It was the day before Thanksgiving and all through the house not a creature was stirring, oh wait, wrong holiday, and no, no there was stirring:
Walle and Lucy were both staring at the same corner in the room, albeit from different angles, wide eyed with excitement. I knew this could only be something terrible. Something that extended beyond the depths of terrible. The last time I saw cats do that was when Chloe and Olivia ( her sister that died) stared at a previously unnoticed crack in my apt wall in NYC. Then I saw the antennae, then the giant water bug appeared.
So I KNEW, I KNEW, something terrible was occurring.
For whatever reason I did not allow my mind to wander. I thought there might be a big spider. So I carefully moved the furniture and THERE IT WAS THE BIGGEST POTATO BUG I'VE EVER SEEN AND OMG HELP ME.
I yelled to Jeff to come help and he said " They were right!" because of course not 10 minutes early Laurel had apparently claimed to have seen a scorpion and Griffin chimed in that he saw a scorpion and Jeff IGNORED them. Jeff trapped it with a dustpan and threw it outside and it made a dull thud when it landed because it was so large.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Lucy
Paddington bear arrived as a stowaway coming from "Deepest Darkest Peru", sent by his Aunt Lucy who has gone to live in the Home for Retired Bears in Lima.
That is how the tale of Paddington begins to unfold. Unfortunately for us, our Paddington went missing. Its been 14 days and our sweet, shy, polydactyl, all black snaggle toothed cat has not returned. We sent out an amber pet alert to 500 neighbors, we flyered the neighborhood, we set two humane traps, nightly, baited with Kentucky Fried chicken. Friends of Ferals recommends that technique because the stench of the chicken is so great. We called a woman who tracks animals using bloodhounds. She charges $1500 which is more than we can afford, but she also recommended baiting with Kentucky Fried Chicken. We have searched through our neighbors yard. We have a missing cat report filed at all the rescue places. We tried not to lose hope. But there are coyotes in the neighborhood and there are a lot of missing cats right now. Its been a very sad time for us.
Yesterday we went to the Humane Society. We were there for 4 hours. We've been stopping by periodically, checking the found and feral cat rooms. Yesterday was different. We went in search of a buddy to fill the void in our house.
Our house has been chaotic with 4 kids, 3 cats and a dog. But we are used to that chaos. The calm we felt with one fewer being...well it was unacceptable. It made us uncomfortable and sad. Paddington's lack of presence just felt like a hole, in our house, in our hearts.
So we visited the shelter. In some ways it felt bad, were we giving up? How could we give up? But that hurt we all felt well, it was just omnipresent and oppressive. We had to make that hurt dissipate.
We stayed at the shelter for 4 hours. I asked to have time with various cats. One was too mellow, one was too shy, one was too skittish, one was too hyper. None of them made me feel like the hurt could go away. Until we saw this one. All black but she did not have amber eyes like most all black cats. She had emerald eyes, like Paddington. She reached out and grabbed me. She rubbed against the cage and purred. When we had play time with her she jumped around, excited without being hyper. She purred and reached her paws at our faces, touching us, filling our hearts. This was Lucy and we all knew it. Lucy, the relation to Paddington, of sorts. The little being who has begun to heal our hearts.
This morning she peed on my shoe.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
What Haunts Me about Halloween
Trick or Treating can be fraught with potential hazards. Too scary, too loud, too crowded. Some of the kids run ahead, some lag behind and someone gets misplaced.
This year I had to pause the trick or treating session to implement a new rule. You cannot say " Can I have an extra piece of candy for my stupid brother?"
" Its so silly to say that! I'm copying Charlie Brown movie!"
Yes, I know that, but the problem is that no one else knows that. We cannot ask for additional candy for your " stupid brother", regardless of whether or not he is off waiting for the Great Pumpkin somewhere.
Minor inappropriate Halloween video references aside, this was a particularly successful trick or treat session. All four kids were out for hours, well past dark. All four kids handled the varying degrees of ghoulish delights and keening sounds.
Best of all, no one had to go to the bathroom.
There was one year, one unforgettable year, when Griffin had to pee. We had wandered deep into the bustling kid friendly neighborhood and I did not know anyone who lived in the immediate vicinity. Fortunately I ran into someone who knew someone who lived nearby and she escorted us to their home. Yes, they would let my then 3 year old use their bathroom. I was so relieved. So was he. I frantically tried to get his costume off in time and he just made it. But then I saw some pee across the back of the toilet. Did he do that? I don't know. But I have to clean it because we are using the bathroom of these kind people. So I cleaned it up with wads of soapy toilet paper. But was it my child's pee?
Oh how this question still haunts me.
This year I had to pause the trick or treating session to implement a new rule. You cannot say " Can I have an extra piece of candy for my stupid brother?"
" Its so silly to say that! I'm copying Charlie Brown movie!"
Yes, I know that, but the problem is that no one else knows that. We cannot ask for additional candy for your " stupid brother", regardless of whether or not he is off waiting for the Great Pumpkin somewhere.
Minor inappropriate Halloween video references aside, this was a particularly successful trick or treat session. All four kids were out for hours, well past dark. All four kids handled the varying degrees of ghoulish delights and keening sounds.
Best of all, no one had to go to the bathroom.
There was one year, one unforgettable year, when Griffin had to pee. We had wandered deep into the bustling kid friendly neighborhood and I did not know anyone who lived in the immediate vicinity. Fortunately I ran into someone who knew someone who lived nearby and she escorted us to their home. Yes, they would let my then 3 year old use their bathroom. I was so relieved. So was he. I frantically tried to get his costume off in time and he just made it. But then I saw some pee across the back of the toilet. Did he do that? I don't know. But I have to clean it because we are using the bathroom of these kind people. So I cleaned it up with wads of soapy toilet paper. But was it my child's pee?
Oh how this question still haunts me.
Friday, October 28, 2011
Hellooooo?
Its those little moments, the ones that last less than a second that make it all worth while. No, I'm not referencing a sweet story reading session, or an unexpected cuddle on the sofa.
The other day things were not going well. Not well at all. The kids were all fighting, antagonizing one another, baiting one another. When its only 2/4 I consider the odds to be in my favor since that means half of my kids are not fighting. But this was not a 2 out of 4 afternoon. This was a 4 out of 4 afternoon. There were squabbles and squeals of distress. Someone was in someone's room and someone looked over someone's shoulder, and one child played with a toy that may have belonged to someone else, and someone looked at someone.
I tried to tune it out.
It didn't work. Fury gave way to door slamming and screaming. " Get out! Get out! Leave me alone! Go away!"
OK, I get that you would like alone time, and this is a very small house and no one gets alone time, but you cannot kick your brother out of a shared room.
"Leave me ALONE, Oliver!"
Giggle, giggle . "I'm not Oliver."
" Yes, you are! Get OUT!"
Giggle, giggle. "Hellooooo?"
"GO AWAY!"
" Hellooo? I am Jango Fett!"
Holden was not amused. I was.
The other day things were not going well. Not well at all. The kids were all fighting, antagonizing one another, baiting one another. When its only 2/4 I consider the odds to be in my favor since that means half of my kids are not fighting. But this was not a 2 out of 4 afternoon. This was a 4 out of 4 afternoon. There were squabbles and squeals of distress. Someone was in someone's room and someone looked over someone's shoulder, and one child played with a toy that may have belonged to someone else, and someone looked at someone.
I tried to tune it out.
It didn't work. Fury gave way to door slamming and screaming. " Get out! Get out! Leave me alone! Go away!"
OK, I get that you would like alone time, and this is a very small house and no one gets alone time, but you cannot kick your brother out of a shared room.
"Leave me ALONE, Oliver!"
Giggle, giggle . "I'm not Oliver."
" Yes, you are! Get OUT!"
Giggle, giggle. "Hellooooo?"
"GO AWAY!"
" Hellooo? I am Jango Fett!"
Holden was not amused. I was.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Hope
Its not really funny. Not this time. Not even in retrospect. I had started out wanting to keep a blog on the light side. I wanted to remind myself, more than anyone else, that I can always find humor in unlikely places. But not right now. Not about this.
Having a special needs child is like fighting the battle of a lifetime. I know its all been said before and people love referencing the Welcome to Holland poem etcetera. That has its place, I'm not saying it doesn't. And yes, there is peace in acceptance. I get that too. But that path to acceptance is a long, tough road. There are a lot of points at which a parent has to accept more, and then more and more and more. It doesn't really end. This path of acceptance just keeps hurling itself at you.
Here is the thing. Its not just about the acceptance. Its about the entire damn journey. The journey that never really gets to a point at which you can stop and catch your breath.
A friend with an older child with some physical and developmental issues was recently talking about speaking with another woman who had just found out her child would face a lifetime of delays ( social, emotional, physical, developmental). All of us in the room, all mothers of a special needs child of one sort or another, nodded knowingly. We remembered this pain, that initial shock. But this woman, she had it worse, because she knew older children with the same issues, she had seen everything that was involved in caring for a child like this. My friend commented that she did not know how strong she would have been if she had known and seen what the future would hold for her child and her own life.
That is what this post is about. Its about that hope. The hope you need to continue. The hope you need to fight for your child against all odds. Yes, I know the likelihood is slim that my child will be the one, the one in 40 billion, that somehow makes it out of "special needs". Maybe my child will be the one who is somehow OK in life. Maybe he will have a friend. Maybe he will have a job. Yes, I know those goals are set high. I need to keep those goals set high. If I give up on my child then no one believes in my child. If I don't believe in my child he has no one. I have to believe in my child. Thats my job. Hope is what keeps me going. Hope propels me forward each day. Hope gives me the strength to tell teachers " Yes, my boy deserves a chance to do his work. Please let him try". Hope is what gives me the strength to keep searching for new ways of understanding my child and how he thinks. Hope compels me to seek out alternative methods of teaching so I can help him access education.
For some reason people want to rob me of that hope. For some reason people see hope as a weakness of mine. Apparently I need to accept all of the many things my child will never be. Somehow well meaning friends cannot see that I need that hope to get through each day. Yes, I know there are many things my child will never be. He has everything stacked against him. Yes, I know that. I do not need information on adult living homes. Not right now. Because I have not given up. If I was looking into the various options available that would be helpful. I am not looking into that right now because he is 8 years old and I have not given up.
I am not being unrealistic. The fact is my child is a child. He has growing and learning to do. He has shown that he is capable of growing and learning. I would like to see how far he can go before I make the decisions that will affect the rest of his life. I would like him to access education and social skills and everything else that is available to him in the least restrictive environment possible. Does that phrasing sound familiar? Thats because its a law. Right now my focus needs to be about giving him the tools he needs to succeed at whatever level he might succeed. Thats it. Thats all I want. I can't focus right now on whether or not he will go live in a home, unable to care for himself, friendless.
I don't really understand why well meaning friends need to point out the joys of being rid of this burden of mine. I understand that your cousin, or brother or dog walker's friend, knew someone who was institutionalized and after that happened everyone was so happy because the house was so calm and the rest of the family had a nice peaceful life. Thats just great for your dog walker's friend's cousin or whoever the hell you claim to be referencing, but I am not that person. Sure, maybe he will end up like that. I said it, are you happy? Now will you leave me alone with my pathetic hope?
I understand that people find my hope aggravating. They want to tear it down, make sure I know that my child will never have a " normal" life. But nonetheless, I am clinging to my hope, pathetic as it may be. Because my hope is all my child has and I am not going to let him down. I am the one person who believes in him. Every child needs to know someone believes in them. Every child. I see how funny and smart ( yes, smart) my child is, I know he is capable of a lot. I know how hard he works and tries. No, I will not give up. I am not interested in hearing about all the ways you think he will fail or the many ways in which you think he cannot handle daily life. I am not blind to any of this. Of course I see the struggles and pitfalls. I do know I have chosen a challenging path for my child. But if I chose the easy path he has no chance to rise to the occasion ( you know, just like any kid). I think he can do it.
