It is such a shame that overzealous mommies are no longer able to take pictures of their munchkins in the tub for fear of being arrested as pedophiles. I mean, doesn’t everyone want to go to their home page on Facebook and look to the right and see album after album of another kid taking a bath? I guess we will have to settle for beach shots for now….
Bath time at our house rocks. I can throw all three of them into the tub together. I am not sure how much longer I am going to be able to get away with this, but I am going to enjoy it until it is no longer possible. It gets a little complicated when one of them wants to swim like a mermaid, one wants to pour water like he is making tea, and the third has figured out he can stand up and put his mouth on the spout, but still, it is so much easier to do them all at once. And I use regular soap and tearless shampoo. Back in the day I might have used special organic freshly squeezed shampoo from an all natural country spring, and soap that was made by herbalists with Earth’s greatest gifts, but now I’m good if I just use something without any of my hair stuck to it. And forget matching towels and washcloths. Just the other night I wrapped baby up in a wedding present from 1997.
Getting ready could take about thirty minutes when you factor in filling up the tub, catching all three children, finding clean pajamas, digging for towels and all the fun toys and cleaning products. Then you have to factor in that they are my kids, so one of them dumps a bag of marshmallows in while another one watches and laughs.
The toys they make for the bathtub or the coolest. There are bathtub numbers, letters, and globes. A couple of Christmases ago my kids got a set of floating dolphins that you hit and they play classical music. I’m telling you, some of my home schooling friends could have all their lessons in the bathroom. If you want to be cheap about it or are paranoid about mildew, then just get some pots and spoons. They also love the funnel and the measuring cups; it’s not like their mommy uses any of it to bake from scratch.
Washing hair and soaping with wash clothes should not be as complicated as it is. It is becoming an assembly line and a competition. They try to pour their own water on their heads and close their eyes. Then it becomes, “I didn’t cry! Did you cry?” “Ha! The baby didn’t cry either.” They are ready for games like “Uncle!” when they get to the public school playground.
The tub is also a great opportunity for therapy homework. When Frances was two, she would not “sit still.” Now part of the problem with that is that when you tell a general pediatrician, “My two year old won’t sit still,” they laugh at you. But my child literally flitted from one thing to the next all day everyday and then repeated the actions. Yet another red flag I didn’t see. In the bathtub she was trapped without screaming to get out. She also enjoyed the feeling of the water. Therefore, I was able to do all of the suggestions from the therapists and books I was reading but getting nowhere with.
Aside from the wonderful letters and numbers, two of my favorite items were and still are soap foam and bathtub crayons. (OK, before I go any further, neat freak mommies, all you have to do is the minute they are done in the tub, wipe it all down with a Clorox clean up wipe or just water, but it does all come off, even for slacker mommies like me the next day). The soap foam is wonderful for drawing in. You can practice your letters, your shapes, getting dirty, and drawing people. Right now she is working on spelling her name. Last year she worked on circles and Xs, so it grows with you. It’s dirt cheap at Wal-Mart. The crayons in the tub are the only way I can get her to draw and practice her grasp. She still wants to fist her pencils. I have to be careful that these sessions do not become “screeching mommy time.” The fun is lost if you spend your bath time screaming “Don’t drink the water!” and “Don’t eat the soap!” We don’t live in poor conditions. I do try to keep it to a minimum, but still, there are worse things to eat and drink.
I know someday they are going to be able to take their own bath, put on their own pajamas, and brush their own teeth. That is going to be awesome, but right now, I have to capitalize on another opportunity to trash the house and have fun doing it. And we say Calgon takes us away…..
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Sunday, July 26, 2009
What I love about the summer
1. You have less laundry, especially socks.
2. All you need for a summer birthday party is a sprinkler and some ice cream.
3. You spend quality time with the people that mean the most to you, even if you only see them every couple of years.
4. There are more hours in a day and you spend them outside.
5. My wedding anniversary, the birth of my third child, the release of Harry Potter novels, my favorite holiday... July is magic!
6.I don't work, for this I love being a teacher.
7. I could spend hours and hours on a beach, any beach. Now I live less than five minutes from one.
8. The smell of sunscreen and a page turning novel
9. Summer camps and day trips
10. Knowing a new school year begins in August, we can always start over and change the path we are on, just a little...
I hope everyone is enjoying my favorite season, it gets me through the winter.
2. All you need for a summer birthday party is a sprinkler and some ice cream.
3. You spend quality time with the people that mean the most to you, even if you only see them every couple of years.
4. There are more hours in a day and you spend them outside.
5. My wedding anniversary, the birth of my third child, the release of Harry Potter novels, my favorite holiday... July is magic!
6.I don't work, for this I love being a teacher.
7. I could spend hours and hours on a beach, any beach. Now I live less than five minutes from one.
8. The smell of sunscreen and a page turning novel
9. Summer camps and day trips
10. Knowing a new school year begins in August, we can always start over and change the path we are on, just a little...
I hope everyone is enjoying my favorite season, it gets me through the winter.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Things a Mother just doesn't want to hear
I am going to list different things I heard during those first two years of motherhood when my daughter wasn't hitting milestones and we were still in the "We don't know" phase. It doesn't matter who said what, and please don't start emailing me apologies or "who was it?" questions. I am just listing these for other moms. That is always my intention and agenda. So, without anymore delay, what not to say:
1. “You hold her too much. Who is going to walk when someone is there to hold them?” First off, a baby who wants to walk will kick and scream until you put them down. Secondly, she never really wanted to be held, she wanted to crawl.
2. “Tell her to use her words. USE YOUR WORDS BABY GIRL!” Why should she talk if you let her sign? Why should she talk if you give her what she wants when she cries?” By the time we decided to add sign language and picture visuals, we were desperate. I just wanted to talk to my daughter and know what she needed. The worst example of no language was when she was crying over a strep throat and I had no idea that is what she had. (Compare this to her brother two years later the same age with a UTI screaming “My penis! My penis! Get it out!”) Don’t ever think a mother doesn’t want her child to talk.
3. “They all go at their own rates-your expectations are too high.” Yes, this is true, to some degree. But if you have an 18 month old that won’t walk or talk, you have a problem. This isn’t a first tooth or a Sippy cup.
4. “You don’t give her a chance. You are used to a classroom of teenagers and you treat her like she is one of twenty-five. Quit talking over her head.” I actually really believed this one at first. When I had her I had worked with teenagers for six years, it was easy to see this one as a possibility. My audience had gone from age fourteen to nine months. But pardon my bluntness-I’m not stupid and I knew she was a baby.
5. “I stayed home. You didn’t stay home. You should have stayed home and put her first.” ok, this is just called making mommy cry and being hateful. Some moms have no choice but to work. Don't go there with a mother.
6. “Why won’t you let me help? I can get her to walk. I can get her to talk.” Yes, of course, everyone can do it better than you can.
7. “You are stressed. She is stressed.” Is this a wives’ tale?
8. “It was the breast milk. It was something you ate or drank.” That was my personal favorite one and I think formula companies would jump on it. It is also crap.
9. “Well, she doesn't act like Dustin Hoffman in Rainman.” OK people, let me spell it out. S-P-E-C-T-R-U-M.
10. “Did you drop her? Ever?” No, but I would love to kick you across the room right now.
So, these are just some things you might hear,and when you do, take a deep breath, and know that you are not alone in hearing them. Next time, I am going to post the positives.
1. “You hold her too much. Who is going to walk when someone is there to hold them?” First off, a baby who wants to walk will kick and scream until you put them down. Secondly, she never really wanted to be held, she wanted to crawl.
2. “Tell her to use her words. USE YOUR WORDS BABY GIRL!” Why should she talk if you let her sign? Why should she talk if you give her what she wants when she cries?” By the time we decided to add sign language and picture visuals, we were desperate. I just wanted to talk to my daughter and know what she needed. The worst example of no language was when she was crying over a strep throat and I had no idea that is what she had. (Compare this to her brother two years later the same age with a UTI screaming “My penis! My penis! Get it out!”) Don’t ever think a mother doesn’t want her child to talk.
3. “They all go at their own rates-your expectations are too high.” Yes, this is true, to some degree. But if you have an 18 month old that won’t walk or talk, you have a problem. This isn’t a first tooth or a Sippy cup.
4. “You don’t give her a chance. You are used to a classroom of teenagers and you treat her like she is one of twenty-five. Quit talking over her head.” I actually really believed this one at first. When I had her I had worked with teenagers for six years, it was easy to see this one as a possibility. My audience had gone from age fourteen to nine months. But pardon my bluntness-I’m not stupid and I knew she was a baby.
5. “I stayed home. You didn’t stay home. You should have stayed home and put her first.” ok, this is just called making mommy cry and being hateful. Some moms have no choice but to work. Don't go there with a mother.
6. “Why won’t you let me help? I can get her to walk. I can get her to talk.” Yes, of course, everyone can do it better than you can.
7. “You are stressed. She is stressed.” Is this a wives’ tale?
8. “It was the breast milk. It was something you ate or drank.” That was my personal favorite one and I think formula companies would jump on it. It is also crap.
9. “Well, she doesn't act like Dustin Hoffman in Rainman.” OK people, let me spell it out. S-P-E-C-T-R-U-M.
10. “Did you drop her? Ever?” No, but I would love to kick you across the room right now.
So, these are just some things you might hear,and when you do, take a deep breath, and know that you are not alone in hearing them. Next time, I am going to post the positives.
Friday, July 17, 2009
A Prairie Tale Review
One of my first fandoms was Little House on The Prairie. It should have been a sign of things to come over the years. To this day, I can watch the opening credits or scenes and know which show it is by seeing the guest star list. My college roommates used to threaten to tape my mouth shut if I gave away the plot or quoted the dialogue directly. As a child, I had all the accessories. I was usually Laura or Mary for Halloween, and I had the lunchbox. Man, if I still had that what it would go for on ebay….
I learned a lot from that show, although over the years they started repeating themselves. There were two different bullies that the kids had to gang up together and kick ass on. A couple of different children had crazy, abusive parents. Albert, who incidentally was written into the show but wasn’t in the books, taught us about drug addiction and rape. If I ever need to cry on demand, I just have to remember the episode when Mary lost her sight and I can’t stop crying. (Try it, “Help me Pa! I can’t see!” ….there it goes.) If you need to learn about compassion, forgiveness, and accepting the things that you can’t change, then watch Little House. I even found it dubbed in Spanish in Ecuador and Spain, man did my host families think I was crazy. Well, they thought that anyway.
So, I was reading People Magazine when I actually went to get my haircut without the kids hanging on me, and there is Melissa Gilbert talking about her new memoir, Prairie Tale. I didn’t go straight home to the sitter, I went to the bookstore on the Town Green and bought it in hardback, and started reading it immediately. One hair appointment and one hardback all on the same day, is there a mother alive more selfish than I am?
I have only read one other memoir, and that was Tatum O’Neal’s at my sister’s insistence. Tatum’s was more of a confessional; you already knew we were crazy, over the top out of control kind of book. Melissa’s is more of a catching up with an old friend read. Her life was not psycho crazy, more of an every day, it could happen to anyone kind of crazy life, and that makes it easier to identify with her.
She starts off with her childhood and looking for work in commercials and parts on shows. Her mother was very supportive of her and she comes from a family in the business. Her mom didn’t impress me as obsessing with her child’s career. She was a consistent manager, but kept a distance somewhat. I liked reading about her friendship with Jodi Foster, it was nice to know that Jodi’s friends were cool with her and she wasn’t fooling anybody over the years.
She talks a lot about the Little House years, those take up a big chunk of the book and are probably the reason, myself included, why most people are going to run out and buy it. Again, she is informative without being “confessional.” Melissa Sue “Mary” was introverted; Alison Arngrim “Nelly” was her best friend. Michael was a phenomenal leader. She was scared to death when they hired Dean Butler to play her love interest on the show and she had to play his pregnant wife while still a virgin. My favorite part was the story of the shows cancellation. I remember watching them blow up the town when I was ten years old. I had no idea Michael Landon did that as a “Screw you” to NBC. He didn’t want them to recycle his sets for another show.
I also liked reading about her love interests and failures. Other women can identify with the relationships, mistakes, your first intimate moments, and letting go of that first serious boyfriend. Unfortunately, not all of us get to claim it as Rob Lowe. I can’t see her with Billy Idol no matter how hard I try, but good for you Melissa, I guess sometimes we need some strange. It was also identifiable when she talked about how her crowd of friends took off in the movie industry but she remained “Half-Pint.” I mean when your friends succeed or move along and things don’t always happen for you in the same way or form. My favorite scene during that time of her life was when she was having dinner with Rob and OLIVER STONE and two girls come up to the table and ask for HER autograph. That so would have been me, not knowing I was stepping over the creator of Platoon to ask what it was like to wear pigtails every day until you turn fifteen.
I commend her for writing honestly about her marriages. I always wondered why she made all of those television movies back to back without a break. It was because her first husband ran her into a debt she really wanted to get out of on her own. She and Bruce Boxleitner are happily married, but it isn’t always easy and there are bumps in any marriage, including their son being a preemie in the NICU and a crazy neighbor recording their phone calls.
She became president of the SAG, something I don’t think you can approach lightly or without common sense. I can only compare it to what I know about teacher unions, so I won’t comment more than that.
It is definitely her story, and it really is the normal story of an actress with an extraordinary television career. Don’t go looking for Michael Landon, except how his divorce affected her friendships with the rest of the family. Don’t go looking for Rob Lowe, except how he would sneak in her window every night for a not-so- Edward Cullen night of snuggling. And don’t go looking for a wild and crazy expose, because while Melissa does throw in some little snippets for us, (like the BIG surprise that Shannen Doherty isn’t nice), Melissa is just a mom, wife, and girl who grew up in the 70s, 80s, and 90s, with problems like the rest of us.
Thanks for sharing Half-Pint. By the way- I love your hair color.
I learned a lot from that show, although over the years they started repeating themselves. There were two different bullies that the kids had to gang up together and kick ass on. A couple of different children had crazy, abusive parents. Albert, who incidentally was written into the show but wasn’t in the books, taught us about drug addiction and rape. If I ever need to cry on demand, I just have to remember the episode when Mary lost her sight and I can’t stop crying. (Try it, “Help me Pa! I can’t see!” ….there it goes.) If you need to learn about compassion, forgiveness, and accepting the things that you can’t change, then watch Little House. I even found it dubbed in Spanish in Ecuador and Spain, man did my host families think I was crazy. Well, they thought that anyway.
So, I was reading People Magazine when I actually went to get my haircut without the kids hanging on me, and there is Melissa Gilbert talking about her new memoir, Prairie Tale. I didn’t go straight home to the sitter, I went to the bookstore on the Town Green and bought it in hardback, and started reading it immediately. One hair appointment and one hardback all on the same day, is there a mother alive more selfish than I am?
