The Mom-tionary

Famenies

2012-01-20T09:45:00.003-05:00

Famenies: noun. Family members that love and support each other because they are family, but don't get along well, especially siblings; the family version of frienemies.

Ah, report card time. Oh, and what's this? Another note about how Philosopher Child's emotions are getting the better of him. *sigh* It's kind of expected, though. He's smart. I mean, crazy smart. And unfortunately, many times with high intelligence comes high emotion.

Walking him home from school, I decided to explain to him the connection, and try to get him to see that he needs to take a step back, think, and calm down before he reacts. I had a plan!...and Little Viking, age 4, in earshot.

"The thing is," I began. "You're smart. Very smart. And-"

"No, he's not," quipped Little Viking.

And so it begins.

Flylady Thoughts

2012-01-15T09:00:00.000-05:00

So, this week in FlyLady, I didn't do stellar. I cleaned the sink every now and then, changed the sheets, picked up toys (a lot), did laundry, mopped the floor. Don't get me wrong, I did housework. I just didn't do FlyLady. I'm reminded in a pretty big way that, being disorganized in this area, I get a lot more done with her than without her.

Where did my time go? Well, I finished a quilt top for Philosopher Child. When I get excited about or nearing the end of a project, I just can't put it down. That was a huge time suck. Also, I wasn't well one of the days, and on a few others I was distracted by some bad news about my local Curves closing its doors very, very soon. I'd been a member there on and off for a few years and they really were helping me slim down. Too bad there is no other like them, not even another Curves in my area.

I win every genealogy arguement from now on

2012-01-14T20:32:00.004-05:00

Wanna have an argument over who's family tree is cooler?

Well, I'm apparently related to a real guy from long ago named Odin from a place called Asgard. Boo-yah. I win.

(Don't get it? Odin is a mythical person and Asgard is a mythical place. Except apparently there was actually a physical location called Asgard and therein lived a guy named Odin. I'm related to that guy. So, another boo-yah.)

Little Shadow

2012-01-13T11:55:00.002-05:00

Pocksinket: noun. (A combination of "pockets" and "trinkets." Get it?) A random or out of place item found in a child's pocket.

Remember when I made the list before? Well, there's more now. And anything that's repeated bears repeating.

cell phone eraser
more sand than is possible unless he was getting buried on the playground. Oh, wait. He was.
coins
a rubber pig pencil topper
notes
drawings
maps
the head of a rubber teddy bear (that's right)
rubber bands, rubber bands, rubber bands
rocks
dirt
hair clips
beads
bits of plastic
drink lids (to drinks that weren't his. Yup.)

Are you with me so far? Who even knows what he'll bring home today.

Fridays with Flylady

2012-01-06T10:45:00.000-05:00

So my first week back with FlyLady in earnest. I do see an improvement in my home, and I'm loving that. However, some days really are better than others for me, as you'll see.

If you don't have an interest in FlyLady or what I did this week, skip this post.

Monday: The first BabyStep. In FlyLady land, this is shining (cleaning) the kitchen sink. I admit that I gave it a bit more than a cursory clean, but not a deep clean. Why? Because I didn't get around to it until 10:30pm. That won't be the normal.

Monday's daily task is the Weekly Home Blessing Hour. This involves changing the sheets, taking out the trash, quick dust, quick sweep/vacuum/mop of main areas, cleaning mirrors/doors, and tossing old magazines. Did those, except the magazines. Don't have many of those to purge.

Tuesday: 2nd BabyStep is getting dressed to lace up shoes. Did it. FlyLady says that when we are dressed to lace up shoes, we are ready for the day and more productive. I have noticed I get more done when I wear sneakers as opposed to *cough Crocs cough*, but if you're not a shoes-in-the-house sort of person, don't let that bother you. FlyLady is flexible.

Today's daily mission is cleaning the walls of the dining room. Did it. Also, the 1st BabyStep, shining the sink, was supposed to be repeated. Did that, too.

Wednesday: 3rd BabyStep was reapeating steps one and two, so shining the sink and getting dressed to shoes. Did the shoes, didn't get to shining the sink. There were some other things being done last night. Part of FlyLady is not getting down on yourself for what didn't get done, so I'm just going try to do it again. The daily mission was picking up the entry way. Did that.

Thursday: Today's BabyStep is doing all of what was done before (remember: we're building habits) and read the FlyLady messages that you can get through e-mail. If you don't want to sign up for the e-mails, don't worry. Although they are nice to have sometimes, they are unnecessary. The online flight plan will be just fine. Also, as part of this step, you are supposed to write little reminders about getting dressed and shining sink onto sticky notes and post them places. Honestly, I don't feel I have enough to write yet, and my eye often passes over the notes and I don't really pay attention to them, despite the fact that they are neon orange. I did not do the sticky notes (yet).

Today's task was sweeping the front porch. Honesty here: I didn't do it. I didn't shine the sink, and I didn't sweep the porch until Friday. I had gotten distracted.

Friday: Today's BabyStep is repeating the shoes, sink, and all that jazz, PLUS writing down all the nasty things you say to yourself. Then you write down something nice to negate those. I've done this step many times, but I'll be redoing it today.

The daily mission today is to dust off blinds, light fixtures, etc. and get rid of cobwebs in the dining room.

*At the time of writing this, I have not yet done Friday's tasks but will be doing them shortly.*

The week in review: Of course, I only listed the FlyLady missions, but I did more. Laundry, dishes, cooking, baking, errands... Anyway, I'm really glad I'm getting back to FlyLady. I really need the guidance. I do notice that it really works to keep the house tidy, but only when I do it, and I don't always. So, here's to the post of accountability and all I did this week!

FlyLady

2012-01-05T08:56:00.002-05:00

Tomorrow I have a post set to go up about restarting FlyLady this year, per my New Year's resolutions. It's kind of a long post, as I've been collecting info for it daily all week. To trim it down some, let me do some explaining here.

What is FlyLady? FlyLady is basically a way to keep your home tidy (NOT SPOTLESS!!) and keep the day running smoothly by doing some very basic tasks that often go neglected. FlyLady is for people who have a bit of trouble doing it on their own and feel overwhelmed by and guilty about housework. It's also for people who are a bit disorganized when it comes to cleaning and organizing. (Uh...me.)

So here's the short rundown. To begin FlyLady, you start by doing the 31 BabySteps. These are simple tasks done each day that will cause you to develop a routine. After that, you go to the Launch Pad on the website that has all sorts of good info on it. For your specific daily task, click on Flight Plan, and go from there. Sounds complicated, but it's really not once you read the info.

Now, FlyLady has some rules that some people don't like. For instance, FlyLady does send many e-mails, but only if you sign up for them and they are not necessary. Another complaint I've seen over and over, from the forums to websites, is that some people refuse to wear shoes in the house. FlyLady suggests wearing lace up shoes so that you feel ready for the day. Keep in mind, none of her rules are hard in fast. Don't want to wear shoes? Don't. The shoes are about a mindset, and if you can feel accomplished wearing slip-ons or letting your toesies hang out, do so. No biggie.

FlyLady is free, and it works for so, so many people. But if you need to adjust the routines, by all means, do it! If you find it's not for you , or you do fine on your own, good for you! Do what works. As FlyLady says, it's about blessing our families, but also making time to bless ourselves.

Last Mountain Rose Herbs giveaway

2012-01-03T20:36:00.003-05:00

Oh, I totally love these people. And drink their tea. Lots of it. But anyway, they are giving away a naturally clean home package. Check it out!