I've been down this road before, back in the days when no one believed me when I expressed fears that maybe something was wrong with my child. Friends wrote me off as being neurotic. Doctors told me not to worry, like I was some crazy, bored Munchhausen by proxy mom. I paid for private evaluations and guess who was right? That would be me. Is there satisfaction in that? Not particularly. Looking back on that time, the one regret I do not have is listening to myself and getting the help we needed. So many parents of children with special needs are consumed with guilt for not knowing soon enough, not having early intervention. I don't have that guilt, I know how hard I tried.
Now here I am again. Fighting to have my child viewed as a child first, not a disability. No, I don't want anyone's opinions about how I need to let go and realize that he can't do these things (like participate). Because maybe he can. I'm certain I won't look back and regret having fought so hard. Even if all of my greatest fears are realized and an awful, sad, lonely life awaits him, I will not regret having fought to give him a chance.
Hope is the source of my strength and I am not letting go.
Having a special needs child is like fighting the battle of a lifetime. I know its all been said before and people love referencing the Welcome to Holland poem etcetera. That has its place, I'm not saying it doesn't. And yes, there is peace in acceptance. I get that too. But that path to acceptance is a long, tough road. There are a lot of points at which a parent has to accept more, and then more and more and more. It doesn't really end. This path of acceptance just keeps hurling itself at you.
Here is the thing. Its not just about the acceptance. Its about the entire damn journey. The journey that never really gets to a point at which you can stop and catch your breath.
A friend with an older child with some physical and developmental issues was recently talking about speaking with another woman who had just found out her child would face a lifetime of delays ( social, emotional, physical, developmental). All of us in the room, all mothers of a special needs child of one sort or another, nodded knowingly. We remembered this pain, that initial shock. But this woman, she had it worse, because she knew older children with the same issues, she had seen everything that was involved in caring for a child like this. My friend commented that she did not know how strong she would have been if she had known and seen what the future would hold for her child and her own life.
That is what this post is about. Its about that hope. The hope you need to continue. The hope you need to fight for your child against all odds. Yes, I know the likelihood is slim that my child will be the one, the one in 40 billion, that somehow makes it out of "special needs". Maybe my child will be the one who is somehow OK in life. Maybe he will have a friend. Maybe he will have a job. Yes, I know those goals are set high. I need to keep those goals set high. If I give up on my child then no one believes in my child. If I don't believe in my child he has no one. I have to believe in my child. Thats my job. Hope is what keeps me going. Hope propels me forward each day. Hope gives me the strength to tell teachers " Yes, my boy deserves a chance to do his work. Please let him try". Hope is what gives me the strength to keep searching for new ways of understanding my child and how he thinks. Hope compels me to seek out alternative methods of teaching so I can help him access education.
For some reason people want to rob me of that hope. For some reason people see hope as a weakness of mine. Apparently I need to accept all of the many things my child will never be. Somehow well meaning friends cannot see that I need that hope to get through each day. Yes, I know there are many things my child will never be. He has everything stacked against him. Yes, I know that. I do not need information on adult living homes. Not right now. Because I have not given up. If I was looking into the various options available that would be helpful. I am not looking into that right now because he is 8 years old and I have not given up.
I am not being unrealistic. The fact is my child is a child. He has growing and learning to do. He has shown that he is capable of growing and learning. I would like to see how far he can go before I make the decisions that will affect the rest of his life. I would like him to access education and social skills and everything else that is available to him in the least restrictive environment possible. Does that phrasing sound familiar? Thats because its a law. Right now my focus needs to be about giving him the tools he needs to succeed at whatever level he might succeed. Thats it. Thats all I want. I can't focus right now on whether or not he will go live in a home, unable to care for himself, friendless.
I don't really understand why well meaning friends need to point out the joys of being rid of this burden of mine. I understand that your cousin, or brother or dog walker's friend, knew someone who was institutionalized and after that happened everyone was so happy because the house was so calm and the rest of the family had a nice peaceful life. Thats just great for your dog walker's friend's cousin or whoever the hell you claim to be referencing, but I am not that person. Sure, maybe he will end up like that. I said it, are you happy? Now will you leave me alone with my pathetic hope?
I understand that people find my hope aggravating. They want to tear it down, make sure I know that my child will never have a " normal" life. But nonetheless, I am clinging to my hope, pathetic as it may be. Because my hope is all my child has and I am not going to let him down. I am the one person who believes in him. Every child needs to know someone believes in them. Every child. I see how funny and smart ( yes, smart) my child is, I know he is capable of a lot. I know how hard he works and tries. No, I will not give up. I am not interested in hearing about all the ways you think he will fail or the many ways in which you think he cannot handle daily life. I am not blind to any of this. Of course I see the struggles and pitfalls. I do know I have chosen a challenging path for my child. But if I chose the easy path he has no chance to rise to the occasion ( you know, just like any kid). I think he can do it.
I've been down this road before, back in the days when no one believed me when I expressed fears that maybe something was wrong with my child. Friends wrote me off as being neurotic. Doctors told me not to worry, like I was some crazy, bored Munchhausen by proxy mom. I paid for private evaluations and guess who was right? That would be me. Is there satisfaction in that? Not particularly. Looking back on that time, the one regret I do not have is listening to myself and getting the help we needed. So many parents of children with special needs are consumed with guilt for not knowing soon enough, not having early intervention. I don't have that guilt, I know how hard I tried.
Now here I am again. Fighting to have my child viewed as a child first, not a disability. No, I don't want anyone's opinions about how I need to let go and realize that he can't do these things (like participate). Because maybe he can. I'm certain I won't look back and regret having fought so hard. Even if all of my greatest fears are realized and an awful, sad, lonely life awaits him, I will not regret having fought to give him a chance.
Hope is the source of my strength and I am not letting go.
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Now That The Kids Are In School
What do I do with myself all day now that the kids are in school? Of course the obvious answer is I sit around, gorging myself on delicious and decadent treats. I have time to go to all of the health clubs and fitness centers I belong to because now that the kids are in school money is no object so I have joined them all. When I am finished with all of my clubs and centers, and my time with the personal fitness trainers and gurus has drawn to a close, I head out to a spa for a facial, a massage and then I join friends for a leisurely tea. After which I sweep in to the school parking lot to pick up my perfectly coiffed and cheerful children who regale me with tales related to the joy of learning.
Except none of this happens. I don't have that life. Yes, I have 4 kids in school but this has afforded me unbelievably less time for myself than I have had previously. This year I have 4 kids on two school campuses. This may sound, from an outsider's perspective, like a terrible scheduling snafu has occurred, when in fact this is the best I have ever had it.
This is the best schedule I have had in 10 years. In years past I have attempted to balance 3 different schools for 4 children. No matter how hard I tried I was always the parent who was present the least. I went on the fewest class trips, I volunteered for the fewest hours in each classroom.
Other parents would helpfully explain that the unwritten code of the school requires that parents put in their time if they want the best teachers and classroom experiences, the implication being that if I showed up every now and again my child would have it better, you know, like their kid. Somehow no one really got the 3 schools with various pick up times part of the equation. Yet somehow these same people are the ones that marvel at how I balance two campuses this year.
But back to the time issue. Now that I have kids in one district, in two campuses, I actually can participate in classrooms and volunteer on field trips. So I do and I am happy to do this because I finally can. I like being able to see what goes on, I like getting to know the kids and finding out about my children's classmates. Plus the field trips are fun and informative.
However there is very little time for anything once I get involved. This week I went on 2 field trips, baked California shaped cookies and volunteered for an in class project. I also did some further research for an upcoming IEP. I went to a meeting with the director of student services for our school district. I met with the principal and spoke with art and music and PE teachers to make sure I knew how everything was going at school this year. That was during the school hours. After school there was swimming, cross country, water polo and homework. Every day. Then I made dinner. Then I did laundry. Then I cleaned parts of the house, but not all of it. I did not even buy groceries. I saved that for today. I did not have time to buy groceries. We are out of milk. We are out of cat food. We have only had the fish tank for 3 weeks and already one of the fish had babies so we need to get fish baby accoutrements.
I went to bed exhausted every night. I still have further research to do before the IEP. I have volunteered to make cookies for a fundraiser for special ed. The weekend is booked with swimming and play dates and soccer. On Monday it will all start again.
On Monday someone is sure to ask me what I do with all of my spare time now that the kids are in school and I have the house to myself. It must be so quiet, they will remark. Their idea of my life sounds so idyllic, how do I get in there?
Except none of this happens. I don't have that life. Yes, I have 4 kids in school but this has afforded me unbelievably less time for myself than I have had previously. This year I have 4 kids on two school campuses. This may sound, from an outsider's perspective, like a terrible scheduling snafu has occurred, when in fact this is the best I have ever had it.
This is the best schedule I have had in 10 years. In years past I have attempted to balance 3 different schools for 4 children. No matter how hard I tried I was always the parent who was present the least. I went on the fewest class trips, I volunteered for the fewest hours in each classroom.
Other parents would helpfully explain that the unwritten code of the school requires that parents put in their time if they want the best teachers and classroom experiences, the implication being that if I showed up every now and again my child would have it better, you know, like their kid. Somehow no one really got the 3 schools with various pick up times part of the equation. Yet somehow these same people are the ones that marvel at how I balance two campuses this year.
But back to the time issue. Now that I have kids in one district, in two campuses, I actually can participate in classrooms and volunteer on field trips. So I do and I am happy to do this because I finally can. I like being able to see what goes on, I like getting to know the kids and finding out about my children's classmates. Plus the field trips are fun and informative.
However there is very little time for anything once I get involved. This week I went on 2 field trips, baked California shaped cookies and volunteered for an in class project. I also did some further research for an upcoming IEP. I went to a meeting with the director of student services for our school district. I met with the principal and spoke with art and music and PE teachers to make sure I knew how everything was going at school this year. That was during the school hours. After school there was swimming, cross country, water polo and homework. Every day. Then I made dinner. Then I did laundry. Then I cleaned parts of the house, but not all of it. I did not even buy groceries. I saved that for today. I did not have time to buy groceries. We are out of milk. We are out of cat food. We have only had the fish tank for 3 weeks and already one of the fish had babies so we need to get fish baby accoutrements.
I went to bed exhausted every night. I still have further research to do before the IEP. I have volunteered to make cookies for a fundraiser for special ed. The weekend is booked with swimming and play dates and soccer. On Monday it will all start again.
On Monday someone is sure to ask me what I do with all of my spare time now that the kids are in school and I have the house to myself. It must be so quiet, they will remark. Their idea of my life sounds so idyllic, how do I get in there?
Saturday, April 23, 2011
If You Scream You Get Veggie Burgers
This is what I love about holidays: I can bribe the kids. Christmas is by far the easiest because I get an entire month in which elves are reporting bad behavior and miscreant activities to the powers that be at the North Pole. However I can work other holidays to my advantage as well.
Easter, for example. Today started out like any other day. A scream, a shout, angry protests followed by thuds of toys hitting walls and children jumping off of bunk beds or perhaps dangling from ceiling fans. I have no idea what those noises indicate because I no longer check unless someone informs me that blood is involved. Even then I take my sweet time unless there is silence. There is nothing more eerie than silence. Today was not silent. There was loud chaos and rumblings which began at the usual ungodly hour of 5:30, which is a fantastic time for rumblings and chaos. All sorts of injustices were apparently occurring but I don't involve myself in these altercations. If I get involved whatever toy or activity is in question goes away and becomes mine.
The noise level escalated, as it usually does, until it was time to serve the beasts breakfast. Different but equally jarring sounds of protest and cries of injustice issue forth from the breakfast table. The four beings were not quelled after being sated with sustenance so I threw them outside. If you play with the dog you get to chew gum. Go outside. Its a good bribe. We don't usually have gum. My kids will work for gum. For the time being, anyway.
