Thursday, April 30, 2009

Neggessive

Neggessive: adjective. Description of a person who is unnecessarily or illogically possessive about something or someone. I.e., "He is neggessive about his pencils."

When we went to Monkey Son #1's school orientation, one of the teachers told us that some parents write their child's name on every one of his crayons because children get possessive of them. Neggessive enough for you? No? OK, how about this:

This morning I took the recycling bin out to the street. A few hours later, as I was decluttering, I found some useless flyers in a stack of papers I was sorting. Trying to be a little more environmentally friendly, I decided to take my lazy self outside and down the drive to deposit them in the recycling bin since the truck had not yet come to pick them up. As I was about to put the flyers in, I noticed how neat the stack of papers I put in earlier looked. And then I realized that stack of papers wasn't mine. In fact, they weren't loose papers at all, but a stack of about 10-15 magazines, many that I had never heard of. I was confused at best.

I asked Husband if he had brought them home from work and put them in the recycling bin, but he said no. Besides, I realized I would have noticed them when I took the bin to the street this morning. But being confused and curious as we were, he advised I go back out and look at the address on the magazines. I did so, but found that most had no address label, and the ones that did, the label had been ripped off.

Here's the neggissiveness of it all. Though I would rather someone put the magazines in a recyling container than the trash, I (and Husband, too) felt somehow...violated. It's a strange thing to explain, since it really doesn't matter. I feel irritated about the whole thing but don't know why.

A Note from Kristina

I never really liked the look of 3-columned blogs. I prefer the 2-column approach. But...it seems my right side is getting longer and longer and more jumbled. What do you all think? Switch to 3-column or remain at 2?

Monday, April 27, 2009

Cutoops

Cutoops: noun. Any erroneous activity (purposeful or otherwise) that results from a child's first pair of scissors.

Oh, my monkey is growing up! A week ago, we took the Monkeys to the local elementary school for a little presentation on how to register and what the curriculum is like. Part way through, all the up-and-coming kindergarteners went to one of the classrooms for story, craft, and snack, while we were left doing the boring parts, i.e., the paperwork.

So all went well, and Monkey Son #1 did beautiful. He received a little gift bag with a pair of scissors, crayons, a note pad, and a little cardboard fish that you lace. He was excited and I was so proud, until we got home.

Monkey Son #1 has never been allowed to use scissors for a variety of reasons. This was his first pair. In the next couple of days, he cut his swimsuit, his shoe laces, tons of paper, and the pi├Ęce de r├ęsistance...was going after the TV. When I stopped him and told him not to cut the TV, he actually turned around and asked why.

OK, Monkey, once again, SCISSORS ARE FOR PAPER ONLY.

Thursday, April 23, 2009

Panic Wave

Panic Wave: noun. A particular type of panic that gets worse and worse as the minutes tick by, whether by new information or simply an increase in awareness or emotion.

It started off as a good morning. We were going to have fried polenta with syrup for breakfast, which is a rare treat. I started the prep and Husband went off to work. Now, he likes to listen to his scanner (a habit I hate), and about two minutes later, he opened the door again and announced that a school bus had been hit by a train, three students killed, three cars derailed, and they can't find the driver of the school bus. *Feeling a little panicked? Keep reading. It ends well.* Husband left again, and I went into the next room to say a quick prayer for the families of the children who died and those who may be injured.

Husband came back a few moments later. This time he said the bus wasn't hit by a train, but the train exploded, and the explosion hit the bus. Oh, yeah, that's so much better. [Note my sarcasm.] I became nasueous, so I decided to forget the polenta and just give the kids cereal and skip breakfast myself.

Well, we were thinking about the possibility of evacuating. Husband had already decided he wasn't going to work until he knew whether or not we had to leave our home. Who knows what was on the train, so I decided to be ready in case we had to leave. As I was working on it, Husband heard over the scanner that there was a plume of smoke that was drifting, and there was going to have to be evacuations. Fortunately, not for us. It was blowing the other direction. Husband, ever the curious one, decided to climb up on our (low) roof to see this smoke. A minute later he came back down, in a much less panicked mood.

"It's a drill!" he said. "There's no smoke."

"And is no smoke why you think it's a drill?" I asked. Just the fact that he can't see it doesn't comfort me.

"No," he said. "Apparently people have been calling and they announced it!"

Well, that was fun. And I went to go make the polenta.

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

Preschool Personify

Preschool Personify: verb. Personification (granting human qualities to) by a preschooler.

A few days ago was Monkey Son #1's birthday. He is now a whopping 5 years old! He had been asking to have a picnic for the longest time and I just hadn't done it, although all he wanted was to eat lunch in the yard. His birthday, I decided, would be the perfect day.

