Last night, we had our first-ever, holiday tree trimming party. We snacked on appetizers and Christmas cookies. The Egg Noggers drank some nog and the Non-Noggers (like me) sipped hot apple cider. We sang and danced to holiday music while we assembled and decorated the tree. And when we were finished, we watched A Christmas Story.
It was a wonderful night.
And you know what? It almost didn't happen. You see, the kids have had a bad case of the naughties the past couple of days. And because of it, I was filled with mild trepidation at the thought of the whole thing. I told Mark I was worried that the kids would misbehave and we'd spend the evening reprimanding and punishing, and not having a single bit of fun.
I had visions of Mad Dog and The Deuce pushing and shoving each other, trying to get at the tree. I could picture little Crowbar crying because he couldn't hang this or that. And I could imagine how tired and frustrated I'd feel after getting the whole mess cleaned up and the kids off to bed.
I told Mark my concerns. I told him I didn't want to get my hopes and expectations up to have them ruined by the naughties. I was worried that we'd put on this big spread and it'd just end up being a waste.
He gently assured me that even if the naughties showed up, I wouldn't be facing them alone, that he'd be there to help.
"This is our holiday," he said. "You're not in this alone anymore. So what if the kids act up? We'll put them to bed early and crack a bottle of wine."
His relaxed attitude eased my fears and we went ahead with the party. And, amazingly enough, the naughties stayed away. There wasn't a single fight or argument the whole time. Instead, the house was filled with laughter and holiday cheer.
At the end of the night, the kids skipped off to bed, willingly, and at their usual time. And that bottle of red is still untapped. Maybe we'll uncork it tonight - to celebrate that Christmas miracles do happen.
Crisis averted.
In the past, the only hazard associated with my kids' toys has been lead paint and small, detachable parts (a.k.a. throat plugs). Now, I've got a new problem to worry about: tiny, moving blades.
Behold, The Worst Gift for an Eight-Year Old. Ever.
Behold, The Worst Gift for an Eight-Year Old. Ever.
Jam N' Shred Pen
When I first saw the name, I thought "shred" was just hip, kid lingo. I didn't realize it referred to an actual shredder. This reveals that:
- I'm not as cool as I thought I was, and
- I now need to carefully review each and every item on the kids' lists for items that may get them maimed or expelled from school.
Thank you, Grandpa W., for catching my near-tragic oversight. Thank you for not shrugging it off with a, "She must know what she's doing," and instead, calling Mark and asking, "Is she nuts?!"
I am eternally grateful.
I researched the Jam N' Shred Pen (a little late, I know) to learn that it is indeed a writing instrument, but it also has a tiny paper shredder and FM radio with ear bud. Here, check it out for yourself. Apparently you can:
- Listen to your favorite radio station while you write, with the built-in tuner and ear bud.
- Use the shredding feature to keep your notes out of the wrong hands!
- It fits right inside the Password Journal (sold separately) for extra privacy!
Reading the product reviews was hilarious. My favorite review is actually more of a tirade. I believe it was written by a kid, or a semi-literate adult with ADD.
Here it is, unedited for your amusement:
I Bought This Toy At Ross For 68 Cents, Along With A Rare Happining Hair Barbie, And It Was Okay, I Didn't Hate It, Infact, There Was Not Much To Hate, Or Dislike. This All In One Is A Pen That Features An Fm Raido With An Earbud At The Top, And A Paper Shreader. All Great Stuff, But Not Good Because The Little Time Of Day Children Have At School To Learn, They Use This To Melt There Pre- Heated Cheese.
In The Packaging, An Ink Refill Which Is Amazingly Tiny Is Included, Also THE ONLY PAPER THAT WILL EASILY (EASILY=DECENTLY)FIT IN THE PAPER SHREADER,which is not that big (smaller than an unfolded gum wrapper) is included.
The Radio Is Pretty Cheap, The Pen Has To Be Facing A Certain Direction In A Certain Angle (It Will NEVER Be At An Angle In Which You Can Write And Listen) And Must Be Held That Way Without The Slightest Movement, Just To Once Again Realize That Yoko Ono Is Not Your Favorite Artist And That FM Stinks Packaging Quote " Listen To Your Fave Songs By The Hottest Artist This Summer" Unquote Well Which Summer Is It, There Has Been At Least 6 Since This Was Released, And Unless This Included A Magical Device Which Allows It To Constantly Update Itself In Entertainment Purposes, The Raido Stinks Too.
The Shreader Could Of Been Better, On Account Of It Is SO TINY it Only Fits The Paper Included, And It Always Gets Shreads Caught In It That You Cannot Get Out And Tend To Cause Problems When Shreading Paper.
