 December 2006
Salt? Sand? What's that?
I really hate this city right now. It's been almost a week after the nasty ice storm hit here, and guess what?
Our neighborhood streets (heck, most neighborhood streets here) are still glass.
The city doesn't plow or sand or salt the neighborhood streets. Heck, by Sunday, some of the main roads were still utter messes, nearly three days after the storm.
I've always lived up north (St. Louis, Columbia, NY, Iowa, Chicago). They know how to plow. They send out multiple plows when the storm starts, not at the end. Some places better than others, but you can believe a week after a storm streets would be 90 percent snow/ice free, especially after multiple days in the low 40s.
They put down salt and sand. Even our neighborhood in Chicago, which didn't get plowed constantly, at least saw salt and sand trucks go through once a day.
No, here, they wait for it to melt.
That could be a while. Our neighborhood is lined in trees. Oh, and it's hilly. Did I mention that?
Grrrrrr. I want to move back north. Now.
Our neighborhood streets (heck, most neighborhood streets here) are still glass.
The city doesn't plow or sand or salt the neighborhood streets. Heck, by Sunday, some of the main roads were still utter messes, nearly three days after the storm.
I've always lived up north (St. Louis, Columbia, NY, Iowa, Chicago). They know how to plow. They send out multiple plows when the storm starts, not at the end. Some places better than others, but you can believe a week after a storm streets would be 90 percent snow/ice free, especially after multiple days in the low 40s.
They put down salt and sand. Even our neighborhood in Chicago, which didn't get plowed constantly, at least saw salt and sand trucks go through once a day.
No, here, they wait for it to melt.
That could be a while. Our neighborhood is lined in trees. Oh, and it's hilly. Did I mention that?
Grrrrrr. I want to move back north. Now.
Breakfast with the Jolly Elf
A few days late. My apologies, all three of our home computers are on the fritz.
We struggled through the snow and ice to get downtown for the event. Two days after the storm, no plowing of major arteries, and our neighborhood streets were glass. Fun.
Once there, once signed in, we settled in to pancakes, juice (or coffee, in my case) and bacon. Sang carols. Did art projects that made reindeer ornaments. (Where did I put those, now that I think of it? They must still be in the diaper bag.)
Middle child whined mightily because the balloon artist wasn't coming our way fast enough. You'd think the threat of Santa walking among us would be enough to stop that, but you'd be wrong. A balloon candy cane is wayyy more important to a four-year-old than impressing the big guy.
Youngest played shy with everyone: University president who came by to say "Hi"; my VP who did the same. Santa, too. The jolly old elf was fine from a distance ("Santwa!!"), but once we were in line for the lap-sit and chat, she wanted no part of it.
Her brother informed Santa what his little sister wanted, and pointed her out to the big guy, just in case.
Ticky-tacky gifts received from student ambassadors dressed as elves (really, not that bad. Santa hats and in red), we had to go back to the balloon guy to repair the popped blue part of the blue-and-white balloon candy cane before we could go home.
All in all, not any better or worse than last year. Kids had fun, hubby and I survived.
Oh, and city streets after ice and snow storm: Sucked.
We struggled through the snow and ice to get downtown for the event. Two days after the storm, no plowing of major arteries, and our neighborhood streets were glass. Fun.
Once there, once signed in, we settled in to pancakes, juice (or coffee, in my case) and bacon. Sang carols. Did art projects that made reindeer ornaments. (Where did I put those, now that I think of it? They must still be in the diaper bag.)
Middle child whined mightily because the balloon artist wasn't coming our way fast enough. You'd think the threat of Santa walking among us would be enough to stop that, but you'd be wrong. A balloon candy cane is wayyy more important to a four-year-old than impressing the big guy.
Youngest played shy with everyone: University president who came by to say "Hi"; my VP who did the same. Santa, too. The jolly old elf was fine from a distance ("Santwa!!"), but once we were in line for the lap-sit and chat, she wanted no part of it.
Her brother informed Santa what his little sister wanted, and pointed her out to the big guy, just in case.
Ticky-tacky gifts received from student ambassadors dressed as elves (really, not that bad. Santa hats and in red), we had to go back to the balloon guy to repair the popped blue part of the blue-and-white balloon candy cane before we could go home.
All in all, not any better or worse than last year. Kids had fun, hubby and I survived.
Oh, and city streets after ice and snow storm: Sucked.
01 December 2006
Snow Day!!!
I'm as bad as the kids.