OK, it didn't work. Well, getting them outside worked, but screaming and fighting and shoving and irritating one another wasn't quite what I'd had in mind. One decided someone else's toy didn't work well which resulted in a fit of tears because yes, it does work well! Someone else found bubbles and deliberately blew them in someone else's eye, just to be mean! Then someone stood right where someone else was scootering and someone looked at something and it was not OK and someone else did some other thing and it was all very horrible and unfair. So I told them to go inside.
Once inside I broke out the big guns. The big Easter guns. I started speaking slowly, carefully, softly but with a great deal of conviction.
"Did you know", I paused for affect and also to quickly concoct my tale, " the Easter bunny does not bring chocolate to boys and girls who fight and scream the day before Easter?" I stared at them solemnly. They stared back solemnly, this had not crossed their minds. Why had it not crossed my mind until now?
" The Easter bunny", I continued," will bring you a basket of veggie burgers. The ones from Costco". Oh how my children loathe those veggie burgers, which I found out after buying a case of them. " The Easter bunny will hop on down the bunny trail and take a quick turn to hop on over to Costco on his way here". Costco is everywhere these days.
One small child was caught up in the story of it all. Another had eyes filled with a combination of wonder and horror.
" But, I don't like those", she whispered, aghast.
" I know". I offered, sagely.
Silence.
Oh how I love silence.
A few minutes later some sort of injustice was almost discovered but a quick reminder of veggie burgers was all it took to silence the dissent. The afternoon was looking up.
This evening however hit a bit of a snag.
" Mommy? I'm scared of the Easter bunny. He has red scary eyes. Is he going to come into our house when I'm sleeping?"
" He just hops on in to leave you chocolate, or veggie burgers. Did you clean your room? I don't want him to trip".
" Will he hop in my room? And touch me? I'm scared of the Easter bunny. I don't want him to touch me."
Hmmmm, if you leave a mess in your room he will hop in there and trip and fall onto your bed. Picking up might be a good idea.
" Mommy? I want to sleep in your bed so he doesn't attack me".
Easter bunnies don't attack, but just in case we will leave out this piece of cabbage in the kitchen so he will get all distracted and stay in there.
"OK, but Mommy? I don't want him in here, what if he comes in my room and has red eyes?"
Easter bunnies are scared of air so you can take this empty spray bottle and if you see him hop into your room you can squirt him.
" OK, and Mommy? I get chocolate for breakfast?"
As long as you never scream again.
Easter, for example. Today started out like any other day. A scream, a shout, angry protests followed by thuds of toys hitting walls and children jumping off of bunk beds or perhaps dangling from ceiling fans. I have no idea what those noises indicate because I no longer check unless someone informs me that blood is involved. Even then I take my sweet time unless there is silence. There is nothing more eerie than silence. Today was not silent. There was loud chaos and rumblings which began at the usual ungodly hour of 5:30, which is a fantastic time for rumblings and chaos. All sorts of injustices were apparently occurring but I don't involve myself in these altercations. If I get involved whatever toy or activity is in question goes away and becomes mine.
The noise level escalated, as it usually does, until it was time to serve the beasts breakfast. Different but equally jarring sounds of protest and cries of injustice issue forth from the breakfast table. The four beings were not quelled after being sated with sustenance so I threw them outside. If you play with the dog you get to chew gum. Go outside. Its a good bribe. We don't usually have gum. My kids will work for gum. For the time being, anyway.
OK, it didn't work. Well, getting them outside worked, but screaming and fighting and shoving and irritating one another wasn't quite what I'd had in mind. One decided someone else's toy didn't work well which resulted in a fit of tears because yes, it does work well! Someone else found bubbles and deliberately blew them in someone else's eye, just to be mean! Then someone stood right where someone else was scootering and someone looked at something and it was not OK and someone else did some other thing and it was all very horrible and unfair. So I told them to go inside.
Once inside I broke out the big guns. The big Easter guns. I started speaking slowly, carefully, softly but with a great deal of conviction.
"Did you know", I paused for affect and also to quickly concoct my tale, " the Easter bunny does not bring chocolate to boys and girls who fight and scream the day before Easter?" I stared at them solemnly. They stared back solemnly, this had not crossed their minds. Why had it not crossed my mind until now?
" The Easter bunny", I continued," will bring you a basket of veggie burgers. The ones from Costco". Oh how my children loathe those veggie burgers, which I found out after buying a case of them. " The Easter bunny will hop on down the bunny trail and take a quick turn to hop on over to Costco on his way here". Costco is everywhere these days.
One small child was caught up in the story of it all. Another had eyes filled with a combination of wonder and horror.
" But, I don't like those", she whispered, aghast.
" I know". I offered, sagely.
Silence.
Oh how I love silence.
A few minutes later some sort of injustice was almost discovered but a quick reminder of veggie burgers was all it took to silence the dissent. The afternoon was looking up.
This evening however hit a bit of a snag.
" Mommy? I'm scared of the Easter bunny. He has red scary eyes. Is he going to come into our house when I'm sleeping?"
" He just hops on in to leave you chocolate, or veggie burgers. Did you clean your room? I don't want him to trip".
" Will he hop in my room? And touch me? I'm scared of the Easter bunny. I don't want him to touch me."
Hmmmm, if you leave a mess in your room he will hop in there and trip and fall onto your bed. Picking up might be a good idea.
" Mommy? I want to sleep in your bed so he doesn't attack me".
Easter bunnies don't attack, but just in case we will leave out this piece of cabbage in the kitchen so he will get all distracted and stay in there.
"OK, but Mommy? I don't want him in here, what if he comes in my room and has red eyes?"
Easter bunnies are scared of air so you can take this empty spray bottle and if you see him hop into your room you can squirt him.
" OK, and Mommy? I get chocolate for breakfast?"
As long as you never scream again.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Sometimes Paper Plates Are The Best Option
We bought our dishwasher six months ago. We went all out. We got a Miele. Its really amazing. I never gave a whole lot of thought to dishwashers before because well, because they are not very interesting. Who wants to think about dishwashers? OK, this thing is great. The dishes sparkle. Seriously, its that good.
Or it was. Until it stopped working last week. The whole we need a new dishwasher, I can't handle washing dishes for 6 people, lunch box containers for 4 kids... that was a whole different saga that I never got around to blogging about. It was a long and drawn out and painful saga which involved tedium and misery and paper plates. I was not about to relive that saga.
OK, so I just have to make a phone call because the stupid thing is under warranty. Except the high end specialty dishwasher shoppe doesn't keep normal hours. And when I do get a hold of them they need time to access my info. What info? I bought a dishwasher from you. It doesn't work. Tada! There is my info.
Apparently there is more involved in this. I have to call the special Miele hotline first. My personal specialist gives me the hotline number and tells me it will all be quick and fantastic and solved in no time because Miele is headquartered in San Francisco. Fantastic, except the hotline operates on east coast hours. WTF?
Eventually I speak with a highly trained Miele specialist who instructs me to do things like turn it off and turn it back on. Yes, I thought of that. I'm calling you because it does not work. He instructs me to have to look under the sink, is there a valve? No.
No?
No.
There is no valve?
No.
Hmmmm. OK. Turn it off again. Is it draining now?
No.
Hmmmm , I do not understand this. It should drain.
Yes, I know. Its BROKEN. THAT IS WHY I AM CALLING YOU.
Hmmmmm
...
Hmmmmm
...
You will need to have a service call. The service center will call you to set that up.
The service center did not call. I called the service center. They had to access my information. Oh I see you have a work order, so we will be able to help you. Oh great, when?
Hmmmm.
We do have a technician that works in your area! That bit of information was relayed a little bit too enthusiastically for my jaded self.
Seriously? I'm supposed to be excited about this bit of news? Isn't it your job to get someone to service the machine that is under warranty?
Fast forward to today when I eagerly await the dishwasher repairman.
Is this guy for real? This man shows up and he is a travesty of himself. His hair is slicked back on the sides. He oozed in, stating he will be able to fix anything. It kind of went downhill from there.
He kept raising his eyebrows at me and clearing his throat and adjusting his collar and moaning and groaning as he tightened things with wrenches. I thought about asking him if he'd like to use the bathroom to masturbate, then I thought about how funny it would be if I actually said that, then I started laughing to myself. Then I think he mistook my inward smile as a sign that I thought he was hot. Then he just HAD to show me this one incredible thing he could do. He could magnetically hook up his computer to my dishwasher and obtain info on how many hours I'd cycled through.
" You will love this" he said with a wink.
Eeew, OMG yes, I am turned on by computer read outs of the hours I've logged on my dishwasher. ( Close to 1,000. Sexy, right? Imagine all those dirty dishes... cycling).
Then my daughter, who was at home sick, had to make the situation feel far creepier. She is fascinated by the fact that my underwear is different than boy underwear. She is transfixed by the notion that I can choose between wearing a bra vs wearing a camisole. She had on a pink tank top with a silk indian print shirt on top. So she started asking what I was wearing under my shirt.
A little shirt like hers? Or one of those other things?
OMG NOOOOO! NOT RIGHT NOW.
Creepy guy was here for over an hour, winking and raising his eyebrows, and learning about my undergarments of choice, but he finally left and I finally have a dishwasher.
If it malfunctions again I will use paper plates.
Or it was. Until it stopped working last week. The whole we need a new dishwasher, I can't handle washing dishes for 6 people, lunch box containers for 4 kids... that was a whole different saga that I never got around to blogging about. It was a long and drawn out and painful saga which involved tedium and misery and paper plates. I was not about to relive that saga.
OK, so I just have to make a phone call because the stupid thing is under warranty. Except the high end specialty dishwasher shoppe doesn't keep normal hours. And when I do get a hold of them they need time to access my info. What info? I bought a dishwasher from you. It doesn't work. Tada! There is my info.
Apparently there is more involved in this. I have to call the special Miele hotline first. My personal specialist gives me the hotline number and tells me it will all be quick and fantastic and solved in no time because Miele is headquartered in San Francisco. Fantastic, except the hotline operates on east coast hours. WTF?
Eventually I speak with a highly trained Miele specialist who instructs me to do things like turn it off and turn it back on. Yes, I thought of that. I'm calling you because it does not work. He instructs me to have to look under the sink, is there a valve? No.
No?
No.
There is no valve?
No.
Hmmmm. OK. Turn it off again. Is it draining now?
No.
Hmmmm , I do not understand this. It should drain.
Yes, I know. Its BROKEN. THAT IS WHY I AM CALLING YOU.
Hmmmmm
...
Hmmmmm
...
You will need to have a service call. The service center will call you to set that up.
The service center did not call. I called the service center. They had to access my information. Oh I see you have a work order, so we will be able to help you. Oh great, when?
Hmmmm.
We do have a technician that works in your area! That bit of information was relayed a little bit too enthusiastically for my jaded self.
Seriously? I'm supposed to be excited about this bit of news? Isn't it your job to get someone to service the machine that is under warranty?
Fast forward to today when I eagerly await the dishwasher repairman.
Is this guy for real? This man shows up and he is a travesty of himself. His hair is slicked back on the sides. He oozed in, stating he will be able to fix anything. It kind of went downhill from there.
He kept raising his eyebrows at me and clearing his throat and adjusting his collar and moaning and groaning as he tightened things with wrenches. I thought about asking him if he'd like to use the bathroom to masturbate, then I thought about how funny it would be if I actually said that, then I started laughing to myself. Then I think he mistook my inward smile as a sign that I thought he was hot. Then he just HAD to show me this one incredible thing he could do. He could magnetically hook up his computer to my dishwasher and obtain info on how many hours I'd cycled through.
" You will love this" he said with a wink.
Eeew, OMG yes, I am turned on by computer read outs of the hours I've logged on my dishwasher. ( Close to 1,000. Sexy, right? Imagine all those dirty dishes... cycling).
