Last week we attended Open House at the newest Kindergartener’s school. As she is my first child, this was my first Open House as a parent and I wasn’t sure what to expect. My husband clearly didn’t know what to expect either because he went in his typical wrinkled cargo shorts. Imagine his surprise when he noticed all the other fathers in slacks. Several were even wearing suits most likely leftover from the work day. Hello.
My daughter enjoyed showing us around her classroom pointing out where she sits and all her displayed work. I enjoyed the part where her teacher told us how intelligent she is and what a pleasure she is to have in class. She described her as focused, interested, observant and good at following directions. When she picked assigned seats for the kids before school started, she asked each kid's previous teacher to describe his or her personality. My daughter was described to her as, “An angel. So sweet and helpful.” She said she agrees completely. I’m pretty sure I’m ready to die and go to heaven now. I guess I should hold off though in case she goes on to win the Nobel Prize for Chemistry. It would be a shame to miss that.
Not that I’ve been fretting about her doing okay in Kindergarten. Even though she’s a little young for Kindergarten by state age requirements, I never once thought she wasn’t ready. But my husband and I occasionally wonder whether our complete over bias as parents prevents us from really seeing our children clearly. Like when your child is a baby and she smiles and you think she is the cutest baby in existence and that there has never been a cuter moment in the history of time. Which is how you end up with so many photos of your kid. Because each moment just seems like the cutest ever and what kind of fool wouldn’t want to capture the single cutest moment in recorded human history.
So then you start to wonder if maybe your baby is really an ugly troll baby and you just love them so much you can’t see it. Like maybe all your friends and relatives are just agreeing the baby is cute to be nice to you. My husband and I have had that exact debate three or four times. We always conclude that our kids really are cute. Duh.
As they get older, we've discovered other idiotic topics to debate like whether or not our kid is really smart. You know. Like when the hag at one of the Kindergartens we looked at wanted to know if my kid was reading yet. Should she be? What exactly do you mean by reading? Maybe my kid’s way behind and I don’t realize it? Or maybe you’re just a hag over exaggerating about what your Kindergarteners can already do.
So anyway, it's good to know we're not insane. It's also good to know that her teachers take the time to notice her.
We also went to our two year old's preschool classroom while we were at the same open house. We got a kick out of his scribbles on the wall next to those of a classmate that was actually forming stick figures. No really, our kid took a black pencil and just scribbled everywhere and the other kid had actual stick people.
Because we are both certifiable wackos, my husband quickly utilized the birthday display on another wall to cross reference the stick figure kid’s name to figure out the stick figure kid’s age. He came back over to report to me that the stick figure kid was three months younger than our little scribbler. So then, just to make sure the entire world knows we're certifiable wackos, my husband and I laughingly pointed this out to his teacher. We're not worried about him. He's two. Scribbling is fine by us. We just found it entertaining that he's in class with Picasso.
As an example of why his teacher is able to make a living teaching small children and we are not, she immediately smiled at our son and said as sweet as can be “We all have different gifts.” The cult either prepped her with that answer or she’s just still trying to convince me that she's genuinely the nicest person ever. She went on to claim that our son had a stick figure coming along nicely but that she turned away for a second to help another kid and he got carried away scribbling everywhere over it. As "carried away" is currently the story of that kid's life, I suppose her story holds water.
Later that night in bed, my husband subjected me to a "maybe we should work on his coloring" discussion. I entertained the topic not because I think we need to work on his coloring but because, dude, my husband pays his dues. Last month, after the newest Kindergartener's teacher announced that they'd be assigning kids to reading groups in November based on reading level, I made my husband listen to me confess that my immediate reaction to the announcement was, "I hope she's in the top group." Okay. Fine. So maybe it was more like, "She better be in the top group." I know. It's hard to decide which is worse. Making someone else listen to you be the annoying super competitive parent or temporarily becoming the annoying super competitive parent.
I talked myself down from the competitive parent ledge by reminding myself that not everyone can be in the top group and that trying hard and doing your best is the most important thing. Then I stitched that on a pillow and sold it at craft fairs so I wouldn't forget. Because it’s Kindergarten not brain surgery. It’s sad when you have to remind yourself of that.
9.16.2008
Tommorrow my multiple personalities are going to cancel Christmas
I think I’m developing a multiple personality disorder. That’s the only way I can explain writing yesterday about how I’m not throwing the newest Kindergartener a birthday party and then shopping online for bounce house rentals the very next day. That’s flaky. Right? I’m officially a flaky spaz. Either that or the maternal guilt stomped all over my soul saying throw the party or she’ll be on Dr. Phil in 20 years. My maternal guilt will also be stomping all over my husband’s soul if he’s not back from his trip to help me with it.
In my head, I decided I’d just throw a bounce house up in the yard and toss a table in the garage for cake and craft/games. When it seemed easy, I mentally committed. Now that I’m all in, my innate need to go overboard is already coordinating bounce house pricing, invitations and who will hang the banner over the garage that I haven’t made and didn’t even know I was planning to make until 10 minutes ago. I’ve been mentally planning for less than two hours and I already have a deadline picked out for when the invitations need to go out. My current conundrum is whether I should bake an extra mini cake so she can blow out candles on her birthday and still have cake at the party later in the week. That’s in addition to the cupcakes for her class. I know. There is no end to my ability to make my own life more complicated.
My husband about rolled his eyes right out of his head when I announced the party. Mostly the part about the party not being at Chuck E. Cheese. He thinks I should let Chuck E. Cheese entertain and clean up after other people’s children. He did not, however, realize to have or not to have a party had ever been up in the air. Further proof the man doesn't read this website but I'm going to let that slide since I need him to clean the garage to get ready for the party I'm throwing in there.
