Monday, March 29, 2010


Parentation: noun. A misunderstanding between parent and child.

This past Friday was a busy day for Philosopher Child's kindergarten class. In one single day, they were planting a garden, having an Easter egg hunt, picnicing, and having a "Love of Reading" day.

On Thursday night, we stopped in at Home Depot to pick up a potted flower for his garden. As we were putting the boys back in the car and talking about his class's garden and the Easter egg hunt, Philosopher Child looked at his flower and declared, "This will attract a lot of eggs!"

Husband and I looked at each other and explained to him it doesn't work that way. His flower will not attract Easter eggs.

"No, not that kind of eggs," he said. "Butterfly eggs!"

Oh, right. They had been learning about bugs in school.

So all is well. We brought in his flower and assorted paraphernalia for the day. The kids would soon all be planting their little flowers in a patch outside of the classroom window. I was about to leave when the teacher told me in a hushed voice that one of the kids had brought in a bag of flour, instead of a flower. Oh, the poor thing! A little parentation going on there, I think.

Monday, March 22, 2010

Nocturnal Refusal part II

Nocturnal Refusal: noun. The behavior or set of behaviors employed by a child in order to delay bedtime as long as possible.

The other night I was putting the boys to bed. Bedtime isn't quite as hectic and frustrating as it used to be (see part 1), but that doesn't mean that the little monsters monkeys go straight to bed, either.

"Seven o'clock is bedtime for you," I reminded Philosopher Child. "And Mommy and Daddy go to bed around ten or eleven." Although it could be later if we are watching a movie or had caffeine.

"Wow!" he said. "You must be tired!"

Finally! He gets it! Staying up later=tired during the day, and that is why he should go to bed!

Only, he is right. I go to bed too late and find it hard to get up in the morning. Out of the mouths of babes, right?

Friday, March 19, 2010

Happy Little Bloggie Award

Natasha over at This 'N That gave me this cute little blog award. Thanks, Natasha! This award is apparently for people who blog honestly from the heart. (The quote from This 'N That was“for bloggers who put their heart on display as they write from the depths of their soul.") I think I'm supposed to write 7 random things about myself, so here ya go.

1. I don't have it together nearly as much as people who have never been to my house think I do.
2. I can wiggle my nose and ears. Strange, but true.
3. My mother once asked me why I can't speak correctly but can write just fine. (She didn't like statements such as "And he was like, 'No way,' and I was like, 'yes, way.'")
4. Once upon a time I wanted to be an archaeologist.
5. My eyes are gray.
6. For some reason, I love, love, love natural history museums.
7. I'm bad at cooking, but OK at baking.

Not real sure who else would be interested in a blog award, as some are strictly anti-award and some are staunchly pro. I'm supposed to come up with 7, but just one comes to mind. Here's to you, Jess, over at Banana Peel!

Monday, March 15, 2010

Appliphobia Part II

We did the unthinkable today. We bought the dishwasher. I didn't plan it. Husband didn't plan it. It just happened.

Today was a good day. I was in a great mood and got a ton of housework done. Yeah, I know, boring, but keep reading. Husband came home and we all had dinner, then went out to run some errands. While we were out, we stopped by Home Depot in order to look at a couple of models of dishwashers that I had researched and pick up a few plants for the garden.

It turns out that the 2 models I was looking at were, in fact, the same model, but in different colors. And we didn't buy either. The salesman came over to us and pointed out a completely different dishwasher by the same company that was black (hooray! I hate stainless steel), with a stainless steel interior (that's OK. It's on the inside) that retains heat better. Husband fell in love with it. Oooh and on sale, too. OK, all the models were on sale, but stay with me. The salesman could take a hint and vanished while Husband and I discussed. It was the same thing we had looked at except the interior was stainless and the controls were on the front, instead of integrated.

And we bought it. I mean, it had good reviews, nice features, and on sale. And our old one needs serious replacing.

Great, right? Stay with me for a minute. The salesman asked if there had been a new floor put in since the old dishwasher was put in. Read, is the floor the dishwasher on lower than the surrounding floor? Why, yes, it is. The former residents had put in tile, but not where the dishwasher sits. Do you know what that means? DO YOU??? It means, gentle readers, the floor must come up or we will have a heck of a time moving the old out and the new in. There's not room to move it.