Then my daughter, who was at home sick, had to make the situation feel far creepier. She is fascinated by the fact that my underwear is different than boy underwear. She is transfixed by the notion that I can choose between wearing a bra vs wearing a camisole. She had on a pink tank top with a silk indian print shirt on top. So she started asking what I was wearing under my shirt.
A little shirt like hers? Or one of those other things?
OMG NOOOOO! NOT RIGHT NOW.
Creepy guy was here for over an hour, winking and raising his eyebrows, and learning about my undergarments of choice, but he finally left and I finally have a dishwasher.
If it malfunctions again I will use paper plates.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Getting Places
Is it just my kids? Is it like this for everyone?
This is what happens when we go swimming. Oldest child does not get lessons since he is already on the swim team and practices there. The other three get lessons. Prior to leaving the house the three about to have swim lessons children are instructed to put on bathing suits and then put their clothes back on, on top of the bathing suits. I have found this minimizes the risk of forgetting bathing suits for the swim lesson ( not handy).
Unfortunately this technique has the side effect of also allowing for greater potential to accidentally wear underwear under the bathing suit. This is often not discovered until after the swim lesson when some one or other begins bemoaning having wet underwear. I tend not to catch on, assuring them that they do not have wet underwear, they are wearing bathing suits. Only when they undress do I realize, once again, why the wet underwear complaint has been filed. Do not wear underwear under your bathing suit.
So anyway, my plan is I get all the kids ready before we leave the house. We drive to the pool. I get my ID ready before we charge out of the car. We stumble through the parking lot wearing flip flops, no matter what the weather , because if you can swim you can wear flip flops. We go into the family changing room and the three kids remove the outer layers of clothing. I hand them goggles, we go meet the swim teachers.
During the lessons I have oldest child with me and we walk away from the pool area. If I am in the vicinity of the pool then child number 2 can't swim. So I need to be out of sight. There are chairs near the gym, in case anyone wants to hang out and gawk. So we sit there as child #1 pretends to get some homework tackled. What actually happens is he fidgets and picks at imaginary threads, asks inane questions, realizes he does not have a pencil. The forgotten pencil is a familiar theme and he has not quite figured out that this technique does not in fact mean he has escaped his obligations. What he does have to do is march himself up to the reception desk at the gym and ask to borrow one. That takes a good 20 minutes. Then he has to get readjusted in his chair and examine a shoelace for a while. Right about then is when he has all sorts of burning questions about eucalyptus trainers. Yes, eucalyptus. Just like what I have at home. I work out using a eucalyptus.
Oh look, he answered one question on his homework sheet and its time to grab towels and get the other 3 from their lessons. 3 out of the pool and into the locker room. There they wander about in varying states of undress for a while since I've managed to teach my children pretty much nothing about privacy. Getting dressed apparently requires a great deal of wandering about and dropping underwear onto the wet floor and being unable to fit your head through an arm hole.
When the 3 swimmers are finally ready I somehow find myself behaving in a way that implies I think I can just walk on out the door at this point. Of course I can't. Child #1, who did not even swim is not ready. His coat sleeve is inside out and his shoes are mysteriously off.
Really? Does this happen with other people's kids?
This is what happens when we go swimming. Oldest child does not get lessons since he is already on the swim team and practices there. The other three get lessons. Prior to leaving the house the three about to have swim lessons children are instructed to put on bathing suits and then put their clothes back on, on top of the bathing suits. I have found this minimizes the risk of forgetting bathing suits for the swim lesson ( not handy).
Unfortunately this technique has the side effect of also allowing for greater potential to accidentally wear underwear under the bathing suit. This is often not discovered until after the swim lesson when some one or other begins bemoaning having wet underwear. I tend not to catch on, assuring them that they do not have wet underwear, they are wearing bathing suits. Only when they undress do I realize, once again, why the wet underwear complaint has been filed. Do not wear underwear under your bathing suit.
So anyway, my plan is I get all the kids ready before we leave the house. We drive to the pool. I get my ID ready before we charge out of the car. We stumble through the parking lot wearing flip flops, no matter what the weather , because if you can swim you can wear flip flops. We go into the family changing room and the three kids remove the outer layers of clothing. I hand them goggles, we go meet the swim teachers.
During the lessons I have oldest child with me and we walk away from the pool area. If I am in the vicinity of the pool then child number 2 can't swim. So I need to be out of sight. There are chairs near the gym, in case anyone wants to hang out and gawk. So we sit there as child #1 pretends to get some homework tackled. What actually happens is he fidgets and picks at imaginary threads, asks inane questions, realizes he does not have a pencil. The forgotten pencil is a familiar theme and he has not quite figured out that this technique does not in fact mean he has escaped his obligations. What he does have to do is march himself up to the reception desk at the gym and ask to borrow one. That takes a good 20 minutes. Then he has to get readjusted in his chair and examine a shoelace for a while. Right about then is when he has all sorts of burning questions about eucalyptus trainers. Yes, eucalyptus. Just like what I have at home. I work out using a eucalyptus.
Oh look, he answered one question on his homework sheet and its time to grab towels and get the other 3 from their lessons. 3 out of the pool and into the locker room. There they wander about in varying states of undress for a while since I've managed to teach my children pretty much nothing about privacy. Getting dressed apparently requires a great deal of wandering about and dropping underwear onto the wet floor and being unable to fit your head through an arm hole.
When the 3 swimmers are finally ready I somehow find myself behaving in a way that implies I think I can just walk on out the door at this point. Of course I can't. Child #1, who did not even swim is not ready. His coat sleeve is inside out and his shoes are mysteriously off.
Really? Does this happen with other people's kids?
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
I'm Left With The Aftermath
Yesterday I cleaned and cleaned and cleaned. It didn't make that much of a difference. I can't keep up. As I busied myself with folding laundry and decluttering I suddenly smelled something toxic. A familiar smell. A toxic smell. A bad smell. An ominous smell.
What could it be? I thought all the kids were in the back, playing. As it turns out all but one was in the back playing. One small child had realized she'd been left to her own devices and was busily taking full advantage of this fact.
I followed the strong and ominous smell which led me to the bathroom. The room the lone indoor child had just left. Nail polish remover? No... nail polish. The floor sparkled. The floor did not sparkle because it was clean. The floor sparkled because it had been smeared with sparkly nail polish.
I went out and grabbed Laurel.
" What were you doing in the bathroom?"
" Nothing."
Her fingers and toes sparkled. Not just her fingernails and toenails, but her fingers and toes and feet all sparkled. She had gone to town. She had painted the town sparkly pink.
" Did you put on nail polish?" I asked the obvious.
" Yes" she managed to whisper before bursting into tears.
" Where is the nail polish now?"
Sob sob sob..
" Laurel! Tell me where it is!"
" I put it hic..sob sob..hic sob...away"
At least she put it away when she was done.
What could it be? I thought all the kids were in the back, playing. As it turns out all but one was in the back playing. One small child had realized she'd been left to her own devices and was busily taking full advantage of this fact.
I followed the strong and ominous smell which led me to the bathroom. The room the lone indoor child had just left. Nail polish remover? No... nail polish. The floor sparkled. The floor did not sparkle because it was clean. The floor sparkled because it had been smeared with sparkly nail polish.
I went out and grabbed Laurel.
" What were you doing in the bathroom?"
" Nothing."
Her fingers and toes sparkled. Not just her fingernails and toenails, but her fingers and toes and feet all sparkled. She had gone to town. She had painted the town sparkly pink.
" Did you put on nail polish?" I asked the obvious.
" Yes" she managed to whisper before bursting into tears.
" Where is the nail polish now?"
Sob sob sob..
" Laurel! Tell me where it is!"
" I put it hic..sob sob..hic sob...away"
At least she put it away when she was done.
Monday, March 1, 2010
The Trap
Everyone now has bunk beds. I love bunk beds. The rooms are all larger. Toys can stay in the bedrooms, in theory anyway.
Laurel and Griffin's bunk beds arrived last week. They are awesome. They have stairs rather than a ladder and the height is lower than a standard bunk bed. They are perfect.
The arrival of the bunk beds was quite a production. They arrived on a single palate but there were many pieces. Assembly was not included but fortunately the delivery men were happy to put it together for some extra cash.
The men arrived with the palate of bed pieces and it took about 30 minutes for them to unload all the pieces into the house. I shut my bedroom door because I saw that Chloe and Walle were sleeping on my bed. Paddington usually hides in the darkest Peru, or the darkest Peru equivalent, which is usually under my bed. At the slightest hint that a new person has arrived at the house he is gone. I assumed Paddington was under the bed.
The front door was open and shut and open again as the men trudged back and forth with large bits of things and tools and boxes and headboards and steps.
Eventually the bed was assembled, the boxes dismantled and carted off , the men were paid, ( I even threw in some children's clothing because one of them mentioned he had six kids and I had just cleared out some outgrown clothes). The men left.
I then discovered the lower bunk was put in head first rather than foot first. The room is so tight I had to turn it on its end to reverse it. Fun.
I opened the door to let the cats out. Chloe and Walle came to inspect. Paddington did not.
I made the beds. I put away clothing etc in the attached drawers. I folded sheets and put them in the armoire.
No sign of Paddington.
He could not have gotten out. Not again. We can't have lost him again. That was all too traumatic.
I put out plates of tuna. Chloe and Walle ate it ravenously and appreciatively.
No sign of Paddington. I called him. Nothing. I looked in all his usual hiding spots. Under the beds, in closets, behind toy boxes, behind curtains. Nope, no sign of him. I looked outside, in bushes, under hedges. Nothing.
Oliver came home from school. I needed to go get Laurel and Griffin. Oliver and I got in the car and the gas light came on. So I hurried to the nearest gas station, which had no gas. I went to pick up Laurel and Griffin, figuring after I got them I'd head to a different gas station. So we did that. I pulled in to the next gas station and there was caution tape on all the tanks. They didn't have gas either. Um... is it 1972?
We went to pick up Holden then we drove to a third gas station which I was relieved to find actually had gas.
Although Holden's swim team practice was meant to start at 4 I decided to take him to the 4:30 session because I had to go pick up an animal trap to try and get Paddinton back. We've been through this before and I knew the system. Wait til dusk, bait with Kentucky Fried Chicken, listen for the snap of the metal doors. Hertz Equipment Rental closes at 4:30 so I needed to get this trap.
I left the kids in the car, ran in, picked up the paper work, drove to the pick up area and the man loaded the trap into the car for me.
Our house is on the way to the pool so I pulled over by our house and ran over to set the trap. I might as well set it early with a little tuna, and reset it at dusk with KFC. I carefully set it up while the kids watched from the car.
I ran back to the car to drive to swim practice and Holden said " Isn't that Paddington?"
Sure enough, there he was. He watched me set up the trap...from the window. He was inside, where he had been all along.
Laurel and Griffin were amazed that the trap worked so well. They are still talking about it.
Laurel and Griffin's bunk beds arrived last week. They are awesome. They have stairs rather than a ladder and the height is lower than a standard bunk bed. They are perfect.
The arrival of the bunk beds was quite a production. They arrived on a single palate but there were many pieces. Assembly was not included but fortunately the delivery men were happy to put it together for some extra cash.
The men arrived with the palate of bed pieces and it took about 30 minutes for them to unload all the pieces into the house. I shut my bedroom door because I saw that Chloe and Walle were sleeping on my bed. Paddington usually hides in the darkest Peru, or the darkest Peru equivalent, which is usually under my bed. At the slightest hint that a new person has arrived at the house he is gone. I assumed Paddington was under the bed.
The front door was open and shut and open again as the men trudged back and forth with large bits of things and tools and boxes and headboards and steps.
Eventually the bed was assembled, the boxes dismantled and carted off , the men were paid, ( I even threw in some children's clothing because one of them mentioned he had six kids and I had just cleared out some outgrown clothes). The men left.