Yesterday morning, a particuarly bad ice/sleet/snow mix was headed our way. Every school district but ours closed in anticipation of a mess. Our superintendent was just hired from Colorado. He didn't understand that two inches of ice + snow here = disaster. The plows: Don't plow until the storm is done. Sand and salt? What's that?
I've lived here nearly four years, and they never clean the roads well. After living up north for years, it just boggles the mind.
At any rate, by noon, the roads were glass, and I was picking up the kids. An hour later, we made it home. I drove in sleet so falling so thick that visibility was nil.
Today, my older two are outside, reveling in the first significant snow they've seen since we moved here. First snow day in years. My youngest is two, and she's never seen snow.
She was not impressed. She was fine with sledding, if you carried her to the sled, sat with her on the sled, and then picked her up out of the sled, never once letting her brother's old SpongeBob snowboots touch the snow.
I just went out to let the dog frolick in the snow with the older two, and my kids look like yetis. You can't tell that they have on coats.
Later, we'll have hot chocolate and cookies. We'll clean up the house so we can decorate for Christmas tomorrow. The wood stove will be roaring with a fire.
A good snow day, all around.
Just wish my husband could enjoy it. The media never rests, and he's glued to his desk posting updates. He called at lunch, wistful tones in his voice. I know he'd love to sled. I might have to allow sledding after dark just so Dad can have his turn, too.
Be safe, all on the East. It's headed your way. It's nasty at first; beautiful later.
Yesterday morning, a particuarly bad ice/sleet/snow mix was headed our way. Every school district but ours closed in anticipation of a mess. Our superintendent was just hired from Colorado. He didn't understand that two inches of ice + snow here = disaster. The plows: Don't plow until the storm is done. Sand and salt? What's that?
I've lived here nearly four years, and they never clean the roads well. After living up north for years, it just boggles the mind.
At any rate, by noon, the roads were glass, and I was picking up the kids. An hour later, we made it home. I drove in sleet so falling so thick that visibility was nil.
Today, my older two are outside, reveling in the first significant snow they've seen since we moved here. First snow day in years. My youngest is two, and she's never seen snow.
She was not impressed. She was fine with sledding, if you carried her to the sled, sat with her on the sled, and then picked her up out of the sled, never once letting her brother's old SpongeBob snowboots touch the snow.
I just went out to let the dog frolick in the snow with the older two, and my kids look like yetis. You can't tell that they have on coats.
Later, we'll have hot chocolate and cookies. We'll clean up the house so we can decorate for Christmas tomorrow. The wood stove will be roaring with a fire.
A good snow day, all around.
Just wish my husband could enjoy it. The media never rests, and he's glued to his desk posting updates. He called at lunch, wistful tones in his voice. I know he'd love to sled. I might have to allow sledding after dark just so Dad can have his turn, too.
Be safe, all on the East. It's headed your way. It's nasty at first; beautiful later.
28 November 2006
Sorry, busy
My boss's last day is two weeks away, and the other assistant director and I are swamped.
Quick wrap:
Kids had a blast at my family's farm. They were dirty filthy from playing in hay, cattle feed, and who knows what, but they had a great time. Tractors and four-wheelers and hikes through the woods, oh my!
We had a blast out at a Blues game and The Dubliner downtown with N&M. Sometimes, ya just gotta ditch the kids and go hang with college friends, who also ditched their kids.
Our kids hung out here with Grandma and Grandpa while we watched the Blues play pathetically poor hockey, so they weren't hurting.
Next post will be the Breakfast with Santa insanity. Wish us luck. Pray for patience for us.
Quick wrap:
Kids had a blast at my family's farm. They were dirty filthy from playing in hay, cattle feed, and who knows what, but they had a great time. Tractors and four-wheelers and hikes through the woods, oh my!
We had a blast out at a Blues game and The Dubliner downtown with N&M. Sometimes, ya just gotta ditch the kids and go hang with college friends, who also ditched their kids.
Our kids hung out here with Grandma and Grandpa while we watched the Blues play pathetically poor hockey, so they weren't hurting.
Next post will be the Breakfast with Santa insanity. Wish us luck. Pray for patience for us.
09 November 2006
Unsure and unhappy
Two bad days at work. Back-to-back.
I've already been questioning why I'm there . . . for months, actually. But nothing more appealing has opened up.
This past week has really done a number on my psyche. It's really hard to do my job when I don't feel respected, when I'm second-guessed. It's been even worse, recently, as more projects come down the pike, but no real help or new hires to take on some of the work load.
I had planned to take the afternoon today, anyway. My kids were out at noon because it is parent-teacher conferences days. It's nearly 80 degrees here today, so it was a good fall day to get out. Especially after a morning meeting didn't go well. I needed out, mentally and physically.