This will be my first children’s party. The first little invitations that will go out. The first bounce house killing my grass. I’m thinking 10:30 to 12:30 on Saturday. Too short? Three hours instead? What if kids have sports in the morning? Would 11 to 1 be better? 1 to 3? Craft or game? No crafts or games? The details! The tiny staggering little details! I’d bore the Internet more but I need to get back to brainstorming party invitations while I pretend to work.
In my head, I decided I’d just throw a bounce house up in the yard and toss a table in the garage for cake and craft/games. When it seemed easy, I mentally committed. Now that I’m all in, my innate need to go overboard is already coordinating bounce house pricing, invitations and who will hang the banner over the garage that I haven’t made and didn’t even know I was planning to make until 10 minutes ago. I’ve been mentally planning for less than two hours and I already have a deadline picked out for when the invitations need to go out. My current conundrum is whether I should bake an extra mini cake so she can blow out candles on her birthday and still have cake at the party later in the week. That’s in addition to the cupcakes for her class. I know. There is no end to my ability to make my own life more complicated.
My husband about rolled his eyes right out of his head when I announced the party. Mostly the part about the party not being at Chuck E. Cheese. He thinks I should let Chuck E. Cheese entertain and clean up after other people’s children. He did not, however, realize to have or not to have a party had ever been up in the air. Further proof the man doesn't read this website but I'm going to let that slide since I need him to clean the garage to get ready for the party I'm throwing in there.
This will be my first children’s party. The first little invitations that will go out. The first bounce house killing my grass. I’m thinking 10:30 to 12:30 on Saturday. Too short? Three hours instead? What if kids have sports in the morning? Would 11 to 1 be better? 1 to 3? Craft or game? No crafts or games? The details! The tiny staggering little details! I’d bore the Internet more but I need to get back to brainstorming party invitations while I pretend to work.
9.15.2008
Don't judge me for brainstroming Halloween costumes in September
This morning I feel as though I have everything in the world going on and nothing at all. At the same time no less. That’s odd, right? I think it’s that I have so many things that I think I should be working on but not really sure how to proceed so I’m sort of idling in neutral. Yesterday I idled in neutral all day with the exception of a trip to the grocery store.
One of my big idling issues is the newest Kindergartener’s upcoming 5th birthday. I had wanted to do a full fledged party for her this year as opposed to just cake with family but she’s only been at her new school a few weeks now and I’m worried other parents won’t be invested enough to bring their kids. Not that I’m a party hag, but if my kid’s not really friends with the your kid, I don’t really feel obligated to waste my Saturday at your kid’s party. I’m sure your kid is awesome and I’m sure the party you’re throwing him will be awesome. But seriously, it’s Saturday. I enjoy doing nothing sometimes.
My husband is also headed out of town again. This time I suppose it’s a more worthy cause than usual. He’ll be heading to South Texas to provide post Hurricane Ike assistance. He was in New Orleans a week after Katrina, too. He stayed a month. Much like that time, he’s not sure when he'll be home. The joy of being married to him never ends. And yes, it is ironic that he's the one sleeping in condemned buildings and eating MREs for a month but I'm the one complaining. Whatever.
So my point is, he’ll be out of town and I won’t really have a lot of time for party planning anyway. Time for watching reality television and writing on my blog? Clearly. Time for convincing myself that going to Chuck E. Cheese won’t kill me? Minimal. And what if he’s not back in time for the party? Talk about wanting to fling myself into a wood chipper.
Besides, we’ll be doing the party with her class. That’s going to include baking and decorating our own cupcakes and giving all the kids in the class some stuff made in China. I should definitely get some credit for that. I’m even done shopping for presents. Primarily because I’ve been stockpiling ideas on my Amazon wishlist for months. See it. Like it. Wish list it. Go, me.
Next weekend I’m going to seal the deal on preparations by making letters out of cute scrapbook paper like last year. I’ve decided to make it a tradition. So far she’s has three different versions of her name taped to her bedroom wall. I’m kicking myself for not doing it the other year. But it’s okay. When she’s 30 and I’m mailing her birthday letters cross country to her, it’s unlikely she’ll remember the lack of handmade letters on her second birthday. The dog shaped cake about gave me carpel tunnel as it was so let’s all let that year go.
I already bought an assortment of pretty pink paper including some with sparkles. It’s going to be killer. I may or may not let the wrecking crew in the room with me while I work on it. Like I really have a choice. Unless I lock myself in the bathroom and sit on the toilet while I cut them out but that seems sort of beneath even me.
The other thing that’s “haunting my brain but not urgent enough to act on” is trying to decide on Halloween costumes. I know. I should really get a life and stop contemplating Halloween costumes in mid September. But last year, my life involved rush delivery. I’ve learned my lesson. Chapter 1 was "Start early."
Next year, will be Chapter 2 titled “Don’t even look at what Pottery Barn Kids is selling because it will make the costume aisle at Target that much more disappointing in comparison.” This year it's too late. I've already gazed upon the cuteness that is their banana. Try not to think about the fact that it's $69. Instead picture my husband dressed as a giant gorilla holding the banana. I think my life would be complete if I could witness that kind of cuteness. Of course, I’d have to kill myself in shame after spending $69 on something so frivolously non essential but maybe it would be worth it. Maybe not.
I had resigned myself to shopping for princess costumes for my daughter this year. She’s been boring me to tears with her princess obsession so it was a no brainer. Except then she heard her brother and I discussing being a posse of cowboys and now she’d rather die than allow anyone to dress alike without including her. I wasn’t even trying to play them against each other. I swear I wasn’t. I was really planning to buy the princess outfit. I didn’t even try to sway her. In fact, if she wanted to be Ariel, I’d already contemplated underwater themed costumes for the rest of us. Imagine my surprise when she demanded to not be a princess. Score!