I have only read one other memoir, and that was Tatum O’Neal’s at my sister’s insistence. Tatum’s was more of a confessional; you already knew we were crazy, over the top out of control kind of book. Melissa’s is more of a catching up with an old friend read. Her life was not psycho crazy, more of an every day, it could happen to anyone kind of crazy life, and that makes it easier to identify with her.
She starts off with her childhood and looking for work in commercials and parts on shows. Her mother was very supportive of her and she comes from a family in the business. Her mom didn’t impress me as obsessing with her child’s career. She was a consistent manager, but kept a distance somewhat. I liked reading about her friendship with Jodi Foster, it was nice to know that Jodi’s friends were cool with her and she wasn’t fooling anybody over the years.
She talks a lot about the Little House years, those take up a big chunk of the book and are probably the reason, myself included, why most people are going to run out and buy it. Again, she is informative without being “confessional.” Melissa Sue “Mary” was introverted; Alison Arngrim “Nelly” was her best friend. Michael was a phenomenal leader. She was scared to death when they hired Dean Butler to play her love interest on the show and she had to play his pregnant wife while still a virgin. My favorite part was the story of the shows cancellation. I remember watching them blow up the town when I was ten years old. I had no idea Michael Landon did that as a “Screw you” to NBC. He didn’t want them to recycle his sets for another show.
I also liked reading about her love interests and failures. Other women can identify with the relationships, mistakes, your first intimate moments, and letting go of that first serious boyfriend. Unfortunately, not all of us get to claim it as Rob Lowe. I can’t see her with Billy Idol no matter how hard I try, but good for you Melissa, I guess sometimes we need some strange. It was also identifiable when she talked about how her crowd of friends took off in the movie industry but she remained “Half-Pint.” I mean when your friends succeed or move along and things don’t always happen for you in the same way or form. My favorite scene during that time of her life was when she was having dinner with Rob and OLIVER STONE and two girls come up to the table and ask for HER autograph. That so would have been me, not knowing I was stepping over the creator of Platoon to ask what it was like to wear pigtails every day until you turn fifteen.
I commend her for writing honestly about her marriages. I always wondered why she made all of those television movies back to back without a break. It was because her first husband ran her into a debt she really wanted to get out of on her own. She and Bruce Boxleitner are happily married, but it isn’t always easy and there are bumps in any marriage, including their son being a preemie in the NICU and a crazy neighbor recording their phone calls.
She became president of the SAG, something I don’t think you can approach lightly or without common sense. I can only compare it to what I know about teacher unions, so I won’t comment more than that.
It is definitely her story, and it really is the normal story of an actress with an extraordinary television career. Don’t go looking for Michael Landon, except how his divorce affected her friendships with the rest of the family. Don’t go looking for Rob Lowe, except how he would sneak in her window every night for a not-so- Edward Cullen night of snuggling. And don’t go looking for a wild and crazy expose, because while Melissa does throw in some little snippets for us, (like the BIG surprise that Shannen Doherty isn’t nice), Melissa is just a mom, wife, and girl who grew up in the 70s, 80s, and 90s, with problems like the rest of us.
Thanks for sharing Half-Pint. By the way- I love your hair color.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Guided Reading Beach Balls
Frances has been in Speech therapy since she was twenty months old. So, this is my fifth year into it. She has had seven different ones with varying approaches and strategies. I was talking to another mom at her speech camp last week about how a therapist recommends something, she buys it, and then it sits in the playroom. I started laughing because I do the same thing. This isn’t just the playroom. There are tons of kitchen appliances that are collecting dust because we have had no desire to make waffles ever again.
Something that I did break down and buy is the set of Guided Reading Beach Balls.
Frances has always had a hard time with sequencing and re-telling a story to me, and this was recommended by a speech pathologist at the UNC-G Speech and Hearing Center.
While this is not going to detract from the on-going commentary that is story time, we have now incorporated the “beach ball game” into the bedtime routine. The three of us read a story, and then choose a beach ball color and answer the question. Sometimes they toss it back and forth between each other, and sometimes they just choose a color and answer the question.
Here is an example of how we do it, using Eric Carle’s “The Very Busy Spider.” I modify it for a five and three year old.
1)What is the setting? (Where is it- A jungle or a farm?)
2)Who are the characters (Spider, farm animals)
3)What is your favorite part? (When the pig asks her if she wants to roll in the mud, when she catches a fly in the web)
4)How did it end? (The spider falls asleep.)
As a mother who can hear her three year old re-tell a story and every little thing that happens during his day, to know that my five year old can’t freaks me out. It really does and there is no other way to put it other than to say I’m freaked. This little approach is a step in the right direction.
I will post more things that worked for me, but remember, I’m just quacking.
Something that I did break down and buy is the set of Guided Reading Beach Balls.
Frances has always had a hard time with sequencing and re-telling a story to me, and this was recommended by a speech pathologist at the UNC-G Speech and Hearing Center.
While this is not going to detract from the on-going commentary that is story time, we have now incorporated the “beach ball game” into the bedtime routine. The three of us read a story, and then choose a beach ball color and answer the question. Sometimes they toss it back and forth between each other, and sometimes they just choose a color and answer the question.
Here is an example of how we do it, using Eric Carle’s “The Very Busy Spider.” I modify it for a five and three year old.
1)What is the setting? (Where is it- A jungle or a farm?)
2)Who are the characters (Spider, farm animals)
3)What is your favorite part? (When the pig asks her if she wants to roll in the mud, when she catches a fly in the web)
4)How did it end? (The spider falls asleep.)
As a mother who can hear her three year old re-tell a story and every little thing that happens during his day, to know that my five year old can’t freaks me out. It really does and there is no other way to put it other than to say I’m freaked. This little approach is a step in the right direction.
I will post more things that worked for me, but remember, I’m just quacking.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Soccer Camp Week in Review
I'm sure there are moms who keep a little "journal" of all the little events in their child's life. If I had to scribble one down for soccer week, this is what it would look like:
Monday-Mommy has to stay, there is no shade, thank goodness I packed one water bottle, nothing to sit on, remembered his soccer ball. Happened to have sunscreen in Vera, but only the regular kind. Kenneth stops the ball by falling over it, not using his feet. He falls seventeen times according to his friend. Every ten minutes all the little preschoolers come running for water. Lowell wants to drink from everyone’s sippy cup but his own.
Tuesday-Packed a small cooler of drinks and a snack for after camp, had a quilt to spread out and toys for the baby. Said baby was also wearing a huge sun hat and sunscreen. Woman behind me starts screaming that her phone won’t turn on. She borrows her friend’s to call her husband at work and tell him her phone won’t turn on. Screams at him goodbye, and then tells the rest of us husbands are worthless. Kenneth has learned to stop the ball with his feet, according to his friend, he only crashed twice.
Wednesday- Rained all night and was very muddy. This is the day he wants to wear his special uniform that his “Tio Dani” sent him from Barcelona. I tried to tell him no, but there really was no point. Frances starts screaming she wants to wear hers to school, so both of them are wearing their good outfits in the rain and mud. Lowell won’t nap in his stroller, so I get no reading time, but should probably be watching the soccer drills anyway so we can practice at home. Kenneth does not stop when the coach yells “red light.”
Thursday-It is a cool day for July, he doesn’t really need sun block but they still get water breaks every ten minutes. He starts to yell when we get there, “Mom! Mom! I have to go the coach is in the circle mom!” He is going to miss the world cup if I don’t hurry down to the field. He asks me when he can go to high school, he wants to start soon.
Friday-Daddy takes the morning off to watch the last day. Frances doesn’t have school so she runs up and down the bleachers, Lowell chews on the orange cones. Even port-a-johns are cleaner in Connecticut. Kenneth is given a popsicle after the final little mini-game. He tells my friend, “no thanks, I don’t like popsicles, can you get me a banana?” Everyone thinks I am a strict nutritionist. LOL my friends know me better than that.
Move over Diego Maradona. I still wish he would sign up for preschool emo poetry writing instead.
Monday-Mommy has to stay, there is no shade, thank goodness I packed one water bottle, nothing to sit on, remembered his soccer ball. Happened to have sunscreen in Vera, but only the regular kind. Kenneth stops the ball by falling over it, not using his feet. He falls seventeen times according to his friend. Every ten minutes all the little preschoolers come running for water. Lowell wants to drink from everyone’s sippy cup but his own.
Tuesday-Packed a small cooler of drinks and a snack for after camp, had a quilt to spread out and toys for the baby. Said baby was also wearing a huge sun hat and sunscreen. Woman behind me starts screaming that her phone won’t turn on. She borrows her friend’s to call her husband at work and tell him her phone won’t turn on. Screams at him goodbye, and then tells the rest of us husbands are worthless. Kenneth has learned to stop the ball with his feet, according to his friend, he only crashed twice.
Wednesday- Rained all night and was very muddy. This is the day he wants to wear his special uniform that his “Tio Dani” sent him from Barcelona. I tried to tell him no, but there really was no point. Frances starts screaming she wants to wear hers to school, so both of them are wearing their good outfits in the rain and mud. Lowell won’t nap in his stroller, so I get no reading time, but should probably be watching the soccer drills anyway so we can practice at home. Kenneth does not stop when the coach yells “red light.”
Thursday-It is a cool day for July, he doesn’t really need sun block but they still get water breaks every ten minutes. He starts to yell when we get there, “Mom! Mom! I have to go the coach is in the circle mom!” He is going to miss the world cup if I don’t hurry down to the field. He asks me when he can go to high school, he wants to start soon.
Friday-Daddy takes the morning off to watch the last day. Frances doesn’t have school so she runs up and down the bleachers, Lowell chews on the orange cones. Even port-a-johns are cleaner in Connecticut. Kenneth is given a popsicle after the final little mini-game. He tells my friend, “no thanks, I don’t like popsicles, can you get me a banana?” Everyone thinks I am a strict nutritionist. LOL my friends know me better than that.
Move over Diego Maradona. I still wish he would sign up for preschool emo poetry writing instead.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Show and Tell
Who thought this torture up for mothers everywhere? Mom is the one who has to ask the principal for special permission to bring in the family snake and maybe let the class watch it eat a rat. Mom is the one who gets the frantic call from the child screaming, “Please bring in my share toy! Please bring it now!” Most likely she has plenty to do other than come back to school with a “show and tell” object. But she does it because she is mom, then the kid gets in front of the class and has stage fright and just stands there with a light saber or an American girl doll and won’t let anyone touch it during free time. To drag the agony out even longer, someone sneaks over to someone else’s cubby and takes it, and then the preschoolers proceed to chase each other around the room, banging each other and all the centers with said sword or doll baby.
I loved “show and tell” day because it meant that math started late. My brother and I had a Venus flytrap and we took turns showing it to our classes. It was a big deal for him to walk it down to the third grade room. I also remember being especially excited about sharing chop sticks from Taiwan and a Georgia O’Keefe style cow skull I found on a ranch. We all know what “show and tell” really means. It means, “I have it, and you don’t.”
Fortunately for me, my daughter’s Pittsburgh school had no “show and tell." I will be forever grateful to Dr. Sharon Carver for that. Maybe I should send her a note. However, now we live in Connecticut. The other morning Frances was screaming for her Daisy Duck doll I couldn’t find as the bus driver pulled up and was shooting daggers at me to get her on the bus. Which I did promising my child she could share Daisy next week. Of course by then she will have moved on to Pluto.
My son’s “show and tell” is on Fridays. Now here is the clincher. It has to be science oriented. This keeps it educationally satisfying, attention grabbing, no fighting on the playground, and especially no going home to tell mommy and daddy that little Freddy has some 100$ toy that everybody else only wishes they could buy their kid. Kenneth has a collection of plastic animals and picks one a week for school. This is a whole new fight, one week he wants to take the bull elephant and the next week the calf. How is that for three year old science?
What makes it science anyway? What if he wanted to share his nebulizer or a bottle of Percocet? (We don’t have any, but what if…..) What if he wanted to share a picture of an indigenous tribe half naked in Brazil? Would that be better than sharing his blankie? Hmmmm…….
I too as a teacher have experimented with classic “show and tell”. My third graders were to bring in pictures of their family members and describe them in Spanish. One kid showed off a bunch of pictures of a family cruise and made it very clear his grandpa footed the bill before I could yank him off the stage. Now on a successful note, my 8th grade Spanish class had to do a speaking assignment version of the elementary school “show and tell”. They loved it!!! I had never seen fourteen year olds get a kick out of something like they did pretending to be eight again. So there is a time and place for bringing in your gymnastics trophy or your favorite stuffed animal.
“Show and Tell”, dear “Show and Tell”. At least I would rather sit through that than a round of “Heads up! Seven up!” and that is saying something.
I loved “show and tell” day because it meant that math started late. My brother and I had a Venus flytrap and we took turns showing it to our classes. It was a big deal for him to walk it down to the third grade room. I also remember being especially excited about sharing chop sticks from Taiwan and a Georgia O’Keefe style cow skull I found on a ranch. We all know what “show and tell” really means. It means, “I have it, and you don’t.”
Fortunately for me, my daughter’s Pittsburgh school had no “show and tell." I will be forever grateful to Dr. Sharon Carver for that. Maybe I should send her a note. However, now we live in Connecticut. The other morning Frances was screaming for her Daisy Duck doll I couldn’t find as the bus driver pulled up and was shooting daggers at me to get her on the bus. Which I did promising my child she could share Daisy next week. Of course by then she will have moved on to Pluto.
My son’s “show and tell” is on Fridays. Now here is the clincher. It has to be science oriented. This keeps it educationally satisfying, attention grabbing, no fighting on the playground, and especially no going home to tell mommy and daddy that little Freddy has some 100$ toy that everybody else only wishes they could buy their kid. Kenneth has a collection of plastic animals and picks one a week for school. This is a whole new fight, one week he wants to take the bull elephant and the next week the calf. How is that for three year old science?
What makes it science anyway? What if he wanted to share his nebulizer or a bottle of Percocet? (We don’t have any, but what if…..) What if he wanted to share a picture of an indigenous tribe half naked in Brazil? Would that be better than sharing his blankie? Hmmmm…….
I too as a teacher have experimented with classic “show and tell”. My third graders were to bring in pictures of their family members and describe them in Spanish. One kid showed off a bunch of pictures of a family cruise and made it very clear his grandpa footed the bill before I could yank him off the stage. Now on a successful note, my 8th grade Spanish class had to do a speaking assignment version of the elementary school “show and tell”. They loved it!!! I had never seen fourteen year olds get a kick out of something like they did pretending to be eight again. So there is a time and place for bringing in your gymnastics trophy or your favorite stuffed animal.