But the day in the sun with my kids, a picnic at the park, and a quick explore of the cave there helped. Some.
I've already been questioning why I'm there . . . for months, actually. But nothing more appealing has opened up.
This past week has really done a number on my psyche. It's really hard to do my job when I don't feel respected, when I'm second-guessed. It's been even worse, recently, as more projects come down the pike, but no real help or new hires to take on some of the work load.
I had planned to take the afternoon today, anyway. My kids were out at noon because it is parent-teacher conferences days. It's nearly 80 degrees here today, so it was a good fall day to get out. Especially after a morning meeting didn't go well. I needed out, mentally and physically.
But the day in the sun with my kids, a picnic at the park, and a quick explore of the cave there helped. Some.
06 November 2006
02 November 2006
Three is a magic number
Years ago, we bought the Schoolhouse Rock DVD when it came out. Our eldest was fascinated by it, and as Gen Xers who grew up with it, we thought it was beyond cool.
After multiple watchings and a move from IL to here, we packed it away and didn't bother pulling it out. There's only so much Conjunction Junction one can stand.
I pulled it back out about a month ago, and our eldest rediscovered it, and our four-year-old son was mesmerized by it. He has favorites. He can sing entire songs. This from a kid who previously had zlich, zip, nada interest in anything educational.
We took all three to a local production of Schoolhouse Rock Live! recently. That's when I learned that "Three is a magic number" is my son's favorite episode.
He's now fascinated by it. He looks around the house for combinations of three. He's learned subtraction this week, just by figuring out how to get to 3, or 6, or 9. Basic multiplication: He's got it, at least when it's the 3s.
I'm blown over. It's like a switch flipped on in his head, and now he's learning by leaps and bounds. Math. Reading. He now spends hours with this phonics computer game we bought his older sister years ago. He spelled ANT last night, out of the blue.
Incredible.
It's inspired my little hyperkenetic kid to learn, more than 30 years after it was created to teach me (and the rest of us) to learn during Saturday morning cartoons.
After multiple watchings and a move from IL to here, we packed it away and didn't bother pulling it out. There's only so much Conjunction Junction one can stand.
I pulled it back out about a month ago, and our eldest rediscovered it, and our four-year-old son was mesmerized by it. He has favorites. He can sing entire songs. This from a kid who previously had zlich, zip, nada interest in anything educational.
We took all three to a local production of Schoolhouse Rock Live! recently. That's when I learned that "Three is a magic number" is my son's favorite episode.
He's now fascinated by it. He looks around the house for combinations of three. He's learned subtraction this week, just by figuring out how to get to 3, or 6, or 9. Basic multiplication: He's got it, at least when it's the 3s.
I'm blown over. It's like a switch flipped on in his head, and now he's learning by leaps and bounds. Math. Reading. He now spends hours with this phonics computer game we bought his older sister years ago. He spelled ANT last night, out of the blue.
Incredible.
It's inspired my little hyperkenetic kid to learn, more than 30 years after it was created to teach me (and the rest of us) to learn during Saturday morning cartoons.
27 October 2006
Go crazy folks!
WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!
St. Louis Cardinals, World Series Champions!
My kids are happy, my daughter's thrilled that I'll no longer be stressing out by the TV. My brother is somewhere in downtown St. Louie right now, partying with the masses. Wish I were there with him.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!
St. Louis Cardinals, World Series Champions!
My kids are happy, my daughter's thrilled that I'll no longer be stressing out by the TV. My brother is somewhere in downtown St. Louie right now, partying with the masses. Wish I were there with him.
So very, very close
We're so close.
We've been this close before, only to lose. 1985 and 1987 are etched in my memory banks. They aren't good memories. Don Denkinger's name mentioned in my presence is still likely to set me off on a tirade.
It's a very good thing I didn't know my husband in 1987. I probably wouldn't have married him if I had.
Lest you think I'm the only slightly insane, slightly superstitious Cardinals fan out there, I direct you here, to recent IM chats among our friend Christian and his two friends Julia and Jenny.
Scroll down a bit if it doesn't display properly. Then settle in for blow-by-blow hilarity.
We've been this close before, only to lose. 1985 and 1987 are etched in my memory banks. They aren't good memories. Don Denkinger's name mentioned in my presence is still likely to set me off on a tirade.
It's a very good thing I didn't know my husband in 1987. I probably wouldn't have married him if I had.