I then discovered the lower bunk was put in head first rather than foot first. The room is so tight I had to turn it on its end to reverse it. Fun.
I opened the door to let the cats out. Chloe and Walle came to inspect. Paddington did not.
I made the beds. I put away clothing etc in the attached drawers. I folded sheets and put them in the armoire.
No sign of Paddington.
He could not have gotten out. Not again. We can't have lost him again. That was all too traumatic.
I put out plates of tuna. Chloe and Walle ate it ravenously and appreciatively.
No sign of Paddington. I called him. Nothing. I looked in all his usual hiding spots. Under the beds, in closets, behind toy boxes, behind curtains. Nope, no sign of him. I looked outside, in bushes, under hedges. Nothing.
Oliver came home from school. I needed to go get Laurel and Griffin. Oliver and I got in the car and the gas light came on. So I hurried to the nearest gas station, which had no gas. I went to pick up Laurel and Griffin, figuring after I got them I'd head to a different gas station. So we did that. I pulled in to the next gas station and there was caution tape on all the tanks. They didn't have gas either. Um... is it 1972?
We went to pick up Holden then we drove to a third gas station which I was relieved to find actually had gas.
Although Holden's swim team practice was meant to start at 4 I decided to take him to the 4:30 session because I had to go pick up an animal trap to try and get Paddinton back. We've been through this before and I knew the system. Wait til dusk, bait with Kentucky Fried Chicken, listen for the snap of the metal doors. Hertz Equipment Rental closes at 4:30 so I needed to get this trap.
I left the kids in the car, ran in, picked up the paper work, drove to the pick up area and the man loaded the trap into the car for me.
Our house is on the way to the pool so I pulled over by our house and ran over to set the trap. I might as well set it early with a little tuna, and reset it at dusk with KFC. I carefully set it up while the kids watched from the car.
I ran back to the car to drive to swim practice and Holden said " Isn't that Paddington?"
Sure enough, there he was. He watched me set up the trap...from the window. He was inside, where he had been all along.
Laurel and Griffin were amazed that the trap worked so well. They are still talking about it.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
What Would You Wish For?
I decided to take the twins out to run a few errands. Two out of four children are easy. So we went to the mall. My IPhone charging cord was broken and frayed again. I wanted to go to the Apple Store.
So I drove to the Apple Store after the other two were in their respective schools. The stores don't open until 10. So we went to Peets and they scored cookies and I had a coffee. I need a lot of coffee.
At 10 we walked over to the Apple Store. Employees were everywhere, ready to help. Immediately I was led to the wrong product. No, I want the charging cord thingy, like this broken one.
I found it myself.
Meanwhile Griffin was making a pile of all the IPhone cases he apparently needed, despite not owning or even having access to an IPhone. Laurel was then inspired to pick out a hot pink Paul Frank Julius monkey cover which she wanted for herself.
No, we are not getting the hot pink Paul Frank IPhone case. The employee who was not actually helping me but nevertheless had remained in my vicinity with a posture of helpfulness, was quick to point out that they did indeed have these hot pink cases in stock.
Yes, I know, but I don't want one. My daughter does.
"Well, here they are!" She pointed out brightly.
"Yes, I know. But my daughter is 4. She doesn't have an IPhone".
I paid for my cord as she helpfully pointed out that there were computer games for kids. So of course Laurel and Griffin wanted to play these games. But, they are four and don't know how to play computer games, don't need to play computer games, and at this point I want to leave and not hang out at the Apple store all day.
So they whined and screamed as I pulled them away from the games they didn't know how to play in the first place. Thanks helpful Apple people.
So then we tried to walk to another store but got waylaid by a fountain. Other children were throwing coins in. I don't have coins to throw into fountains. I was wondering just who it was that had been throwing quarters in there and whether or not anyone would notice were I to wade in and collect them when some random guy asked the twins if they'd like to make a wish. They clearly had no idea what he was talking about but said yes.
He gave each of them a penny. Griffin wished for a boot. Laurel wished for a cat. We thanked the man and left.
I thought we'd walk through Pottery Barn Kids. Thats a safe bet. Kid friendly. So we walked in and Griffin and Laurel fought and tussled over every object within reach. It was fun. We needed to get out of there. They didn't want to leave. They were having too much fun fighting. So I pointed out that there was another fountain and we could make another wish. Suddenly the whole lets throw our money into a puddle idea seemed like a good idea after all. They practically ran outside, very excited to try out this new wishing thing.
We got outside and Griffin looked around.
" Where is the wishing man?"
We don't need the wishing man. We can make our wishes without him.
" But we need the monies from the wishing man".
Griffin began to look very concerned.
His fears were allayed when I suddenly produced two pennies.
Laurel wished for a cat.
Griffin wished for a boot.
So I drove to the Apple Store after the other two were in their respective schools. The stores don't open until 10. So we went to Peets and they scored cookies and I had a coffee. I need a lot of coffee.
At 10 we walked over to the Apple Store. Employees were everywhere, ready to help. Immediately I was led to the wrong product. No, I want the charging cord thingy, like this broken one.
I found it myself.
Meanwhile Griffin was making a pile of all the IPhone cases he apparently needed, despite not owning or even having access to an IPhone. Laurel was then inspired to pick out a hot pink Paul Frank Julius monkey cover which she wanted for herself.
No, we are not getting the hot pink Paul Frank IPhone case. The employee who was not actually helping me but nevertheless had remained in my vicinity with a posture of helpfulness, was quick to point out that they did indeed have these hot pink cases in stock.
Yes, I know, but I don't want one. My daughter does.
"Well, here they are!" She pointed out brightly.
"Yes, I know. But my daughter is 4. She doesn't have an IPhone".
I paid for my cord as she helpfully pointed out that there were computer games for kids. So of course Laurel and Griffin wanted to play these games. But, they are four and don't know how to play computer games, don't need to play computer games, and at this point I want to leave and not hang out at the Apple store all day.
So they whined and screamed as I pulled them away from the games they didn't know how to play in the first place. Thanks helpful Apple people.
So then we tried to walk to another store but got waylaid by a fountain. Other children were throwing coins in. I don't have coins to throw into fountains. I was wondering just who it was that had been throwing quarters in there and whether or not anyone would notice were I to wade in and collect them when some random guy asked the twins if they'd like to make a wish. They clearly had no idea what he was talking about but said yes.
He gave each of them a penny. Griffin wished for a boot. Laurel wished for a cat. We thanked the man and left.
I thought we'd walk through Pottery Barn Kids. Thats a safe bet. Kid friendly. So we walked in and Griffin and Laurel fought and tussled over every object within reach. It was fun. We needed to get out of there. They didn't want to leave. They were having too much fun fighting. So I pointed out that there was another fountain and we could make another wish. Suddenly the whole lets throw our money into a puddle idea seemed like a good idea after all. They practically ran outside, very excited to try out this new wishing thing.
We got outside and Griffin looked around.
" Where is the wishing man?"
We don't need the wishing man. We can make our wishes without him.
" But we need the monies from the wishing man".
Griffin began to look very concerned.
His fears were allayed when I suddenly produced two pennies.
Laurel wished for a cat.
Griffin wished for a boot.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Afternoon Adventures
I think the weeks are getting longer and longer. Is that possible? Because I really think thats happening.
Yesterday, despite being Wednesday, lasted for several days. Oh, it started out OK. As OK as Wednesdays get what with the whole get everyone up a little extra early because two of the schools have morning meeting at 8:30. Coincidentally 8:30 is also the time at which I drop off Laurel and Griffin. Its all very convenient and easy to schedule and packing 4 lunches is never a problem. I just breeze through the mornings.
I breezed on through the lunch packing and breakfast screaming ( "NO! Thats my bowl! " " I need more Cheerios...NO! AHHH I want Daddy to do it!" " No, not that bowl! Thats not my bowl! I don't like that bowl! He is kicking me! He made me spill! ").
I got the kids to school. I attended one of the morning meetings. I put gas in the car and ran 57 errands. I came home and vacuumed and folded laundry. I divided the laundry by child and placed it in neat piles over the entire sofa. I picked up 2 out of 4 children.
I decided after homework was completed that I'd take the two of four children out to buy a birthday present for the remaining two children. The boys sat down to do their work. They needed snacks. They needed to go to the bathroom. Apparently they also needed to clog the toilet.
So I plunged. That should work, right? No, of course it wouldn't.
Vile. Vile. Vile.
The toilet overflowed. I gagged and plunged to no avail. I really did gag. Oliver thinks gagging is barfing. So he started giggling and saying " Oh no! Mommy is sick!"
No, honey. I'm not sick. Just grossed out.
I failed. I could not plunge the toilet. I started cleaning up the disgusting floor. I had a large garbage bag and gloves and cleaning supplies and someone started ringing the bell and knocking. Oh, of course someone would come to the door now.
But the most amazing thing happened. It was the plumber! Seriously. He had come with the part for our sink. He arrived when I had a broken toilet. Of course if I lived somewhere other than California this may not seem quite so random. One might assume that well, she had an appointment with the plumber, of course he came. So whats the surprise? I would have thought that too, before I lived in California.
But see my plumber is awesome. He comes when I need him. Always. If I have a non emergency he doesn't come right away. If something bad happens he comes right away.
Here is the system: I call and leave a message stating my problem. He shows up at some non specific time when he happens to be near by. Really. This is how it works. Sometimes I arrive at home with a carload of children and there he is in my driveway. He greets me with a big friendly smile.
I've had a leaky sink for a while. He was in my driveway last week when we got back from swim practice, but he didn't have the right part. Apparently he'd stopped by several times since but I hadn't been home. Had I known when he thought he might be coming by I might have been able to be here, but whatever. I'd much rather have someone nice and friendly who consistently does great work and has an intuitive scheduling system than pay exorbitant prices for a large company to do a bad job.
The point of all of that is to say that it was a surprise, a very, very welcome surprise, to have the plumber show up just as my children had clogged a toilet!
Within 10 minutes the toilet was fixed, the sink was fixed, and homework was completed. We were ready for our birthday present buying adventure.
Or so I thought.
We went to the first store. Oliver walked inside and announced " I want to go outside."
No, we are looking for birthday presents, remember?
" I want to go outside. All done with this store. Time to go to a new different store".
Oh great.
Two minutes later we were in a different store. One second later:
" All done. Time to go to a new different store".
Remember? We are looking for presents for your brother and sister.
" NO! No presents! I want to go outside! All done! I'm HUNGRY! I want FOOOOOOD".
OK, next store. This one has a train table, maybe that will help.
Nope, I was being pulled and yanked. This was not the present buying adventure I'd anticipated.
Next stop: book store. Oliver likes books. He made himself a stack of books and wanted to leave with them.
No, we are going to look around.
"No! I don't want to look around! I need to go outside! I am hungry! I'm all done! I want to go home!"
Somehow I managed to convince him to sit next to Holden and read so I could look around for 3 seconds. I gathered up a few books in a somewhat panicked state. There was a 6 year old time bomb about to go off and I knew it.
Waiting in lines is not our forte so even though there was only a few people ahead of us in line we had our challenges. Oliver pulled and yanked and fell dramatically to the floor. I pretended not to notice. Oliver yelled that he needed to go outside and ran to the door.
"Oliver!" I reprimanded sharply, apparently startling a few people in the process. He giggled.
" Get back in this line NOW."
I half expected some of the patrons to follow my direction as well and was vaguely disappointed when Oliver was the only one who listened.
We made our purchases and headed out the door.
" We have to go get Griffin and Laurel now," I said.
" No! I'm hungry! I don't want to get Griffin and Laurel."
Just as Oliver made his final announcement we passed by this beautiful little gourmet cupcake store.
Lets go in here!