January 1st, 2012

2012-01-01T15:20:00.003-05:00

Some resolutions that I will try (mwah haha!) to keep:

-Reach for some herbal tea, yoga, and meditation before/instead of reaching for the ibuprofen.
-Let my kids get dirty more often and look at little irritations (dumping out toys, running through the house, etc.) as just kids being kids. No biggie.
-Be on time in the morning so I don't have to yell, "Let's go! We're late!" at the kids.
-Meditate (the relaxation kind) at least twice a week.
-Lose 20 pounds. Well, at least 15.
-Get back to daily Bible reading. (Didn't know I was religious? Surprise. I am.)
-Flylady, Flylady, Flylady. I'm actually thinking about adding a new section, Fridays with Flylady to the blog. Thoughts?

New Year's resolutions are funny things, aren't they? We get two simultaneous messages.

1. New Year's resolutions are traditional, so you must make them!
2. But no one ever keeps them, so don't try!

I'm going to try to keep these. Really. I think I'm going to post them somewhere in my house.

In 2012, what are you going to really, really try to do?

Time. It's short.

2011-12-30T23:11:00.010-05:00

So, when nothing funny happens, or I just plain have nothing to say, what am I doing with my time? Well, make stuff. Lots of stuff. Lots and lots of stuff. Stuff like this:

Bread

Squash soup

Garlic Knots

Pumpkin Pie

And also, stuff like this:
Buttercup Bag (free pattern from Made by Rae)

Angry Birds toys (modified from Obsessively Stitching)

Hair thingy holder thingy

Zippered Pencil Case

But now you want to hear something funny. Ok. Little Viking would.not.stop. throwing dirt at his brother today and stray cats keep showing up in our yard to talk to Philosopher Child. No, I'm not kidding.

But...why?

2011-12-27T22:32:00.002-05:00

Philosopher Child is very clever. Very clever. Sometimes, too clever for his own good. He will refuse to do homework and schoolwork, or do it half-heartedly, because he just doesn't see the point. That gets him in trouble.

(My mother used to say, "Someday, you'll have a child just like you, and I'm going to laugh!" Somewhere, she is having a fit of giggles. I didn't see the point of schoolwork, either. That also got me in trouble.)

Oh, the things that come home. "His handwriting isn't good enough." "He's being disruptive." "He's being disruptive again." "He won't color his worksheets." "He doesn't want to do his Reading Counts tests."*

Right before school break, the teacher sent me a note home, asking for a conference. A conference? Now? Well, since conferences are usually held at the beginning of grading quarters, and as this was just days before the end, it had to be important. Heart pounding, feeling panicky after some stressful, but unrelated, days, just about to lose it wondering what happened that warranted a conference, I called.

"So, you wanted to have a conference?" the teacher asked me.

Wait, what? "No," I said. "You sent a note home. You wanted a conference."

"Oh. Well, the holidays are coming up. It can wait until after. It's not that important. He did well on his reading tests. I send notes home about the bad stuff, but I don't mention the good stuff. He's good on his reading. The whole class was. We can meet after the holidays."

Facepalm.

*Reading Counts tests are a whole other can of angry worms entirely.

Mountain Rose Herbs giveaway

2011-12-19T14:34:00.003-05:00

Yep, it's been a month. I suck. But look at this! Mountain Rose Herbs is giving away this fantastic natural lip balm DIY set! If you've been reading here, you know that I'm all about aprons, crafting, all-natural skin care, and DIY.

I love MRH for so, so many reasons. Earl Grey, Orange Spice, and herbal teas are just a few things I love about them. The hardest thing about ordering them is the wait, as they are clear across the country from me!

Make sure you take a look around this awesome business if you drop by their giveaway!

Superhero in Sensible Shoes

2011-11-22T13:20:00.002-05:00

Have you ever sat down and watched any superhero shows with your kids? I have. And seriously, something needs to be said here about the female of the superhero species. See, I've decided that supervillains must be stupid.

Really stupid.

Because, well, superhero gals generally have huge *ahem* upper parts and itty, bitty waists. A smart villain would, were they not so stupid, merely tap the superhero girls on the shoulder. Due to their wildly disproportionate frames, the small tap on the shoulder would cause them to fall over, snapping them like a twig in the process.

But, you know, villains are morons. That's why they're villains, I guess.

And seriously, what is up with their SHOES??? If I'm going to be running around, jumping from rooftop to rooftop, kicking bad guys in the face, I want a good sneaker. Or, at least a ballet flat with a decent sole. What I don't want is a knee-high boot with a freaking 6-inch heel. You're not a go-go dancer, sister! Nor are you a fashionista or a cowboy with questionable taste in footwear.

Over the past 24 hours I have made 3 loaves of bread, a tray of cookies, 3 pizzas, cleaned the bathroom, done a bunch of laundry, gone back and forth to school, broken up fights, and located lost items all while wearing sensible shoes. I am a superhero.

And I bet I could still kick a supervillain in the face.

Habithate

2011-11-16T19:45:00.002-05:00

Habithate: noun. A habit that makes you part of who you are, but annoy people who don't get it.

I love Crocs.

There. I said it.

Are you angry with me? I think most of the people who read this blog either have a pair themselves or don't give two flying flips if other people do. Or, they at least tolerate them. But some people hate them on levels that are unimaginable to my mind. Shoe-burning hatred. A hatred so deep that they not only don't want them themselves, they can't tolerate seeing anyone else wear them.

But why my love when others hate them so? Well, I can't find shoes that fit me right. Seriously. I've had one pair in the past several years that were awesome, but I've never been able to find another pair like them. I can't explain it. Maybe my feet are shaped funny or something.

My point is this: Crocs sort of mold to my feet. Therefore, they fit. Also, since as a mom of two young children I'm on my feet quite a lot, kneading bread, picking up toys, cleaning, so on and so forth, a pair of shoes that fit are extremely handy to have. So there.

For the rest of the world, that means sometimes you'll see me wear them when I pick my kids up from school, particularly if I'm in a rush. You may see me wear them when I run out to do an errand. You won't see me wear them in church, or to an important school function. They are merely my here-to-there-to-back-again shoes.

And I'm not getting rid of them.

But mostly, I don't get what makes people angry about them. Because they're ugly? I think neon colors are ugly, but they don't make me angry.

Factoad

2011-10-23T21:58:00.002-04:00

Factoad: noun. A fact applied in the completely wrong place. (Like when people call a toad a frog. Get it? No?)

Ah, my boys. The sponges. They absorb seemingly massive amounts of information. You know, when they want to. Lately they have been all about nature and animals.

I'll be honest, I don't remember which little monkey this statement came from, but I think it was Philosopher Child. Either way, it goes right up there with other epic statements.

"Did you know that you would stay warm in winter because you have a layer of fat?"

I explained that I'm not a bear, but deep down, well... ouch.

More Statements of Epicness

2011-10-17T08:46:00.002-04:00

Ah, construction vehicles. An endless source of fascination and entertainment for countless children. It's no wonder kids love them. They're big, they're loud, and they make things.

Little Viking wanted to explain one he saw but didn't quite have the vocabulary. "I saw a mint truck. It poured out oil."

"A mint truck that pours out oil?" I asked. At this point I was picturing some sort of candy truck that dispenses mint flavored oil. Well, that can't be right, I thought.

Philosopher Child patiently intervened. "He means he saw a cement truck."

"Oh," I said. That made more sense.

Ugh.

2011-10-12T15:03:00.003-04:00

I know the layout right now is a hot mess. I'm working on it.