Lest you think I'm the only slightly insane, slightly superstitious Cardinals fan out there, I direct you here, to recent IM chats among our friend Christian and his two friends Julia and Jenny.
Scroll down a bit if it doesn't display properly. Then settle in for blow-by-blow hilarity.
20 October 2006
Wooooo-HOOOOOO!!
Oh. My. God.
That was the longest game of my life. I was sure we were doomed when Beltran came up in the 9th with the bases loaded.
Adam Wainwright is now my baseball hero. Wow. Three curves, three strikes, got him looking.
Keep it up, guys. Four wins to go. Hopefully not in the snow.
That was the longest game of my life. I was sure we were doomed when Beltran came up in the 9th with the bases loaded.
Adam Wainwright is now my baseball hero. Wow. Three curves, three strikes, got him looking.
Keep it up, guys. Four wins to go. Hopefully not in the snow.
19 October 2006
Go Cards!
Please, please, please.
I'm scaring my kids, because I yell at the TV when you do something dumb, like swing at a breaking ball in the dirt, or line out to the second baseman.
Please, please, please, win or lose, don't do dumb things, 'kay?
Thanks.
Go Cards!
I'm scaring my kids, because I yell at the TV when you do something dumb, like swing at a breaking ball in the dirt, or line out to the second baseman.
Please, please, please, win or lose, don't do dumb things, 'kay?
Thanks.
Go Cards!
13 October 2006
Stupid Killer B
Carlos Beltran v. Jeff Weaver. Did not end pretty.
Beltran finds a way to mess with our pitchers' heads every October. See Jayson Stark's commentary on that lovely development here.
Beltran finds a way to mess with our pitchers' heads every October. See Jayson Stark's commentary on that lovely development here.
10 October 2006
Yay Cardinals!
That's what my son and I said all last week.
Here's hoping we can replicate it this week. Unfortunately, most of the games will be on at times he can't see, being as how his bedtime is at 8 p.m.
That frustrates me, because the way you raise baseball fans is to take them to games and let them watch the important ones. The latter is impossible to do if they are all on during prime time.
(oh, sorry twins fans. didn't mean to jinx you last week.)
Here's hoping we can replicate it this week. Unfortunately, most of the games will be on at times he can't see, being as how his bedtime is at 8 p.m.
That frustrates me, because the way you raise baseball fans is to take them to games and let them watch the important ones. The latter is impossible to do if they are all on during prime time.
(oh, sorry twins fans. didn't mean to jinx you last week.)
03 October 2006
We made it, barely
The only time I've ever cheered for the Atlanta Braves: Saturday and Sunday.
We made it to the postseason. We don't deserve it. But let's make the most of the opportunity, guys.
Go Cards.
(oh, and go Twinkies. I have more hope that you'll make it to the second round.)
We made it to the postseason. We don't deserve it. But let's make the most of the opportunity, guys.
Go Cards.
(oh, and go Twinkies. I have more hope that you'll make it to the second round.)
26 September 2006
Bad Mommy
I totally forgot about the checkup I scheduled for the youngest.
There is nothing worse than looking up at your Outlook notes and seeing: "You should be at the doctor's office in nine minutes, and you have no prayer of making it, because you are on the north side of town, and the doc is on the south side."
Crap, crap, crap.
For about 30 seconds, I was delusional enough to think I could make it. Then I gave up that delusion, and called the doc and rescheduled for next week.
There is nothing worse than looking up at your Outlook notes and seeing: "You should be at the doctor's office in nine minutes, and you have no prayer of making it, because you are on the north side of town, and the doc is on the south side."
Crap, crap, crap.
For about 30 seconds, I was delusional enough to think I could make it. Then I gave up that delusion, and called the doc and rescheduled for next week.
22 September 2006
What, exactly, are you on?
Fashion designers, I'm lookin' at you. What in the name of Michael Kors is going on?
I've seen the Getty Images of the fall shows, and I'm NOT impressed.
This is not the '80s.
I've already lived that. The skinny jeans, the shorts with tights,bubble skirts . . . that looked silly on me in junior high and high school.
I'm sure as hell not going to my next power meeting in ANY of this stuff.
Seriously, if you are going to redo an era, can we dothis .
I've seen the Getty Images of the fall shows, and I'm NOT impressed.
This is not the '80s.
I've already lived that. The skinny jeans, the shorts with tights,
I'm sure as hell not going to my next power meeting in ANY of this stuff.
Seriously, if you are going to redo an era, can we do
20 September 2006
My hometown's 15 minutes of fame
Over. Thank goodness.
I'm happy the child was found, safe, sound, and unharmed.