I don't know what I was thinking. More lines, people, choices, waiting. Oliver wanted a chocolate cupcake. NOW. Holden carefully considered his options. Since we were in a gourmet cupcake place he opted for a cookie. The woman gave Holden his cookie in a bag. She handed Oliver his cupcake on a napkin. Oliver wanted a bag, like Holden. The cupcake will get wrecked in a bag, I explained.
"BAG!" Yelled Oliver.
Another employee offered a single cupcake box. Oliver was kind of OK with the box option. But it needed to be closed. Then he needed to leave. Immediately. The breaking point was very close. Holden took him outside to sit at a table. In the cold. In the wind. I paid and then joined them. The box was instantly discarded. He finished the cupcake faster than Holden could eat his cookie.
We went to pick up Laurel and Griffin then went home and I began to think about what to make for dinner.
" Mommy?"
Yes, Oliver?
"Mommy,I had fun at the store."
Yesterday, despite being Wednesday, lasted for several days. Oh, it started out OK. As OK as Wednesdays get what with the whole get everyone up a little extra early because two of the schools have morning meeting at 8:30. Coincidentally 8:30 is also the time at which I drop off Laurel and Griffin. Its all very convenient and easy to schedule and packing 4 lunches is never a problem. I just breeze through the mornings.
I breezed on through the lunch packing and breakfast screaming ( "NO! Thats my bowl! " " I need more Cheerios...NO! AHHH I want Daddy to do it!" " No, not that bowl! Thats not my bowl! I don't like that bowl! He is kicking me! He made me spill! ").
I got the kids to school. I attended one of the morning meetings. I put gas in the car and ran 57 errands. I came home and vacuumed and folded laundry. I divided the laundry by child and placed it in neat piles over the entire sofa. I picked up 2 out of 4 children.
I decided after homework was completed that I'd take the two of four children out to buy a birthday present for the remaining two children. The boys sat down to do their work. They needed snacks. They needed to go to the bathroom. Apparently they also needed to clog the toilet.
So I plunged. That should work, right? No, of course it wouldn't.
Vile. Vile. Vile.
The toilet overflowed. I gagged and plunged to no avail. I really did gag. Oliver thinks gagging is barfing. So he started giggling and saying " Oh no! Mommy is sick!"
No, honey. I'm not sick. Just grossed out.
I failed. I could not plunge the toilet. I started cleaning up the disgusting floor. I had a large garbage bag and gloves and cleaning supplies and someone started ringing the bell and knocking. Oh, of course someone would come to the door now.
But the most amazing thing happened. It was the plumber! Seriously. He had come with the part for our sink. He arrived when I had a broken toilet. Of course if I lived somewhere other than California this may not seem quite so random. One might assume that well, she had an appointment with the plumber, of course he came. So whats the surprise? I would have thought that too, before I lived in California.
But see my plumber is awesome. He comes when I need him. Always. If I have a non emergency he doesn't come right away. If something bad happens he comes right away.
Here is the system: I call and leave a message stating my problem. He shows up at some non specific time when he happens to be near by. Really. This is how it works. Sometimes I arrive at home with a carload of children and there he is in my driveway. He greets me with a big friendly smile.
I've had a leaky sink for a while. He was in my driveway last week when we got back from swim practice, but he didn't have the right part. Apparently he'd stopped by several times since but I hadn't been home. Had I known when he thought he might be coming by I might have been able to be here, but whatever. I'd much rather have someone nice and friendly who consistently does great work and has an intuitive scheduling system than pay exorbitant prices for a large company to do a bad job.
The point of all of that is to say that it was a surprise, a very, very welcome surprise, to have the plumber show up just as my children had clogged a toilet!
Within 10 minutes the toilet was fixed, the sink was fixed, and homework was completed. We were ready for our birthday present buying adventure.
Or so I thought.
We went to the first store. Oliver walked inside and announced " I want to go outside."
No, we are looking for birthday presents, remember?
" I want to go outside. All done with this store. Time to go to a new different store".
Oh great.
Two minutes later we were in a different store. One second later:
" All done. Time to go to a new different store".
Remember? We are looking for presents for your brother and sister.
" NO! No presents! I want to go outside! All done! I'm HUNGRY! I want FOOOOOOD".
OK, next store. This one has a train table, maybe that will help.
Nope, I was being pulled and yanked. This was not the present buying adventure I'd anticipated.
Next stop: book store. Oliver likes books. He made himself a stack of books and wanted to leave with them.
No, we are going to look around.
"No! I don't want to look around! I need to go outside! I am hungry! I'm all done! I want to go home!"
Somehow I managed to convince him to sit next to Holden and read so I could look around for 3 seconds. I gathered up a few books in a somewhat panicked state. There was a 6 year old time bomb about to go off and I knew it.
Waiting in lines is not our forte so even though there was only a few people ahead of us in line we had our challenges. Oliver pulled and yanked and fell dramatically to the floor. I pretended not to notice. Oliver yelled that he needed to go outside and ran to the door.
"Oliver!" I reprimanded sharply, apparently startling a few people in the process. He giggled.
" Get back in this line NOW."
I half expected some of the patrons to follow my direction as well and was vaguely disappointed when Oliver was the only one who listened.
We made our purchases and headed out the door.
" We have to go get Griffin and Laurel now," I said.
" No! I'm hungry! I don't want to get Griffin and Laurel."
Just as Oliver made his final announcement we passed by this beautiful little gourmet cupcake store.
Lets go in here!
I don't know what I was thinking. More lines, people, choices, waiting. Oliver wanted a chocolate cupcake. NOW. Holden carefully considered his options. Since we were in a gourmet cupcake place he opted for a cookie. The woman gave Holden his cookie in a bag. She handed Oliver his cupcake on a napkin. Oliver wanted a bag, like Holden. The cupcake will get wrecked in a bag, I explained.
"BAG!" Yelled Oliver.
Another employee offered a single cupcake box. Oliver was kind of OK with the box option. But it needed to be closed. Then he needed to leave. Immediately. The breaking point was very close. Holden took him outside to sit at a table. In the cold. In the wind. I paid and then joined them. The box was instantly discarded. He finished the cupcake faster than Holden could eat his cookie.
We went to pick up Laurel and Griffin then went home and I began to think about what to make for dinner.
" Mommy?"
Yes, Oliver?
"Mommy,I had fun at the store."
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
The Food Battle
My 8 year old is a great eater. He always has been. His diet is varied and his palate is sophisticated. Thats not to say he doesn't enjoy junk food as much as the next 2nd grader, but overall he is both well rounded and open minded.
Unfortunately these qualities are not a result of my fantastic parenting abilities, as illustrated by my subsequent children.
Oliver prefers peanut butter for lunch and cereal for breakfast. Each new bowl must be in a clean bowl. There is no such thing as a second helping in the same cereal bowl. That cereal is tainted. Sometimes we make the resolve and we face this battle.
No! You only get one bowl!
We valiantly stick with our assertion. The problem is Oliver has great stamina for holding a piercing shriek at the most shrill decibel. If that fails to change our minds about the bowl situation then drastic measures begin. Cups of milk are toppled, siblings bear the brunt of his wrath. I think the character of the Incredible Hulk was based on Oliver. He is the sweetest boy on the planet, but oh you do not want to be around when he turns green and his clothes shred.
So Oliver has cereal in 400 bowls, then he eats peanut butter for lunch. He eats other things with his peanut butter, like raw carrots and 400 mandarin oranges, but he must have peanut butter. He would rather starve than eat a different type of sandwich so in the end I relent. I don't relent because I figure oh well, it can't be that bad for him. I relent because I'm so tired of having a full lunchbox come home full of warm and wasted food. I relent because of the time it took for me to pack that lunch that came home warm and untouched.
Then there is Griffin. He will try something. Usually. If he sees Holden eating it.
Then there is Laurel who drinks milk. Lots of milk. So much milk that I make her eat before she gets milk. Sometimes she'd rather have nothing at all than have to have one bite.
Holden explains that food is good for you and if she wants to grow up and be tall like him she should eat.
She thinks its OK to drink milk and be short.
She points out that she does eat cookies. I point out that cookies are a treat, they are not good for you. Cookies do not help you grow.
" Oh, like vegetables make you grow?"
" Yes!" I'm delighted that she has figured this out. I see the glimmer of light on the horizon.
" Of course, I don't eat my vegetables." She points out.
" You need to eat to grow and be healthy."
" I like chocolate". Laurel reasons.
" No, chocolate does not help you grow."
" It makes you shrink?"
" No."
Despite having had variations of this conversation over and over and over again Laurel remains convinced that some foods make you grow while others make you shrink.
We can't get rid of her squeaky cat shoes because when she shrinks to a baby they will fit her again.
OK, well, good luck with that.
Unfortunately these qualities are not a result of my fantastic parenting abilities, as illustrated by my subsequent children.
Oliver prefers peanut butter for lunch and cereal for breakfast. Each new bowl must be in a clean bowl. There is no such thing as a second helping in the same cereal bowl. That cereal is tainted. Sometimes we make the resolve and we face this battle.
No! You only get one bowl!
We valiantly stick with our assertion. The problem is Oliver has great stamina for holding a piercing shriek at the most shrill decibel. If that fails to change our minds about the bowl situation then drastic measures begin. Cups of milk are toppled, siblings bear the brunt of his wrath. I think the character of the Incredible Hulk was based on Oliver. He is the sweetest boy on the planet, but oh you do not want to be around when he turns green and his clothes shred.
So Oliver has cereal in 400 bowls, then he eats peanut butter for lunch. He eats other things with his peanut butter, like raw carrots and 400 mandarin oranges, but he must have peanut butter. He would rather starve than eat a different type of sandwich so in the end I relent. I don't relent because I figure oh well, it can't be that bad for him. I relent because I'm so tired of having a full lunchbox come home full of warm and wasted food. I relent because of the time it took for me to pack that lunch that came home warm and untouched.
Then there is Griffin. He will try something. Usually. If he sees Holden eating it.
Then there is Laurel who drinks milk. Lots of milk. So much milk that I make her eat before she gets milk. Sometimes she'd rather have nothing at all than have to have one bite.
Holden explains that food is good for you and if she wants to grow up and be tall like him she should eat.
She thinks its OK to drink milk and be short.
She points out that she does eat cookies. I point out that cookies are a treat, they are not good for you. Cookies do not help you grow.
" Oh, like vegetables make you grow?"
" Yes!" I'm delighted that she has figured this out. I see the glimmer of light on the horizon.
" Of course, I don't eat my vegetables." She points out.
" You need to eat to grow and be healthy."
" I like chocolate". Laurel reasons.
" No, chocolate does not help you grow."
" It makes you shrink?"
" No."
Despite having had variations of this conversation over and over and over again Laurel remains convinced that some foods make you grow while others make you shrink.
We can't get rid of her squeaky cat shoes because when she shrinks to a baby they will fit her again.
OK, well, good luck with that.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
The Lost Hamburger
Sometimes its just really hard to fit everything into the day. Tuesdays always have extra challenges. As soon as Oliver is home we have to leave to pick up the twins early so we can get Holden and bring him to swimming. After swimming we have to get to Oliver's appointment and then drive home at rush hour when all the kids are starving and I have to miraculously get dinner on the table in 2 seconds flat.
Sometimes I am very organized. Sometimes I have soup simmering on the stove all day. Sometimes I brown some chicken then transfer it to a crock pot and let it slow cook all day with some veggies. Sometimes I wish I had done those things.
Yesterday was one of those days. I had no plans for dinner. The electrician had arrived early to fix the bathroom light, which incidentally could not be fixed because the problem was the age of the fixture itself. I ran to Home Depot and another hardware store and Restoration Hardware where I learned that light fixtures are more expensive than I'd imagined. What I did not do was think about dinner.
Oliver came home and we immediately left to pick up Griffin and Laurel. It was pouring. It was thundering. There was lightening. Oliver does not wear coats. Once at preschool I zipped and snapped everyone into their coats and shooed them towards the door. Just as we were about to leave the building the sky grew dark and ominous and it began to hail. The wind was strong and we huddled by the door.