“Show and Tell”, dear “Show and Tell”. At least I would rather sit through that than a round of “Heads up! Seven up!” and that is saying something.
Just a Quick Stop at the Cleaners
So, you have an uneventful, successful trip to the grocery store. Then the cell phone rings. Why oh why did you answer it? You should have let it ring. You should have known better. But believe it or not, the phone was in the side pocket of your now famous Vera Bradley back pack, so, on the high of a successful grocery store trip, you answered it.
“Hi honey! Are you still at the store?”
“Yes! We are finishing up.” You are secretly thinking, “See? I am competent. I can take three kids to the store and buy a week’s worth of groceries without anyone screaming or biting.” June Clever take that!
“Great-hey listen, I’m leaving New Haven now. Can you pick up my dry cleaning? Thanks, love you bye.” And he hangs up without giving you a chance to say yes or no.
Stare at the children. Stare at the grocery bags. What is one trip to the dry-cleaners? It’s the same shopping center for crying out loud. How hard can it be?
You chugga chug chugga chug chugga cha cha cha with the children all the way back to the car (It’s a Little Einsteins thing). You unload all the groceries into the back. You make sure all three of them are strapped into the proper car seat and climb in the driver’s seat. You drive to the opposite side of the shopping center to get the dry-cleaning. But here is the deal-there are no parking spots near the dry-cleaners. You circle around twice, knowing the popsicles are melting, and pull into a spot that to be honest is closer to the grocery store that you just came from than the cleaners. How do you get all three of them across the busy parking lot and to the cleaners? You pull out the double stroller but really don’t feel like putting Lowell in the hippy sling, so you plan to strap him in the stroller with Kenneth and tell Frances to be a big girl and walk. She is half way to the Blockbuster before you can catch her. You grab her and walk with the boys around and up to the store.
The cleaners really isn’t that eventful, with the exception of Frances dancing in front of the mirrors and running into the dressing room. The owner comes out with a heck of a lot more dry-cleaning than you thought you were picking up, and he looks from you, to Frances dancing in front of the mirror, to the boys squirming in the stroller, and tells one of the teenage boys who works for him to carry the clothes for you. This is incredibly nice, but you are highly embarrassed by how far away you had to park and all the groceries in the back. The kid smiles and follows you out the door, when Frances proceeds to run off again and you chase her again. And then you realize just exactly how far you had to park with the extra person walking with you. Then you open your trunk and see all the groceries and now all the clothes and don’t forget you have to re-fold the double stroller and make all of it fit nice and neatly
You get the stroller back in around the groceries and then place the clothes neatly on top. You thank the poor boy who has probably decided that he is never going to accidentally get anyone pregnant ever thanks to the experience with your three kids. You load everybody up, get in the car, do the “Ready normal people?” chant, and then your daughter starts to scream, “My Goofy! Where’s Goofy?” She left her Goofy doll in the cleaners.
Do you really, really want to load all three of them back in the stroller and walk back to the cleaners? Really? Do you really think your daughter will get over it? The answer is “No” to all the questions. So you do something the old you would NEVER do. The you before you had a third child that is. You drive around and park in the NO PARKING ZONE in front of the said cleaners and leave all three kids in the car. You run in, grab Goofy, and run out.
Your husband has beaten you home and he can’t figure out what took so long. All he asked you to do was “pick up” his dry cleaning. Two second trip, right?
Guilford needs a drive thru cleaners-it can go next to the Chick-Fil-A.
“Hi honey! Are you still at the store?”
“Yes! We are finishing up.” You are secretly thinking, “See? I am competent. I can take three kids to the store and buy a week’s worth of groceries without anyone screaming or biting.” June Clever take that!
“Great-hey listen, I’m leaving New Haven now. Can you pick up my dry cleaning? Thanks, love you bye.” And he hangs up without giving you a chance to say yes or no.
Stare at the children. Stare at the grocery bags. What is one trip to the dry-cleaners? It’s the same shopping center for crying out loud. How hard can it be?
You chugga chug chugga chug chugga cha cha cha with the children all the way back to the car (It’s a Little Einsteins thing). You unload all the groceries into the back. You make sure all three of them are strapped into the proper car seat and climb in the driver’s seat. You drive to the opposite side of the shopping center to get the dry-cleaning. But here is the deal-there are no parking spots near the dry-cleaners. You circle around twice, knowing the popsicles are melting, and pull into a spot that to be honest is closer to the grocery store that you just came from than the cleaners. How do you get all three of them across the busy parking lot and to the cleaners? You pull out the double stroller but really don’t feel like putting Lowell in the hippy sling, so you plan to strap him in the stroller with Kenneth and tell Frances to be a big girl and walk. She is half way to the Blockbuster before you can catch her. You grab her and walk with the boys around and up to the store.
The cleaners really isn’t that eventful, with the exception of Frances dancing in front of the mirrors and running into the dressing room. The owner comes out with a heck of a lot more dry-cleaning than you thought you were picking up, and he looks from you, to Frances dancing in front of the mirror, to the boys squirming in the stroller, and tells one of the teenage boys who works for him to carry the clothes for you. This is incredibly nice, but you are highly embarrassed by how far away you had to park and all the groceries in the back. The kid smiles and follows you out the door, when Frances proceeds to run off again and you chase her again. And then you realize just exactly how far you had to park with the extra person walking with you. Then you open your trunk and see all the groceries and now all the clothes and don’t forget you have to re-fold the double stroller and make all of it fit nice and neatly
You get the stroller back in around the groceries and then place the clothes neatly on top. You thank the poor boy who has probably decided that he is never going to accidentally get anyone pregnant ever thanks to the experience with your three kids. You load everybody up, get in the car, do the “Ready normal people?” chant, and then your daughter starts to scream, “My Goofy! Where’s Goofy?” She left her Goofy doll in the cleaners.
Do you really, really want to load all three of them back in the stroller and walk back to the cleaners? Really? Do you really think your daughter will get over it? The answer is “No” to all the questions. So you do something the old you would NEVER do. The you before you had a third child that is. You drive around and park in the NO PARKING ZONE in front of the said cleaners and leave all three kids in the car. You run in, grab Goofy, and run out.
Your husband has beaten you home and he can’t figure out what took so long. All he asked you to do was “pick up” his dry cleaning. Two second trip, right?
Guilford needs a drive thru cleaners-it can go next to the Chick-Fil-A.
25 Random Harry Potter Things About Me.
In the spirit of the final release of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, here is a list of random Harry Potter facts about me.
Here it goes:
1. Kenneth’s first word was “Harry.” He said it at the beach while my cousins and I were playing with him.-You can ask Thomas or Carrie.
2. I went into labor with Kenneth during the Goblet of Fire movie. I didn’t know I was in labor because Frances was breech and scheduled. I had no idea your stomach hurt every fifteen minutes (Sorry Austin). His due date was planned so that I would not miss the movie, and it was like he waited for me to finish the movie because he knew then I would have time for him. And because I had a newborn, Goblet was the only one I saw in the theater only once.
3. Once in class a girl had book 4 on her desk with a book mark in it, and I could tell what chapter she was on from where her book mark was. I said, “Oh you just started Bagman and Crouch.” She opened it to that chapter, and the room got really quiet.
4. I had a Weasley sweater hand knitted for me with a big “P” on it.
5. I wore it to school and this one boy said ver batim, “Oh Senora! Don’t be wearing that, with your red hair you look like one of them Weasleys from those Harry Potter books.”
6. I wore the above sweater on a trip to Pittsburgh, and security pulled me. I was afraid I was being accused of terrorism, but he just wanted to know where I got my sweater.
7. I hit the side of my Nissan and knocked out a front headlight when we lived in a gated apartment community to get home in time to see the trio on Oprah. I hope Kevin doesn’t read this list, he never knew how I bumped the headlight.
8. My essay on how to read a Harry Potter novel was published in the Greensboro News and Record, the reporter had emailed me for a piece she was doing on spoilers, and I sent her that, and she said she wanted to print it instead of use it for spoilers.
9. My grandmother knitted a Gryffindor scarf for me. She was in her sewing circle and she told them it was for her grand-daughter, and they all assumed it was for Ida (my then nine year old cousin).
10. I attended all four Harry Potter book release parties. The first one was very small before the real hype began, and I was pregnant at two of them. The Breaking Dawn party was lame in comparison-yes, I went. I need a life, I know it. I am over caring what others think.
11. B.J., The priest at my church who went to high school with me, let me do three Harry Potter lessons in Sunday school. I must admit, they were cool.
12. I still have every receipt for each book that I bought and the ticket stubs for the movies. I can now add my Equus program and tickets to the scrapbook.
13. I read the books out loud to Ashley and Heather (“The Nieces”) when they were six and nine. Maybe this was the beginning of their fantasy craze.
14. I got into a fight with a very well known psychologist over whether or not famous British actors were wasting their talent on Harry Potter films. He apologized.
15. I do not have patience for those who do not read the books for religious purposes. I don’t have a problem with people who don’t like the series or just can’t read.
16. I had a Harry Potter group at the three main schools I taught at. At the high school, some of the less intelligent might have made fun, but in the end I had 25 kids show up for the discussion.
17. No one will play me at Harry Potter trivia.
18. I am very thankful that pensieves are not real and that my children will never see me in one.
19. Kevin and I went to London in 2000. We saw the line for her book signing at Harrods. Didn’t know she would be there or I would have tried to get a ticket.
20. I took all three W.O.M.B.A.T.s when she opened them on her website. I made “Outstanding” on all three of them.
21. My students always joked about how “ADD” I was. They knew that if they wanted my attention, instead of calling my name, they would say “Harry Potter” and I would look to see who it was.
22. They also knew if they worked Harry into their essay questions or dialogues they would get extra points.
23. My favorite Beedle the Bard Tale is “The Warlock’s Hairy Heart,” everybody and their brother is going to say “The Tale of the Three Brothers,” because that is the one with the Deathly Hallows, but come on. The one about the warlock is much deeper.
24. My students had to do a Harry Potter video a week where they watched a scene in Spanish and filled in the blank with the correct vocabulary word.
25. My only problem with Twilight is Edward’s death/rebirth scene. Elizabeth had auburn hair and green eyes, which matched Edward’s, and begged Carlisle to save him as she was about to die. So Carlisle took him home and made him a vampire. Ummmmm, do I need to write more? Plagiarism, Plagiarism, Plagiarism! But I still love Steph.
26. When Kevin took the job in Pittsburgh, I threw a major hissy fit about moving before the Deathly Hallows release party. It was very important to me to be at that party in Cary, not just with “The Neices,” but also with all of my students who loved Harry Potter as well. Some of them I had taught as third graders, and then taught them again when they were seniors in high school. I flew back to NC for Harry Potter.
27. I saw Equus. Awesome!
I am headed to Florida when the theme park opens.
Here it goes:
1. Kenneth’s first word was “Harry.” He said it at the beach while my cousins and I were playing with him.-You can ask Thomas or Carrie.
2. I went into labor with Kenneth during the Goblet of Fire movie. I didn’t know I was in labor because Frances was breech and scheduled. I had no idea your stomach hurt every fifteen minutes (Sorry Austin). His due date was planned so that I would not miss the movie, and it was like he waited for me to finish the movie because he knew then I would have time for him. And because I had a newborn, Goblet was the only one I saw in the theater only once.
3. Once in class a girl had book 4 on her desk with a book mark in it, and I could tell what chapter she was on from where her book mark was. I said, “Oh you just started Bagman and Crouch.” She opened it to that chapter, and the room got really quiet.
4. I had a Weasley sweater hand knitted for me with a big “P” on it.
5. I wore it to school and this one boy said ver batim, “Oh Senora! Don’t be wearing that, with your red hair you look like one of them Weasleys from those Harry Potter books.”
6. I wore the above sweater on a trip to Pittsburgh, and security pulled me. I was afraid I was being accused of terrorism, but he just wanted to know where I got my sweater.
7. I hit the side of my Nissan and knocked out a front headlight when we lived in a gated apartment community to get home in time to see the trio on Oprah. I hope Kevin doesn’t read this list, he never knew how I bumped the headlight.
8. My essay on how to read a Harry Potter novel was published in the Greensboro News and Record, the reporter had emailed me for a piece she was doing on spoilers, and I sent her that, and she said she wanted to print it instead of use it for spoilers.
9. My grandmother knitted a Gryffindor scarf for me. She was in her sewing circle and she told them it was for her grand-daughter, and they all assumed it was for Ida (my then nine year old cousin).
10. I attended all four Harry Potter book release parties. The first one was very small before the real hype began, and I was pregnant at two of them. The Breaking Dawn party was lame in comparison-yes, I went. I need a life, I know it. I am over caring what others think.
11. B.J., The priest at my church who went to high school with me, let me do three Harry Potter lessons in Sunday school. I must admit, they were cool.
12. I still have every receipt for each book that I bought and the ticket stubs for the movies. I can now add my Equus program and tickets to the scrapbook.
13. I read the books out loud to Ashley and Heather (“The Nieces”) when they were six and nine. Maybe this was the beginning of their fantasy craze.
14. I got into a fight with a very well known psychologist over whether or not famous British actors were wasting their talent on Harry Potter films. He apologized.
15. I do not have patience for those who do not read the books for religious purposes. I don’t have a problem with people who don’t like the series or just can’t read.
16. I had a Harry Potter group at the three main schools I taught at. At the high school, some of the less intelligent might have made fun, but in the end I had 25 kids show up for the discussion.
17. No one will play me at Harry Potter trivia.
18. I am very thankful that pensieves are not real and that my children will never see me in one.
19. Kevin and I went to London in 2000. We saw the line for her book signing at Harrods. Didn’t know she would be there or I would have tried to get a ticket.
20. I took all three W.O.M.B.A.T.s when she opened them on her website. I made “Outstanding” on all three of them.
21. My students always joked about how “ADD” I was. They knew that if they wanted my attention, instead of calling my name, they would say “Harry Potter” and I would look to see who it was.
22. They also knew if they worked Harry into their essay questions or dialogues they would get extra points.
23. My favorite Beedle the Bard Tale is “The Warlock’s Hairy Heart,” everybody and their brother is going to say “The Tale of the Three Brothers,” because that is the one with the Deathly Hallows, but come on. The one about the warlock is much deeper.
24. My students had to do a Harry Potter video a week where they watched a scene in Spanish and filled in the blank with the correct vocabulary word.
25. My only problem with Twilight is Edward’s death/rebirth scene. Elizabeth had auburn hair and green eyes, which matched Edward’s, and begged Carlisle to save him as she was about to die. So Carlisle took him home and made him a vampire. Ummmmm, do I need to write more? Plagiarism, Plagiarism, Plagiarism! But I still love Steph.