Meditation and Other Hazards

2011-10-12T13:34:00.003-04:00

I've had tension headaches nearly daily for 10 or 15 years. Yep. As a teen, if I didn't take a Tylenol before leaving for school, whether I had a headache or not, by the time school let out I'd be at migraine levels. Have you ever had a migraine? They are.not.fun.

So in this manner, I was able to curb the headaches as much as possible. Eventually they nearly disappeared, but lately they are back with gusto. I have been taking ibuprofen 1-2 times a day, every day, for the pain. Doesn't sound healthy? It's not. It's actually a really bad idea. But, for the most part, it was a choice of dealing with ridiculous, blinding amounts of pain, or taking some ibuprofen.

Recently, as my headaches got more and more out of control, I turned to some specific stretches, using better posture, and meditating. Not the trying to attain enlightenment on some astrophysical plane sort of mediation, but just sitting quietly, eyes closed, and just breathing. And you know what? It helped. A lot. I went 3 days without having to take anything. That was huge for me. (I admit over the past 24-36 hours I've been really stressed and last night and this morning I had a lot of trouble just breathing the stress away. I took some ibuprofen as the pain got worse.)

This afternoon I put on an episode of Voltron on my computer for Viking Child to watch (Philosopher Child is at school), brewed some herbal tea, and was going to go and just sit and meditate as the next round of headaches was creeping up.

As soon as I was going to sit, Viking Toddler ran in, asking to watch something on the TV instead. I explained to him that I really needed him to go watch Voltron, for just a little while, and I would call him in a bit. He went back pretty easily. I was on my way to go sit, but the dog had to go out now. Fine. Take the dog out. Go back to sit. As I am, Viking Toddler runs in with another demand, and while my attention is focused on him, I back into a bucket that Husband had used to fix some plumbing yesterday. Ick all over the back of my pants that I had just put on. Go to change my pants. Go back to sit to find that Viking Toddler had gone behind my back and put something loud on TV. In a last bit of frustration, I simply shouted, "I GIVE UP!"

And then I came here to vent.

And now my tea is ready.

Traaaaansformers!

2011-10-10T15:27:00.002-04:00

Robots in disguise!

If you are around my age, you probably now have the theme running through your head. If not, sorry. But anyway, I think we are all at least aware of Transforms now, yes? If not, go visit wikipedia for a minute. It's not important that you know much about them, only that they are giant battling robots that can transform into objects like vehicles and such. OK, you don't have to visit wikipedia. I just told you what they are.

Anyway, we've had crazy weather here over the past few days. Powerlines are down all over the place. Trees are down, there are branches everywhere, and we were a little shocked to see the sun.

During all this nonsense, there was suddenly a very, very loud BOOM!

"What was that?" I asked Husband.

"Sounds like a transformer," he replied. Of course he meant transformer as in electrical equipment, not the giant robots.

"Transformer?" said Little Viking.

Do you see where this is going?

"A Transformer battling?" he asked in that adorable little voice.

"No, not that kind of transformer, honey," I said. "A different kind."

"Oh," he said. "So it was like Iron Man?"

What's really sad is after being immersed in all this boyness, I know exactly why his mind jumped to Iron Man when I said a different kind of transformer. *Sigh*

Celebrity Context

2011-08-18T12:14:00.002-04:00

Celebrity Context: noun. The knowledge that celebrities are, in fact, human.

I was reading an article in an online newspaper, minding my own business, when I happened to notice the sidebar. You know, where they keep all the bits about other articles they think you should read? Anyway, as I looked, the sidebar was full of celebrity nonsense that I don't understand why anyone would be interested in. And really, when you put it in a different context, the "news" is downright dull. I mean, the kind of dull that if a friend told you the same story about themselves, your mind would wander. If a stranger told you, you'd think they were narcissistic.

Let me give you an example. Let's say your next door neighbor went to the beach. Is that interesting? No, not really. Let's say that neighbor took his or her kids to the beach. Is that interesting? Nope. Unless, of course, you have some sort of hand in raising their kids, I guess. But, if that is not interesting then why on earth would someone care if a movie star went to the beach?

So, say a married friend of a friend of a friend is pregnant. Interesting? Not really. Maybe in a good-for-them kind of way, perhaps. What if said person was having pregnancy cravings. Would you seriously care to ask what kind of cravings if you've never even met the person? No? Then why do we care what kind of cravings a celebrity has?

This the part where many of you may stop and say, "But this has nothing to do with child-rearing. You have left what the core of the Mom-tionary." And this is where I say, "Nope, I'm getting there. Pay attention."

I don't want my kids falling over themselves at the sight of some star. I don't want them thinking that they are somehow under them because a celebrity's name is known farther. If there is some person in the limelight that has done something truly noble and they want to respect that person, that's OK with me. But really. I think enough is enough. That is why I will be teaching my kids that a movie star is nothing more than someone who is good at their job, their job being an actor.

It's happened

2011-08-02T11:29:00.002-04:00

It's finally happened. I've started to say it. The dreaded, "When I was your age..."

I used it today. And not in a very nice way. I just wanted the kids to *help* pick up the mess they made. That's all. Just *help*. But they wouldn't. And then it happened. In my angry mom voice, I said, "When I was Little Viking's age, I had to clean my entire room by myself! By the time I was eleven, my mom made us clean the whole house every day, including moving furniture, and our house had three stories! SOMEONE TELL ME WHY ASKING YOU TO PICK UP A FEW BLOCKS IS A BIG DEAL?????"

And honestly, I don't feel great about my mom tantrum. It was not the most mature thing I've ever done. And, in case you are wondering if all the things I said to my kids about my childhood are true, then yes, they are. Mostly. I might have exaggerated some of it a little bit. We only cleaned the main level of the house, plus the couple of flights of stairs. But we did have to move the furniture.

Dosaster Part II

2011-07-13T09:04:00.004-04:00

Part I

Dosaster: noun. A domestic disaster.

For those of you who have been with me for a while, you may remember the horrible $700 plumbing disaster. (For you newbies, or those that don't remember, click the link at the top of this post.) Well, we had to call the plumber again. Thankfully, it wasn't an issue of leaky pipes this time, just a clog that we couldn't fix ourselves (easily). We are all about DIY here, snaking pipes and all that jazz, but for this we needed either a professional or a professional (read, ghastly expensive) tool and professional know how. So, with water from the washing machine backing up into the kitchen sink, I called the dreaded plumber.

The plumber we used last time was very impressive, friendly, and with the exception of a small snafu not of his making, timely. Seemed like a good company to call again. Unfortunately, this time around it was not the same guy.

Not even kind of.

Loud, rude, obnoxious, and a bit angry, this plumber did not impress me. At all. It started off with him calling me to ask if he could come 2 hours earlier than his original time. Fine, no problem, I'm here anyway. About 10 minutes after his call, he shows up, and this is where it gets fun.

Point the first: He's a loud talker. I mean, practically yells when he talks, and I can't stand loud noises. But, not necessarily his fault, and I do my best to overlook it.

Point the second: I had been instructed by Husband to approve work of around $100. The estimate the plumber gave was $140 for the job, plus $50 for BioClean which he insisted that we needed if I didn't want to be calling him back in a few months. So, $190 to fix a clog. (On an itemized list from our last plumbing job, the job itself, excluding the service call fee, was $20.)

Point the third: Although the job was going to cost nearly double what we thought, that is hardly his fault. However, since it was more than we thought, I needed to discuss it with Husband first. I told him I was to spend $100, and since this was quite a bit more, I would have to talk to Husband and call him back. Now, here's the part where his company lost our business. The plumber got upset. He didn't like the idea of having to leave to come back. It had been my experience with this company that they give you an estimate, they let you think about it, and you call them back to approve the work. There are even separate parts of the forms for estimate and the actual work. Apparently he didn't want to do it that way. I was getting more than a little uncomfortable, so I told him I would call Husband now and see what I could do. Only, Husband didn't answer his phone, so I had no answer to give. This hardly amused Mr. Plumber. He was not about to just LEAVE.MY.HOUSE. He said he was going outside to call his boss to see what he should do.