The Pen Does Not Write Very Well And If You Forget To Twist It Back Then It Will Never Work Since It Dries Out So Fast. The Unig Itself In Not That Easy To Hold And Writing With It Will Cause Blisters.
Overall It Is Not That Great, But If You Get It For 68 Cents Like I Did, You Will Get What You Paid For. 68 Cents Is Not Alot For Those Who Don't Get It. It Is Overpriced Here, Go Buy It At Ross.
Two thoughts:
- It's sad our schools have failed so many.
- Doesn't this person understand how FM radio works? ("Unless This Included A Magical Device Which Allows It To Constantly Update Itself In Entertainment Purposes, The Raido Stinks Too.") Wah?
Anyhoo...
I can say with certainty that even if the shredder can only accommodate slips of paper the size of a gum wrapper, my kids'll figure out how to jam any number of items into that thing. I can hear it now, "Mom! I got my tongue stuck in my shredder!"
Sorry darlin', Santa won't be bringing this little gem this year or the next.
A style all his own.
Before Mark moved in, he'd been around the block with us enough to know the real deal. He'd already seen the good, the bad and the ugly well before the subject of living together even surfaced. He's seen so many tantrums, fights, meltdowns, and general hullabaloo; he knew exactly what he was getting into by moving in here.
One of the things I like most about him is how he handles the good, bad and ugly behavior that's typical of a houseful of kids. Though Mark doesn't have kids of his own, he's assumed a paternal role quite seamlessly. His parenting style, though somewhat unconventional, is for the kids, highly effective and, for me, quite entertaining.
His secret? An unshakable sense of humor with an occasional dose of apathy sprinkled in, as appropriate. Really. Watching him interact with the kids is a sight to be seen.
As an example, Mark is the self-appointed chair of The Committee of No. As the kids lobby hard for various ridiculous requests...
The kids know that when this committee is involved, they're getting a thumb's down. There's no need for a lengthy hearing, the answer is, was, and always will be, "NO!"
But even Mr. Apathy has a tender side. And last Saturday night he showed me just how sweet and deeply committed he is to this family.
It all started at about 12:30 a.m. We were sound asleep, when all of a sudden, Crowbar started crying. Somehow, Mark beat me out of bed and into his room. I was surprised by how quickly he got there. Normally, I'm the one who hears every tiny whimper and then springs into action. Mark must've sensed it was serious before I did.
I stumbled along in the dark to Crowbar's bedside.
"Aw, what's wrong?" he asked, gently, reaching out to stroke Crowbar's hair. "Did you have a bad dr---." He stopped mid sentence.
"What the? What's on his head?"
Sadly, little Crowbar had thrown up. It was everywhere -- in his hair, on his pj's and, when I flipped on the light, Mark was sitting right in it.
A lesser man would've turned tail and run. But, undaunted, Mark sprung into action. And he never once winced, flinched or gagged.
We worked together like a well-oiled machine. Mark took care of Crowbar and I tackled the mess. When I came back from the laundry room, Mark had already had him cleaned up.
Even though he was wrapped up warm and snug, the poor little guy was still crying. He was scared, upset and still nauseous. His little body shivered in Mark's embrace.
"It's okay, Buddy," Mark said, holding him close. "Don't you worry about a thing. I've got you. It's going to be alright."
The sight of Mark in his puke-covered pajamas, cradling my son blew me away. He was so calm, so tender. And he had love in his eyes -- despite all the ickiness.
I think Mark is exactly what this family needed. Someone to make us laugh at the ridiculousness of it all and someone to hold us close when we need it most.
And when he says it's going to be okay, I believe him. We all do.
One of the things I like most about him is how he handles the good, bad and ugly behavior that's typical of a houseful of kids. Though Mark doesn't have kids of his own, he's assumed a paternal role quite seamlessly. His parenting style, though somewhat unconventional, is for the kids, highly effective and, for me, quite entertaining.
His secret? An unshakable sense of humor with an occasional dose of apathy sprinkled in, as appropriate. Really. Watching him interact with the kids is a sight to be seen.
As an example, Mark is the self-appointed chair of The Committee of No. As the kids lobby hard for various ridiculous requests...
"Can I stay up all night?"...he suggests they make a formal request to The Committee of No."Can't I just skip doing homework this once?"
The kids know that when this committee is involved, they're getting a thumb's down. There's no need for a lengthy hearing, the answer is, was, and always will be, "NO!"
But even Mr. Apathy has a tender side. And last Saturday night he showed me just how sweet and deeply committed he is to this family.