My daughter’s only requirement appears to be that someone else be the same thing as her. That sort of rules out the Village People again this year which is okay because it'll be better when the 2 year old is old enough to learn the dance and do it in unison with the rest of us anyway. I'm not saying I'm the sort of parent to stage that sort of choreographed video and upload it to YouTube. I'm just saying don't look for it until next year.
After explaining the dress alike restriction for our costume theme, my husband suggested the Wizard of Oz. I don't recall there being 2 Glendas but even weirder than that he claims he’s willing to dress up as the Tin Man. Dude doesn't like anything remotely over the top. This must have been said in a sappy moment before leaving town. I particularly enjoyed the part where he claimed he’d be willing to make his own costume out of a box and some tin foil. I’m not sure if he was planning to scrape that thing together from Hurricane debris or what but we’ll never find out because I already did a Wizard of Oz theme. Dude's memory must be a sieve to forget our one year old in pig tails with sparkly red shoes from Target. So cute it nearly killed people. Don’t believe me? Fine:
I warned you. So anyway, I’m contemplating a lot of stupid stuff but doing nothing. I think that could very well be the story of my life. Eh. At least I made it to the grocery store.
One of my big idling issues is the newest Kindergartener’s upcoming 5th birthday. I had wanted to do a full fledged party for her this year as opposed to just cake with family but she’s only been at her new school a few weeks now and I’m worried other parents won’t be invested enough to bring their kids. Not that I’m a party hag, but if my kid’s not really friends with the your kid, I don’t really feel obligated to waste my Saturday at your kid’s party. I’m sure your kid is awesome and I’m sure the party you’re throwing him will be awesome. But seriously, it’s Saturday. I enjoy doing nothing sometimes.
My husband is also headed out of town again. This time I suppose it’s a more worthy cause than usual. He’ll be heading to South Texas to provide post Hurricane Ike assistance. He was in New Orleans a week after Katrina, too. He stayed a month. Much like that time, he’s not sure when he'll be home. The joy of being married to him never ends. And yes, it is ironic that he's the one sleeping in condemned buildings and eating MREs for a month but I'm the one complaining. Whatever.
So my point is, he’ll be out of town and I won’t really have a lot of time for party planning anyway. Time for watching reality television and writing on my blog? Clearly. Time for convincing myself that going to Chuck E. Cheese won’t kill me? Minimal. And what if he’s not back in time for the party? Talk about wanting to fling myself into a wood chipper.
Besides, we’ll be doing the party with her class. That’s going to include baking and decorating our own cupcakes and giving all the kids in the class some stuff made in China. I should definitely get some credit for that. I’m even done shopping for presents. Primarily because I’ve been stockpiling ideas on my Amazon wishlist for months. See it. Like it. Wish list it. Go, me.
Next weekend I’m going to seal the deal on preparations by making letters out of cute scrapbook paper like last year. I’ve decided to make it a tradition. So far she’s has three different versions of her name taped to her bedroom wall. I’m kicking myself for not doing it the other year. But it’s okay. When she’s 30 and I’m mailing her birthday letters cross country to her, it’s unlikely she’ll remember the lack of handmade letters on her second birthday. The dog shaped cake about gave me carpel tunnel as it was so let’s all let that year go.
I already bought an assortment of pretty pink paper including some with sparkles. It’s going to be killer. I may or may not let the wrecking crew in the room with me while I work on it. Like I really have a choice. Unless I lock myself in the bathroom and sit on the toilet while I cut them out but that seems sort of beneath even me.
The other thing that’s “haunting my brain but not urgent enough to act on” is trying to decide on Halloween costumes. I know. I should really get a life and stop contemplating Halloween costumes in mid September. But last year, my life involved rush delivery. I’ve learned my lesson. Chapter 1 was "Start early."
Next year, will be Chapter 2 titled “Don’t even look at what Pottery Barn Kids is selling because it will make the costume aisle at Target that much more disappointing in comparison.” This year it's too late. I've already gazed upon the cuteness that is their banana. Try not to think about the fact that it's $69. Instead picture my husband dressed as a giant gorilla holding the banana. I think my life would be complete if I could witness that kind of cuteness. Of course, I’d have to kill myself in shame after spending $69 on something so frivolously non essential but maybe it would be worth it. Maybe not. I had resigned myself to shopping for princess costumes for my daughter this year. She’s been boring me to tears with her princess obsession so it was a no brainer. Except then she heard her brother and I discussing being a posse of cowboys and now she’d rather die than allow anyone to dress alike without including her. I wasn’t even trying to play them against each other. I swear I wasn’t. I was really planning to buy the princess outfit. I didn’t even try to sway her. In fact, if she wanted to be Ariel, I’d already contemplated underwater themed costumes for the rest of us. Imagine my surprise when she demanded to not be a princess. Score!
My daughter’s only requirement appears to be that someone else be the same thing as her. That sort of rules out the Village People again this year which is okay because it'll be better when the 2 year old is old enough to learn the dance and do it in unison with the rest of us anyway. I'm not saying I'm the sort of parent to stage that sort of choreographed video and upload it to YouTube. I'm just saying don't look for it until next year.
After explaining the dress alike restriction for our costume theme, my husband suggested the Wizard of Oz. I don't recall there being 2 Glendas but even weirder than that he claims he’s willing to dress up as the Tin Man. Dude doesn't like anything remotely over the top. This must have been said in a sappy moment before leaving town. I particularly enjoyed the part where he claimed he’d be willing to make his own costume out of a box and some tin foil. I’m not sure if he was planning to scrape that thing together from Hurricane debris or what but we’ll never find out because I already did a Wizard of Oz theme. Dude's memory must be a sieve to forget our one year old in pig tails with sparkly red shoes from Target. So cute it nearly killed people. Don’t believe me? Fine:
I warned you. So anyway, I’m contemplating a lot of stupid stuff but doing nothing. I think that could very well be the story of my life. Eh. At least I made it to the grocery store.