And I'm forever grateful that now CNN, FOX NEWS, et al have departed, and will no longer be showing the place I grew up as the land of rubes and idiots and hicks.
Some of them, are, sure. But most, not so much.
I'm a reporter, and I'm appalled at how little effort was put into finding the intelligent to interview. Then again, the intelligent don't usually hang out at the Quik-E-Marts of the world.
Sigh.
I'm happy the child was found, safe, sound, and unharmed.
And I'm forever grateful that now CNN, FOX NEWS, et al have departed, and will no longer be showing the place I grew up as the land of rubes and idiots and hicks.
Some of them, are, sure. But most, not so much.
I'm a reporter, and I'm appalled at how little effort was put into finding the intelligent to interview. Then again, the intelligent don't usually hang out at the Quik-E-Marts of the world.
Sigh.
17 September 2006
Busy-o-rama
I thought things would slow down a bit after Labor Day. It was not to be.
Just in the past few days since our last holiday:
* Youngest came down with hand-foot-mouth virus, and was out of daycare for four days this week.
* My boss announced he's leaving at the end of the year. Suddenly, work is even more hectic as he's got a short-timer mode about him, and the power vacuum is being filled by someone else. This is not necessarily a good thing.
* Hubby and I signed up for a couple's retreat months ago. Then I forgot about it, completely. It's next weekend, and somehow, we have to be in St. Louis by an incredibly early hour on Friday evening and have dropped the kids and the dog at my parents' long before then. Somehow, this seemed like a better idea last February when I signed us up.
* We did a family portrait over the weekend. We won't be buying any. It was that bad, as middle child made goofy faces in every shot, youngest child had finger in mouth the entire time or was ready to blow at any moment. Maybe we'll try again at my cousin's wedding in three weeks. Surely we can get one good picture that day, right?
Just in the past few days since our last holiday:
* Youngest came down with hand-foot-mouth virus, and was out of daycare for four days this week.
* My boss announced he's leaving at the end of the year. Suddenly, work is even more hectic as he's got a short-timer mode about him, and the power vacuum is being filled by someone else. This is not necessarily a good thing.
* Hubby and I signed up for a couple's retreat months ago. Then I forgot about it, completely. It's next weekend, and somehow, we have to be in St. Louis by an incredibly early hour on Friday evening and have dropped the kids and the dog at my parents' long before then. Somehow, this seemed like a better idea last February when I signed us up.
* We did a family portrait over the weekend. We won't be buying any. It was that bad, as middle child made goofy faces in every shot, youngest child had finger in mouth the entire time or was ready to blow at any moment. Maybe we'll try again at my cousin's wedding in three weeks. Surely we can get one good picture that day, right?
06 September 2006
My pretty, pretty princess
My baby is two.
Two.
Can't be, but it is all the same.
She's very petite, so it's easy to forget how old she is. The child still fits in clothing made for children half her age.
She reminds us of her age through action, though. Climb to the top of Mount Couch. She talks in complete sentences, and started speaking that way that much earlier than my other two ever did.
You wouldn't think someone so short and semi-verbal could scare a four-year-old boy, one big for his age and mouthy, but she can.
* * *
Two years ago, we nearly lost her before we had her. Her umbilical cord was wrapped around her neck three times, and she came so quickly, no one realized until she was nearly born.
I was told not to push, and had to stop for a full five minutes. Those of you who have had kids know that's almost impossible.
Those of you who haven't: Remember that trick where you drop a lit match in a narrow bottle, then set a hard-boiled egg on top of the bottle opening? Eventually the vacuum pressure is so strong, the egg is sucked through. Just at the moment the egg is to pull through . . . stop it. Hold it there. For five minutes.
Right. Impossible.
Somehow I did, and they unwrapped the cord, and she smiled at me. (I swear, we have photographic evidence.)
* * *
My youngest is the most cheerful child I've ever met. She's sweet, she's empathtic and loving. She has a temper, but generally, it never shows.
Unlike my first girl, when I banned pink in all shades, hues, and forms, this time, I'm embracing it. My youngest is likely to greet you with a tiara, a pink tutu, and a sword and a Thomas train in her hands.
She loves all things pretty pretty princess. She also loves getting dirty and playing with her brother outside, following in his daredevil footsteps every chance she can get.
It took me almost 10 years to learn those things aren't mutually exclusive. You can be a pretty pretty princess, and still love Legos and dump trucks.
We had a pretty pretty princess party over the weekend. Pink castle cake, pink tiara, pink straws, lots of pink. My little one is now the proud owner of a Bear Co. bear she picked out and stuffed herself, complete with pretty pretty princess tutu. Pink, of course.