It all started at about 12:30 a.m. We were sound asleep, when all of a sudden, Crowbar started crying. Somehow, Mark beat me out of bed and into his room. I was surprised by how quickly he got there. Normally, I'm the one who hears every tiny whimper and then springs into action. Mark must've sensed it was serious before I did.
I stumbled along in the dark to Crowbar's bedside.
"Aw, what's wrong?" he asked, gently, reaching out to stroke Crowbar's hair. "Did you have a bad dr---." He stopped mid sentence.
"What the? What's on his head?"
Sadly, little Crowbar had thrown up. It was everywhere -- in his hair, on his pj's and, when I flipped on the light, Mark was sitting right in it.
A lesser man would've turned tail and run. But, undaunted, Mark sprung into action. And he never once winced, flinched or gagged.
We worked together like a well-oiled machine. Mark took care of Crowbar and I tackled the mess. When I came back from the laundry room, Mark had already had him cleaned up.
Even though he was wrapped up warm and snug, the poor little guy was still crying. He was scared, upset and still nauseous. His little body shivered in Mark's embrace.
"It's okay, Buddy," Mark said, holding him close. "Don't you worry about a thing. I've got you. It's going to be alright."
The sight of Mark in his puke-covered pajamas, cradling my son blew me away. He was so calm, so tender. And he had love in his eyes -- despite all the ickiness.
I think Mark is exactly what this family needed. Someone to make us laugh at the ridiculousness of it all and someone to hold us close when we need it most.
And when he says it's going to be okay, I believe him. We all do.
Crowbar's new Christmas tradition.
The other night at dinner, Crowbar turned to me and unexpectedly asked,
"What do you want for Christmas, Mama?"
He took be off guard because:
"What do you want for Christmas, Mama?"
He took be off guard because:
- We weren't even discussing Christmas, and
- When we are, the topic is usually dominated by what the kids want.
When the girls first started asking me what I wanted for Christmas, I told them nail polish. Knowing my mom would be the one to take them shopping, I tried to come up with something small and inexpensive. And something they could also pick out special for me.
So, for the past several years, the girls have gotten me my special Christmas nail polish. The collection I've amassed is pretty, uh, bright. I've got several shades of hot pink and various hues of red. One of my favorites is a funky purple -a bold selection I wouldn't have picked for myself, but have grown to absolutely love.
I wear these shades proudly on my toenails - not because I'm embarrassed to wear them on my fingers, but only because I'm too hard on my hands and the paint job wouldn't last a day. It's become a sweet tradition that we all look forward to each year.
I looked at Crowbar with his sweet, smiling face. He needed a special gift tradition too.
"I'd like a new mug for my coffee."
"A special mug," he repeated, making a mental note. "Just for you."
"Yep. A special mug. From you."
He smiled a big, contented smile. I'm excited to see what he picks out.
A Classic for the Kiddies.
I was born in 1973. As a kid, I didn't have a whole host of animated shows to watch. For a long time, our old Curtis Mathis consol TV only offered the occasional kid show, and it was usually on PBS.
As such, I didn't have a hard time deciding what to watch. I didn't have to pick between between Dora and Blues Clues or Veggie Tales and Barney.
Nope. I had one show and it was Sesame Street.
My Sesame Street had Gordon, Luis, Maria and even David and Mr. Hooper. And do you remember John-John, the little black boy? I used to wish I was him so I could play with the Muppets too.
One of my greatest joys in parenting is sharing my own long, lost pastimes with my kids. We play video games together - including Pac Man - and now, thanks to YouTube, I can share some of my old school Sesame Street favorites with them.
We'll all crowd around the computer as I punch up classics like Don Music composing Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star and play the Alligator King song. Well, last night I found one of my all time favorites: Madeline Kahn and Grover's duet, "Sing."
Enjoy.
As such, I didn't have a hard time deciding what to watch. I didn't have to pick between between Dora and Blues Clues or Veggie Tales and Barney.
Nope. I had one show and it was Sesame Street.
My Sesame Street had Gordon, Luis, Maria and even David and Mr. Hooper. And do you remember John-John, the little black boy? I used to wish I was him so I could play with the Muppets too.
One of my greatest joys in parenting is sharing my own long, lost pastimes with my kids. We play video games together - including Pac Man - and now, thanks to YouTube, I can share some of my old school Sesame Street favorites with them.
We'll all crowd around the computer as I punch up classics like Don Music composing Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star and play the Alligator King song. Well, last night I found one of my all time favorites: Madeline Kahn and Grover's duet, "Sing."
Enjoy.
The Deuce is All Write.
The other day as I picked up the girls from school, The Deuce ran up to me, grabbed my arm and begged me to take her straight to Office Max.
"Please, please Mom! We've just got to go!"