9.12.2008
Hand sewn and crappy are not mututally exclusive
Reality television is getting good right now. I mean, there’s no Rock of Love to turn my brain to complete mush but I’m muddling through with Project Runway, Big Brother and America’s Next Top Model. Survivor and Amazing Race are on my radar for later this month, too. I’m also kind of looking forward to that new game show they’ve been showing previews for where they give you a minute to run in your house and find something specific. I just looked it up and it’s called Opportunity Knocks. Mostly they’ve suckered me in by showing that 12 year old boy running in the house looking for his sister’s diary. That’s cute. No way my brother could have found mine. I’m not even sure he would have known what it looked like.
Truth be told, these game show previews mislead me. For example, I watched a preview of that Wipeout! game show that made me curious enough to program it into my DVR only to then discover that it sucks. I think what amuses me about Opportunity Knocks is trying to picture my husband running around the house looking for my stuff. I’d love to see where he thinks I keep nail polish or old Valentine’s Day cards. Of course, we'd lose big time. I mean, I love him but dude’s dead weight if winning depends on him finding crap in our house. He’d come running out the front door demanding that our 4 year old tell us where she moved stuff. But enough already. On to more important things:
America’s Next Top Model: Seriously, did anyone else watch last week’s season premiere? What was all that space age/robotic crap? I was embarrassed for Tyra. Both because she was badly acting out the crap and because she’s the executive producer that green lighted the crappy idea. My early predication is Elina. Although Elina is going to need to get a political platform type cause or something or she’ll be gone. Because I’m convinced Tyra has gotten all carried away with herself and thinks she needs to make profound statements in her Top Model choices. Exhibit A being Whitney winning last cycle. Chick only won so people would stop saying a plus size girl could never win. No way anyone honestly thinks she has a brighter future in modeling than Anya. Anya who won nearly every challenge and every photographer and designer loved. Exhibit B is Isis. Not that Isis doesn’t photograph nicely. Because she does. And she seems very nice and all that. But, let’s keep it real. Top Model? Really? Whatever. As long as she doesn’t win. No way she should beat Elina or that Lauren girl.
Project Runway: I actually liked a lot of Terri’s designs so I’m kind of bummed she got eliminated. Too bad her people skills are lacking. For example, her inability to even be polite to what’s his face who I now find so annoying I’m mentally blocking him from my memory (Keith). My favorite was when he wanted to make it about him because he recently got eliminated and that’s still hard for him to deal with. Um. Build a bridge for the day, dude. And how annoying is Kinley getting? I know she’s cute and sweet 72% of the time but that other 28% is a bit much to handle. For example, attempting to tell the judges she doesn’t look at other designer’s collections. Just shut up already. Let other people have an opinion that’s different than yours. Whatever. I’m officially rooting for Korto. Or Leanne. No, definitely Korto. I like how her designs manage to be simple but elegant. I admire understated. Although Leanne has made some seriously lovely stuff. Although she did make that one funky dress with all the circle things. And I give Joe permission to come in third because he doesn't talk about himself in the third person. You know who I wasn’t sad to see go? Blayne. How did he last long enough to darken my television with that horrific full body leotard with bunched up crap attached. The fact that they hand sewed all that crap in no way makes up for the fact that it is crap. Ugly crap. And I’m assuming Stella’s contribution to the project was the maze of leather belts around her. How did he last so long? Seriously. No, really. Seriously. And why does he always have to wear a hoodie partially over his head for interviews?
Big Brother: Dan needs to win. I’m not just saying that because Memphis calls himself a Mixologist in order to make being a bartender sound more exciting. The first time my husband walked by and saw “Mixologist” under his name he couldn’t figure out what he did for a living. I think he started out wondering if he read the word wrong or if it was some obscure field of science he just hadn’t heard of. But back to my point about how Dan is doing all the heavy lifting pulling strings and making stuff happen. Like how he orchestrated Memphis getting the POV so he could get rid of Keesha without getting his hands dirty. And not telling the others in the house about him getting to take Michelle to the island. Nice one. Of course, that could only work if you are currently locked in a house with idiots too stupid to realize that going to a private island by yourself would make for crappy television so why would the producers do that. Luckily, Dan is surrounded by Twinkie heads so it wasn’t a problem. If Dan doesn’t win, it’s total sour grapes voting like when Boston Rob didn’t win Survivor because people were bitter. Give it to Dan or you’re a bitter loser. He played you all. Even his buddy Memphis.
Truth be told, these game show previews mislead me. For example, I watched a preview of that Wipeout! game show that made me curious enough to program it into my DVR only to then discover that it sucks. I think what amuses me about Opportunity Knocks is trying to picture my husband running around the house looking for my stuff. I’d love to see where he thinks I keep nail polish or old Valentine’s Day cards. Of course, we'd lose big time. I mean, I love him but dude’s dead weight if winning depends on him finding crap in our house. He’d come running out the front door demanding that our 4 year old tell us where she moved stuff. But enough already. On to more important things:
America’s Next Top Model: Seriously, did anyone else watch last week’s season premiere? What was all that space age/robotic crap? I was embarrassed for Tyra. Both because she was badly acting out the crap and because she’s the executive producer that green lighted the crappy idea. My early predication is Elina. Although Elina is going to need to get a political platform type cause or something or she’ll be gone. Because I’m convinced Tyra has gotten all carried away with herself and thinks she needs to make profound statements in her Top Model choices. Exhibit A being Whitney winning last cycle. Chick only won so people would stop saying a plus size girl could never win. No way anyone honestly thinks she has a brighter future in modeling than Anya. Anya who won nearly every challenge and every photographer and designer loved. Exhibit B is Isis. Not that Isis doesn’t photograph nicely. Because she does. And she seems very nice and all that. But, let’s keep it real. Top Model? Really? Whatever. As long as she doesn’t win. No way she should beat Elina or that Lauren girl.