Um, what? YOU SHOULD LEAVE, like I told you to. But whatever. I was getting nervous and agitated. Then Husband called to tell me to go ahead and have it done. So I approved the work and he started.

End of story? Hardly.

Point the fourth: Mr. Plumber told me to fill the washing machine. I have an HE front loader (that I hate), so there really is no way to just fill the washer. You have to run a cycle, and the water doesn't go in all at once. As a plumber, I thought he should get that. He didn't. He was a bit annoyed by it.

Point the fifth: He made a comment about how much money he thought Husband made. Awkward, at best.

Point the sixth: He made a comment that he thought Viking Toddler is small for his age. Actually, Viking Toddler is in the 90 percentile for height, meaning that he is taller than 90% of children his age. Mr. Plumber went on to tell me that his boys are huge and are varsity quarterbacks and whatnot, and his 15 year old is 290 pounds, and isn't that just fantastic? Well, unless the child in question is about 6'5", no, although I'm not saying he's not.

Normally, a comment about size doesn't bother me. I've heard many about how tall Viking Toddler is, to the point that some thought he was starting school when he was three-and-a-half. But with everything leading up to that point, I was less than pleased.

Point the seventh: *If* I ever use this company again, it will not be with this particular plumber. I will make sure of that.

Statements of Epicness Part...whatever this part is

2011-07-12T13:16:00.003-04:00

Just today, I heard from my darling boys two gems.

Viking Toddler: "Nuts are icky. Pee nuts. It's their name. Pee nuts."

and...

Philosopher Child: "I want to watch Star Trek. The one with Shreck."
Me: "You mean Spock?"
Philosopher Child: "Yeah, Spock."

No, my name is MARTIN.

2011-07-07T09:28:00.003-04:00

Wow, it's been a long month. Notice the lack of posts last month? Yep, there's a reason. Here it is.

The in-laws took Philosopher Child and Viking Toddler for 3 weeks out of state to their home. Awesome, right? I was so excited for the quiet. But, having never been without my kids for more than over night (and that was only one of them, not both), as we got closer to the time, I got anxious. Then I started getting panic attacks. In short, was sick to my stomach for much of that three weeks. Sucked.

But, they are home now. We flew out to get them and we all arrived back in our little but well loved house late last night.

But you know what's fun? Airport security. More specifically, going through airport security with children with imaginations. See, our kids have been watching Wild Kratts lately (warning, there's music when you open that link), and Viking Toddler has been telling everyone that his name is Martin, as in Martin Kratt. Hint, it's not. So, as we got to the entrance to security, a TSA agent was scrutinizing our licenses very, very close with a very suspicious eye. He looked at Philosopher Child and said, "Is your name [Philosopher Child]?" Philosopher Child dutifully nodded. The agent then looked at Viking Toddler and asked, "Is your name [Viking Toddler]?"

And then our dear, sweet Viking Toddler said, "No, my name is Martin." When I'm watching toys get removed from babies' hands and grandmothers patted down, this is not the time for that sort of humor. But, funny in hindsight.

No Girls Allowed

2011-05-27T09:03:00.002-04:00

After dropping Philosopher Child off at school one day, Viking Toddler and I were walking home. We passed a bus stop where two elementary age girls were waiting for the bus to take them to the private school.

Viking Toddler suddenly took an interest in this sight, even though we see them EVERY DAY. Still, he blurted out, "Those are two girls."

"Yes," I said. Good observation for being a 3-year-old, I suppose.

"We don't have any girls in our house," he continued.

Wow. Thanks. Excuse me while I swallow my pride and try to tell myself that by girls, he meant sisters. That would be true. We don't have any female siblings in our house (unless you count me as I am a sister, but that's just stretching too far).

It reminds me of an old show called Ed, Edd n Eddy that I used to watch when I was a teen, as I found it amusing. In one episode, the boys are trying to figure out what girls like. Ed (the very simple minded one) declares a list of things that his mom likes. After a moment, he pauses and asks, "Are moms girls?" This is answered by a volley of "Well...I don't...technically...maybe..."

Meh.

In other news, I've rejoined a certain women-only gym. I'm approximately 7-10 pounds over where I should be (for health, not vanity), and have been for a long time. In fact, I've been losing and gaining the same freaking 5 pounds over and over for the past year. I figure it's time to go back and slim down a bit for health reasons. High blood pressure and heart disease run in my family, so it's time to do something about it.

Ok, maybe a little for vanity. I have a really cute bathing suit.

Eating solid foods!

2011-04-30T19:58:00.002-04:00

Yeah, you thought I was talking about a baby, weren't you? Nope. I mean me. Remember when I talked about waterfall illnesses, as in illnesses that go through the whole dang household? Guess what? Stomach flu does that, too. And let me tell you, my friends, it is not awesome. Not even a little.

The night following the slumber party I let Philosopher Child have for his 7th birthday (and a big happy birthday to my little man), Viking Toddler came down with the nasty bug. The next morning, I came down with it. That afternoon, I had to send Husband to pick Philosopher Child up from school. A short while after getting home with him, Husband came down with it. Viking Toddler and Philosopher Child, who have never seen their father get sick in this way, thought it was a source of great entertainment.

Within two hours, Philosopher Child had it. He didn't think it was funny any more.

It was a rough week. The kids were ill for less than 24 hours each, but it hung on to Husband and I. It was two days before I could eat anything, and a full day before Husband could eat anything but crackers. It was close to a week before we felt decent and human.

But, we are all back now. Back to blogging. And the real world. And laundry. Whatever comes first.

Wakemare

2011-04-11T13:32:00.002-04:00

Wakemare:noun. A dream that a child thinks happened and you can't convince him otherwise.

Lately, Viking Toddler has been having some really crazy, vivid dreams. He wakes up and tells me about them, but he talks like whatever he dreamed really happened. He's pointed to areas of his room where he left his new toy. Except, he doesn't *have* a new toy. He's recounted a trip he took that never happened. He talks about when he was sick the night before, only he wasn't. Right now, I'm working on helping him distinguish dream from reality. I've explained to him that dreams are just something your brain thinks about while you are asleep. If you have a better explanation than that, I'd love to hear it.

This morning, Viking Toddler told me all about me putting a tent over his head. I was more than a bit confused. He's been telling me about it all day, and I've been telling him all day that it didn't happen. He even said that I did it because he said a bad word. Again, I told him that I didn't put a tent over his head, nor would I do that. He doesn't seem convinced.

But I think there will be no more snacks before bed.

Why baby names are not fun

2011-04-07T14:41:00.006-04:00

First off, let me say that I have no idea what's going on with the font size below. I tried to fix it. And tried. And tried. Blogger is not listening to me, apparently.
___________________________________________________________

I've got babies on the brain. I'm even dreaming about babies. It's confusing, so I will be asking my uterus in the next few days why it's sending the rest of my body baby signals, seeing as we've decided not to have any more kids.

But anyway...

So, you're pregnant. And you get the same freaking question for hundredth billionth time:

Have you picked a name yet???

Some people just say no, when they really mean, "Yes, but I'm not going to tell you because you won't like it and I really don't care if you like it in the first place, so HA!"