"Please, please Mom! We've just got to go!"
Okay, so this was new. None of the kids have ever asked me to go there before.
"Why?"
"I just have to get this thing. It's made out of paper - bright yellow - and has this flap that folds over and there are these kinda pointy, prongy things that you can fold down."
She was talking at light speed.
"My teacher has one and I asked her where she got it and she said, 'Office Max,' so can we go there now, please?"
"Why do you need it?" I asked.
"I need it to keep organized," she said. "I'm going to keep track of all the foods I've eaten and put them into groups of four. Then, when I eat a new food, I'll write it down on a little card and put it inside."
"What are the four groups?"
"I don't know yet."
Despite her non-stop pleas the whole ride home, I was still a little unsure of what she was trying to describe. She had such high expectations for this "thing." I asked her to draw me a picture.
Yeah. It was a manila envelope.
Coincidentally, her parent-teacher conference was the next morning. I didn't get past the opening handshake before her teacher apologized.
"I'm so sorry," she began. "About the envelope. Your daughter saw mine and was completely obsessed. She wouldn't stop asking me about it. She really got herself worked up."
You know, I really shouldn't be surprised. In this case, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. I'm totally obsessed with paper products myself. I could spend all day in the a paper store, perusing the shelves for interesting note cards, stationery and planners. And, my love of organizational gadgets and filing systems is downright orgasmic.
I decided we could hold off on the Office Max visit. I figure I'll wait and see if the novelty of the envelope will wear off. The kid's got the attention span of a sparrow.
Besides, I'm afraid of how much damage the two of us could do in there.
Faux pas.
Mark (looking at Rachael Ray's picture on the back of a box of Ritz): She's everywhere. You can even buy her garbage bowl now.
Me: I don't get it. She's like, America's darling. I could totally do that.
Mark: Yeah, and you wouldn't be as annoying.
Me: AS annoying?
Mark: Hmm?
Me: AS annoying. You said, "AS annoying." You mean NOT annoying.
Mark: Did I? Oh, hey, look at the time. Gotta go.
Me: I don't get it. She's like, America's darling. I could totally do that.
Mark: Yeah, and you wouldn't be as annoying.
Me: AS annoying?
Mark: Hmm?
Me: AS annoying. You said, "AS annoying." You mean NOT annoying.
Mark: Did I? Oh, hey, look at the time. Gotta go.
Hazing Mark.
This week, Mark received his official hazing. No, we didn't send him out to streak the neighborhood or tape any of his body parts together, we hazed him elementary school style.
First, due to a mysterious illness that rendered me fairly useless one night this week, Mark had to help Abby complete her science project. You remember... THE POLLINATOR. (You have to say it with an Arnold Schwarzenegger accent.)
The last step was to create the wings, which he did using wire cord and wax paper. I'd say it turned out pretty cool.
Paper maché body, egg carton head, sticks for legs. Aside from the wings, The Pollinator is pretty much biodegradable.
Nice wings!
Mark also participated in his first all-school Movie Night last night. Basically we sacked out on the floor of the gym with about 200 elementary school kids to watch Kung Fu Panda. Forget watching the movie. With all those kids, high on free slushies, it was chaos. Lucky for us, I brought camp chairs so we could at least sit up off the floor, avoiding spilled orange drink.
The organizers of Movie Night hold a few raffle drawings during the event. Usually it's pretty good stuff - restaurant gift certificates and movie theatre passes- but in the 3 years the kids and I have gone, we've never won anything.
Last night, we actually crossed our fingers NOT to win. They gave away $20 gift certificates to a local pizza place. It's basically an upscale answer to Chuck E. Cheese, where you cannot get out of the place without dropping at least $75 on overpriced food, arcade-style games and the rock-climbing wall. We went once and, after needing to sell a kidney to recover financially, I vowed never to go back. Twenty dollars would barely make a dent in the bill.
Thank God my losing streak continued and thank God Mark survived the week. I figure by the time the spring dance rolls around, he'll be ready for anything.
At least I hope so, I signed us up as chaperones.
(Kidding.)
Scenes from a Taco Bell bathroom.
As a self-described "word nerd," I can't help but notice things. I have an eye for catching grammatical errors and typos that should never have made it into public view.
Generally whenever I find one of these gems, I roll my eyes and share it with the nearest person. Their reaction is pretty much the same. Eyeball rolling... AT ME.
I know, this is an annoying habit and that I sound totally elitist when I do it, but c'mon... I honestly don't expect the management of small, locally owned businesses to know whether or not to use quotation marks and apostrophes, but the knuckleheads down at the sign company should.