Project Runway: I actually liked a lot of Terri’s designs so I’m kind of bummed she got eliminated. Too bad her people skills are lacking. For example, her inability to even be polite to what’s his face who I now find so annoying I’m mentally blocking him from my memory (Keith). My favorite was when he wanted to make it about him because he recently got eliminated and that’s still hard for him to deal with. Um. Build a bridge for the day, dude. And how annoying is Kinley getting? I know she’s cute and sweet 72% of the time but that other 28% is a bit much to handle. For example, attempting to tell the judges she doesn’t look at other designer’s collections. Just shut up already. Let other people have an opinion that’s different than yours. Whatever. I’m officially rooting for Korto. Or Leanne. No, definitely Korto. I like how her designs manage to be simple but elegant. I admire understated. Although Leanne has made some seriously lovely stuff. Although she did make that one funky dress with all the circle things. And I give Joe permission to come in third because he doesn't talk about himself in the third person. You know who I wasn’t sad to see go? Blayne. How did he last long enough to darken my television with that horrific full body leotard with bunched up crap attached. The fact that they hand sewed all that crap in no way makes up for the fact that it is crap. Ugly crap. And I’m assuming Stella’s contribution to the project was the maze of leather belts around her. How did he last so long? Seriously. No, really. Seriously. And why does he always have to wear a hoodie partially over his head for interviews?
Big Brother: Dan needs to win. I’m not just saying that because Memphis calls himself a Mixologist in order to make being a bartender sound more exciting. The first time my husband walked by and saw “Mixologist” under his name he couldn’t figure out what he did for a living. I think he started out wondering if he read the word wrong or if it was some obscure field of science he just hadn’t heard of. But back to my point about how Dan is doing all the heavy lifting pulling strings and making stuff happen. Like how he orchestrated Memphis getting the POV so he could get rid of Keesha without getting his hands dirty. And not telling the others in the house about him getting to take Michelle to the island. Nice one. Of course, that could only work if you are currently locked in a house with idiots too stupid to realize that going to a private island by yourself would make for crappy television so why would the producers do that. Luckily, Dan is surrounded by Twinkie heads so it wasn’t a problem. If Dan doesn’t win, it’s total sour grapes voting like when Boston Rob didn’t win Survivor because people were bitter. Give it to Dan or you’re a bitter loser. He played you all. Even his buddy Memphis.
9.10.2008
Cultish but nice
Enough complaining about the bowels of parenting hell. My husband is back in town! And I got 9 hours of sleep last night! In a row! And tonight is Project Runway! Today is officially a great day to be alive! Whee!
I think the kids and I have even settled into the new daycare. Both kids have been entirely tear free for several days now and everyone continues to make lots of new friends. I don’t want to say I love the new place but I definitely like it and continue to like it more each day.
Since starting Kindergarten, there’s been zero television watching for my daughter just as I had hoped. After school ends, they stay in their same classroom and do crafts and play with toys the rest of the afternoon with an after school teacher. My daughter loves the lady and I find her sitting right next to her everyday doing crafts.
Otherwise they’re outside running around on the playground. I seriously love that. I’m strongly in favor of all activities that involve my kid running around. In fact, if I ran the place, I'd have those Kindergarteners running on a treadmill from 3 to 4 everyday. Full speed with an incline. I’d consider it a personal favor from me to their parents. Because, dude, is my kid a bottomless pit of energy. Feel free to wear some of it off for me.
I come home at the end of the day and feel accomplished when I get dinner on the table. My daughter thinks dinner is the opening credits. She’s just waiting through that to get to the feature presentation which needs to include squealing, running and flinging of bodies against me. There should also be talking and listening and reading and playing with my hair and pressing of noses to my cheek. There’s also the reading and reading and reading of the same books over and over again. Someone please jump start my brain because the Disney Princess anthology is putting me into a catatonic state every night.
My son’s class is still watching a few minutes of television during diaper changes but his new teacher is insanely nice so I’m down with her, too. Chick’s so nice my husband’s convinced it must be fake. But then he also thinks everyone at the new daycare is so insanely friendly and nice it must be a cult.
I think maybe they’re genuinely nice. My innate cynicism requires that I qualify that statement with “maybe" but I’m growing less suspicious. But the less suspicious I get the more concerned I get that they’ll discover that my husband and I aren’t as over the top insanely nice as everyone else and they’ll kick us out or something. Either that or they’ll stage an intervention and try to get us to join the cult. But maybe that’s just my innate paranoia talking.
I especially think my son's teacher is sweet. I’m basing this conclusion solely on my surreptitious observations of her exiting her car with her daughter one day last week. She didn’t tell that kid to hurry up once. She was all waiting and chatting. And by that I mean, she seemed to be enjoying her kid’s dawdling instead of silently grinding her teeth and thinking “Look alive.” Not that I’m like that. Not everyday anyway. But still. I admire a pleasant attitude. Especially when she’s not aware anyone’s watching. Unless she thought the cult was watching out a window. So who knows. But I figure he’s in good hands.
Good potentially cultish hands. What more could a mother ask for.