26. When Kevin took the job in Pittsburgh, I threw a major hissy fit about moving before the Deathly Hallows release party. It was very important to me to be at that party in Cary, not just with “The Neices,” but also with all of my students who loved Harry Potter as well. Some of them I had taught as third graders, and then taught them again when they were seniors in high school. I flew back to NC for Harry Potter.
27. I saw Equus. Awesome!
I am headed to Florida when the theme park opens.
Dinner Time!
I am an excellent cook. I make three meals a day from scratch using the freshest organic ingredients that I hand pick from the Bishop’s Orchard down the road. I use my gourmet cookbooks every week. Even Lowell’s baby food is boiled, squashed and blended. What else would I do with my time if I wasn’t cooking? LMAO! Just kidding.
I have never been a cook. I have tried, sort of. It started in Ecuador when Adriana, my host mom, asked me if I could cook. I told her yes because I was thinking, when is she ever going to know the truth? Then she said, “Great! Give me a list of what ingredients you need, I’ll buy them and you can make us an American dinner!" Crap. I had to approach Tracy, who was in Ecuador with me, about what I had just done. She saved my ass, big time. I couldn’t even peel the potatoes. We ended up having a big dinner for both of our families while she coached me through the finer points of marinating chicken.
I used to love the food network. That was my Saturday entertainment during the grad school/no children years. As much as I watched Emeril, Rachel, and Jamie Oliver, the food preparation gene just never clicked in my head. I used to watch the original Iron Chef. I remember when Bobby Flay jumped on the counter (rude!). Even Rachael Ray’s books, which I have used and like, don’t always mesh. I wonder what would happen if Kevin came home to portabella smoked mozzarella cheese mushroom burgers with carrot sticks and humus on the side. Yeah right. I should invite my friend Lewis over to eat them with us.
Kevin’s mother made everything from scratch. He took hotdogs to school in a thermos. Who else had a mother that was a short order cook because each kid had to have something different? I know lots of people who do this, and I have done this. I swore I wouldn’t do it, but there are days when they are whining and I just want to read Coraline before I take them to see it. Then another idea pops in my head and I want to write it down, so I let one of them have meatballs and the other can have chicken nuggets and please let mommy read another scene from Twilight. So yes, there are short order cook days, but if I am to be honest, they are more like “throw whatever the kid asks for in the microwave” days. My grandmother just rolled over. I know it.
Lowell is now eating table food. He looks at his Gerber baby food jars like I am some kind of a freak and then he starts reaching for everyone else’s plate. He doesn’t like to be fed, he wants to feed himself. This makes the other two mad, because they were enjoying fighting over who got to feed “Lo Lo” his carrots. It never occurred to me to make it a game or a reward to feed the baby, and the minute it became one Lowell had to go and learn to feed himself. Darn it! I can’t remember when the other two started eating. Isn’t that sad?
I have tons of friends who love cooking and our wonderful chefs and they are awesome. I just can’t do it. Maybe I should add “make one decent meal” to my 2009 New Year’s resolution list. I want to take a cooking class. I really need a cooking class. But what is going to happen if I take a cooking class? If I don’t catch my eyebrows on fire, I’ll at least spill something on the floor. Then my cell will start buzzing that the kids are screaming for mommy to come home. I have never been to a Pampered Chef party, but I wonder if I could make the project. Elizabeth? Do you have the patience to teach me? For right now, I’ll stick to 30 minute meals with meat in them.
Here is a list of people and things that make me feel a little better about my cooking:
1) Hannibal Lecter- Whatever he served with the fava beans and Chianti, I know that the kids and Kevin would rather eat what I make.
2) Charlton Heston- Soylent Green is people, I know that now. But like I said before, you know you can’t cook when you see Charlton jump on the conveyer belt of wafers and you think, “Yuck! He touched it. I don’t want to eat it now.”
3) Astronauts- We used to get freeze dried ice cream in our Christmas stockings when we were kids. That was gross, but we loved it then.
4) The Hunger Artist from Kafka’s short story. I was going to say Irish Prisoners during the 1980s, but I don’t really want to go there. I guess fasting is worse than eating my cooking.
5) The Israelites-They were very fortunate to have manna fall from the sky. That was really nice of God. Maybe if my dinner really sucks one night, the kids can peak out the window and check the grass.
In Fuquay, I knew which night at which restaurant the kids could eat for free. Monday was at Moe’s, Tuesday at Chick Fil-a, Wednesdays at Remington Grill (which is now Daniels). If I tried to cook, my students would bust my husband stopping for fast food on the way home. Fuquay is like Mayberry-everyone knows everyone else’s business. I had students working at all the restaurants and one girl came into class once and asked me if I ever bothered to cook because Dr. Pelphrey came in at least three times a week and always ordered the same thing to go. Grrrrr.
Here is a list of my favorite “piss poor” dinners. Please don’t call Martha Stewart on me:
1) Spaghetti and meatballs, actually any pasta with anything on it will work.
2) Chicken nuggets, especially the dinosaur kind. I have discussed this before.
3) Sandwiches-grilled cheese if I get excited
4) Cereal-this is nothing new. God help us if we are out of milk.
5) Tortilla shells with anything in them.-This comes from being Spanish major. (lol)
6) Hotdogs-turkey of course, I buy the healthiest ones available at a regular grocery store.
7) Breakfast for dinner-I see this in a lot of status updates-excellent!
8) Pork chops-long story, I made them once when I was engaged, Kevin didn’t touch them but Brian ate three!
9) Chicken and rice covered in mushroom soup (btw-this is their favorite)
10) I can throw anything in a Crockpot and love it! Who invented the slow-cooker?
Was it part of the Industrial Revolution or World War II “women need to work” boom?
I would like to take a moment to say that I know and respect moms whose kids have all kinds of allergies and need to follow special diets for whatever the reason. You guys rock. I am sure that if I was put in that position, I would kick it up a notch and learn to cook the right things. After all, I learned to drive my Pilot and I can’t stand driving on the highway. But still, for now, my children have been known to eat peanut butter on a spoon with a handful of cheerios and call it dinner. It must be a work from home and have a third baby thing.
So, if you have stories and ideas for easy, pathetic dinners that I forgot, post them here. Or even better, if you have gone into shock because of my meal plans, email me easy solutions. Sometimes I think if we could upload into the Matrix and simulate good meals, Kevin would take the offer.
Bon Appétit
I have never been a cook. I have tried, sort of. It started in Ecuador when Adriana, my host mom, asked me if I could cook. I told her yes because I was thinking, when is she ever going to know the truth? Then she said, “Great! Give me a list of what ingredients you need, I’ll buy them and you can make us an American dinner!" Crap. I had to approach Tracy, who was in Ecuador with me, about what I had just done. She saved my ass, big time. I couldn’t even peel the potatoes. We ended up having a big dinner for both of our families while she coached me through the finer points of marinating chicken.
I used to love the food network. That was my Saturday entertainment during the grad school/no children years. As much as I watched Emeril, Rachel, and Jamie Oliver, the food preparation gene just never clicked in my head. I used to watch the original Iron Chef. I remember when Bobby Flay jumped on the counter (rude!). Even Rachael Ray’s books, which I have used and like, don’t always mesh. I wonder what would happen if Kevin came home to portabella smoked mozzarella cheese mushroom burgers with carrot sticks and humus on the side. Yeah right. I should invite my friend Lewis over to eat them with us.
Kevin’s mother made everything from scratch. He took hotdogs to school in a thermos. Who else had a mother that was a short order cook because each kid had to have something different? I know lots of people who do this, and I have done this. I swore I wouldn’t do it, but there are days when they are whining and I just want to read Coraline before I take them to see it. Then another idea pops in my head and I want to write it down, so I let one of them have meatballs and the other can have chicken nuggets and please let mommy read another scene from Twilight. So yes, there are short order cook days, but if I am to be honest, they are more like “throw whatever the kid asks for in the microwave” days. My grandmother just rolled over. I know it.
Lowell is now eating table food. He looks at his Gerber baby food jars like I am some kind of a freak and then he starts reaching for everyone else’s plate. He doesn’t like to be fed, he wants to feed himself. This makes the other two mad, because they were enjoying fighting over who got to feed “Lo Lo” his carrots. It never occurred to me to make it a game or a reward to feed the baby, and the minute it became one Lowell had to go and learn to feed himself. Darn it! I can’t remember when the other two started eating. Isn’t that sad?
I have tons of friends who love cooking and our wonderful chefs and they are awesome. I just can’t do it. Maybe I should add “make one decent meal” to my 2009 New Year’s resolution list. I want to take a cooking class. I really need a cooking class. But what is going to happen if I take a cooking class? If I don’t catch my eyebrows on fire, I’ll at least spill something on the floor. Then my cell will start buzzing that the kids are screaming for mommy to come home. I have never been to a Pampered Chef party, but I wonder if I could make the project. Elizabeth? Do you have the patience to teach me? For right now, I’ll stick to 30 minute meals with meat in them.
Here is a list of people and things that make me feel a little better about my cooking:
1) Hannibal Lecter- Whatever he served with the fava beans and Chianti, I know that the kids and Kevin would rather eat what I make.
2) Charlton Heston- Soylent Green is people, I know that now. But like I said before, you know you can’t cook when you see Charlton jump on the conveyer belt of wafers and you think, “Yuck! He touched it. I don’t want to eat it now.”
3) Astronauts- We used to get freeze dried ice cream in our Christmas stockings when we were kids. That was gross, but we loved it then.
4) The Hunger Artist from Kafka’s short story. I was going to say Irish Prisoners during the 1980s, but I don’t really want to go there. I guess fasting is worse than eating my cooking.
5) The Israelites-They were very fortunate to have manna fall from the sky. That was really nice of God. Maybe if my dinner really sucks one night, the kids can peak out the window and check the grass.
In Fuquay, I knew which night at which restaurant the kids could eat for free. Monday was at Moe’s, Tuesday at Chick Fil-a, Wednesdays at Remington Grill (which is now Daniels). If I tried to cook, my students would bust my husband stopping for fast food on the way home. Fuquay is like Mayberry-everyone knows everyone else’s business. I had students working at all the restaurants and one girl came into class once and asked me if I ever bothered to cook because Dr. Pelphrey came in at least three times a week and always ordered the same thing to go. Grrrrr.
Here is a list of my favorite “piss poor” dinners. Please don’t call Martha Stewart on me:
1) Spaghetti and meatballs, actually any pasta with anything on it will work.
2) Chicken nuggets, especially the dinosaur kind. I have discussed this before.
3) Sandwiches-grilled cheese if I get excited
4) Cereal-this is nothing new. God help us if we are out of milk.
5) Tortilla shells with anything in them.-This comes from being Spanish major. (lol)
6) Hotdogs-turkey of course, I buy the healthiest ones available at a regular grocery store.
7) Breakfast for dinner-I see this in a lot of status updates-excellent!
8) Pork chops-long story, I made them once when I was engaged, Kevin didn’t touch them but Brian ate three!
9) Chicken and rice covered in mushroom soup (btw-this is their favorite)
10) I can throw anything in a Crockpot and love it! Who invented the slow-cooker?
Was it part of the Industrial Revolution or World War II “women need to work” boom?
I would like to take a moment to say that I know and respect moms whose kids have all kinds of allergies and need to follow special diets for whatever the reason. You guys rock. I am sure that if I was put in that position, I would kick it up a notch and learn to cook the right things. After all, I learned to drive my Pilot and I can’t stand driving on the highway. But still, for now, my children have been known to eat peanut butter on a spoon with a handful of cheerios and call it dinner. It must be a work from home and have a third baby thing.
So, if you have stories and ideas for easy, pathetic dinners that I forgot, post them here. Or even better, if you have gone into shock because of my meal plans, email me easy solutions. Sometimes I think if we could upload into the Matrix and simulate good meals, Kevin would take the offer.
Bon Appétit
Lowell's Baptism Reflection
(Note about this note: I am not here to debate infant baptism etc. etc.-read it for the fun of it or don't)
Again, another note on how the third child gets screwed. His clothes are his brother’s. His crib is in the office until the boys are both sleeping well enough to share a room and I am seriously beginning to think that this won’t happen until they are ready for college. Lately he has taken to chewing on Tupperware containers instead of the cute little teethers that his siblings had. Finally, he wasn’t able to wear the family Christening gown. I never found a church I was happy with in Pittsburgh and B.J. agreed to do it during Advent while I was home. That meant waiting until Lowell was five months old, so no newborn gown for him. My aunt loaned me a suit my grandmother made, so he did get baptized in something special, just not the family gown.
The horror of not being baptized in a Christening gown! This got me thinking about the service in general. To say that the service hasn’t changed much in the last few years is a bit of an understatement, since I have that service and probably the rest of the Book of Common Prayer memorized. You would think that when something is called “common” so that everyone participates, the third child would get it as equally as the first. No, I found a way to have this be different too.
Here it goes:
“I present Lowell Franklin to receive the sacrament of baptism.” I had to think about who I was presenting. Was it Frances for another speech or OT evaluation, or was Kenneth getting his hearing tested? And which sacrament was it? It seems like I anoint the sick every few weeks.
“Will you by your prayers and witness help this child to grow into the full stature of Christ?” Of course he will witness me being an excellent example of an Episcopalian. “Get in the car! We are late for church! Stop pinching and pay attention to the homily! Ugh-is it your turn to acolyte again? Man, we have to get up extra early, better skip SNL this week."
“Do you renounce Satan and all the spiritual forces of wickedness that rebel against God?” Well, this isn’t too difficult to answer. Of course I renounce wickedness! Who is going to say, “No, bring it on, please?” What else should I renounce? What counts as wicked? Too much television? Microwaved meals? French fries as a vegetable? Not making my own baby food? Using disposable instead of cloth diapers? Letting him play with germy car keys to keep him quiet in the grocery store? I am not renouncing anything that saves my sanity.
“Do you renounce all sinful desires that draw you from the love of God?” Do I have any desires anymore other than to make sure that these three grow up to be normal tax paying citizens and not serial killers? (Maybe I shouldn’t joke about the last part.)
“Do you turn to Jesus Christ and accept him as your Savior?” Yes, absolutely. This is the only time you are asked this question in any Episcopal church. Some denominations have you sing it, dance it, raise your hands up high and scream it out loud. But we ask you one time and if you say yes, we believe you and go about our merry way. I guess they assumed you told the truth the first time.