But when I was preggers with Viking Toddler, when Husband and I said, "No, we haven't picked a name yet," what we really meant was, "We've gone through just about every name in the freaking baby books and can't agree on ANYTHING."

I thought picking baby names was supposed to be some kind of awesome? Wasn't it supposed to be on of the most fun things you've ever done?

Well, whoever said this lied. We spent weeks. WEEKS. Finally, out of desperation, we called Husband's Mom. One of the first names that fell out her mouth made us say, "Yes! FINALLY!" Ok, maybe it wasn't quite so dramatic, but still.

But that was the male name that we had selected. We had decided on a girl's name long before that. Elsie. Her (if it turned out to be a her) would be named Elsie.

Until someone pointed out to us that the name sounded like the name of a cow. I don't mean a mean name for a large women. I mean a literal cow. We shortly thereafter changed it to Elise. Close enough.

A letter to my washing machine

2011-03-16T13:34:00.004-04:00

Dear Nearly-New, Front Loading, Expensive Washing Machine,

I've had you for about 3 years now. During that time, your service has been questionable at best. I should have seen problems coming when your brother, Dryer, arrived not being able to dry beyond 30 minutes. At that point, I called in the repair technician, who eyed me skeptically. He didn't appear to believe that Dryer had arrived broken. After a while with his computer in front of Dryer, he finally announced with triumph that it was, in fact, broken. Why do I remind you of this, Washer? Because you came as a set and you are known by the company you keep.

Now, Washer, you and I have had several issues that has nothing to do with Dryer. I'd say the first inkling I had that you are, in fact, a complete idiot, was the day I dared to try to put bleach in the bleach tray while the washer door was open. The bleach ran out and onto the floor. Don't you think you should wait do dispense bleach until you are washing something? Just a thought.

Further, when I tell you I want you to clean something, I'd like it clean. It's to the point that even when I put soiled clothes on a rinse first, and THEN a wash, they are STILL not coming out clean. Let me point out that cleaning is your JOB. I should not have to run clothes through the wash twice in order to get the same results that I saw with my ancient old Washer before it died. Even as it was dying, it did a better job than you.

Here's something else, Washer. I've noticed that every now and then I find small holes in my clothes. No, I don't have moths, so don't give me that nonsense. We both know it's you. I have proof. I looked you up online. I'm not the only one with this problem. Stop it. You've put holes in shirts, pants, and Husband's Great-Great Grandmother's quilt that she made for us. This is unacceptable.

Also, STOP TANGLING THE CLOTHES. This not good for the clothes, my stress level, or your likelihood of continued existence. This is one of the ways things get ripped, or at the very least spend some quality time with Iron. Pant legs should keep to themselves. Sheets should keep to themselves. Stop it NOW.

Now, about the hand wash cycle. I was psyched to see you have one, as I have many handmade articles of clothing. Here's the thing, though. The spin speed for this cycle is low. This causes clothes to come out completely and utterly dripping wet. So wet, they can't go in Dryer. I was glad to see you allow me to manually set the spin speed to high, in order to get clothes that are not dripping wet. This is what that "Spin Speed" control on your face is for. But, even though I tell you I do NOT want sopping wet clothes, you choose to ignore me. This causes me to have to run it through an ADDITIONAL drain and spin cycle. Uncool.

I'd love to leave it there, but here's something else. You are ALWAYS OFF BALANCE! For crying out loud, Washer, if I say, here, wash these towels, what I don't want you to do is use them to cause yourself internal haemorrhaging by allowing your drum to bounce violently around your body. This, also, is unacceptable.

I want to tell you one more thing. You know how I said I have to put the clothes on a rinse before wash to get them clean, and even then it doesn't always (or even usually) work? Your stupid design makes it so I have to physically open the door before I tell you I want you to go from rinse to wash. But you are designed in such a way that the clothes fall forward when I open the door. One time a pair of pants got caught and I didn't notice. You, in your infinite stupidity, decided it was ok to go on your way. That's how you ripped your gasket that cost us over $100 to replace, and that was just for the part.

I won't even discuss the times you didn't spin the water out of the machine.

If this behavior continues, I'll have no choice but the next time you go off balance to just let you beat yourself to death.

Sincerly,

Kristina

P.S.: Dryer, I've noticed that you aren't drying clothes until dry, neither when I use the presets, nor when I manually set the time. You also seem to ignore heat settings sometimes. Low means low, high means high. Your manual says if the clothes come out damp I should just put them away like that, because it's greener or something. You're supposed to be energy saving, but that kind of energy saving in this climate gets you moldy clothes. My eyes are on you, buddy.

Pomergency

2011-03-12T20:59:00.002-05:00

Pomergency: noun. Any sort of potty emergency and/or annoyance.

We went to an air show. Hazzah. I'm not crazy about them (I don't exactly dig loud noises), but Husband and the Boys like it. I'm the moral support. Or something.

Anyway, the kids have this really annoying habit of calling "I have to go potty!" whenever we are out and they are bored. Do you know how to tell when they really, actually, have to go? Me either. Generally, unless they JUST went, I dutifully take them.

And so we find Viking Toddler and I standing in line, and by line I mean a roughly assembled mass of people standing impatiently in front of a row of portable toilets, each little toilet hut roughly the size of a linen closet.

Finally, it is our turn to try to fit ourselves in these awful little things. First off, we should have kept walking to find some toilets that were NO WHERE NEAR the beer tent. But I didn't think that far ahead. I just saw LOTS of toilets, and that, to me, meant fast.

Well, we got inside, and some (possibly drunk) guy had missed the toilet. I mean, clearly wasn't even facing the right direction. But Viking Toddler has to go, and I have hanitizer at the ready.

And then we go back to our seats. That's the point when Philosopher Child has to go. Husband takes him. About 45 minutes later, Viking Toddler has to go again. So we go back to an ever growing line and try not to touch anything once inside. This time, he decides he doesn't have to go after all. We go back to our seats. A little while later, he has to go again. And then Philosopher Child. I just want a drink of water from being out in the sun all day. Except someone has drank all my water. Big suprise.

Statements of Epicness Part II

2011-03-07T16:05:00.004-05:00

Part I here.

You know what's fun? Kids (Sometimes. OK, often. Most of the time. When nothing is breaking and no one is yelling at you). You know what's even more fun? When kids don't know what to call something and they try to use descriptive terms to get the point across.

The other day, Viking Toddler was tired and he yawned. Only, as really odd as it may sound, he didn't know the word, "yawn." Clearly, I have failed. He's got a nice vocabulary, but apparently I've neglected to teach that one.

Anyway, he wanted to tell me he yawned, but not having the word, he instead said, "I have tired in my mouth."

Makes sense, I guess.

Poof Behavior

2011-02-15T14:44:00.004-05:00

Poof Behavior: noun. Behaviors that can be linked back to a source, and once the source is eliminated, the behavior goes poof.

For weeks, Philosopher Child was getting into trouble almost everyday at school. Not big, principal's office things, but small things like talking during work time, playing when he should be working, and being generally disruptive. Now, although some of it is attributed to boredom (he's shown to be far above his peers in certain subjects), it didn't seem to be all of the problem. And why was he only in trouble in the afternoon?

One day, as I was doing some work in the kitchen, he told me that his sandwich in his lunch had been soggy and he hadn't been eating it. He'd only been eating the fruit/veggies I put in, and even then not always.

"How long has this been happening?" I asked.

"A long time," he replied.

Hold it. He hasn't been eating lunch? And he's only in trouble in the afternoon? Oh, for crying out loud.

I rearranged his lunch box so that his sandwich wouldn't be soggy and encouraged him to eat. His behavior magically improved.