So, here's the first addition to my photo collection of bad signs:
Generally whenever I find one of these gems, I roll my eyes and share it with the nearest person. Their reaction is pretty much the same. Eyeball rolling... AT ME.
I know, this is an annoying habit and that I sound totally elitist when I do it, but c'mon... I honestly don't expect the management of small, locally owned businesses to know whether or not to use quotation marks and apostrophes, but the knuckleheads down at the sign company should.
So, here's the first addition to my photo collection of bad signs:
Taco Bell bathroom.
Appleton, WI
I can think of about 20 different ways to rewrite this message. The top version in English is definitely wrong, but I don't trust my recollection of high school Spanish to edit the bottom copy. I'll defer to my bilingual friends for an assist.
Scared stiff.
Crowbar's going through a new phase. He's scared of everything.
For starters, he's now afraid of the dark. At night, he insists I leave on a lamp with a 60-watt bulb, despite the fact that a nightlight was just fine for the first three-and-a-half years. And now, as you can imagine with it so bright in there, he isn't going to bed easily.
While his new found fear of the dark seems legit, he clearly feigns fright when I raise my voice at him. His eyes get huge, he fakes biting his nails in fear and last night, I even caught him forcing his lower lip to quiver. Sometimes he even musters a tear or two.
For starters, he's now afraid of the dark. At night, he insists I leave on a lamp with a 60-watt bulb, despite the fact that a nightlight was just fine for the first three-and-a-half years. And now, as you can imagine with it so bright in there, he isn't going to bed easily.
While his new found fear of the dark seems legit, he clearly feigns fright when I raise my voice at him. His eyes get huge, he fakes biting his nails in fear and last night, I even caught him forcing his lower lip to quiver. Sometimes he even musters a tear or two.
The little faker.
I'm not really sure where this all started. Maybe he sees how dramatic his sisters are and feels he needs his own routine. Maybe one of his cohorts at daycare fakes fright to get his way and Crowbar's trying it out on me.
Either way, it's getting old. Whether it's an act or the real deal, when he freezes up, he reminds me of a fainting goat. Fine one minute, then scared stiff the next.
Go figure.
Weekend roundup.
What a weekend. It wasn't the over-booked on the go-go-go kind, but the stay at home and work-you-ass-off variety. I felt like I barely sat down.
He told me, "I'll hang 'em and you can decorate 'em."
My garden was dismal this year, but I did manage to grow one, little red pepper and a handful of cherry tomatoes. We ate my pepper last night, diced on a salad. (Yeah, it was that small.)
Science project time! We made a 3D model of a marigold, complete with roots, pistil and stamen.
The flower is made of painted coffee filters, wire, green electrical tape, a handle from a brown paper bag and Q-tips.
We're still working on the pollinator. It's going to be a paper mache bee. Right now, it just looks kinda wrong.
I'm actually pretty proud of the science project. So much so, I think I may start a side business helping kids make them. I'll get Mark started on a display shelf!
Even though I got a ton done, it was just one of those weekends where you feel like as you're cleaning one room, someone's trashing another -- common with kids in the house. So, when I stopped mid-day yesterday to survey my progress, it looked like I'd barely made a dent.
But, looking at my to do list (almost all crossed off) this morning, I feel pretty good about it. For your viewing enjoyment, here's a photo recap of the weekend.
Remember when I told you Mark's a handy guy? He installed two shelves for me in the kitchen this weekend.
He told me, "I'll hang 'em and you can decorate 'em."
My garden was dismal this year, but I did manage to grow one, little red pepper and a handful of cherry tomatoes. We ate my pepper last night, diced on a salad. (Yeah, it was that small.) Science project time! We made a 3D model of a marigold, complete with roots, pistil and stamen.The flower is made of painted coffee filters, wire, green electrical tape, a handle from a brown paper bag and Q-tips.We're still working on the pollinator. It's going to be a paper mache bee. Right now, it just looks kinda wrong.I'm actually pretty proud of the science project. So much so, I think I may start a side business helping kids make them. I'll get Mark started on a display shelf!
Jess's favorite things: Kath & Kim
Oprah shares her favorite things, so why shouldn't I?
There's a new NBC show that's beginning to grow on me: Kath & Kim. The show's actually an American version of an Australian show. It's about a 40ish, single mom (Molly Shannon) and her 20-something daughter (Selma Blair) who are obsessed with celebrities, shopping at the local mall and love-life drama.
Kath is engaged to Phil Knight, played by John Michael Higgins (Best in Show, A Mighty Wind). He's a corny guy who owns Sandwich Island in Kath & Kim's local mall. Left at the alter 3 times, he's reluctant to have a big, elaborate wedding. Sadly Kath wants a big blowout, complete with a pumpkin carriage she saw at a parade.