I have been an Episcopalian my entire life, except on Christmas Eve when I become a Moravian for the night. My husband kind of grew up Baptist, but only went to Sunday school. When I tried to explain an infant christening to him for Frances, he made a face and said, “You mean like in the Godfather?” Yes, that was it. Only my thoughts were a little different from the ones Al Pacino was having as he renewed his baptismal covenant. It really is applicable to any change in your life: contemplating motherhood as it pertains to having three children, knocking off the (4 or 5?) heads of the competing mafia families and becoming the new Don Corleone-same difference. See how common prayer actually is? Everyone participates!
And about the priest who baptized my son today, I have known him since I was what, nine? I am not telling any stories, because I would die if he told one on me, but thoughts did go through my head as he anointed my son with oil. Ok, I’ll share just one, “B.J. used to jump up and down on tables Time Warping from the Rocky Horror Picture Show and he just sealed Lowell as Christ’s own forever?” There is a circle of life.
Even before the Facebook boom, I couldn’t seem to ever shake my Episcopalian friends. They never leave you, ever. In some ways they are worse than the old college roommates. I think I could get swallowed by a “great fish” and they would find me some how. So I should embrace them, and I do, usually.
This is what I was thinking about as my third and last child was baptized Sunday and we welcomed him into the Episcopal faith. Maybe I should think less, and focus more. Then I won’t worry about leaving him at the Remington Grill. Again, poor third child, at least he’s ready for his spiritual journey to begin.
Again, another note on how the third child gets screwed. His clothes are his brother’s. His crib is in the office until the boys are both sleeping well enough to share a room and I am seriously beginning to think that this won’t happen until they are ready for college. Lately he has taken to chewing on Tupperware containers instead of the cute little teethers that his siblings had. Finally, he wasn’t able to wear the family Christening gown. I never found a church I was happy with in Pittsburgh and B.J. agreed to do it during Advent while I was home. That meant waiting until Lowell was five months old, so no newborn gown for him. My aunt loaned me a suit my grandmother made, so he did get baptized in something special, just not the family gown.
The horror of not being baptized in a Christening gown! This got me thinking about the service in general. To say that the service hasn’t changed much in the last few years is a bit of an understatement, since I have that service and probably the rest of the Book of Common Prayer memorized. You would think that when something is called “common” so that everyone participates, the third child would get it as equally as the first. No, I found a way to have this be different too.
Here it goes:
“I present Lowell Franklin to receive the sacrament of baptism.” I had to think about who I was presenting. Was it Frances for another speech or OT evaluation, or was Kenneth getting his hearing tested? And which sacrament was it? It seems like I anoint the sick every few weeks.
“Will you by your prayers and witness help this child to grow into the full stature of Christ?” Of course he will witness me being an excellent example of an Episcopalian. “Get in the car! We are late for church! Stop pinching and pay attention to the homily! Ugh-is it your turn to acolyte again? Man, we have to get up extra early, better skip SNL this week."
“Do you renounce Satan and all the spiritual forces of wickedness that rebel against God?” Well, this isn’t too difficult to answer. Of course I renounce wickedness! Who is going to say, “No, bring it on, please?” What else should I renounce? What counts as wicked? Too much television? Microwaved meals? French fries as a vegetable? Not making my own baby food? Using disposable instead of cloth diapers? Letting him play with germy car keys to keep him quiet in the grocery store? I am not renouncing anything that saves my sanity.
“Do you renounce all sinful desires that draw you from the love of God?” Do I have any desires anymore other than to make sure that these three grow up to be normal tax paying citizens and not serial killers? (Maybe I shouldn’t joke about the last part.)
“Do you turn to Jesus Christ and accept him as your Savior?” Yes, absolutely. This is the only time you are asked this question in any Episcopal church. Some denominations have you sing it, dance it, raise your hands up high and scream it out loud. But we ask you one time and if you say yes, we believe you and go about our merry way. I guess they assumed you told the truth the first time.
I have been an Episcopalian my entire life, except on Christmas Eve when I become a Moravian for the night. My husband kind of grew up Baptist, but only went to Sunday school. When I tried to explain an infant christening to him for Frances, he made a face and said, “You mean like in the Godfather?” Yes, that was it. Only my thoughts were a little different from the ones Al Pacino was having as he renewed his baptismal covenant. It really is applicable to any change in your life: contemplating motherhood as it pertains to having three children, knocking off the (4 or 5?) heads of the competing mafia families and becoming the new Don Corleone-same difference. See how common prayer actually is? Everyone participates!
And about the priest who baptized my son today, I have known him since I was what, nine? I am not telling any stories, because I would die if he told one on me, but thoughts did go through my head as he anointed my son with oil. Ok, I’ll share just one, “B.J. used to jump up and down on tables Time Warping from the Rocky Horror Picture Show and he just sealed Lowell as Christ’s own forever?” There is a circle of life.
Even before the Facebook boom, I couldn’t seem to ever shake my Episcopalian friends. They never leave you, ever. In some ways they are worse than the old college roommates. I think I could get swallowed by a “great fish” and they would find me some how. So I should embrace them, and I do, usually.
This is what I was thinking about as my third and last child was baptized Sunday and we welcomed him into the Episcopal faith. Maybe I should think less, and focus more. Then I won’t worry about leaving him at the Remington Grill. Again, poor third child, at least he’s ready for his spiritual journey to begin.
Batteries Should Always Be Included
During the graduate school years, Kevin and I would go over to his sister’s house and play with his nieces who were at the time three and eight months. Yes, that would be the 16 year old and 13 year old of my Twilight fandom-I’m old. What I remember most about my sister in law’s house when she had little ones is that she had a lot of one specific thing. What was it? Diapers? Juice boxes? Caffeine and beer to save her sanity? Nope-she had batteries. Batteries of all shapes and sizes-double A, triple A, C, D, more choices than bra sizes. They were all over the house. There were batteries in the drawers, the cabinets, and on top of the mantle piece. I thought to myself, as the twenty four year old teacher and wife of a starving grad student who sometimes worked at coffee shops to support his habit, why oh why did they need all these batteries? It made no sense. We only had a hurricane once or twice a year as far as I could remember.
Then I had Frances, and I totally and completely got why she needed the batteries. Mothers need batteries from day one or four depending on if you have a c-section. The swing needed batteries, the bouncy seat, the baby monitor, the toys that flashed, and the little fishes that swam in the ocean aquarium in her crib needed batteries. One could argue that she was just spoiled from day one and that babies don’t need jack except love and attention, but this is my note.
Frances kind of outgrew a constant need for batteries. She loves her stuffed animals and her nursery rhymes, batteries not needed. Along comes Kenneth and everything needs a freaking battery. He told Santa he didn’t care what he brought as long as it had a remote control. So not only does the car or the robot or the dinosaur need a battery, but the “mission control” as he calls it needs batteries too, and they don’t all need the same batteries, so you have to make sure you have all of the different types just in case. Has anyone ever seen a variety pack of batteries for sale? I never have, does it exist? Where?
Kenneth is hard core about it. He knows if his toy needs a flat head or a Philips head screw driver (in Handy Manny terms that would be Turner or Felipe). He will wake us up with a toy, the batteries, and the correct screwdriver in his hands. Someone needs to have a talk with that boy about being the only early riser in this family while the other four of us sleep in-it must be a Scorpio thing. Someone should also have a talk with us about keeping our batteries and tools out of they way of a three year old’s hands.
My favorite times of the day are when we don’t have the right batteries. On the odd day that Frances does need them, if we don’t have them, you better believe a tantrum will break out until I can find the visuals for “batteries” and “grocery store.” Kenneth has a better answer for the problem. If whatever he wants to play with needs batteries and I’m out of them, he wanders through the house looking for other toys that have the batteries he needs, and yes he knows which toys take which batteries, and he brings me the toy to take the batteries out. I don’t think any of the flashlights, or the timers and buzzers for board games, or the alarm clocks or radios have batteries in them anymore. What could adults actually need batteries for anyway? Don’t answer that.
The holidays are over, but I’m telling you, batteries make or break a holiday season. What good is a remote control car if you can’t use it? I am willing to bet that on Christmas Eve all over the world stores could up the price on batteries to like 50$ a box and desperate parents would pay up regardless of the state of the economy. This reminds me, batteries were very expensive in both Ecuador and Spain. I can’t remember why, but I’m sure someone knows and will put the answer in my comments section.
I think that next year at Christmas time instead of buying toys I’ll go to Costco and buy lots and lots of batteries. Then I will go through the basement and the corners of the playroom and scoop up all the toys they haven’t played with because the batteries died and I didn’t replace them and they got bored waiting for me to do it. Then I’ll replace the batteries and give them their old things back for Christmas. It will be like they have new stuff!
Now “batteries” are on my grocery list as often as bread and milk. Trust me on this, if you are ever going to a baby shower and don’t know what to get, fill up a bag with batteries. All the cutesy-wootsy women who actually enjoy showers will smirk at you for your lack of cuteness when it comes to your gift because the new mommy to be is dying to have twenty onsies with matching receiving blankets. But remember, it is YOU the mommy is going to think of and be thankful for when the vibrating bouncy dies at 11:00 in the evening and the extra batteries are available to sooth her colicky baby. Mommy rule number one in my book: batteries-always have a house full.
Then I had Frances, and I totally and completely got why she needed the batteries. Mothers need batteries from day one or four depending on if you have a c-section. The swing needed batteries, the bouncy seat, the baby monitor, the toys that flashed, and the little fishes that swam in the ocean aquarium in her crib needed batteries. One could argue that she was just spoiled from day one and that babies don’t need jack except love and attention, but this is my note.
Frances kind of outgrew a constant need for batteries. She loves her stuffed animals and her nursery rhymes, batteries not needed. Along comes Kenneth and everything needs a freaking battery. He told Santa he didn’t care what he brought as long as it had a remote control. So not only does the car or the robot or the dinosaur need a battery, but the “mission control” as he calls it needs batteries too, and they don’t all need the same batteries, so you have to make sure you have all of the different types just in case. Has anyone ever seen a variety pack of batteries for sale? I never have, does it exist? Where?
Kenneth is hard core about it. He knows if his toy needs a flat head or a Philips head screw driver (in Handy Manny terms that would be Turner or Felipe). He will wake us up with a toy, the batteries, and the correct screwdriver in his hands. Someone needs to have a talk with that boy about being the only early riser in this family while the other four of us sleep in-it must be a Scorpio thing. Someone should also have a talk with us about keeping our batteries and tools out of they way of a three year old’s hands.
My favorite times of the day are when we don’t have the right batteries. On the odd day that Frances does need them, if we don’t have them, you better believe a tantrum will break out until I can find the visuals for “batteries” and “grocery store.” Kenneth has a better answer for the problem. If whatever he wants to play with needs batteries and I’m out of them, he wanders through the house looking for other toys that have the batteries he needs, and yes he knows which toys take which batteries, and he brings me the toy to take the batteries out. I don’t think any of the flashlights, or the timers and buzzers for board games, or the alarm clocks or radios have batteries in them anymore. What could adults actually need batteries for anyway? Don’t answer that.
The holidays are over, but I’m telling you, batteries make or break a holiday season. What good is a remote control car if you can’t use it? I am willing to bet that on Christmas Eve all over the world stores could up the price on batteries to like 50$ a box and desperate parents would pay up regardless of the state of the economy. This reminds me, batteries were very expensive in both Ecuador and Spain. I can’t remember why, but I’m sure someone knows and will put the answer in my comments section.
I think that next year at Christmas time instead of buying toys I’ll go to Costco and buy lots and lots of batteries. Then I will go through the basement and the corners of the playroom and scoop up all the toys they haven’t played with because the batteries died and I didn’t replace them and they got bored waiting for me to do it. Then I’ll replace the batteries and give them their old things back for Christmas. It will be like they have new stuff!
Now “batteries” are on my grocery list as often as bread and milk. Trust me on this, if you are ever going to a baby shower and don’t know what to get, fill up a bag with batteries. All the cutesy-wootsy women who actually enjoy showers will smirk at you for your lack of cuteness when it comes to your gift because the new mommy to be is dying to have twenty onsies with matching receiving blankets. But remember, it is YOU the mommy is going to think of and be thankful for when the vibrating bouncy dies at 11:00 in the evening and the extra batteries are available to sooth her colicky baby. Mommy rule number one in my book: batteries-always have a house full.
Loving my imagination
I never thought I would have to wear makeup to watch television, but it has happened. I am five years into children’s programming at this point in my motherhood journey. I have gone through Bob the Builder, Thomas the Tank Engine, and The Wiggles. Especially the Wiggles. My daughter loves those Aussies more than I loved Heath Ledger. We did the whole Greg is sick and Sam has taken his place thing. She actually understood the “goodbye” video. Because I use my free time so wisely, my kids love to watch The Cockroaches videos I found on YouTube. Well, goodbye there mates. There are four new American men in Playhouse Disney town. What’s even better than four American men? Four southern American men!
Disney has launched a new program last fall. The four musicians are also “movers” dressed in mover uniforms: Mover Dave, Mover Scott, Mover Rich, and Mover Smitty. They sing and solve ideas creatively. They look NOTHING like the men who packed and moved my house, I can say that much. The goal of the show is to use your imagination to solve problems creatively, try several different ideas, and not give up. Each week they are faced with a new problem to solve. They work at an imagination warehouse that is inhabited by a cute little mouse. The office next door is owned by Knit-Knots and his niece works for him and visits the movers every show.
What makes them different from the Wiggles aside from their accents? Well, for one thing, their songs are a little bit catchier. It’s like they made a list of “Mommy nags” and wrote nifty songs about them. My particular favorites are “Cleaning My Room” and “Seven Days A Week.” They sing about brushing your teeth and sleeping in your own bed. They have a really cute song called “Brain Storming” and if I were still teaching in a brick and mortar school I would use it to teach writing. The Halloween one about the monster in the closet was good too. They are also able to nail tougher issues. I am going to be bold and say they did this as well as the late, great, Mr. Rogers. On their CD Juice Box Heroes, they have a phenomenal song dealing with Hurricane Katrina. I can't think of a better song dealing with trauma for children. I have seen Rush in concert three times, so I know my music.
The more you watch the show with your children, the more you notice that it is classic camp. John Waters would love it. Uncle Knit-Knots is over the top boring. He and his office are covered in beige. The plants are beige, his orange juice is beige, and the coffee pot is beige. The Movers plan a birthday party for him where they sing a slow song that sounds awful while he staples papers and blows a birthday candle out on a loaf of bread. Nina is kind of like their back-up singer or "pip." Her outfits are quite bright, someone needs to take her shopping. The warehouse itself is a trip. They have a room for whatever they need to solve their problems: a magnet room, an opposite room, and a wind room, to name a few. There are little “bridges” in between scenes of the guys dancing around in front of polka dot backdrops, which is reminiscent of Scooby-Doo and other 70’s shows. All of what I described sounds absolutely ridiculous, but I can’t stop laughing as I watch it.