" Its hail! Look!" I explained. I held some in my hand. Oliver and Griffin ate it. When it seemed as though it wasn't going to let up I knew we had to make a dash for it because otherwise we'd be late to pick up Holden. We made our way down the now slippery steps, the children protesting in bewilderment. I opened the doors to the car and everyone's seat got wet, but in the two seconds it took to get to the car we were all soaked anyway. Especially Oliver who refused to wear a raincoat even though it was hailing.
I decided Holden would not be swimming today. We were late picking him up. I asked if he'd seen the hail. Even though he was standing outside waiting for us he somehow had not seen the hail and was gravely disappointed. Fortunately as we arrived home Griffin noticed residual balls of hail against our fence. Holden was relieved that he was able to see hail.
I gave them a snack and forced homework to happen and then it was time to leave for Oliver's appointment. Once again the sky was dark and the rain was heavy. As I pulled out of the driveway the gas light came on because the gas light always comes on in a storm.
I drove to the nearest gas station. The car in front of me pulled in too. But he pulled in to the closest pump and stopped so I was trapped. I shot him a withering glare. As I pulled around him I realized that the pump ahead of him was broken and that is why he'd stopped. I backed in to the pump parallel to the man.
He came over and said:
" I guess you thought I was a mean guy".
" Yes, I did. Sorry I glared".
" Yeah, I saw your face when I stopped."
" Oh I wasn't sure if you had. Its hard to tell if someone can see a glare when its so dark and rainy".
" Ooooh, I caught that look."
Finally we were on our way. Griffin fell asleep. I dropped off Oliver and we waited in the car for 40 minutes. At that point I decided that although I am not a fan of fast food, tonight would be a very good night for it.
" I was thinking about getting you guys something very unhealthy for dinner. Whats the most unhealthy thing you can think of?"
Holden's face lit up and his eyes filled with joy. " McDonalds?" He asked quietly, not sure if he could dare to hope for something so wonderful.
" Yes".
Cheers erupted.
When Oliver came out I told him about our plan and told everyone we'd be eating this fabulous feast in the car because it was going to take a while to get home due to the rain and rush hour traffic.
I ordered 4 happy meals and I pulled over right away to get everyone all set up and then we were on our way.
Half way home Laurel lost her hamburger while she was eating it. I don't know how someone can lose a hamburger, especially when you are in the middle of eating it. But that is what happened. When we got home I turned on the lights and we searched for her hamburger which we could not find. The hamburger I still have not found. We gave up and we all trudged our wet muddy selves into the house.
Wednesday mornings are hard. Oliver has to be ready by 8. The others need to be at school by 8:30. I packed the lunches. It was still pouring. My neighbor called and offered to take Holden to school.
Yes! Yes! Yes!
Since the pressure was off a little I reduced my pace from frantic to kinda quick. I got Laurel and Griffin into their rain gear. We went out to the car. The door wouldn't open. I know what that means. The electric doors don't work when the battery is dead. I had left the light on during the hamburger search.
So in the pouring rain I called AAA and they sent someone out to jump the car. I had to have the car jumped because of a lost hamburger. The hamburger that was supposed to make my life easier.
Sometimes I am very organized. Sometimes I have soup simmering on the stove all day. Sometimes I brown some chicken then transfer it to a crock pot and let it slow cook all day with some veggies. Sometimes I wish I had done those things.
Yesterday was one of those days. I had no plans for dinner. The electrician had arrived early to fix the bathroom light, which incidentally could not be fixed because the problem was the age of the fixture itself. I ran to Home Depot and another hardware store and Restoration Hardware where I learned that light fixtures are more expensive than I'd imagined. What I did not do was think about dinner.
Oliver came home and we immediately left to pick up Griffin and Laurel. It was pouring. It was thundering. There was lightening. Oliver does not wear coats. Once at preschool I zipped and snapped everyone into their coats and shooed them towards the door. Just as we were about to leave the building the sky grew dark and ominous and it began to hail. The wind was strong and we huddled by the door.
" Its hail! Look!" I explained. I held some in my hand. Oliver and Griffin ate it. When it seemed as though it wasn't going to let up I knew we had to make a dash for it because otherwise we'd be late to pick up Holden. We made our way down the now slippery steps, the children protesting in bewilderment. I opened the doors to the car and everyone's seat got wet, but in the two seconds it took to get to the car we were all soaked anyway. Especially Oliver who refused to wear a raincoat even though it was hailing.
I decided Holden would not be swimming today. We were late picking him up. I asked if he'd seen the hail. Even though he was standing outside waiting for us he somehow had not seen the hail and was gravely disappointed. Fortunately as we arrived home Griffin noticed residual balls of hail against our fence. Holden was relieved that he was able to see hail.
I gave them a snack and forced homework to happen and then it was time to leave for Oliver's appointment. Once again the sky was dark and the rain was heavy. As I pulled out of the driveway the gas light came on because the gas light always comes on in a storm.
I drove to the nearest gas station. The car in front of me pulled in too. But he pulled in to the closest pump and stopped so I was trapped. I shot him a withering glare. As I pulled around him I realized that the pump ahead of him was broken and that is why he'd stopped. I backed in to the pump parallel to the man.
He came over and said:
" I guess you thought I was a mean guy".
" Yes, I did. Sorry I glared".
" Yeah, I saw your face when I stopped."
" Oh I wasn't sure if you had. Its hard to tell if someone can see a glare when its so dark and rainy".
" Ooooh, I caught that look."
Finally we were on our way. Griffin fell asleep. I dropped off Oliver and we waited in the car for 40 minutes. At that point I decided that although I am not a fan of fast food, tonight would be a very good night for it.
" I was thinking about getting you guys something very unhealthy for dinner. Whats the most unhealthy thing you can think of?"
Holden's face lit up and his eyes filled with joy. " McDonalds?" He asked quietly, not sure if he could dare to hope for something so wonderful.
" Yes".
Cheers erupted.
When Oliver came out I told him about our plan and told everyone we'd be eating this fabulous feast in the car because it was going to take a while to get home due to the rain and rush hour traffic.
I ordered 4 happy meals and I pulled over right away to get everyone all set up and then we were on our way.
Half way home Laurel lost her hamburger while she was eating it. I don't know how someone can lose a hamburger, especially when you are in the middle of eating it. But that is what happened. When we got home I turned on the lights and we searched for her hamburger which we could not find. The hamburger I still have not found. We gave up and we all trudged our wet muddy selves into the house.
Wednesday mornings are hard. Oliver has to be ready by 8. The others need to be at school by 8:30. I packed the lunches. It was still pouring. My neighbor called and offered to take Holden to school.
Yes! Yes! Yes!
Since the pressure was off a little I reduced my pace from frantic to kinda quick. I got Laurel and Griffin into their rain gear. We went out to the car. The door wouldn't open. I know what that means. The electric doors don't work when the battery is dead. I had left the light on during the hamburger search.
So in the pouring rain I called AAA and they sent someone out to jump the car. I had to have the car jumped because of a lost hamburger. The hamburger that was supposed to make my life easier.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
A Job For Daddy
I take my boy seriously. He knows when things have gone awry.
A few months back he came into our bedroom early in the morning. He announced that a crazy octopus was in the sink. While many parents might think " oh, silly 3 year old", or maybe " how endearing!" I know better.
I told Jeff to go check it out. I thought maybe there was a silverfish in there. Or maybe, gulp, a roach. Little did I know....
There was not a silverfish in the sink. There were no roaches in the sink. What was in the sink was far worse. I am so glad I sent Jeff in there. A potato bug was making its way out of the drain. Some people may not know what a potato bug is and perhaps may even entertain the erroneous thought that it couldn't be worse than a cockroach. But oh how wrong they would be. A potato bug screams if you try to off it. A potato bug is the size of a giant mutant cricket with the head of a fetus. Believe me, you do not want a potato bug creeping out of your drain.
I did not even see this particular potato bug, but for weeks afterwords I made sure I had a cat with me in the bathroom. I was not going in there alone and unarmed.
Fast forward to this morning.
Griffin comes into our room at about 5:30 am.
" Mommy?"
" Yes?"
" There is dirt on my bed".
" Um, what kind of dirt?"
" Squishy dirt".
Clearly this is a job for Daddy.
A few months back he came into our bedroom early in the morning. He announced that a crazy octopus was in the sink. While many parents might think " oh, silly 3 year old", or maybe " how endearing!" I know better.
I told Jeff to go check it out. I thought maybe there was a silverfish in there. Or maybe, gulp, a roach. Little did I know....
There was not a silverfish in the sink. There were no roaches in the sink. What was in the sink was far worse. I am so glad I sent Jeff in there. A potato bug was making its way out of the drain. Some people may not know what a potato bug is and perhaps may even entertain the erroneous thought that it couldn't be worse than a cockroach. But oh how wrong they would be. A potato bug screams if you try to off it. A potato bug is the size of a giant mutant cricket with the head of a fetus. Believe me, you do not want a potato bug creeping out of your drain.
I did not even see this particular potato bug, but for weeks afterwords I made sure I had a cat with me in the bathroom. I was not going in there alone and unarmed.
Fast forward to this morning.
Griffin comes into our room at about 5:30 am.
" Mommy?"
" Yes?"
" There is dirt on my bed".
" Um, what kind of dirt?"
" Squishy dirt".
Clearly this is a job for Daddy.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Honking Belly Buttons
I don't have a belly button. I just don't. Its all very hilarious to " honk" the belly button of a toddler, but so much less hilarious to " honk" the belly button of a grown up, specifically me. Therefore, I do not have a belly button. There is no need to expose my stomach to anyone because I DO NOT HAVE A BELLY BUTTON.
Despite years of my practiced speech regarding the futile nature of a belly button search my children are undeterred. Of course the older ones have by now figured out that I do have a belly button but it does not get honked. The younger ones are still contemplating the mystery.
This morning Griffin honked his own belly button and cracked up. Very, very funny. So funny he needed to share. He honked Laurel's belly button. Hilarity ensued. He set his sights on me.
No Griffin, I do not have a belly button.
He grabbed at my pajama top.
No Griffin, go get daddy's belly button.
The cat hopped up and sat down.
Oooh the cat's belly button can get honked.
COME BACK! Griffin chortled with glee as he tried to get the cat's belly button.
But that spot right under the cats tail? Not a belly button.
Despite years of my practiced speech regarding the futile nature of a belly button search my children are undeterred. Of course the older ones have by now figured out that I do have a belly button but it does not get honked. The younger ones are still contemplating the mystery.
This morning Griffin honked his own belly button and cracked up. Very, very funny. So funny he needed to share. He honked Laurel's belly button. Hilarity ensued. He set his sights on me.
No Griffin, I do not have a belly button.
He grabbed at my pajama top.
No Griffin, go get daddy's belly button.
The cat hopped up and sat down.
Oooh the cat's belly button can get honked.
COME BACK! Griffin chortled with glee as he tried to get the cat's belly button.
But that spot right under the cats tail? Not a belly button.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Honing My Skills
I am so glad I went to college. College prepared me for life. I was able to hone my deductive reasoning skills. Had I not been able to hone these skills I would never have solved yesterday"s mystery.
Griffin went into the bathroom. Griffin came out of the bathroom. Griffin needed to wipe. Griffin went right back into the bathroom. I sat him on the toilet and he finished what he had started. I looked around the bathroom and his room and the hallway for any remnants I may have missed. All clear.
Dinner time rolled around, as it always does. OK everyone, time to wash hands!
They all trooped into the bathroom.
Oh NO! Mommy! There is poop on the floor!
I went and checked it out. No one had been in the bathroom and there was indeed poop smeared on the floor. There was nothing in the toilet or on the walls. I checked bottoms and bottoms of feet. Nothing. Everyone was clean, dry and free of anything vile. So how did it get there? And how was it smeared if no one stepped in it?