I think the kids and I have even settled into the new daycare. Both kids have been entirely tear free for several days now and everyone continues to make lots of new friends. I don’t want to say I love the new place but I definitely like it and continue to like it more each day.
Since starting Kindergarten, there’s been zero television watching for my daughter just as I had hoped. After school ends, they stay in their same classroom and do crafts and play with toys the rest of the afternoon with an after school teacher. My daughter loves the lady and I find her sitting right next to her everyday doing crafts.
Otherwise they’re outside running around on the playground. I seriously love that. I’m strongly in favor of all activities that involve my kid running around. In fact, if I ran the place, I'd have those Kindergarteners running on a treadmill from 3 to 4 everyday. Full speed with an incline. I’d consider it a personal favor from me to their parents. Because, dude, is my kid a bottomless pit of energy. Feel free to wear some of it off for me.
I come home at the end of the day and feel accomplished when I get dinner on the table. My daughter thinks dinner is the opening credits. She’s just waiting through that to get to the feature presentation which needs to include squealing, running and flinging of bodies against me. There should also be talking and listening and reading and playing with my hair and pressing of noses to my cheek. There’s also the reading and reading and reading of the same books over and over again. Someone please jump start my brain because the Disney Princess anthology is putting me into a catatonic state every night.
My son’s class is still watching a few minutes of television during diaper changes but his new teacher is insanely nice so I’m down with her, too. Chick’s so nice my husband’s convinced it must be fake. But then he also thinks everyone at the new daycare is so insanely friendly and nice it must be a cult.
I think maybe they’re genuinely nice. My innate cynicism requires that I qualify that statement with “maybe" but I’m growing less suspicious. But the less suspicious I get the more concerned I get that they’ll discover that my husband and I aren’t as over the top insanely nice as everyone else and they’ll kick us out or something. Either that or they’ll stage an intervention and try to get us to join the cult. But maybe that’s just my innate paranoia talking.
I especially think my son's teacher is sweet. I’m basing this conclusion solely on my surreptitious observations of her exiting her car with her daughter one day last week. She didn’t tell that kid to hurry up once. She was all waiting and chatting. And by that I mean, she seemed to be enjoying her kid’s dawdling instead of silently grinding her teeth and thinking “Look alive.” Not that I’m like that. Not everyday anyway. But still. I admire a pleasant attitude. Especially when she’s not aware anyone’s watching. Unless she thought the cult was watching out a window. So who knows. But I figure he’s in good hands.
Good potentially cultish hands. What more could a mother ask for.
9.08.2008
Overtired = Prone to Shriekiness
The day after my descent into the bowels of parenting hell both of my children happily got dressed and skipped into their new school. Not a single tear was shed. Not even by the 2 year old and that kid’s been launching a protest every morning for 3 ½ weeks. Some people think The Lion King represents the circle of life. I say it’s mornings like that. Worst morning ever followed by easiest morning ever. That’s life, baby. Sometimes you just have to wait out bad stuff to get to good stuff.
In celebration, I drank soda late at night and couldn’t fall asleep at a decent hour Friday or Saturday night. You’d think I’d have been smarter about it on Saturday after it happened Friday. But you’d be wrong. Because I’m a twit and I like to repeat those sort of mistakes. Heck, I may do it again tonight just for good measure. Because I didn’t do it last night and feeling well rested today has made me all “I can conquer the world” and odds are I’m going to take it for granted. Whatever.
Despite being tired this weekend, I cleaned my daughter’s room, the kitchen, the dining room and the living room. Not soap and water cleaned. Just picked up crap cleaned. Because my house is constantly overrun with crap. The story of my life now reads: Do laundry. Pick up crap off the floor. Do laundry. Pick up more crap off the floor.
I’ve discovered recently that I now evaluate toys by how much crap the thing contains. One giant piece of plastic now rates higher in my mind than 100s of small pieces of crap that can and will end up strewn about my house. I currently despise Lincoln Logs. Primarily because no one plays with them. And that’s primarily because those Lincoln Log people are lying through their teeth when they claim they are for 4 and up. My 4 year old got some for Christmas and even grown adults found it hard to build the house on the box. Now they get used as “chicken nuggets” in the play kitchen and annoy the crap out of me by turning up all over the house.
My children rewarded my efforts by dancing happily around our clean living room and I decided that I loved them 22% more than the day before. Right up until I went to lay in bed and read for a few minutes and came out and found them making their own Kool-Aid. They found the powder in the cupboard and figured out to add water. I found that mildly impressive since neither one can read. Although I also found it mildly annoying since Kool-Aid puts pictures on the package to facilitate children doing this.
There may or may not have been some shrieking when I saw the Kool-Aid. I don’t even feel guilty about it because it was busy staining the hell out of my kitchen floor and my children’s hands and feet. All I could think was “Everything I hold dear is stained red because there's no way these two freaks managed to keep it contained in the kitchen.” I began rushing from room to room expecting to find it dripping down the walls.
Except the universe must have still been feeling sorry for me from last week and the Kool-Aid didn’t get on anything other than skin and fugly retro kitchen tile. It was amazing. One of them even carried a cup of thick blood red Kool-Aid into the living room and set it on a table. That’s like getting sprayed with bullets Rambo style but none of them hits you. Wild.
To celebrate we made more popsicles. I even pretended to be super mom and let the 4 year old push the button on the blender. I’m still sort of amazed I make popsicles. I have a system now and everything. Mostly the system involves frozen strawberries and water. But I defrost the strawberries ahead of time and gave up adding yogurt. Defrosted because it blends quicker and no yogurt because they were turning out too creamsicle-y. But still. That’s pretty good for me. I even keep the blender in the cabinet over the counter I like to use to make them. That would be the counter that allows the least amount of access to 2 children. If I could figure out how to let the kids help without letting them touch anything or enter the room, I’d be all set. Which is odd, since, in my head making popsicles is an activity for them.