But wait, there's more! If he hadn't been eating his lunch, what had he been eating? Enter Little Hyperactive Friend. For the sake of simplicity, let's call him LHF. Now, LHF, it would appear, brings a donut in his lunch quite often. I don't know if it's every day or not, but it does appear to be often. First off, I don't know why you'd send donuts with LHF at all, as he is LHF (or at least, he appears to me, but I'm no expert). But as I'm not trying to start an argument over parenting/food choices, let's leave it as I don't understand. Anyway, LHF has been giving Philosopher Child his donut. So, he's been going all afternoon with little more than a sugar-covered fried pastry in his system.

Gee, I wonder why he's been getting in trouble?

Pocksinket

2011-02-09T13:55:00.001-05:00

Pocksinket: noun. (A combination of "pockets" and "trinkets." Get it?) A random or out of place item found in a child's pocket.

Items I have found in the boys' pockets include:
broken pencils
rocks
nut to a real race car (no, really.)
bits of asphalt
bits of concrete
restaurant menu
pockets full of sand
broken bits of shells
a green fish tank marble
half a tennis ball
a hair tie (WHY????)
bits of paper
grocery store receipts
small toys
sticks
rubber tubing
corn kernels
leaves
acorns
twigs
plastic counting blocks
small snack-sized raisin boxes
a small star hair clip (again, why???)

Phibia Part II

2011-01-31T10:08:00.004-05:00

Part I here.
Phibia: noun. A childhood or long ago fear that you tell yourself you are over, until the ugly truth comes out.

Recently, Husband and I took the boys on one of those humongous ferris wheels. I mean, not the normal sized ones. This thing was HUGE. The boys were really excited, but I was less than amused. I don't do heights, but put on a brave face.

As we waited in line, I was in a hurry to get on that wheel. Maybe just to get it over with. I certainly didn't really want to get on it. At any rate, we were on it in about 10 or 15 minutes and slowly cranked up and back down.

And then, the wheel picked up speed. What seemed like a nice, gentle roll while standing at a distance now felt like pure horror. I found I couldn't manage to look up or behind me without getting dizzy. I noticed just how rusty some of the bolts were.

CREAK! CREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAK!

Was it supposed to make that sound? Was I seriously putting my life in the hands of a stranger?

And if that wasn't bad enough, I then saw this under the roof of our little gondola:

But finally, slowly, the wheel ground to a stop so that the could switch passengers. And at the final stop of the wheel, we were at the apex, hanging there, a potential 125 foot drop above the ground.

What was that news story from years ago about the lady that fell from the ferris wheel, I wondered. How did that happen?

At last, our gondola came to the end of the ride and I was so happy to be on the ground again, where cautions about dropping weren't necessary.

The Earthworms and Me

2011-01-24T08:00:00.000-05:00

The Earthworms and Me, or, How I Came to be Standing in My Backyard in the Dark with a Flashlight and Pot of Worms

Let me tell you a little story. A few days ago, we attended the Pinewood Derby at a local park. While I stood with Philosopher Child, Husband took Viking Toddler to another part of the park to try his hand at fishing. They returned with no fish, but not for lack of trying. They also returned with a near-full container of worms.

Fast forward. The day after, I asked Husband what his plans were for these worms, as in, did he plan on going fishing in the next day or so? He said no and to go and set the earthworms free. I did.

Enter Philosopher Child. He scooped them back up and put them in another container, then created what he called an exhibit so that everyone could see.

"That's fine," I told him. "But make sure to put them back in the dirt when you are done."

As I put him to bed that night, he asked if I had put his worms in the dirt.

"No. Did you?" I pretty much knew the answer.

"No. I wasn't done with them."

"But now they have no food to eat and no way to get warm," I said.

This thought caused him to burst into tears. I asked him what was wrong and received a resounding, "I love them!"

As patiently as I could muster, I explained to him that earthworms aren't pets in the same way that a dog or cat are.

Our compromise of this situation was that I, in the dark, go out with a flashlight and release the worms into the wild.

Again.

Statements of Epicness

2011-01-23T15:02:00.003-05:00

You saw a few days ago when I wrote about a rather lovely epic statement that Philosopher child made. Now here's some more STATEMENTS OF EPICNESS (picture me saying that in the weird echo-y voice of Pigs in Space).

Philosopher Child: "Look at the size of this WORM!!!"

Viking Toddler: "He's trying to take my brain!"

Husband: "I want some egg nog."
Me: "Don't they have any at the store this week?"
Husband: "No. It's made of unobtanium."

Viking Toddler: "I'm walking like a talking fish!"

Me: "Your teacher says you're mumbling. She can't hear you when you read or when you try to talk to her."
Philosopher Child: "I don't mumble."
Me: "Yes, you do." (This is just a fact.)
Philosopher Child: "There's something wrong with her hearing."

Viking Toddler (while holding up some apples): Look! I'm an apple tree!

Adultness

2011-01-20T10:00:00.001-05:00

Adultness: noun (I think? A noun is a person, place, thing, or idea. This is an idea, I think. Noun, right? Let's go with noun.) The level and number of adult behaviors experienced in a given time.

I just got done reading another blogger's account of trying to be an adult and then getting worn out to the point that she rebels. Sometimes I feel like that.

As of the time that I am writing this post (Wednesday, January 19th, 1:31pm), I'm struggling with that myself.

Today, I have folded laundry. Then I washed more. Then I explored the different uses of "green" cleaners and scrubbed the white grout of my kitchen counters. I did the dishes. I picked up toys. I made breakfast and lunches for everyone.

This afternoon, I'm going to make dinner. Like an adult. Dinner is usually Husband's area because he is better at it than me and doesn't mind it. (Although, I am one awesome baker/bread maker. Just saying. Look, I'll prove it.)
(See? I make bread about twice a week. From scratch. Look how responsible I am.)

Anyway, today I'm going to make a duck. Yes, a duck. A raw one. I'm going to cook it. Like an adult. I'm going to have to touch *gag* the raw duck. Like an adult.

And I'm about to clean up some more because another adult is coming over to talk about schooling. Two adults. Talking. Talking about adult things.

Night Confusion Part IV

2011-01-19T10:15:00.003-05:00

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

Picture it. Middle of the night. I was dead asleep, when I was woken by a blood curdling scream coming from the kids' room. I scrambled out of bed, lost my balance and hit the relentless, fridgid terrazzo floor. I got to my feet, and tried to get to the boys' room. My mind was a whirl trying to piece together what was going on. My still half-asleep mind settled on "intruder in the kids' room" as the most likely scenario.*

I was in their room in under ten seconds. Probably closer to five. I flipped on the light, ready to do my motherly duty which may involve beating the tar out of someone who dared mess with mama bear. However, that proved to be unnecessary. The screaming was because Viking Toddler chose to try to take off his shirt in his sleep and it got stuck on his head.

___________________________________
*It's probably pretty strange that this is the first place my mind jumped, but let me explain. Family lore, as passed down by Older Sister, states that when we were young, someone had tried to enter our home by coming through the window of the bedroom that my two sisters and I shared. She recalls that the next day our grandfather came by to promptly screw our window shut. Whether or not that was a good idea is not the point. It is, however, why I keep a very close watch on the boys' windows.

Deflacomment

2011-01-15T22:21:00.002-05:00

Deflacomment: noun. A comment that completely deflates that second of accomplishment you had.