Now, we know that floor underneath the tile was the same floor as the rest of the house, but what shape would it be in? Husband tested by taking up a tile that I had broken via gravity and a cast iron pan. To his surprise and delight, the tile came right up, and the floor underneath looked passable.

In about half an hour, we had half of the floor up. Tomorrow is the other half. Caffeine, please.

Sunday, March 14, 2010


Appliphobia: noun. The fear of appliance shopping.

Take a little time traveling trip with me to about 4 years ago. Husband and I bought our very first house and moved in with Philosopher Child. Viking Toddler was not around yet. I'm psyched because our house came with a dishwasher and washing machine, and for a small amount we got the dryer, too. The hot water heater was another story. It was a rental sort of deal that the previous owners had, and we could not convince the owning company that we didn't want the thing. We wanted to buy our own. But you know they kept billing us anyway? We, who never had a contract with them for an appliance we didn't want? But as usual, I digress. You've probably picked up by now that I do that. (Oh, by the way, we eventually won and they took the hot water heater back.)

Anyway, about two years in, the washing machine needed replacing, and we saw signs that the dryer wouldn't be far behind, so we bought a set. Front loaders. Pretty. We couldn't find too many reviews at the time, but we were pretty satisfied with what we chose.

And then the dryer arrived. Broken. Had to have a repairman come to fix it. But, ok, things happen, right? Nobody's fault. All fixed, no biggie.

But then we realized some things about the washer. Bad things. Horrible things. First off, do you remember the bleach incident? That's the tip of the iceberg with this out of warranty but still recently new washing machine. It is off balance constantly. It tumbles in a way that pant legs and sheets get all twisted and knotted. And it rips tiny holes in the clothes. That's right. And there's not a single thing we can do about it. We shelled out a pretty penny for that thing, and we are stuck with it for quite some time.

But now, we need a new dishwasher. I'm scared.

Friday, March 12, 2010

Apron giveaway

Those of you who have been here from the beginning know that I have a thing about aprons. Love them. Maybe some of you do, too. So let me tell you that the ladies over at TAG (the apron goddesses, not the body spray) are doing an apron giveaway with some funky retro-inspired aprons. Go check it out!

Sunday, March 7, 2010

Night Confusion Part II

Night Confusion: noun. The state of mind of a child that wakes up only partially.

Read part I here.

12:45 am. I felt like I had just fallen asleep, and actually, that wasn't too far from the truth. I was woken up by the sound of Philosopher Child making his way to the living room. Understand, Philosopher Child doesn't have that great of a concept of time if the sun is not up, and so will get up in the middle of the night and think it is morning, or get up while it is morning but still dark and think it is night.

I popped out of bed, saying, "No, no, no, no," meaning, of course, that it is the middle of the night and he should go back to bed. I met him in the hall.

"But I had a scary dream!" he said. "There was a polka-dot alien ship!"

Excuse me? Polka-dot alien ship? Did I hear that right? And something about the window.

Exhausted, I told him to go back to bed, but then he said something that surprised me and I'm sure freaked him out.

"You just said the same thing you said in my dream! The 'No, no, no, no.'"

Great. Now I'm having to tell them no so much it is getting in their dreams.

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

Shark Call

Shark Call: noun. A phone call that you know won't be good news.

So, you're phone rings in the middle of the day. The caller ID says that it is your child's school calling. Like seeing a shark fin pop out of the water a bit too close to you, you know something bad is about to happen.

The school nurse called me the other day. Apparently Philosopher Child was refilling his water bottle when another child bumped him. Splash. He needed a new set of clothes. I can't say that I was super excited about having to run up to the school, especially since we walk, but accidents will happen. I packed a pair of pants and a shirt, grabbed Viking Toddler, and headed to the school.

Half way there, I realized that I forgot to pack Philosopher Child some undies. I thought, well, he can't be THAT wet, can he?

See where I'm going with this?

He was, in fact, THAT wet. Which meant after I got to school, I had to turn around, go back home, get him some undies, go back to school, come home for half an hour, then go pick him up to take him home. I was at his school a total of four, count them, four times in one day. I was exhausted. But, like I said, accidents will happen.

Why can't the nurse ever call with good news?

Incidentally, I am love, love, loving the comments. You all are just so sweet!