The longer you watch it, the more little quirks notice. Scott appears to have no common sense. Dave is always inventing things and always misses the high five at the end. Rich is the voice of reason.
I did some googling on these guys. They started their band in 2003. Before that, Scott was an elementary school teacher and Smitty was a firefighter. Rich has five kids. Dave was an architect with no musical or acting training. They are from New Orleans and all but Smitty lost their home during Hurricane Katrina. In America, you really can be or do anything.
Every mommy has her favorite mover. Mine happens to be Scott and his special goggles. Other moms enjoy Dave with the red hat. I am sure some mom somewhere loves Smitty and the sensitivity he shows towards his little buddy mouse. He is also the “reader” with a journal to keep ideas in. As much as I love readers, I can’t get over his cowboy hat. Rich, whose southern accent makes me yearn for NC, uses his drumsticks to draw on the television screen. It reminds me of Uma Thurman telling John Travolta not to be a “square” by drawing it in the air before they enter Jack Rabbit Slim’s. Did I just use Pulp Fiction as an example? What kind of mother am I?
The Movers have definitely left their mark on our household. In the grocery store a week ago, when we got to the check out line, the cashier had a goatee and long hair. Frances started screaming, “Look Mommy look! It’s Mover Scott!” One night at bedtime Kenneth was going over which Mover played which instrument, and when he got to Scott I said the keyboard and Kenneth said, “No Mandolin” and I said, “No keyboard honey” and Kenneth kept saying it was the mandolin. I should have known better than to argue with my little musician. Sure enough, the next day, Scott was strumming a mandolin. Crap that kid gets me every time. I guess you can play more than one instrument. If the kids start crying about something frustrating, and I am not in such a hurry that I do it for them, I use my mover skills (“try again try again try again”-great song) and have them think of another way to solve it. I have to keep myself from laughing when they make faces like the movers do thinking of solutions.
The show is a lot of fun. I like it better than Higgly Town Heroes or The Little Einsteins. Here comes another “secrets of a bad mommy” confession, when my kids are being “high strung” (well, bad) I tell them if they don’t stop it I am going to make them watch Charlie and Lola. They both start crying, “No mommy! No!" There is our opinion on that show. Note I don’t say we will turn the television off. I’m awful.
My friend Claire once mentioned that you need a night out when The Imagination Movers start to look good to you. I say it is perfectly normal to want a mover, or even two. Worry when you are after a Doodle Bop. THEN you have a problem.
Disney has launched a new program last fall. The four musicians are also “movers” dressed in mover uniforms: Mover Dave, Mover Scott, Mover Rich, and Mover Smitty. They sing and solve ideas creatively. They look NOTHING like the men who packed and moved my house, I can say that much. The goal of the show is to use your imagination to solve problems creatively, try several different ideas, and not give up. Each week they are faced with a new problem to solve. They work at an imagination warehouse that is inhabited by a cute little mouse. The office next door is owned by Knit-Knots and his niece works for him and visits the movers every show.
What makes them different from the Wiggles aside from their accents? Well, for one thing, their songs are a little bit catchier. It’s like they made a list of “Mommy nags” and wrote nifty songs about them. My particular favorites are “Cleaning My Room” and “Seven Days A Week.” They sing about brushing your teeth and sleeping in your own bed. They have a really cute song called “Brain Storming” and if I were still teaching in a brick and mortar school I would use it to teach writing. The Halloween one about the monster in the closet was good too. They are also able to nail tougher issues. I am going to be bold and say they did this as well as the late, great, Mr. Rogers. On their CD Juice Box Heroes, they have a phenomenal song dealing with Hurricane Katrina. I can't think of a better song dealing with trauma for children. I have seen Rush in concert three times, so I know my music.
The more you watch the show with your children, the more you notice that it is classic camp. John Waters would love it. Uncle Knit-Knots is over the top boring. He and his office are covered in beige. The plants are beige, his orange juice is beige, and the coffee pot is beige. The Movers plan a birthday party for him where they sing a slow song that sounds awful while he staples papers and blows a birthday candle out on a loaf of bread. Nina is kind of like their back-up singer or "pip." Her outfits are quite bright, someone needs to take her shopping. The warehouse itself is a trip. They have a room for whatever they need to solve their problems: a magnet room, an opposite room, and a wind room, to name a few. There are little “bridges” in between scenes of the guys dancing around in front of polka dot backdrops, which is reminiscent of Scooby-Doo and other 70’s shows. All of what I described sounds absolutely ridiculous, but I can’t stop laughing as I watch it.
The longer you watch it, the more little quirks notice. Scott appears to have no common sense. Dave is always inventing things and always misses the high five at the end. Rich is the voice of reason.
I did some googling on these guys. They started their band in 2003. Before that, Scott was an elementary school teacher and Smitty was a firefighter. Rich has five kids. Dave was an architect with no musical or acting training. They are from New Orleans and all but Smitty lost their home during Hurricane Katrina. In America, you really can be or do anything.
Every mommy has her favorite mover. Mine happens to be Scott and his special goggles. Other moms enjoy Dave with the red hat. I am sure some mom somewhere loves Smitty and the sensitivity he shows towards his little buddy mouse. He is also the “reader” with a journal to keep ideas in. As much as I love readers, I can’t get over his cowboy hat. Rich, whose southern accent makes me yearn for NC, uses his drumsticks to draw on the television screen. It reminds me of Uma Thurman telling John Travolta not to be a “square” by drawing it in the air before they enter Jack Rabbit Slim’s. Did I just use Pulp Fiction as an example? What kind of mother am I?
The Movers have definitely left their mark on our household. In the grocery store a week ago, when we got to the check out line, the cashier had a goatee and long hair. Frances started screaming, “Look Mommy look! It’s Mover Scott!” One night at bedtime Kenneth was going over which Mover played which instrument, and when he got to Scott I said the keyboard and Kenneth said, “No Mandolin” and I said, “No keyboard honey” and Kenneth kept saying it was the mandolin. I should have known better than to argue with my little musician. Sure enough, the next day, Scott was strumming a mandolin. Crap that kid gets me every time. I guess you can play more than one instrument. If the kids start crying about something frustrating, and I am not in such a hurry that I do it for them, I use my mover skills (“try again try again try again”-great song) and have them think of another way to solve it. I have to keep myself from laughing when they make faces like the movers do thinking of solutions.
The show is a lot of fun. I like it better than Higgly Town Heroes or The Little Einsteins. Here comes another “secrets of a bad mommy” confession, when my kids are being “high strung” (well, bad) I tell them if they don’t stop it I am going to make them watch Charlie and Lola. They both start crying, “No mommy! No!" There is our opinion on that show. Note I don’t say we will turn the television off. I’m awful.
My friend Claire once mentioned that you need a night out when The Imagination Movers start to look good to you. I say it is perfectly normal to want a mover, or even two. Worry when you are after a Doodle Bop. THEN you have a problem.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Frank Black's Caps for Sale
Every now and then at bedtime, I like to pull out an oldie. This week, I found a copy of Caps for
My favorite show from 1996-1999 (even the third season) was Millennium. Frank Black was an ex-FBI agent with a supernatural ability to track down serial killers. He had a pure soul and worked to fight pure evil for the love of his wife Catherine and his daughter Jordan. In one scene in that show, he is reading Caps for Sale to
As I have said before, reading to my kids is a trip, and here is an example. I didn’t major in English, and so I am just going to write a dialogue like a play. P: Page, K: Kenneth, F: Frances. I am also going to paraphrase a little, for the sake of not writing a novel about a children’s book.
P: Once there was a peddler who sold caps.
K: Did he have a Steelers one?
P: No
K: Was there a baseball one?
P: No, he had his own checked cap, then a bunch of gray caps,
F: Where are his pinkalicious caps?
P: No pink
F: Purple?
K: No
F: Sorry….
P: Caps! Caps for sale! 50 cents a cap.
F: I don’t want one…
P: He began to feel very hungry, but he had no money for lunch.
K: Look at that church! I bet Father Tony lives there.
F: No lunch? Could he go to McDonald’s?
P: Do you see one in the picture?
K: How about peanut butter toast?
P: He came to a big tree, “That’s a nice place to rest.”
K: He didn’t notice when a bunch of monkeys took all his caps?
P: No
K: They didn’t make any noise?
P: It is just a story.
F: Keep going mommy.
K: I’ll do it. You Monkeys, you! Give me back those caps!
F: Isn’t he going to wash them? Monkeys have germs, the caps have germs. Does he have Purel?
K: and they bite!
P: Caps! Caps for sale! Fifty cents a cap!
K: He should call the zoo. Where did the monkeys come from?
Maybe we should stick to more mainstream traditional television fathers. I wonder what Mike Brady read to his kids….
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
The Last Grocery Straw
Everyone could write a story on the grocery store. My girlfriend Vittoria in Italy wrote one about her little girl Maggie announcing she had to use the bathroom in the middle of the local market. No one wants to go to the grocery store. Who would want to go there when you could go to Borders? Where would you rather go other than the grocery store? Would you rather take all of your kids to the grocery store, or would you rather go to the dentist? Seriously?
First off, let me tell you how I avoid it. There are three ways to go without kids, or at least all of your kids. The first, my three are in bed lights out asleep between seven and eight, and the grocery store closes at ten. So I can always go at night. This gets in the way of wearing my pajamas, but it is a possibility. The second way to do it is that I have a Thursday afternoon babysitter. This is the day that I scrub the bathrooms and change the sheets. I can go then too. The third way involves taking Lowell, but I can always go when the other two are at school. All three of these options are great, but sometimes I don’t want to spend my “Free” time, for lack of a better word, looking for specials on diet coke and chicken nuggets. So, when I want to spend my time other ways, all four of us go to the grocery store. Some people may be wondering why not leave all three with daddy and go? Ha ha ha. Anyway….
I had only one little baby when Desperate Housewives premiered. I had no idea what Lynette Scavo was going through, especially the scene when her boys send the grocery carts crashing into displays and all the cans topple to the floor. I also think they took out an old lady but I can’t be sure. My kids are not that bad. Yet. I know now why Felicity Huffman won that Emmy.
My rule number one in the grocery store is everyone strapped in. No one has free will in the grocery store. I don’t care if you are hungry, or you are thirsty, or you can walk. You have to sit and you have to be strapped in. Don’t let them act all cute and try to convince you that they are mature enough to walk and help you find what you need in the aisles. It doesn’t matter if you go to the cheap grocery store or the open air freshest of the fresh pesticide free market. Strap them in the cart or wrap them tight in the hippy funky baby carrier. What if they scream? Tune it out. How to tune it out? Well, I have Harry Potter and now Twilight all memorized in my head. Just remember some really good scenes as they scream for junk cereal. (If you give her immortality you are free to go and give my regards to my good friend Carlisle, but you will have to mean it… Mean it Edward, please mean it) or (Expecto Patronum… prongs, his patronus was his father…we love our children, we always protect them…) and yes, people are going to stare, and wonder how you stand it. But a lot of people are going envy your nerves of steel too.
If you can’t take the crying, I get it. There are days when I can’t take it either. All three of my monkeys have a special blankie. If you need the re-enforcement by all means drag it in the grocery store. Just be prepared to stay for hours looking for it if it gets lost. My brother dropped his in a frozen food section if I am not mistaken. My daughter has left several Disney Characters all over the store. They could call it Orlando and charge admission. Don’t be ashamed to go to lost and found and ask if anyone found your son’s tennis shoes either. They were there. Another good trick is the snack or candy routine. They say don’t bribe kids with food, I say do what you have to do to keep your sanity. Goldfish and animal crackers are the best, as my sister Britt will testify.
How do I handle it when they want something they see in the aisles and they aren’t going to get it? Well, you can just say no, and then replay a Twilight scene in your head (The Meadow, Italy, Esme’s Isle, repeat). Or you can lie. I have just decided that it is ok to lie to preschoolers. “No, we already have it at home.” “No, you won’t like it, it is yucky.” It works for me.
Now, you must remember that you have absolutely no control over the rest of the grocery store. I think this is where mommies lose it. There are going to be other people that either never had children or forgot what it was like to have children and they can’t wait for you to move out of their way. You are also going to hear some robot of a woman tell her kids something like, "We dont act that way, do we?" Ignore them, ignore them, ignore them. This is hard, and I don’t always follow my own advice.
Checking out is usually when we have the most fun. I have been known to get in line behind people who pay for something in pennies and hold up a line as the cashier counts them out. This grocery store in CT has a coin system where you get discounts on items when you turn your coins in. That means I have to keep up with the coins or dig through Vera looking for them while the line gets longer. Does anyone else unload the cart and realize things were at the bottom that weren’t scanned or that your son is holding something he randomly pulled off a shelf without your knowledge? Like a cup of ramen noodle soup? I am sure if I add up all that has been accidentally taken and subtract the number from the bags I accidentally left behind; the numbers would come out even.
It is not easy for any mom to load up the cart and the kids and find the car and unload the groceries and make sure all three kids are buckled. Plus she has to make sure the cart doesn’t go flying across the parking lot or that the kids don’t climb out of their seats and run away, or worse take the baby’s passy and hide it. We all do this all the time. I am not writing anything anyone doesn’t already know.
This is where my last straw comes in. I had a great trip to the store three days ago. No melt downs, no accidents, and I did fine checking out. I had four silver coins and ended up saving nineteen dollars total. Then they started screaming over what they were going to listen to in the car. I know, only in America do children fight over the CD in the car, but still, this is my story.
I get to the car and manage to hold on to the “fire truck” cart with all three kids and all the groceries. I get the baby, and the two screaming children inside. I did this all one handed to keep the cart from rolling away. Kenneth is jumping in and out of his seat, Frances is screaming “I want my daddy!” because he would let her listen to whatever she wanted, and then I try to throw bags in the trunk. This is a typical mommy trip to the grocery store.
THEN…I hear a voice behind me. “Excuse me. You dropped this.” I was thinking, oh how nice. Someone sees me with these kids and these groceries and is helping me. I turn around and he hands me a tissue. A TISSUE! The kids are screaming, the groceries are everywhere, and I am holding on to the fire truck cart so it won’t fly away and this guy hands me a tissue. THEN he says, “It’s wrong to throw trash on the ground. Don’t do it again.” and he walks off.
I was frozen in my place. I kept waiting for Ashton Kutcher to jump out from behind a car and tell me I was Punk’d. I promise all of you right now that I had no idea that the clean tissue had fallen out of my jacket or wherever. I was not trying to litter. The town of Guilford thanks him for telling me off. I am not blaming this incident on the north. There are jerks all over this great country of ours.