She has two new dolls, and a pink stroller that she pushes them around in. She's willing to share the dolls and the bear with her siblings. But woe to the person who touches her stroller. She attacks her brother, assaults his ears with a high-pitched screech if he touches it, then comes over to shove him away from her baby's stroller.
My pretty, pretty princess isn't going to wait for a knight to come rescue her. She's willing to fight for herself, and her stuff.
Isn't that the way all our pretty, pretty princesses should be?
Two.
Can't be, but it is all the same.
She's very petite, so it's easy to forget how old she is. The child still fits in clothing made for children half her age.
She reminds us of her age through action, though. Climb to the top of Mount Couch. She talks in complete sentences, and started speaking that way that much earlier than my other two ever did.
You wouldn't think someone so short and semi-verbal could scare a four-year-old boy, one big for his age and mouthy, but she can.
* * *
Two years ago, we nearly lost her before we had her. Her umbilical cord was wrapped around her neck three times, and she came so quickly, no one realized until she was nearly born.
I was told not to push, and had to stop for a full five minutes. Those of you who have had kids know that's almost impossible.
Those of you who haven't: Remember that trick where you drop a lit match in a narrow bottle, then set a hard-boiled egg on top of the bottle opening? Eventually the vacuum pressure is so strong, the egg is sucked through. Just at the moment the egg is to pull through . . . stop it. Hold it there. For five minutes.
Right. Impossible.
Somehow I did, and they unwrapped the cord, and she smiled at me. (I swear, we have photographic evidence.)
* * *
My youngest is the most cheerful child I've ever met. She's sweet, she's empathtic and loving. She has a temper, but generally, it never shows.
Unlike my first girl, when I banned pink in all shades, hues, and forms, this time, I'm embracing it. My youngest is likely to greet you with a tiara, a pink tutu, and a sword and a Thomas train in her hands.
She loves all things pretty pretty princess. She also loves getting dirty and playing with her brother outside, following in his daredevil footsteps every chance she can get.
It took me almost 10 years to learn those things aren't mutually exclusive. You can be a pretty pretty princess, and still love Legos and dump trucks.
We had a pretty pretty princess party over the weekend. Pink castle cake, pink tiara, pink straws, lots of pink. My little one is now the proud owner of a Bear Co. bear she picked out and stuffed herself, complete with pretty pretty princess tutu. Pink, of course.
She has two new dolls, and a pink stroller that she pushes them around in. She's willing to share the dolls and the bear with her siblings. But woe to the person who touches her stroller. She attacks her brother, assaults his ears with a high-pitched screech if he touches it, then comes over to shove him away from her baby's stroller.
My pretty, pretty princess isn't going to wait for a knight to come rescue her. She's willing to fight for herself, and her stuff.
Isn't that the way all our pretty, pretty princesses should be?
01 September 2006
Train wreck
That's what this week has been.
My boss is on vacation.
I'm wearing two hats, one of which is his public relations one.
I'm horrid at PR. I duck it whenever possible.
So, this week:
* Stadium is hit by vandals. We share the facility with another entity, so that PR person is asking me if it will be cleaned up in time for prep football this weekend. Me, I'm thinking, "Prep football? Already?"
* Stadium clean, I have to deal with a zillion little fires.
* Big fire: major speaker for a scheduled debate, well-known speaker, one who is 50 percent of the debate, is stuck in O'Hare, scrambling for another flight. Five hours before the debate is due to start. Panic ensues. After hunting for a backup (thank you to that brave person, btw), turns out the stuck person manages to get unstuck, arrives in time (though frazzled), and does a wonderful job with her counterpart on a debate about civil liberties.
* After working a (ugh) 17-hour day, I had planned to stay home and sleep in a bit today. Not happening, because as I walked in my house at near 10 p.m., dh has to bolt out the door, drive to work, and stay up way too late in an attempt to fix something. So he got to sleep in, not me.
* Early dismissal at kids' school. Grab them. Carry sobbing, crying, unhappy four-year-old into his room at aftercare. Leave feeling very guilty because:
* Plans to leave work by 1 p.m. and take kids to park after school lets out early foiled, I try for 2. Then reminded by student of photo shoot I scheduled at 2:30. Try for 3. Leave office at 3:45 p.m. Take kids home, let them play in yard and sandbox. We're all happy about that, at least.
So, it's been a long, long, long, long week. Thanks to those who have listened to me whine, both in person and by cyberspace.