But then came a really big, really nasty line of storms. There goes the picnic. Oh, look, isn't the radar decorated in pretty colors today! Oh, and some tornado warnings. Nice.

Monkey Son #1 started asking about tornadoes. He thought that you could shoot a tornado, and then it would be dead. End of story. I explained to him that tornadoes are made of wind and dust and such, so you really can't kill it. He indicated that he understood.

Later, he decided that police would be able to shoot the tornado when it comes near, and that would be that. I again told him that tornadoes are made of wind, and are therefore not alive. You can't kill something that is not alive.

I'm still not sure he believes me.

Sunday, April 12, 2009

Happy Easter!

I'd just like to take a moment to wish everyone a happy Easter. For the Christian moms (and dads? Do I have any dad readers?) you of course know that Easter is the day we celebrate God raising Christ from the dead.

Now, here's the fun: explaining really complicated ideas of Christianity to a 4-year-old (that would be Monkey Son #1). He gets that Christmas is when we celebrate Jesus's* birthday. On Good Friday I explained to him that it is the day when we celebrate Jesus's death, and how later God made Jesus alive again. The why, though, I think still escapes him.

Today I told him that it is Easter.

"And what's Easter?" I asked.

"It's when Jesus died," he told me. OK, close. Let's see if we can follow that up.

"And?" I asked.

"And God made him alive again!"

That's my boy. Mommy's so proud of you.

Happy Easter, everyone!


*Yes, it is 's, not s'. It is always 's if the noun is singular, even if it ends with s. Just in case you were wondering. Spell check was arguing with me.

Saturday, April 11, 2009

Homophonity

Homophonity (Homophone-ity): verb. To confuse two homophones.

Quick English lesson for those of you who have forgotten: Homophones are words that sound the same but have different meanings and sometimes spellings.

Moving on.

This afternoon, Monkey Son #1 and I were dyeing Easter eggs. At one point he asked me to kill one of the eggs.

Huh?...Oh.

"You mean you want me to dye it. Not kill it."

Wednesday, April 8, 2009

I Don't Have Time for This Activity Part II

I win. :) At least, I think I did.

As expected, they called again today. I pushed the number for "not available." At that point the automated system identified itself and gave the reference number to the account. When I called back, it took me twice to navigate the automated system. Eventually I got to a rep, and found out two things:

1. Their automated system doesn't seem to be able to pronounce names. The machine said they were looking for"Tracielle," but they were actually looking for "Tracey." OK, still not me. My name is Kristina, in case you missed it.

2. I may have prepared for nothing. They did not ask for my social security number or any other identification. I merely gave the rep my name and said the person they are looking for is not at my number. Simple enough.

Really, I feel kind of bad that I thought I was really going to have to fight with them to remove my number. That doesn't seem to be the case. Unless, of course, they call again tomorrow, but I don't see why they would.

I Don't Have Time for This Activity Part I

I Don't Have Time for This Activity: noun. Any activity that is ridiculous, frustrating, and that you really don't have time for as a parent.

So, a few days ago I received a call on my cell phone. It was one of those automated dealies and I hung up without listening to the message. It is my experience that automessages=salespeople. The next day I received a call from the same number. I listened to the message this time, and found that it was a message for a specific person that I didn't know. The options were to accept that I am this person, that the person needs a minute to come to the phone, or that the person was unavailable. Well...none of the above. I hung up.

So I wondered to myself, who is calling me? I made friends with Google and found that they are a debt collections agency. Great. I've heard really nasty stories about collections agencies that won't believe you aren't who they think you are and will accuse you of all sorts of things.

So, I am prepared for battle. The Google guru revealed to me that this company isn't the easiest to deal with. I wrote out what I want to say (politely, of course) if they call for a 3rd day in a row. I will tell them that I am not this person. If they want my ssn# or dob, I won't give it. I say this because others who have dealt with this company have said they want that information to verify who you are. Sorry, no dice here. Not giving that to a stranger over the phone.

In short, I've researched what I am supposed to do, and am prepared if they want to argue. Bring it on, baby.

Monday, April 6, 2009

Sudden Nastalgia

Sudden Nastalgia: noun. The feeling of nastalgia a parent gets when their child does something that reminds them of something else.

Yesterday, Monkey Son #1 received a toy laptop as a gift. It has little educational games programed into it. Very cute.

So this morning, Monkey Son #1 held up a Transformer toy and tried to do a robot voice.

"I-am-a-friendly-robot. I-want-you-to-play-a-game-on-[Monkey]'s-computer."

I just kept thinking, "Hello, Dr. Falken. Would you like to play a game?"

If you're initial response to that question is to ask, "How about a nice game of chess?" I will laugh hysterically with you.