Like I said, a grocery store note is nothing new. Everyone has these days. When you are having a day, I hope all of you go out of your way to throw trash on the ground in the process. You know we have time to make those plans. How else are we going to entertain ourselves? Oh yeah, The Imagination Movers….
First off, let me tell you how I avoid it. There are three ways to go without kids, or at least all of your kids. The first, my three are in bed lights out asleep between seven and eight, and the grocery store closes at ten. So I can always go at night. This gets in the way of wearing my pajamas, but it is a possibility. The second way to do it is that I have a Thursday afternoon babysitter. This is the day that I scrub the bathrooms and change the sheets. I can go then too. The third way involves taking Lowell, but I can always go when the other two are at school. All three of these options are great, but sometimes I don’t want to spend my “Free” time, for lack of a better word, looking for specials on diet coke and chicken nuggets. So, when I want to spend my time other ways, all four of us go to the grocery store. Some people may be wondering why not leave all three with daddy and go? Ha ha ha. Anyway….
I had only one little baby when Desperate Housewives premiered. I had no idea what Lynette Scavo was going through, especially the scene when her boys send the grocery carts crashing into displays and all the cans topple to the floor. I also think they took out an old lady but I can’t be sure. My kids are not that bad. Yet. I know now why Felicity Huffman won that Emmy.
My rule number one in the grocery store is everyone strapped in. No one has free will in the grocery store. I don’t care if you are hungry, or you are thirsty, or you can walk. You have to sit and you have to be strapped in. Don’t let them act all cute and try to convince you that they are mature enough to walk and help you find what you need in the aisles. It doesn’t matter if you go to the cheap grocery store or the open air freshest of the fresh pesticide free market. Strap them in the cart or wrap them tight in the hippy funky baby carrier. What if they scream? Tune it out. How to tune it out? Well, I have Harry Potter and now Twilight all memorized in my head. Just remember some really good scenes as they scream for junk cereal. (If you give her immortality you are free to go and give my regards to my good friend Carlisle, but you will have to mean it… Mean it Edward, please mean it) or (Expecto Patronum… prongs, his patronus was his father…we love our children, we always protect them…) and yes, people are going to stare, and wonder how you stand it. But a lot of people are going envy your nerves of steel too.
If you can’t take the crying, I get it. There are days when I can’t take it either. All three of my monkeys have a special blankie. If you need the re-enforcement by all means drag it in the grocery store. Just be prepared to stay for hours looking for it if it gets lost. My brother dropped his in a frozen food section if I am not mistaken. My daughter has left several Disney Characters all over the store. They could call it Orlando and charge admission. Don’t be ashamed to go to lost and found and ask if anyone found your son’s tennis shoes either. They were there. Another good trick is the snack or candy routine. They say don’t bribe kids with food, I say do what you have to do to keep your sanity. Goldfish and animal crackers are the best, as my sister Britt will testify.
How do I handle it when they want something they see in the aisles and they aren’t going to get it? Well, you can just say no, and then replay a Twilight scene in your head (The Meadow, Italy, Esme’s Isle, repeat). Or you can lie. I have just decided that it is ok to lie to preschoolers. “No, we already have it at home.” “No, you won’t like it, it is yucky.” It works for me.
Now, you must remember that you have absolutely no control over the rest of the grocery store. I think this is where mommies lose it. There are going to be other people that either never had children or forgot what it was like to have children and they can’t wait for you to move out of their way. You are also going to hear some robot of a woman tell her kids something like, "We dont act that way, do we?" Ignore them, ignore them, ignore them. This is hard, and I don’t always follow my own advice.
Checking out is usually when we have the most fun. I have been known to get in line behind people who pay for something in pennies and hold up a line as the cashier counts them out. This grocery store in CT has a coin system where you get discounts on items when you turn your coins in. That means I have to keep up with the coins or dig through Vera looking for them while the line gets longer. Does anyone else unload the cart and realize things were at the bottom that weren’t scanned or that your son is holding something he randomly pulled off a shelf without your knowledge? Like a cup of ramen noodle soup? I am sure if I add up all that has been accidentally taken and subtract the number from the bags I accidentally left behind; the numbers would come out even.
It is not easy for any mom to load up the cart and the kids and find the car and unload the groceries and make sure all three kids are buckled. Plus she has to make sure the cart doesn’t go flying across the parking lot or that the kids don’t climb out of their seats and run away, or worse take the baby’s passy and hide it. We all do this all the time. I am not writing anything anyone doesn’t already know.
This is where my last straw comes in. I had a great trip to the store three days ago. No melt downs, no accidents, and I did fine checking out. I had four silver coins and ended up saving nineteen dollars total. Then they started screaming over what they were going to listen to in the car. I know, only in America do children fight over the CD in the car, but still, this is my story.
I get to the car and manage to hold on to the “fire truck” cart with all three kids and all the groceries. I get the baby, and the two screaming children inside. I did this all one handed to keep the cart from rolling away. Kenneth is jumping in and out of his seat, Frances is screaming “I want my daddy!” because he would let her listen to whatever she wanted, and then I try to throw bags in the trunk. This is a typical mommy trip to the grocery store.
THEN…I hear a voice behind me. “Excuse me. You dropped this.” I was thinking, oh how nice. Someone sees me with these kids and these groceries and is helping me. I turn around and he hands me a tissue. A TISSUE! The kids are screaming, the groceries are everywhere, and I am holding on to the fire truck cart so it won’t fly away and this guy hands me a tissue. THEN he says, “It’s wrong to throw trash on the ground. Don’t do it again.” and he walks off.
I was frozen in my place. I kept waiting for Ashton Kutcher to jump out from behind a car and tell me I was Punk’d. I promise all of you right now that I had no idea that the clean tissue had fallen out of my jacket or wherever. I was not trying to litter. The town of Guilford thanks him for telling me off. I am not blaming this incident on the north. There are jerks all over this great country of ours.
Like I said, a grocery store note is nothing new. Everyone has these days. When you are having a day, I hope all of you go out of your way to throw trash on the ground in the process. You know we have time to make those plans. How else are we going to entertain ourselves? Oh yeah, The Imagination Movers….
Happy Birthday to the Mommy
Let me start of by saying I am trying not to be a big, fat hypocrite. I play the birthday party game. You can call it guilt. Mommy works guilt, you have issues and they are my fault guilt, or my favorite, Mommy and Daddy went to Paris on your birthday so we gave you a great big Little Gym party the weekend before, guilt. But I have done birthday parties. I didn’t have to play the birthday game this year because we moved, so each kid got a special trip to the bakery and picked out their own cupcake. (No, you thought I made the cake.) Birthdays are all about the mommy, at least until the child is ten. This is like the Halloween costume competition. What can she put together to impress the other mommies and how quickly can she make her little darling happy.
Frances, being the first child, has had three. She had a family party when she turned one and even my grandparents drove from Winston-Salem to be there. The first birthday of the first child is more of a “High five! We did it!” kind of party. The second year she had another family party, only it was a tad bit smaller as I was very pregnant with Kenneth. Year three was at the Little Gym three days before Kevin and I went to Paris ALONE. Year four was the best. We had a petting zoo in the front yard of our Pittsburgh house and people on the street were stopping to ask how much it cost to participate. I could have charged strangers five bucks a piece and made a profit.
On the other hand, Kenneth, having just turned three, has not really had a birthday party yet. We had his grandparents over for his first birthday, and for his second birthday he went to the new and improved dinosaur exhibit that had just opened in Pittsburgh. We had just moved here for his third, so I didn’t know the other moms well enough to have a party for him. He had a lot of fun playing with his train set and eating his Spiderman cupcake with his brother and sister.
Lowell hasn’t had a birthday yet, so we will see what happens. I will say that it is kind of cool to have one baby with a summer birthday, which means I get to plan a pool party eventually.
Now, my name is not Oprah and I don’t have a book club, but if you have time to put down your Twilight books, pick up one by Jennifer Weiner. All of her books make me laugh out loud, and if I am laughing, you know she is funny. If you are in toddler or preschool mommy mode, the one to read is Goodnight Nobody. The main character is a woman named Kate who is a stay at home mom to her three children in a suburb in Connecticut where all the other mommies are posh and put together. She describes a birthday party experience in her town. Now, first, here is her birthday party for her twins:
“Everybody seemed to have a good time, although I did notice that the other Upchurch mothers were keeping their kids away from the Cheez Doodles as if they were severed fingers and asking lots of questions about whether there were artificial dyes in the punch. I saw a few kids staring at our back yard asking where the pony rides were, or when the men were coming to set up the bouncy castle. I figured they were kidding. They weren’t (p.21, Weiner).”
She and her husband take all of their kids to another child’s party two weeks later, and it looks like this:
“It was held at the Upchurch Inn, and it featured a catered spread with a smoked fish buffet, a sushi chef, and a life-sized ice sculpture of the birthday boy. …. The father, a sports agent, had set up a half-sized basketball court in the parking lot and had somehow prevailed upon the entire starting lineup of the Knicks to make the trip to the suburbs and play H-O-R-S-E with the party guests. And lose (p.21, Weiner)."
I read this book four years ago when I was pregnant with Kenneth. Kevin was at Duke and there he was going to stay. I thought this Connecticut lifestyle was a joke when I read her words sitting on my front porch in Fuquay-Varina North Carolina. Five years later I am indeed living in Connecticut and my son came home with a party favor bag filled with real gourmet candy and a ten dollar gift card to the book store. Yeah, Pagie will be kicking it up a notch in the birthday party department.
This year I have decided that, at least the older two, will have a birthday party. The planned babies both have fall birthdays. So Frances is going to have some kind of Halloween theme party. I don’t think anyone in Connecticut is going to have a problem with this. Kenneth is November 20th. Should I plan a Thanksgiving party? Come dressed as a pilgrim or a Native American? We can run around the backyard chasing each other with muskets and hatchets, like that scene in the Adams Family with a pre-indie film career Cristina Ricci. Then they can sit down to turkey and sweet potatoes and pumpkin pie that I am going to have to order from the gourmet whole foods shop (I know you didn’t think I was going to make it.) Then they can each make a take home cornucopia. Hey, this is New England after all.
Birthday parties have also got a bit of paranoia about them. Gymnastics parties and those parties at those blowup and jump places must have a signed waiver before your child can participate. You can find all kinds of news reports online about freak accidents at birthday parties. Some kid somewhere choked on the cake, tripped over the coffee table looking for the donkey to pin the tail on, and then got hit in the eye with a piece of candy flying through the air when the piñata was smashed. Alfred Hitchcock played that up. The first time I saw The Birds was actually at Angela Goode’s birthday slumber party. All those little kids were attacked by birds amongst the cake, ice-cream, and presents. Fortunately or unfortunately depending on how you view it, old Alfred made it look incredibly real and possible. The memory of that would keep me from sending my kids to a birthday party for maybe fifteen minutes, until I realized I would have to come up with something else to entertain them with for the rest of the afternoon. A little bird peck or my free time, which one is more important?
The traditional birthday party diet and activities are changing too. It used to just be cake and ice-cream. Now you have a fight over who is on the cake. We have had Spiderman, Shrek, and the Wiggles to date. I have a feeling Diego will be making an appearance soon. You also have to put out all kinds of snacks and make sure they are healthier than Doritos and M&Ms. And the poor piñata! As a Spanish teacher, I can say this. The piñata used to be made of clay. You are blindfolded, given the stick, and then turned THREE times before you get to walk toward where you think the piñata is and start whacking. Then candy and clay pieces would go flying through the air. Later the clay was replaced with papier-mâché and I have no complaints about that. Now they make happy non-violent piñatas where everyone pulls a string and the candy falls out. Read my mind on that one.
There are certain stores that will allow a child to register for birthday presents. I don’t think so. My kids would just go through the store and throw everything in the “wish basket.” No. We will not be registering for a party. Ever. In the ‘80s when I was the one going to all the birthday parties, it was cool to get stationary, lots and lots of stationary with cute little pens, erasers, and stickers. Who was I writing to on all of this stationary? I did go to camp for four weeks every summer, but that was it. Did we pass notes on stationary? We must have. And you had to write it with the matching pen and seal it with a sticker. What has taken the place of the staionary? Kenneth picked out a Polly Pocket last time we went for a gift. I don’t know if this is tacky or not, but I always include the gift receipt. Another memory I shouldn’t have is from the book, Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing, when Fudge got a third copy of a book he already had and threw it across the room and made the kid cry. So, to avoid a tantrum and hurt feelings, the gift receipt is taped right there for the other mom to see. Other than that, remember to include a set of batteries if they aren’t included in the gift.
I like the Spanish traditions when it comes to birthday parties. The whole family and all the friends and neighbors are packed in the apartment flat or the country house compound. Everyone is eating, drinking, singing, and watching soccer. The kids are running around crazy, and it goes all night long.
I’ll end this with party “themes.” Certain things are sacred unless you do them correctly. We are not having a Harry Potter party ever. I will just get mad. If she asks for a princess party, we are not going to do it Disney Style, but Brothers Grimm. And if Kenneth wants pirates, Frances has an awesome book my brother bought her all about the female pirates, Booty, so she can be included too. One request: please, Frances, please don’t want a party at the beauty parlor. It goes against everything mommy stands for.
How about a party at Cup-A-Joe on Hillsborough Street? Everyone can play cards, write a poem to read on the open mic, and they get to take home ½ pound of Dave’s best Colombian as their party favor. I have a feeling it might just be us and the Cowans. Maybe Clyda will let Tate and Mia come too.
Frances, being the first child, has had three. She had a family party when she turned one and even my grandparents drove from Winston-Salem to be there. The first birthday of the first child is more of a “High five! We did it!” kind of party. The second year she had another family party, only it was a tad bit smaller as I was very pregnant with Kenneth. Year three was at the Little Gym three days before Kevin and I went to Paris ALONE. Year four was the best. We had a petting zoo in the front yard of our Pittsburgh house and people on the street were stopping to ask how much it cost to participate. I could have charged strangers five bucks a piece and made a profit.
On the other hand, Kenneth, having just turned three, has not really had a birthday party yet. We had his grandparents over for his first birthday, and for his second birthday he went to the new and improved dinosaur exhibit that had just opened in Pittsburgh. We had just moved here for his third, so I didn’t know the other moms well enough to have a party for him. He had a lot of fun playing with his train set and eating his Spiderman cupcake with his brother and sister.
Lowell hasn’t had a birthday yet, so we will see what happens. I will say that it is kind of cool to have one baby with a summer birthday, which means I get to plan a pool party eventually.