I thought and thought.
OK, if Griffin had in fact had an accident earlier how did I miss it when I cleaned the floor with bleach? That could not have happened.
I thought some more.
Finally my college education paid off...
I turned the step stool over. My answer laid in stinky wait. There it was. A small blob of poop. So, Griffin had gone into the bathroom, had a bit of poop on the floor, covered it with the step stool ( this also explains the vaguely guilty face I'd dismissed earlier). When it was time to wash hands someone scooted the step stool over, smearing the otherwise hidden poop.
Griffin? Did you poop on the floor and hide it with the step stool?
No, Laurel did.
I think you pooped on the floor Griffin.
NO, LAUREL DID.
No, she did not. I went to college where I honed my powers of deductive reasoning, little knowing at the time that I would someday put these skills to good use.
Griffin went into the bathroom. Griffin came out of the bathroom. Griffin needed to wipe. Griffin went right back into the bathroom. I sat him on the toilet and he finished what he had started. I looked around the bathroom and his room and the hallway for any remnants I may have missed. All clear.
Dinner time rolled around, as it always does. OK everyone, time to wash hands!
They all trooped into the bathroom.
Oh NO! Mommy! There is poop on the floor!
I went and checked it out. No one had been in the bathroom and there was indeed poop smeared on the floor. There was nothing in the toilet or on the walls. I checked bottoms and bottoms of feet. Nothing. Everyone was clean, dry and free of anything vile. So how did it get there? And how was it smeared if no one stepped in it?
I thought and thought.
OK, if Griffin had in fact had an accident earlier how did I miss it when I cleaned the floor with bleach? That could not have happened.
I thought some more.
Finally my college education paid off...
I turned the step stool over. My answer laid in stinky wait. There it was. A small blob of poop. So, Griffin had gone into the bathroom, had a bit of poop on the floor, covered it with the step stool ( this also explains the vaguely guilty face I'd dismissed earlier). When it was time to wash hands someone scooted the step stool over, smearing the otherwise hidden poop.
Griffin? Did you poop on the floor and hide it with the step stool?
No, Laurel did.
I think you pooped on the floor Griffin.
NO, LAUREL DID.
No, she did not. I went to college where I honed my powers of deductive reasoning, little knowing at the time that I would someday put these skills to good use.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Blogging with Liz's Reaction in Mind
I've been wondering how I could have become quite so bad at keeping things orderly. I like things put away. I don't like clutter. I don't like stacks and piles of things. Yet when I look about the house thats precisely what I see.
My life currently revolves around the 2-3 loads of laundry I do daily. I load, run, empty, reload, run and empty the dishwasher twice daily. I vacuum daily. You'd think this place would be spotless, but its a sty.
The fact is there is no way to keep up once I have been delivered the smallest of setbacks.
Last week Oliver crawled into our bed early one morning. Then he threw up all over our bed. Then he threw up in the bathroom, on the sofa, on a chair, on the floor, on his bed, and a little more on the floor for good measure. So I had a lot of sheets and blankets and pillows to wash and some floors to scrub .Oh, and some pajamas and clothes to wash. OK, but since I usually do 2-3 loads of laundry per day anyway this actually sets me back a week or so.
Oliver needs to vomit just as Laurel needs to pee. With one bathroom this means something will be hitting the floor. So add urine soaked clothing to the list of Things In Need Of Washing.
I try to remember to feed the fish. If the light in the tank is still out then no one has remembered. I get out the fish food just as more vomit occurs so I run into the other room, leaving the fish food on the ledge by the aquarium. You can't do that. The cats inexplicably like the fish food. So Walle and Paddington bat the fish food down and proceed to chaw on it until it opens a little and they can spread fish food all over the floor . So I have another mess to clean.
While I clean the fish food mess Griffin squirts half a tube of toothpaste down the already slowly draining bathroom sink.
While I try to deal with the sink I hear the soft thud of clothing falling. Paddington has taken to sleeping in closets. In order to access the closet shelves he must shimmy up the built in shelves then he reaches and grabs the overhead shelving and climbs up like an opossum, assuming thats how opossums do it. But, he doesn't actually fit up there. Not without knocking clothing out of his way. So our clothes are on the floor.
Oliver likes to curl up with an Lmax and play either School House Rock or Mr. Pencil's Learn to Write and Draw. However, he does not like to curl up anywhere. He likes to curl up in our bed. Without covers. So I can either make my bed 4000 times a day or I can just leave it in a depressing unmade heap the way Oliver likes it.
People have pointed out that I just need to explain to Oliver that he can't do that. While that works for most children, it does not work for Oliver. Special needs kids process things differently. There are some battles I will fight and I will do anything and everything to get him to understand. But unmaking beds, in the scheme of things, isn't such a big deal. Sure, the mess and disarray gets to me, but I also appreciate how far he has come.
Holden loves Legos. There are small Lego bits everywhere. I tried to cure the problem with an Elfa System storage unit. There are 2 small drawers for the mini figures and headlights and tiny wrenches and light sabers and helmets. There are two larger drawers for the bigger pieces, the knights and horses, the large tiles of castle pieces and trap doors. It helped a little. At first I thought it was Holden leaving the bits of Lego in every room. Until I saw the cats playing with them. I saw them! They were batting helmets to one another.
Oliver loves to write. I buy bulk packs of pads of paper at Costco and we blow through them. There is a down side to this. Oliver looks like a mad scientist, scribbling down words and flinging the used sheets of paper over his shoulder, his fingers trying to keep pace with his mind. I love that he writes. I love that he can suddenly show us whats going on. But the reams of paper all over the place can be disconcerting.
Griffin is a fan of trailing things. He likes to take parts of games and pieces of puzzles and trail them into different rooms. Game parts become sentimental and he will choose one or two to sleep with;- a fish from Fishin' Around, or a card from a Bingo game. Pieces and bits of things migrate to all sorts of unlikely places.
In the end I've realized I did not suddenly become bad at maintaining organization. I just can't do it by myself. Which is sort of unfortunate.
Maybe we should get a dog.
My life currently revolves around the 2-3 loads of laundry I do daily. I load, run, empty, reload, run and empty the dishwasher twice daily. I vacuum daily. You'd think this place would be spotless, but its a sty.
The fact is there is no way to keep up once I have been delivered the smallest of setbacks.
Last week Oliver crawled into our bed early one morning. Then he threw up all over our bed. Then he threw up in the bathroom, on the sofa, on a chair, on the floor, on his bed, and a little more on the floor for good measure. So I had a lot of sheets and blankets and pillows to wash and some floors to scrub .Oh, and some pajamas and clothes to wash. OK, but since I usually do 2-3 loads of laundry per day anyway this actually sets me back a week or so.
Oliver needs to vomit just as Laurel needs to pee. With one bathroom this means something will be hitting the floor. So add urine soaked clothing to the list of Things In Need Of Washing.
I try to remember to feed the fish. If the light in the tank is still out then no one has remembered. I get out the fish food just as more vomit occurs so I run into the other room, leaving the fish food on the ledge by the aquarium. You can't do that. The cats inexplicably like the fish food. So Walle and Paddington bat the fish food down and proceed to chaw on it until it opens a little and they can spread fish food all over the floor . So I have another mess to clean.
While I clean the fish food mess Griffin squirts half a tube of toothpaste down the already slowly draining bathroom sink.
While I try to deal with the sink I hear the soft thud of clothing falling. Paddington has taken to sleeping in closets. In order to access the closet shelves he must shimmy up the built in shelves then he reaches and grabs the overhead shelving and climbs up like an opossum, assuming thats how opossums do it. But, he doesn't actually fit up there. Not without knocking clothing out of his way. So our clothes are on the floor.
Oliver likes to curl up with an Lmax and play either School House Rock or Mr. Pencil's Learn to Write and Draw. However, he does not like to curl up anywhere. He likes to curl up in our bed. Without covers. So I can either make my bed 4000 times a day or I can just leave it in a depressing unmade heap the way Oliver likes it.
People have pointed out that I just need to explain to Oliver that he can't do that. While that works for most children, it does not work for Oliver. Special needs kids process things differently. There are some battles I will fight and I will do anything and everything to get him to understand. But unmaking beds, in the scheme of things, isn't such a big deal. Sure, the mess and disarray gets to me, but I also appreciate how far he has come.
Holden loves Legos. There are small Lego bits everywhere. I tried to cure the problem with an Elfa System storage unit. There are 2 small drawers for the mini figures and headlights and tiny wrenches and light sabers and helmets. There are two larger drawers for the bigger pieces, the knights and horses, the large tiles of castle pieces and trap doors. It helped a little. At first I thought it was Holden leaving the bits of Lego in every room. Until I saw the cats playing with them. I saw them! They were batting helmets to one another.
Oliver loves to write. I buy bulk packs of pads of paper at Costco and we blow through them. There is a down side to this. Oliver looks like a mad scientist, scribbling down words and flinging the used sheets of paper over his shoulder, his fingers trying to keep pace with his mind. I love that he writes. I love that he can suddenly show us whats going on. But the reams of paper all over the place can be disconcerting.
Griffin is a fan of trailing things. He likes to take parts of games and pieces of puzzles and trail them into different rooms. Game parts become sentimental and he will choose one or two to sleep with;- a fish from Fishin' Around, or a card from a Bingo game. Pieces and bits of things migrate to all sorts of unlikely places.
In the end I've realized I did not suddenly become bad at maintaining organization. I just can't do it by myself. Which is sort of unfortunate.
Maybe we should get a dog.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
The Fish Tank
I don't know whats going on. I mean, I generally don't, and I like it that way, but in this particular instance I'm a little more confused than usual.
About two weeks ago Holden came tearing into the kitchen holding the fish net.
" Look! Look!"
He had a teeny baby fish in the net.
"Put it back in the tank!" Jeff and I yelled simultaneously.
One of the fish had given birth. This thing was tiny. It was all eyes and a tail. The really surprising part is that our tank is a bit of a disaster. We usually find dead things, not extra alive things. We battle algae with neglect which isn't always the best technique. I would never have guessed that neglect would provide a fertile environment.
Well, now that we have a baby we have to take care of it. I wonder if thats how crack heads feel when they discover they are giving birth. We googled care of fish babies and unplanned fish birth. We learned we needed to sequester the baby.
We went to Petco to get supplies but they don't sell them. Why would they? They are a pet supply store. We went to the more high end aquarium supply place. We said we needed something to use to sequester a baby fish. They explained we needed to separate the baby fish. Yes, thats why we are here, to procure the supplies needed to sequester the baby fish. They explained the mother fish or any of the other fish could eat the baby. Yes, we are here to buy the appropriate supplies. Do you sell baby fish sequestering devises?
What is a sequestering devise? They wanted to know.
Well, presumably something used to sequester baby fish.
You will need to separate the baby fish , they explained.
OK, thanks for that. Do you sell something like that? ( Perhaps the word sequestering threw them off).
Yes.
Yup, the word sequester was the problem.
Eventually we bought a net to set up in the corner of the tank. We set it up. In two minutes baby Nemo was on the other side. We arranged the net with more gravel around the bottom and tried to seal off all possible escape routes. Two minutes later Nemo was out. We gave up.
Nemo is doing well. He has beat the odds and within the last two weeks has tripled in size. There was a point, a week ago, where I spotted an additional small orange fish. The next day it was gone. He did not have the staying power of Nemo.
We all check on Nemo periodically. We're amazed by him.
I always thought I wanted several kids and pets. But I never imagined four kids, 3 cats, multiplying fish and a snail.
Every year at the annual school fundraiser fair Holden likes to play the game where you toss a ball into a bowl and win a goldfish. No one ever wins that game. Except Holden. He wins every year. Of course he does.
The other morning Holden was feeding the fish.
" Mommy! What?! Look!....."
There is a baby snail in our tank.
Of course there is.
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