For me, the show's like a bowl of Halloween candy. Not nutritionally satisfying, but you just can't stop reaching for more.
Here's one of my favorite quotes:
Tune in sometime, but be warned. It may take an episode or two for it to grow on you.
There's a new NBC show that's beginning to grow on me: Kath & Kim. The show's actually an American version of an Australian show. It's about a 40ish, single mom (Molly Shannon) and her 20-something daughter (Selma Blair) who are obsessed with celebrities, shopping at the local mall and love-life drama.
Kath is engaged to Phil Knight, played by John Michael Higgins (Best in Show, A Mighty Wind). He's a corny guy who owns Sandwich Island in Kath & Kim's local mall. Left at the alter 3 times, he's reluctant to have a big, elaborate wedding. Sadly Kath wants a big blowout, complete with a pumpkin carriage she saw at a parade.
For me, the show's like a bowl of Halloween candy. Not nutritionally satisfying, but you just can't stop reaching for more.
Here's one of my favorite quotes:
Phil to Kath:
"Sugar pie, if you want a fairy tale wedding, I'll give you the fairiest tale wedding there ever was!"
Tune in sometime, but be warned. It may take an episode or two for it to grow on you.
Waiting to Exhale.
Ever since Mark moved in, I can't believe how heavily I've been sleeping. Each night, by 9 p.m., I'm dog tired. My arms and legs feel like they're made of lead and I can barely stay awake. A few mornings, I've even woke up in exactly the same position I fell asleep in. And, when my alarm goes off, I struggle to wake up and get out of bed.
This is not normal for me.
I used to go to bed by 10:30 or 11, sleep rather lightly and easily bounce out of bed by 4:15. And I didn't need quite so much coffee to get myself moving.
At first I figured that this new sleep pattern was a side effect of stress from the move. I thought that in a few nights, I'd return to normal. But it hasn't exactly played out that way. It's been almost a month and even though I'm getting more sleep, I'm still waking up groggy, yearning for more.
But then, it occurred to me. I think before Mark got here I was forced to be a light sleeper. As the only adult in a house with small children, I slept with one eye open, always able to hear every noise - every sigh, sniffle and murmur - no matter how faint. I had to be ready to hop out of bed and respond to whatever need might arise.
Now, I can share that responsibility with someone else. Mark's totally capable of hearing creaky floorboards and wild weather outside. He's as able to hear Crowbar in the hall and usher him back to bed with a drink of water as I am.
I don't have to be the sole night guardsman anymore.
I think my body knows this. I think it knows I don't have to be on high alert anymore and it's finally allowing me to fully and completely relax and get a good night's sleep. My first good, deep sleep in three years!
I can't help but think of that movie, Waiting to Exhale. In it, the characters go through a lot of drama. Eventually, as each character resolves her conflict, she lets out a big, deep exhale.
That's how I feel. Even though I didn't know it at the time, I was trudging forward, carrying the weight of my little world on my shoulders. Even though I was still managing to move forward, it was slow and laborious.
Now, as I begin to share some of that load, I'm beginning to fully realize just how heavy it is. With Mark's help, as my load lightens, I'm finally able to take a much needed rest.
With Mark here, I can finally exhale.
This is not normal for me.
I used to go to bed by 10:30 or 11, sleep rather lightly and easily bounce out of bed by 4:15. And I didn't need quite so much coffee to get myself moving.
At first I figured that this new sleep pattern was a side effect of stress from the move. I thought that in a few nights, I'd return to normal. But it hasn't exactly played out that way. It's been almost a month and even though I'm getting more sleep, I'm still waking up groggy, yearning for more.
But then, it occurred to me. I think before Mark got here I was forced to be a light sleeper. As the only adult in a house with small children, I slept with one eye open, always able to hear every noise - every sigh, sniffle and murmur - no matter how faint. I had to be ready to hop out of bed and respond to whatever need might arise.
Now, I can share that responsibility with someone else. Mark's totally capable of hearing creaky floorboards and wild weather outside. He's as able to hear Crowbar in the hall and usher him back to bed with a drink of water as I am.
I don't have to be the sole night guardsman anymore.
I think my body knows this. I think it knows I don't have to be on high alert anymore and it's finally allowing me to fully and completely relax and get a good night's sleep. My first good, deep sleep in three years!
I can't help but think of that movie, Waiting to Exhale. In it, the characters go through a lot of drama. Eventually, as each character resolves her conflict, she lets out a big, deep exhale.
That's how I feel. Even though I didn't know it at the time, I was trudging forward, carrying the weight of my little world on my shoulders. Even though I was still managing to move forward, it was slow and laborious.