Long weekend now here, I'm off to pull together youngest's second birthday party for tomorrow/Sunday. Somehow, I managed to buy pretty pretty princess party stuff during a lunch hour this week. My mom has cake stuff, so tomorrow, I'm makin' a castle cake. Photos, if it turns out, to come.
My boss is on vacation.
I'm wearing two hats, one of which is his public relations one.
I'm horrid at PR. I duck it whenever possible.
So, this week:
* Stadium is hit by vandals. We share the facility with another entity, so that PR person is asking me if it will be cleaned up in time for prep football this weekend. Me, I'm thinking, "Prep football? Already?"
* Stadium clean, I have to deal with a zillion little fires.
* Big fire: major speaker for a scheduled debate, well-known speaker, one who is 50 percent of the debate, is stuck in O'Hare, scrambling for another flight. Five hours before the debate is due to start. Panic ensues. After hunting for a backup (thank you to that brave person, btw), turns out the stuck person manages to get unstuck, arrives in time (though frazzled), and does a wonderful job with her counterpart on a debate about civil liberties.
* After working a (ugh) 17-hour day, I had planned to stay home and sleep in a bit today. Not happening, because as I walked in my house at near 10 p.m., dh has to bolt out the door, drive to work, and stay up way too late in an attempt to fix something. So he got to sleep in, not me.
* Early dismissal at kids' school. Grab them. Carry sobbing, crying, unhappy four-year-old into his room at aftercare. Leave feeling very guilty because:
* Plans to leave work by 1 p.m. and take kids to park after school lets out early foiled, I try for 2. Then reminded by student of photo shoot I scheduled at 2:30. Try for 3. Leave office at 3:45 p.m. Take kids home, let them play in yard and sandbox. We're all happy about that, at least.
So, it's been a long, long, long, long week. Thanks to those who have listened to me whine, both in person and by cyberspace.
Long weekend now here, I'm off to pull together youngest's second birthday party for tomorrow/Sunday. Somehow, I managed to buy pretty pretty princess party stuff during a lunch hour this week. My mom has cake stuff, so tomorrow, I'm makin' a castle cake. Photos, if it turns out, to come.
19 August 2006
Start o' school
I knew I was in trouble when my son started hinting that I should go two minutes after I dropped him off.
We were in the gym with the other kids, waiting for the start-of-school bell to ring. I wanted to hang out and make sure he could find his room. Plus, he couldn't possibly carry everything, even if he thought he could.
My eldest was already with her friends at the fifth-grade table. Her best friends said "Hi" to my son, then promptly told him to leave them be. He actually seemed okay with that.
The morning prayer and Pledge of Alliegance said (Hey, I still know all the words. Go me.), we followed the crowd up the steps.
"Mom, go," he says, grabbing for his nap mat as we are in the middle of the melee on the landing.
"No, I can help you carry this, at least," says me.
"I can do it," he says.
"I'll leave as soon as you get to your room," says me.
We walk down the hall, turn into his room, and he's grabbing the mat away from me. I hold on, ask his teacher where she'd like it. Son is practically shoving me out the door.
I make an attempt at a kiss, which he rebuffs. So, out the door I go. Truly, I held in the tears until I was in my car.
Two days in:
Son loves K4. (It's a meld of preschool and kindergarten, with Montessori thrown in). He already has a "very good listener" note from his teacher. If you know him, you know that is a huge deal, because listening is not his strong suit with us.
Eldest's class is practically all girls. In first grade, they had a huge class with a good gender mix. For second and third grade, they stayed in the same room, because it was the only classroom that could hold them all. Now, they are down to four boys and 12 girls. Those poor four boys. Outnumbered 3-to-1, in fifth grade, the year of female hormones starting to hit.
We were in the gym with the other kids, waiting for the start-of-school bell to ring. I wanted to hang out and make sure he could find his room. Plus, he couldn't possibly carry everything, even if he thought he could.
My eldest was already with her friends at the fifth-grade table. Her best friends said "Hi" to my son, then promptly told him to leave them be. He actually seemed okay with that.
The morning prayer and Pledge of Alliegance said (Hey, I still know all the words. Go me.), we followed the crowd up the steps.
"Mom, go," he says, grabbing for his nap mat as we are in the middle of the melee on the landing.
"No, I can help you carry this, at least," says me.
"I can do it," he says.
"I'll leave as soon as you get to your room," says me.
We walk down the hall, turn into his room, and he's grabbing the mat away from me. I hold on, ask his teacher where she'd like it. Son is practically shoving me out the door.