So maybe you finally got around to mopping the floor. Maybe you ran that errand you've been meaning to for weeks. Maybe you rearranged the closet and now you can see floor. Maybe you got a bunch of laundry washed, folded, and put away, despite having to have a "talk" with the washing machine. (By "talk," of course, I mean kicking the 2-year-old machine that never works right and is now out of warranty.) You are feeling awesome. The day is going well and all is right in your little bubble. You are in a better mood than you've been in weeks. YOU are SUPER MOM! (Or Super Dad. Or Super Grandma. Or Super College Student. Whatever.)

Afternoon is closing in, and you go to pick up your child from school, or dog from the groomers or whatever it is you do with your day.

And then you hear it. That one little remark that pops your happy little high-achieving bubble. You know what that comment is.

Here's mine, via Mrs. Teacher of my darling 6-year-old boy: "[Philosopher Child] is not working up to his potential and is not finishing his school work again."

Pop.

And then you have to go explain to your highly intelligent and philosophical child why he has to do his work, even if it is boring or he knows it already. Again.

Epicness

2011-01-14T11:13:00.002-05:00

Epicness: adjective. Description of an action or quote that is fantastic or unbelievable, either in a good or bad way.

A quick search of google right before I typed this let me know that I did not, in fact, make up this word. But I think I can still claim that I came up with it organically. Can't I?

You may now applaud the fact that I digressed in the FIRST paragraph, before I even got to my story.

Anyway, Philosopher Child has been getting in quite a bit of trouble at school lately. He has decided that he doesn't necessarily need to finish his school work, and sometimes he doesn't even need to listen to the teacher. (I suspect he needs to be tested for gifted, the teacher suspects an "inability to pay attention." Long and complicated issue and not the point of this story.)

When I picked him up yesterday, he announced, "I was good in school today. No, wait, no I wasn't. I got all the way to orange!"*

"How did you get all the way to orange?" I asked.

"Apparently it is something called defiance."

Yeah, it's probably bad if I laugh at that. I sent him to his room instead.

___________________________

*Our school uses color coded discipline. If you are on green, you are a-ok. Yellow is warning, orange is relatively serious, red is principal's office.

Randomare

2011-01-02T15:56:00.002-05:00

Randomare: noun. A nightmare about something random or out of the blue.

The other night, we found Viking Toddler in his bed yelling, "I need new toys!" He wasn't quite awake, but we got him to settle back into bed and go to sleep. In the morning we asked him what he was dreaming about.

"My toys were on fire," he said.

OK...I guess, yes, that would be a reason for new toys. But dreaming that your toys are on fire? Where on earth did that come from?

A night or two later, he had a similar dream.

Last night, I told him to dream about something silly instead.

"Can you tell me something silly to dream about?" I asked.

"The window," he replied.

"The window?"

"Yes," he said. "That's so crazy!"

Uh huh...crazy. I know the feeling.

Sprout Wish

2010-12-31T10:27:00.002-05:00

Sprout Wish: noun. A wish a child makes to be older and/or reach a particular milestone that his peers and/or siblings have reached.

Yesterday, Philosopher Child lost his first tooth. (I'll wait while you applaud like you've never applauded before. Done? OK.) He took it out himself, no muss, no fuss, just out. So, in accordance to ancient tradition passed down from whoever thought this nonsense up, the Tooth Fairy, while tripping over toys and being generally grouchy but hoping not to wake up the child, removed the tooth and replaced it with a dollar, making sure to hide the tooth in the back of the child's mother's wardrobe, where the child would not find it.

This resulted in the child dancing around all morning with said dollar.

Of course, this whole situation is fascinating to Viking Toddler. He asked me this morning if I could take one of his teeth out.

"No," I replied. "You have to wait until you are a little older. They'll get wobbly, and then they'll come out."

Viking Toddler then shook his head around, "wobbling" it, in an effort to make his teeth wobbly.

Clearly, I've gotten through to him. *Eye roll*

Sleep Myth

2010-12-28T14:47:00.002-05:00

Sleep Myth: noun. The myth that after a certain age, kids (and adults, for that matter) almost always sleep through the night.

Uh, can we say false? Maybe it's just me, but sleeping through the night seems to be a luxury these days. Between sleep walkers/talkers, illnesses, general wakings, storms, weather changes, headaches... Pfft. What I want is a good night's sleep.

But of course, it's not all bad. The kids' sleep talking is actually pretty funny, even if it does wake me up. For instance, a few days ago we went to a birthday party, at which there was an indoor playground. Viking Toddler wanted to run and play in it like the other children, but in order to get up into it, you had to go up a serious of platforms that were as high as his chest. A few of Philosopher Child's classmates with some seriously heightened maternal senses helped Viking Toddler get up the platforms over and over, and seemed extremely happy to do so. Really cute.

Later that night, I heard Viking Toddler moving around and talking. I found him sitting up in his bed, saying, "I need to get up there. I need help to get up there." He was of course dreaming about the little girls helping him up to the platforms.

I said, "OK, I'll help you." I laid him down on his pillow. "Are you up there now?"

"Yes."

"OK. Go back to sleep."

Well, maybe having to get up at night every now and then and catch such adorableness isn't so bad.

A Christmas without snow

2010-12-25T12:42:00.003-05:00

OK, no snow on Christmas is not exactly surprising. We live in the south, and it has only snowed here a couple of times in the past few decades, and generally no more than flurries. Although, there was a very cold stretch last year and it sleeted one night. But, as is my standard, I digress.

The other day, Viking Toddler, who is three, asked if there will be snow on Christmas. I told him no. He then became concerned, as he had convinced himself that Santa can only fly if there is snow. That took a few minutes to correct. Although, thanks to the magic of webcams, Grandpa was kind enough to walk outside in the cold and show the boys the 8 inches of snow that had fallen where he was.

Philosopher Child asked me last night (Christmas Eve) how Santa will get in since our house doesn't have a chimney.

"You know, I remember asking my mom the same thing when I was young," I said. "She said he uses the front door."

"But it's locked. How does he get in?"

At this point I pulled out an old trick my mom used when she didn't know what to day or didn't feel like answering. "Magic."

"But he's supposed to go down the chimney!" Philosopher Child said.

I don't remember what I said here, but I think it was something like, "And he's magic. Do you think normal people go down chimneys?"