Now, as I begin to share some of that load, I'm beginning to fully realize just how heavy it is. With Mark's help, as my load lightens, I'm finally able to take a much needed rest.
With Mark here, I can finally exhale.
Life lessons.
About a week ago, The Deuce asked:
"Mom, who are you going to vote for?"
"Mr. Obama," I said.
"Dad's voting for McCain," she responded, watching me closely for my reaction.
"That's okay. He can vote for whoever he wants. That's what's so great about our country. Each person gets to give their opinion."
"Mom, who are you going to vote for?"
"Mr. Obama," I said.
"Dad's voting for McCain," she responded, watching me closely for my reaction.
"That's okay. He can vote for whoever he wants. That's what's so great about our country. Each person gets to give their opinion."
Never pass up an opportunity to teach your kids to appreciate our democratic process and, equally important, to be respectful of other people's opinions.
(Even your ex-husband's.)
Thanks, Crowbar.I like to call it "creative parenting."
The other day one of the girls asked me what's "bluffing."
I explained that it's when someone says they're going to do something, to try to make someone do something else. And the other person has to figure out if they're serious or not. I used a kid-friendly example to help explain (can't really reference poker, ya know?) and they got it.
Fast forward to Sunday morning:
We're at the table, eating breakfast. The kids have this annoying habit of eating ridiculously slowly or racing through a meal. I swear I must tell the kids to either "hurry up" or "slow down" at least ten times each. We rarely, if ever, all finish eating at the same time. So, it wasn't surprising that Mad Dog totally inhaled her cinnamon roll and cereal. As she got up and started walking out of the dining room, she asked to be excused.
"Wait."
"What?"
"Sit down. You need to wait until everyone else is done."
I had been writing out a list of the day's to dos and I wanted her to be a part of the discussion.
"But I want to play my video game," she whined.
"No. Sit down."
She flopped down into her chair in a huff. Somehow in the last week, she developed an attitude like a 16 year old. I ignored the tantrum and returned to the topic at hand. A minute or two passed when she asked,
"Can I be excused, pleease?"
"No. We're not done."
"Well, when?"
"When I say."
She folded her arms across her chest and rolled her eyes. At this point, I've gone from mildly annoyed to somewhat pissed. The Deuce slurped down the rest of her food, but aside from that, the rest of us were still eating.
"Can I be excused?" The Deuce asked.
"No. You guys need to wait. We're talking about what we're going to do today. It's a team meeting. We all need to be here."
Thirty seconds later (I swear), Mad Dog was dumb enough to ask again.
"Can I be excused, NOW?!" Clearly, she was pissed too.
"NO! And the next person that asks is going to... to..."
My mind raced. In the past week, I'd taken away the TV and computer. Taking either one away again wouldn't have the effect I wanted and I couldn't think of a suitable punishment.
"Going to what?" the girls asked, leaning in.
"Going to stand outside in the cold, barefoot, for two whole minutes."
They studied my face. Was I serious?
"Are you bluffing?" asked Mad Dog.
"Try me," I said.
With devilish smiles on their faces, they did.
"May I be excused?" they chirped in unison.
"Outside," I said, grinning. I pointed to the back door. "NOW!"
The girls giggled and laughed as they ran for the door and stepped outside. The weather was a brisk 54 degrees, but the cold concrete patio made it feel colder. They stood, face to face, still giggling as I set the timer.
"Two minutes, starting... NOW!"
For the first thirty seconds, the girls danced around and rubbed their arms, telling me it really wasn't so bad. Then, at about 40 seconds, they asked if time was almost up.
"You're about half way," I called out the back door. "Stay out there!"
Their giggles turned to shrieks, "Eeks! We're cold!"
At the minute-and-a-half mark, they clutched each other for warmth.
"Time's up!" I opened the back door, letting them in. They flew through the door and straight in their warm robes.
"Sorry, Mom!" they called as they raced up the steps to their room. "Sorry!"
~ ~ ~
Now, some might think this was cruel, but I like to call it "creative parenting." It's hard when the kids decide to test their boundaries so thoroughly. Some days it feels like all I do is sold and punish. And besides, the more I lecture, the more my kids tune it out anyway. Sometimes it pays to be a little resourceful. Sometimes, simple shock value can be more effective than any time out or grounding.
I'm curious. Do you have a creative parenting moment to share? It could be you as a parent or you as a kid. Either way, I'm always looking for more creative parenting tricks to add to my arsenal!
I explained that it's when someone says they're going to do something, to try to make someone do something else. And the other person has to figure out if they're serious or not. I used a kid-friendly example to help explain (can't really reference poker, ya know?) and they got it.