I make an attempt at a kiss, which he rebuffs. So, out the door I go. Truly, I held in the tears until I was in my car.
Two days in:
Son loves K4. (It's a meld of preschool and kindergarten, with Montessori thrown in). He already has a "very good listener" note from his teacher. If you know him, you know that is a huge deal, because listening is not his strong suit with us.
Eldest's class is practically all girls. In first grade, they had a huge class with a good gender mix. For second and third grade, they stayed in the same room, because it was the only classroom that could hold them all. Now, they are down to four boys and 12 girls. Those poor four boys. Outnumbered 3-to-1, in fifth grade, the year of female hormones starting to hit.
16 August 2006
Catch-up
This last six weeks have been crazy. Crazy at work, crazy at home, crazy with extended family, and hey, school starts tomorrow, so you only get a list of high- and low-lights, not a real post:
* Funny: Youngest loves to be read to. Loves to drag books to a victi-, er, reader and demand reading ability. Overheard while fixing dinner: Middle child, in best four-year-old plaintive wail: "C-, I don't know *how* to wead!"
* Stress: My younger sister had her appendix out three weeks ago. Genetically crummy appendixes run in our family, so now I live in fear for my kids. Interesting appendix facts: One in 15 Americans has their appendix removed. Some folks (read "us") are genetically predisposed to getting appendictis because of a smaller opening from the intestine to the appendix, which allows crud to accumulate and eventually get infected.
* Social: I finally get to go to a conference. One week to SPJ in Chicago. Drop me a line if you'll be there, or know someone I might know there, 'cause I'm on my own, all alone.
* Silly: My three kids, in a kiddie pool, dumping water on top of their heads in 100 degree heat, and laughing like loons.
* Depressing: My grandmother slipping into full dementia. She's now out of her assisted living apartment, into a nursing home. She's already tried to escape, multiple times. She's winging among decades, sometimes three or four in a 10-minute span of time. One minute I'm me, another minute I'm baby me, yet another, I'm not even around, she's 18 and a housekeeper in St. Louis. It's exhausting for the entire family. Some of us are coping better than others.
* Sweaty: It has been insanely freakin' hot here. No rain to speak of in weeks. But at least no sinkholes or power outages (sympathies to the St. Louie folk).
* Heartburn: Is what the Cardinals are giving me. I can handle losing years better than this schitzophrenic mess of a season.
* Scary: School starts tomorrow. I have a fifth grader and a pre-kindergartener. Two more years, and my youngest will be in pre-K, too. Babydom is finally done here. I'm a tad verklempt.
* Proof God has a sense of humor: My youngest has a temper to match her red fuzzy head. Lucky me. My husband calls her Mini-Me.
Stop laughing. All of you.
* Funny: Youngest loves to be read to. Loves to drag books to a victi-, er, reader and demand reading ability. Overheard while fixing dinner: Middle child, in best four-year-old plaintive wail: "C-, I don't know *how* to wead!"
* Stress: My younger sister had her appendix out three weeks ago. Genetically crummy appendixes run in our family, so now I live in fear for my kids. Interesting appendix facts: One in 15 Americans has their appendix removed. Some folks (read "us") are genetically predisposed to getting appendictis because of a smaller opening from the intestine to the appendix, which allows crud to accumulate and eventually get infected.
* Social: I finally get to go to a conference. One week to SPJ in Chicago. Drop me a line if you'll be there, or know someone I might know there, 'cause I'm on my own, all alone.
* Silly: My three kids, in a kiddie pool, dumping water on top of their heads in 100 degree heat, and laughing like loons.
* Depressing: My grandmother slipping into full dementia. She's now out of her assisted living apartment, into a nursing home. She's already tried to escape, multiple times. She's winging among decades, sometimes three or four in a 10-minute span of time. One minute I'm me, another minute I'm baby me, yet another, I'm not even around, she's 18 and a housekeeper in St. Louis. It's exhausting for the entire family. Some of us are coping better than others.
* Sweaty: It has been insanely freakin' hot here. No rain to speak of in weeks. But at least no sinkholes or power outages (sympathies to the St. Louie folk).
* Heartburn: Is what the Cardinals are giving me. I can handle losing years better than this schitzophrenic mess of a season.
* Scary: School starts tomorrow. I have a fifth grader and a pre-kindergartener. Two more years, and my youngest will be in pre-K, too. Babydom is finally done here. I'm a tad verklempt.
* Proof God has a sense of humor: My youngest has a temper to match her red fuzzy head. Lucky me. My husband calls her Mini-Me.
Stop laughing. All of you.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)