Then we made dinner and I managed to get it on the table before midnight. Everyone was tired by then though and I was still feeling warm and fuzzy so I announced we could all go lay in bed and watch TV while we ate. In my head, lights out and under the covers means you are dear to me. It also means I can see who Dan nominated on Big Brother. The kids mostly chattered and spilled black bean noodle mish mash on my beloved duvet. I’d like to pretend I didn’t shriek and wig out over the duvet spill but, let’s be honest, that duvet is like heaven and those freaks were wrestling over who got to sit on my side of the bed when it happened.
Apparently overtired = prone to shriekiness. So I tossed everyone in bed and medicated myself. And it was good.
P.S. Did anyone not know Dan was going to win that luxury competition? He's the only one with half a brain in his head. And I’m not just saying that because one of his competitors calls himself a professional “Mixologist.”
In celebration, I drank soda late at night and couldn’t fall asleep at a decent hour Friday or Saturday night. You’d think I’d have been smarter about it on Saturday after it happened Friday. But you’d be wrong. Because I’m a twit and I like to repeat those sort of mistakes. Heck, I may do it again tonight just for good measure. Because I didn’t do it last night and feeling well rested today has made me all “I can conquer the world” and odds are I’m going to take it for granted. Whatever.
Despite being tired this weekend, I cleaned my daughter’s room, the kitchen, the dining room and the living room. Not soap and water cleaned. Just picked up crap cleaned. Because my house is constantly overrun with crap. The story of my life now reads: Do laundry. Pick up crap off the floor. Do laundry. Pick up more crap off the floor.
I’ve discovered recently that I now evaluate toys by how much crap the thing contains. One giant piece of plastic now rates higher in my mind than 100s of small pieces of crap that can and will end up strewn about my house. I currently despise Lincoln Logs. Primarily because no one plays with them. And that’s primarily because those Lincoln Log people are lying through their teeth when they claim they are for 4 and up. My 4 year old got some for Christmas and even grown adults found it hard to build the house on the box. Now they get used as “chicken nuggets” in the play kitchen and annoy the crap out of me by turning up all over the house.
My children rewarded my efforts by dancing happily around our clean living room and I decided that I loved them 22% more than the day before. Right up until I went to lay in bed and read for a few minutes and came out and found them making their own Kool-Aid. They found the powder in the cupboard and figured out to add water. I found that mildly impressive since neither one can read. Although I also found it mildly annoying since Kool-Aid puts pictures on the package to facilitate children doing this.
There may or may not have been some shrieking when I saw the Kool-Aid. I don’t even feel guilty about it because it was busy staining the hell out of my kitchen floor and my children’s hands and feet. All I could think was “Everything I hold dear is stained red because there's no way these two freaks managed to keep it contained in the kitchen.” I began rushing from room to room expecting to find it dripping down the walls.
Except the universe must have still been feeling sorry for me from last week and the Kool-Aid didn’t get on anything other than skin and fugly retro kitchen tile. It was amazing. One of them even carried a cup of thick blood red Kool-Aid into the living room and set it on a table. That’s like getting sprayed with bullets Rambo style but none of them hits you. Wild.
To celebrate we made more popsicles. I even pretended to be super mom and let the 4 year old push the button on the blender. I’m still sort of amazed I make popsicles. I have a system now and everything. Mostly the system involves frozen strawberries and water. But I defrost the strawberries ahead of time and gave up adding yogurt. Defrosted because it blends quicker and no yogurt because they were turning out too creamsicle-y. But still. That’s pretty good for me. I even keep the blender in the cabinet over the counter I like to use to make them. That would be the counter that allows the least amount of access to 2 children. If I could figure out how to let the kids help without letting them touch anything or enter the room, I’d be all set. Which is odd, since, in my head making popsicles is an activity for them.
Then we made dinner and I managed to get it on the table before midnight. Everyone was tired by then though and I was still feeling warm and fuzzy so I announced we could all go lay in bed and watch TV while we ate. In my head, lights out and under the covers means you are dear to me. It also means I can see who Dan nominated on Big Brother. The kids mostly chattered and spilled black bean noodle mish mash on my beloved duvet. I’d like to pretend I didn’t shriek and wig out over the duvet spill but, let’s be honest, that duvet is like heaven and those freaks were wrestling over who got to sit on my side of the bed when it happened.
Apparently overtired = prone to shriekiness. So I tossed everyone in bed and medicated myself. And it was good.
P.S. Did anyone not know Dan was going to win that luxury competition? He's the only one with half a brain in his head. And I’m not just saying that because one of his competitors calls himself a professional “Mixologist.”
9.05.2008
Clothes to change into are mission essential
Just when I start to marvel at what a big girl the newest Kindergartener is becoming, she goes and demonstrates that she is unmistakably 4. Hanging on to her sanity by the tiniest of threads 4. Capable of torturing her mother's soul over the most minor of details 4.
Yesterday the minor detail was forgetting to pack clothes to change into after school. She wears a uniform during school but likes to change afterwards. She forgot to put clothes in her bag last night and only realized her mistake 100 yards from the school. Thus began the full scale nuclear winter meltdown. There was crying, refusing to walk and lots of commotion. After five minutes in the parking lot and one phone call to her father, I finally grabbed her arm and dragged her into the building and down the hall. While holding her brother. Who was also crying by this point because it's a well known fact that wigging out is an infectious disease.