Now, my name is not Oprah and I don’t have a book club, but if you have time to put down your Twilight books, pick up one by Jennifer Weiner. All of her books make me laugh out loud, and if I am laughing, you know she is funny. If you are in toddler or preschool mommy mode, the one to read is Goodnight Nobody. The main character is a woman named Kate who is a stay at home mom to her three children in a suburb in Connecticut where all the other mommies are posh and put together. She describes a birthday party experience in her town. Now, first, here is her birthday party for her twins:
“Everybody seemed to have a good time, although I did notice that the other Upchurch mothers were keeping their kids away from the Cheez Doodles as if they were severed fingers and asking lots of questions about whether there were artificial dyes in the punch. I saw a few kids staring at our back yard asking where the pony rides were, or when the men were coming to set up the bouncy castle. I figured they were kidding. They weren’t (p.21, Weiner).”
She and her husband take all of their kids to another child’s party two weeks later, and it looks like this:
“It was held at the Upchurch Inn, and it featured a catered spread with a smoked fish buffet, a sushi chef, and a life-sized ice sculpture of the birthday boy. …. The father, a sports agent, had set up a half-sized basketball court in the parking lot and had somehow prevailed upon the entire starting lineup of the Knicks to make the trip to the suburbs and play H-O-R-S-E with the party guests. And lose (p.21, Weiner)."
I read this book four years ago when I was pregnant with Kenneth. Kevin was at Duke and there he was going to stay. I thought this Connecticut lifestyle was a joke when I read her words sitting on my front porch in Fuquay-Varina North Carolina. Five years later I am indeed living in Connecticut and my son came home with a party favor bag filled with real gourmet candy and a ten dollar gift card to the book store. Yeah, Pagie will be kicking it up a notch in the birthday party department.
This year I have decided that, at least the older two, will have a birthday party. The planned babies both have fall birthdays. So Frances is going to have some kind of Halloween theme party. I don’t think anyone in Connecticut is going to have a problem with this. Kenneth is November 20th. Should I plan a Thanksgiving party? Come dressed as a pilgrim or a Native American? We can run around the backyard chasing each other with muskets and hatchets, like that scene in the Adams Family with a pre-indie film career Cristina Ricci. Then they can sit down to turkey and sweet potatoes and pumpkin pie that I am going to have to order from the gourmet whole foods shop (I know you didn’t think I was going to make it.) Then they can each make a take home cornucopia. Hey, this is New England after all.
Birthday parties have also got a bit of paranoia about them. Gymnastics parties and those parties at those blowup and jump places must have a signed waiver before your child can participate. You can find all kinds of news reports online about freak accidents at birthday parties. Some kid somewhere choked on the cake, tripped over the coffee table looking for the donkey to pin the tail on, and then got hit in the eye with a piece of candy flying through the air when the piñata was smashed. Alfred Hitchcock played that up. The first time I saw The Birds was actually at Angela Goode’s birthday slumber party. All those little kids were attacked by birds amongst the cake, ice-cream, and presents. Fortunately or unfortunately depending on how you view it, old Alfred made it look incredibly real and possible. The memory of that would keep me from sending my kids to a birthday party for maybe fifteen minutes, until I realized I would have to come up with something else to entertain them with for the rest of the afternoon. A little bird peck or my free time, which one is more important?
The traditional birthday party diet and activities are changing too. It used to just be cake and ice-cream. Now you have a fight over who is on the cake. We have had Spiderman, Shrek, and the Wiggles to date. I have a feeling Diego will be making an appearance soon. You also have to put out all kinds of snacks and make sure they are healthier than Doritos and M&Ms. And the poor piñata! As a Spanish teacher, I can say this. The piñata used to be made of clay. You are blindfolded, given the stick, and then turned THREE times before you get to walk toward where you think the piñata is and start whacking. Then candy and clay pieces would go flying through the air. Later the clay was replaced with papier-mâché and I have no complaints about that. Now they make happy non-violent piñatas where everyone pulls a string and the candy falls out. Read my mind on that one.
There are certain stores that will allow a child to register for birthday presents. I don’t think so. My kids would just go through the store and throw everything in the “wish basket.” No. We will not be registering for a party. Ever. In the ‘80s when I was the one going to all the birthday parties, it was cool to get stationary, lots and lots of stationary with cute little pens, erasers, and stickers. Who was I writing to on all of this stationary? I did go to camp for four weeks every summer, but that was it. Did we pass notes on stationary? We must have. And you had to write it with the matching pen and seal it with a sticker. What has taken the place of the staionary? Kenneth picked out a Polly Pocket last time we went for a gift. I don’t know if this is tacky or not, but I always include the gift receipt. Another memory I shouldn’t have is from the book, Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing, when Fudge got a third copy of a book he already had and threw it across the room and made the kid cry. So, to avoid a tantrum and hurt feelings, the gift receipt is taped right there for the other mom to see. Other than that, remember to include a set of batteries if they aren’t included in the gift.
I like the Spanish traditions when it comes to birthday parties. The whole family and all the friends and neighbors are packed in the apartment flat or the country house compound. Everyone is eating, drinking, singing, and watching soccer. The kids are running around crazy, and it goes all night long.
I’ll end this with party “themes.” Certain things are sacred unless you do them correctly. We are not having a Harry Potter party ever. I will just get mad. If she asks for a princess party, we are not going to do it Disney Style, but Brothers Grimm. And if Kenneth wants pirates, Frances has an awesome book my brother bought her all about the female pirates, Booty, so she can be included too. One request: please, Frances, please don’t want a party at the beauty parlor. It goes against everything mommy stands for.
How about a party at Cup-A-Joe on Hillsborough Street? Everyone can play cards, write a poem to read on the open mic, and they get to take home ½ pound of Dave’s best Colombian as their party favor. I have a feeling it might just be us and the Cowans. Maybe Clyda will let Tate and Mia come too.
Reading Mommy Style
Nothing is better than snuggling up with all three of them around me and reading to them. It makes me feel like no matter what else happens during the day, we will always end on a calm note. Frances broke the refrigerator shelf trying to eat a stick of butter. Kenneth jumped off the couch playing Tarzan with a jump rope. Lowell tried to eat a Barbie doll leg. But when they beg me to read “In the Night Kitchen,” it is all worth it. When we follow it up with “Where the Wild Things Are,” I know that I am one of many moms who will always have Maurice Sendak to thank for the bedtime routine and heaven for about five minutes. You all know a loop hole is coming. A big one, right now.
Reading to the three of them is literally a three ring circus. It takes a good fifteen minutes to decide what we are going to read, and another five on which book is first. Frances wants letter books. She loves letter books. She could care less about stories where a paper bag princess realizes she is engaged to a bum and dances off in the sunset. We have two sets of books about letters and she has them memorized. She can recognize some site words, and if I make a mistake or forget something, she can correct me. She is also obsessed with nursery rhymes. When I say nursery rhymes, I mean all nursery rhymes and their various versions and the alternate endings and the verses no one else knows. For example, after he fell, Jack went home to mend his head with vinegar and brown paper. We could go on who wants to be a millionaire nursery rhyme edition and walk away without using a lifeline. She likes repetition, visuals, and a routine in her story time.
Kenneth needs real stories, preferably with some action. He also feels the need to ask a million questions during a reading. For example, he was very skeptical about Little Red Riding Hood. I put some of it in a status once, but here is the dialogue that took place:
“Mom, that is not a Grandma. That is a wolf.”
“He is wearing a disguise.”
“It isn’t a good disguise. I can see that it is a wolf.”
“Kenneth it’s a story.”
“OK, keep going.”
“Grandma, what big eyes you have.”
“And then he eats her.”
“No, Kenneth, then the wolf says, All the better to see you with my dear.”
“Why would he say anything? He is a wolf, he should just eat her.”
And so it went mixing what he knows from Animal Planet with what I am trying to read to him from fairy tales.
Lowell is still in the “board books are good for your gums” mode. That is fine. He loves to just be in the room and laugh. The other two love reading to him and making sure he gets it. That is fun to watch.
Children’s books have come a long way since Curious George. Some of their favorites I don’t think my grandmother could have read to them, I can’t see G.G. reading “Walter the Farting Dog” or “Stinky Cheese Man and other Fairly Stupid Tales.” I am not kidding when I think she rolls over in her grave at least twice a week by what goes on around here.
When they get on a topic, they want to check every book they can find out of the library on the subject. Right now, it’s Venus Flytraps. We have all of the library books just on this carnivorous plant, and we have read them. They both sit still to learn about how this little plant eats bugs. We have also watched several Youtube videos of this plant eating spiders, flies, and once it tried to eat a frog. They both seem to understand that they are too big for a Venus Flytrap to eat, thank goodness. The cool thing about this is that I learn something new. I took one science course in college, and now I get to go back and learn more. For example, the Flytrap needs nitrates from the insect’s body because it grows in bog soil. Each leaf set can eat three bugs, and then the leaves turn black and fall off.
When Kenneth found out they grow in NC, he said, “Mama! That’s where I was born.” (I wanted to say, no kidding, but I didn’t.) He is mad we moved because he used to live where the Flytraps grow. Now I can add “Has Venus Flytraps” to my list of pros for the south, of course here lately the bogs are being drained for pig farms.
I have tried very hard to indoctrinate “books” into them. They each have a shelf in their room of books. They have books in the playroom and books in the bathroom. They get books for their birthdays, Christmas, and in their Easter Basket. We go to the library once a week just like all the other good mommies. I could write yet another novel on library behavior, but I will just share this one story. Once during story time, the hippy librarians, not to be confused with the little old lady librarians, were doing a felt board of “There was an old lady who swallowed a fly.” I loved that song as a kid! No one told me that now she cries instead of dies, oops. But I mean really, that is up there with Grandma being confused with a wolf. How is she going to eat all that and live?
I remember when I was pregnant with Frances; I made a list of all my favorite books that I was going to read to her as she got bigger. Yes, I read to my stomach-Harry Potter, big surprise. I did not have the luxury of reading to the other two in the womb, but maybe they were listening when I read to their siblings. I love it that they love some of the ones I used to love. Right now they are in to “Pinkalicious,” Dr. Seuss’s “Hop on Pop,” and the letter “I.” It changes from week to week.
I wonder if I wouldn’t read to my kids if it weren’t for all those actors in the commercials on television telling me to read to my kids. It must be because the cast of Will and Grace shamed me into it most definitely. Once Frances had her Bible story book out, and I really felt like Miss Wonderful Supermom when I thought she was looking at that, until I heard her flip to pictures of David the Shepherd and she started singing, “Baa Baa Black sheep…” oh crap. There goes my grandmother again.
Reading to the three of them is literally a three ring circus. It takes a good fifteen minutes to decide what we are going to read, and another five on which book is first. Frances wants letter books. She loves letter books. She could care less about stories where a paper bag princess realizes she is engaged to a bum and dances off in the sunset. We have two sets of books about letters and she has them memorized. She can recognize some site words, and if I make a mistake or forget something, she can correct me. She is also obsessed with nursery rhymes. When I say nursery rhymes, I mean all nursery rhymes and their various versions and the alternate endings and the verses no one else knows. For example, after he fell, Jack went home to mend his head with vinegar and brown paper. We could go on who wants to be a millionaire nursery rhyme edition and walk away without using a lifeline. She likes repetition, visuals, and a routine in her story time.
Kenneth needs real stories, preferably with some action. He also feels the need to ask a million questions during a reading. For example, he was very skeptical about Little Red Riding Hood. I put some of it in a status once, but here is the dialogue that took place:
“Mom, that is not a Grandma. That is a wolf.”
“He is wearing a disguise.”
“It isn’t a good disguise. I can see that it is a wolf.”
“Kenneth it’s a story.”
“OK, keep going.”
“Grandma, what big eyes you have.”
“And then he eats her.”
“No, Kenneth, then the wolf says, All the better to see you with my dear.”
“Why would he say anything? He is a wolf, he should just eat her.”
And so it went mixing what he knows from Animal Planet with what I am trying to read to him from fairy tales.
Lowell is still in the “board books are good for your gums” mode. That is fine. He loves to just be in the room and laugh. The other two love reading to him and making sure he gets it. That is fun to watch.
Children’s books have come a long way since Curious George. Some of their favorites I don’t think my grandmother could have read to them, I can’t see G.G. reading “Walter the Farting Dog” or “Stinky Cheese Man and other Fairly Stupid Tales.” I am not kidding when I think she rolls over in her grave at least twice a week by what goes on around here.
When they get on a topic, they want to check every book they can find out of the library on the subject. Right now, it’s Venus Flytraps. We have all of the library books just on this carnivorous plant, and we have read them. They both sit still to learn about how this little plant eats bugs. We have also watched several Youtube videos of this plant eating spiders, flies, and once it tried to eat a frog. They both seem to understand that they are too big for a Venus Flytrap to eat, thank goodness. The cool thing about this is that I learn something new. I took one science course in college, and now I get to go back and learn more. For example, the Flytrap needs nitrates from the insect’s body because it grows in bog soil. Each leaf set can eat three bugs, and then the leaves turn black and fall off.
When Kenneth found out they grow in NC, he said, “Mama! That’s where I was born.” (I wanted to say, no kidding, but I didn’t.) He is mad we moved because he used to live where the Flytraps grow. Now I can add “Has Venus Flytraps” to my list of pros for the south, of course here lately the bogs are being drained for pig farms.
I have tried very hard to indoctrinate “books” into them. They each have a shelf in their room of books. They have books in the playroom and books in the bathroom. They get books for their birthdays, Christmas, and in their Easter Basket. We go to the library once a week just like all the other good mommies. I could write yet another novel on library behavior, but I will just share this one story. Once during story time, the hippy librarians, not to be confused with the little old lady librarians, were doing a felt board of “There was an old lady who swallowed a fly.” I loved that song as a kid! No one told me that now she cries instead of dies, oops. But I mean really, that is up there with Grandma being confused with a wolf. How is she going to eat all that and live?
I remember when I was pregnant with Frances; I made a list of all my favorite books that I was going to read to her as she got bigger. Yes, I read to my stomach-Harry Potter, big surprise. I did not have the luxury of reading to the other two in the womb, but maybe they were listening when I read to their siblings. I love it that they love some of the ones I used to love. Right now they are in to “Pinkalicious,” Dr. Seuss’s “Hop on Pop,” and the letter “I.” It changes from week to week.
I wonder if I wouldn’t read to my kids if it weren’t for all those actors in the commercials on television telling me to read to my kids. It must be because the cast of Will and Grace shamed me into it most definitely. Once Frances had her Bible story book out, and I really felt like Miss Wonderful Supermom when I thought she was looking at that, until I heard her flip to pictures of David the Shepherd and she started singing, “Baa Baa Black sheep…” oh crap. There goes my grandmother again.
Oldies but Goodies
I am moving some old posts from Facebook over here. Mostly because I am not convinced about their policies on what is and what is not Facebook property. If you have one you want to see here, let me know and I will add it.
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