Fast forward to Sunday morning:
We're at the table, eating breakfast. The kids have this annoying habit of eating ridiculously slowly or racing through a meal. I swear I must tell the kids to either "hurry up" or "slow down" at least ten times each. We rarely, if ever, all finish eating at the same time. So, it wasn't surprising that Mad Dog totally inhaled her cinnamon roll and cereal. As she got up and started walking out of the dining room, she asked to be excused.
"Wait."
"What?"
"Sit down. You need to wait until everyone else is done."
I had been writing out a list of the day's to dos and I wanted her to be a part of the discussion.
"But I want to play my video game," she whined.
"No. Sit down."
She flopped down into her chair in a huff. Somehow in the last week, she developed an attitude like a 16 year old. I ignored the tantrum and returned to the topic at hand. A minute or two passed when she asked,
"Can I be excused, pleease?"
"No. We're not done."
"Well, when?"
"When I say."
She folded her arms across her chest and rolled her eyes. At this point, I've gone from mildly annoyed to somewhat pissed. The Deuce slurped down the rest of her food, but aside from that, the rest of us were still eating.
"Can I be excused?" The Deuce asked.
"No. You guys need to wait. We're talking about what we're going to do today. It's a team meeting. We all need to be here."
Thirty seconds later (I swear), Mad Dog was dumb enough to ask again.
"Can I be excused, NOW?!" Clearly, she was pissed too.
"NO! And the next person that asks is going to... to..."
My mind raced. In the past week, I'd taken away the TV and computer. Taking either one away again wouldn't have the effect I wanted and I couldn't think of a suitable punishment.
"Going to what?" the girls asked, leaning in.
"Going to stand outside in the cold, barefoot, for two whole minutes."
They studied my face. Was I serious?
"Are you bluffing?" asked Mad Dog.
"Try me," I said.
With devilish smiles on their faces, they did.
"May I be excused?" they chirped in unison.
"Outside," I said, grinning. I pointed to the back door. "NOW!"
The girls giggled and laughed as they ran for the door and stepped outside. The weather was a brisk 54 degrees, but the cold concrete patio made it feel colder. They stood, face to face, still giggling as I set the timer.
"Two minutes, starting... NOW!"
For the first thirty seconds, the girls danced around and rubbed their arms, telling me it really wasn't so bad. Then, at about 40 seconds, they asked if time was almost up.
"You're about half way," I called out the back door. "Stay out there!"
Their giggles turned to shrieks, "Eeks! We're cold!"
At the minute-and-a-half mark, they clutched each other for warmth.
"Time's up!" I opened the back door, letting them in. They flew through the door and straight in their warm robes.
"Sorry, Mom!" they called as they raced up the steps to their room. "Sorry!"
~ ~ ~
Now, some might think this was cruel, but I like to call it "creative parenting." It's hard when the kids decide to test their boundaries so thoroughly. Some days it feels like all I do is sold and punish. And besides, the more I lecture, the more my kids tune it out anyway. Sometimes it pays to be a little resourceful. Sometimes, simple shock value can be more effective than any time out or grounding.
I'm curious. Do you have a creative parenting moment to share? It could be you as a parent or you as a kid. Either way, I'm always looking for more creative parenting tricks to add to my arsenal!
Sausage Fest 08
So how was Sausage Fest? I wouldn't know. We never made it in the door. The sausage blow-out sale was from 9-1. We got there about 10:30, thinking the initial flurry of sausage fanatics would be over and we'd be able to shop from whatever was left.
No so.
When we arrived, there was a line that was at least two blocks long. It went all the way from the front doors, down the parking lot and almost into the street.
We both groaned when we saw it. Apparently the sausage store only lets a certain number of people in at a time to avoid a frenzied crowd. Evidently they don't want an unruly mob of blue hairs stuffing frankfurters down their blouses.
The people we talked to (in the line's halfway point) had been there since before 9.
Neither one of us was looking forward to waiting in line for several hours with three squirrely kids. Maybe we'll get a sitter and try again next year.
No so.
When we arrived, there was a line that was at least two blocks long. It went all the way from the front doors, down the parking lot and almost into the street.
Is this line for Eagles tickets or discounted sausage?
We both groaned when we saw it. Apparently the sausage store only lets a certain number of people in at a time to avoid a frenzied crowd. Evidently they don't want an unruly mob of blue hairs stuffing frankfurters down their blouses.
The people we talked to (in the line's halfway point) had been there since before 9.
Neither one of us was looking forward to waiting in line for several hours with three squirrely kids. Maybe we'll get a sitter and try again next year.
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