But she was going to be late for school and I didn't want her to be late. It's only the second week. It seemed like a noble goal at the time. But there I was pulling a crying kid by the arm through the front office and down the main hallway of the new school. There are few things as mortifying as the public display of your inability to get your kid in line. But I’m here to tell you, having the public display in a new school compounds the shame exponentially.
Once I dropped her brother off at his room, we continued on to her building. Still pulling her along by the arm, of course. Because the nuclear winter meltdown was still in effect. Outside the door to her building I made my way through my arsenal of tricks. I tried a pep talk, negotiation, threatening, hissing, you name it. The best state I got her to was silent weeping with her finger in her mouth. What the hell.
All that over a change of clothes? She’s only one of maybe 3 girls that change clothes after school. Every other kid at that place is still in their uniform when I get there. The sky hasn’t fallen on any of them. And aren’t kids supposed to like being like everyone else in the class?
It’s one day. We’ll make sure we pack them tomorrow. I’ll pick you up early so you won’t even have time to change. You will not get to do anything fun ever again and I will take away everything you own and burn it. Especially the pink stuff. And your birthday. Yes, I will take away your birthday and you won’t have one. You’ll just stay 4 forever. I will leave you standing right here in the hallway and never speak to you again for the rest of your life. I will drop your backpack on the floor and pretend to leave. I will cross my arms and look annoyed. I will avoid eye contact with every adult that walks by. I will silently curse my husband for leaving town again and throwing this kid’s morning routine off. I will ponder where the hell my life went wrong and take deep breaths to keep from screeching.
We finally made a go of entering the building. Her noise level disturbed another class that had it's door open and that teacher came out and tried to talk my kid down from the ledge. Then my daughter’s teacher came to check on her. Then one of the director’s of the school came over to check on her. Seriously. Kill me now.
I finally left her crying with the director and went to my car to think mean negative thoughts. I’m told she stopped crying and joined right in on the Pledge of Allegiance when she walked into her class 2 minutes later. Whatever. Torture my soul but let everyone else off easy. Seriously, whatever.
I called my husband in the car to let him enjoy my wrath afterwards. He loves when I do that. Especially when it's a long distance call while he’s on a business trip. I believe I even hung up on him at one point yesterday when he failed to be appropriately sympathetic regarding some subtle nuance of my rage.
Do not feel sorry for him though. Because at one point he said something akin to, “There isn’t really anything I can do from here." I'm pretty sure we can all agree the correct response should have been, "Everything will be okay. You’re doing great. I love you.” His life would be so much easier if he'd just memorize those words. I forgave him by lunch and allowed him to listen to me complain for another 15 minutes. But seriously, clothes to change into? Really? What the hell.
Yesterday the minor detail was forgetting to pack clothes to change into after school. She wears a uniform during school but likes to change afterwards. She forgot to put clothes in her bag last night and only realized her mistake 100 yards from the school. Thus began the full scale nuclear winter meltdown. There was crying, refusing to walk and lots of commotion. After five minutes in the parking lot and one phone call to her father, I finally grabbed her arm and dragged her into the building and down the hall. While holding her brother. Who was also crying by this point because it's a well known fact that wigging out is an infectious disease.
But she was going to be late for school and I didn't want her to be late. It's only the second week. It seemed like a noble goal at the time. But there I was pulling a crying kid by the arm through the front office and down the main hallway of the new school. There are few things as mortifying as the public display of your inability to get your kid in line. But I’m here to tell you, having the public display in a new school compounds the shame exponentially.
Once I dropped her brother off at his room, we continued on to her building. Still pulling her along by the arm, of course. Because the nuclear winter meltdown was still in effect. Outside the door to her building I made my way through my arsenal of tricks. I tried a pep talk, negotiation, threatening, hissing, you name it. The best state I got her to was silent weeping with her finger in her mouth. What the hell.
All that over a change of clothes? She’s only one of maybe 3 girls that change clothes after school. Every other kid at that place is still in their uniform when I get there. The sky hasn’t fallen on any of them. And aren’t kids supposed to like being like everyone else in the class?
It’s one day. We’ll make sure we pack them tomorrow. I’ll pick you up early so you won’t even have time to change. You will not get to do anything fun ever again and I will take away everything you own and burn it. Especially the pink stuff. And your birthday. Yes, I will take away your birthday and you won’t have one. You’ll just stay 4 forever. I will leave you standing right here in the hallway and never speak to you again for the rest of your life. I will drop your backpack on the floor and pretend to leave. I will cross my arms and look annoyed. I will avoid eye contact with every adult that walks by. I will silently curse my husband for leaving town again and throwing this kid’s morning routine off. I will ponder where the hell my life went wrong and take deep breaths to keep from screeching.
We finally made a go of entering the building. Her noise level disturbed another class that had it's door open and that teacher came out and tried to talk my kid down from the ledge. Then my daughter’s teacher came to check on her. Then one of the director’s of the school came over to check on her. Seriously. Kill me now.
I finally left her crying with the director and went to my car to think mean negative thoughts. I’m told she stopped crying and joined right in on the Pledge of Allegiance when she walked into her class 2 minutes later. Whatever. Torture my soul but let everyone else off easy. Seriously, whatever.
I called my husband in the car to let him enjoy my wrath afterwards. He loves when I do that. Especially when it's a long distance call while he’s on a business trip. I believe I even hung up on him at one point yesterday when he failed to be appropriately sympathetic regarding some subtle nuance of my rage.
Do not feel sorry for him though. Because at one point he said something akin to, “There isn’t really anything I can do from here." I'm pretty sure we can all agree the correct response should have been, "Everything will be okay. You’re doing great. I love you.” His life would be so much easier if he'd just memorize those words. I forgave him by lunch and allowed him to listen to me complain for another 15 minutes. But seriously, clothes to change into? Really? What the hell.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