I hope everyone has a splendid and fantastic New Year. If you're into resolutions, make them, and don't forget to share them.

~~~~~
As an interesting little side note, Husband was kind enough to get me a laptop for Christmas. Not a new one, but there's a reason: this particular model is hard to break and is perfect for me. Love it.

But I've already digressed. I was silly enough to leave my laptop open on the table, with the edit page up. I had to walk away for a while, and when I came back, I was doing a quick read through of what was on the page. Hidden in the text were the words "I am a vandal." Husband apparently thinks he's funny. He mostly is. Good thing I proofread.

Merry Chirstmas to all, and to all... put a smile on, for goodness sake!

2010-12-24T12:06:00.002-05:00

I haven't come up with a word for what I'm proposing yet, however I suppose it could go under the Holinsanity category.

Yesterday (that would be the day before Christmas Eve), Husband, the boys, and I all went out to the grocery store and Target for a couple of last minute items (uh, yeah, like all the stuff for Christmas dinner that we hadn't bought yet).

Anyway, the grocery store was packed. Not only was it full of people, it was full of angry people. I'm sure I would have found the same at Target if I had ventured out of the first aid/cleaning supplies section.

Why, for the love of all things, are people so darn angry at Christmas? It could be the extra money that people "need" to spend, but I don't think that's it. The crowds? I think that's more likely. Husband himself has said many times that he hates Christmas for that very reason.

But back to my story, which is more disjointed and rambling than usual. I was helping Husband gather the last minute things at the grocery store, and it's amazing how many people had scowls on their faces and acted like you are in their way. Like somehow, you, personally, have completely ruined their Christmas by the mere act of being in the same building as them. So while some of the people were happy to say, "Excuse me," and "I bet your pardon," and smile, most looked like they were about to hit you in the face with a baseball bat.

Crowds aren't fun. I get that. But consider this: everyone is just trying to do the same thing as everyone else. Everyone just wants to get in, get what they need, and go home. Anger over an uncontrollable situation just makes it worse.

So here's my proposal: This year, I will try to remain nice and cheery, even in the face of crowds. I will remember that we are all trying to do the same thing. I will smile, even when others look like they are about to pull out their bats.

As Proverbs 15:1 says, "A gentle answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger." Not to mention all the versus on encouraging each other.

Will you join me?

Balloon Man/Woman part II

2010-12-07T15:51:00.003-05:00

Part I
Balloon Man/Woman: noun. A person that tries, at times repeatedly, to give your child something you don't want them to have.

Walking home from school with the boys. Tra-la-la-la-la. A grandmotherly woman, whom I have seen many times in my travels and never known to be anything but pleasant, stops on her way from the mailbox and watches us.

*Cue the Jaws music*

When we get to her, she asks, "Would the boys like some mechanical toys?"

"No," I politely say, "They tend to break mechanical things."

"Oh, they're just little mechanical dogs. They can't hurt them."

"Well, they're throwers, and--" (Here I was about to tell her about the remote control fire truck that broke the first day, but she interrupted by doing what happened next.)

She turned to my children and asked THEM.

Yeah, hi. Remember me? The mom? The mom that just TOLD YOU NO???

She ran off to get the dogs and brought them back to the kids and happily shows them how they work.

"I bought them for my dogs, but they know they're not real," she says.

I.am.pissed. But I am also pretty stunned and say nothing. She tries to hug me and laughs an apology. Not a real apology, mind you. A fake, "ha-ha get over it, this is no big deal" sort of apology.

Why would you do that? Why would you listen to me tell you no, but be so blatant as to disrespect me in front of my children? Especially when I DON'T KNOW YOU?

Ugh.

So now I have these stupid toy dogs that have long leashes on them. Did I mention my kids like to wrap things around their necks? No? Let me tell you that now. My kids like to wrap things around their necks.

I've hid them. I'm hoping they will forget about them and I can donate them at the first available moment.

Shatter Duty

2010-11-30T09:01:00.002-05:00

Shatter Duty: noun. The responsibility of having to tell your child something hurtful for their own good.

Sound harsh? It is. And it sucks. Big time.

Viking Toddler asked for a Superman cape for his birthday last July. Being crafty and using any sort of excuse to add to my craftiness, I whipped one up. He's been playing with it on and off since. Lately, it's mostly been on.

When I first made him his cape, I was careful to remind him about the rules of reality, as in, a cape won't make him fly and Superman is just a movie and not real.

Today, a lady I knew was telling me about a child years ago in the Philippines (her home country) that *supposedly* tried to fly down the stairs and didn't survive. True story or not, I decided I ought to give our little guy a refresher in gravity.

"You know you can't fly, right? It's just a story. Some kids have tried it, and gotten very hurt."

See the bold part? That's the only part he heard. The next thing I knew, he said, "Can I try flying off the roof?"

All stop! Hold everything! What did my child just ask me???

So, while making breakfast, I had a conversation with my little guy in which I had to explain to him in no uncertain terms that people can't fly. I told him Superman and Batman aren't real, they're just stories, and those were just actors in the movies that were made to look super with camera tricks. I reiterated that people, including himself, can't fly.

"Oh," he said. "Not today?"

No, not just not today. Not at all. Not ever. Superheros aren't real, no one flies, and if he tried it he would get hurt.

I literally saw his heart shatter. His lip stuck out and he got all teary.

This wasn't in the manual.

Marttration

2010-11-21T19:55:00.002-05:00

Marttration: (mart-tration) noun. Frustration felt from visiting a store or shopping center that you hate.

I don't exactly dig Wal-Mart. Our local one is crowded, dusty, and the shoppers there are generally rude at best. However, sometimes we need one particular item that Wal-Mart carries and our other stores don't. If we don't want to drive for half an hour or 45 minutes for that item, Wal-Mart is the only place we can go.

So there's the back story. Now that you know it, I can proceed. A few days ago, we were at Wal-Mart purchasing that one dreaded item that the other stores didn't have. We finished our shopping, got into the car, and were about to leave when a woman walking by with her cart just stopped right in front of our car (we had backed in and were facing out). Two men drove up to her, and while standing with her cart directly in front of our car, proceeded to load the other car that was now stopped in the roadway.

"She's going to leave that cart there, you know," I said to Husband. Not sure why I said it. I think Wal-Mart just puts me in a bad mood.

"No, she'll move it," he replied.

Well, she finished loading, left the cart in front of our car so we couldn't get out, and got into the other car. Of course, Husband was not having this nonsense and proceeded to honk his horn at her repeatedly. She and her two male friends turned around and gave us blank looks until they realized what happened. So the woman got back out of the car, took the cart and jumped it onto one of those curbed grassy areas (you know, the ones where the shopping places plant small trees and use the areas to separate the parking lots?), got back into her car, and left.

Oh, and let me tell you the best part. The cart return area was right across the aisle from where she stood, about 10 or 15 feet away.

Craftstake

2010-11-12T22:59:00.003-05:00

Crafstake: noun. Mistake pertaining to crafting.

I've been sewing up a storm lately. My fabric stash is growing, as is my confidence. And on that line of thought, I branched out into something a bit new (and feared among some sewers): jersey knit.

Now, for you non-sewers, jersey knit is that mildly stretchy stuff that t-shirts are made out of. I found some on sale and proceeded to attempt to make some nice shirts.

First attempt: making a ruffled tee using an existing t-shirt as a pattern, using the instructions from a nifty little blog called Make It and Love It. I followed the instructions for the body of the t-shirt, but the sleeves didn't fit the armholes. I wanted a lower neck line, but cut it in the wrong spot and ended up with an off-the-shoulder number. I wasn't sure what happened, but chalked it up to user error. In the end, what I had was unwearable. (This is the part where I point out that NOW I know what I did and there were no problems with her instructions. Completely my fault.)

Second attempt: After a while away from stretchy shirt ideas, I tried again. This time, I took the seems out of an old, well-loved, and well-fitting t-shirt and used that as a pattern. Body was fine, sleeves, again, did not fit the armholes. I was angry and frustrated. I recut the sleeves a couple of times, which did not help my mood.

I was talking with Husband about my frustration with the project when he asked a question that I hadn't even considered: "Did you put the sleeves on backwards?"

"Of course not!" I was ready to say. "What kind of idiot...wait. Hang on."

I checked the original pattern pieces and guess what? I put the shoulder seam on the outer arm and the outer seam against the shoulder. (If you non-sewers don't know what I'm talking about, just know that it was wrong.) Out came the seam ripper, and after a little bit of extra effort, I found the original sleeves fit just fine and now I have a rather lovely shirt that I made myself.

Dafter

2010-11-01T11:01:00.002-04:00

Dafter: noun. The day after any sort of tiring event.

Today is the dafter of Halloween. Fun? Yes. Adorable? Certainly. Tiring? Oh-my-freaking-goodness-I-need-a-nap.

After I took the kids trick-or-treating, I stayed up late watching a movie and generally goofing off. I am so, so, SO sorry I did that. I have at this moment been up for 4 hours and have yet to actually wake up.

Chocolate didn't help.

Tea didn't help.

Maybe I can convince Viking Toddler to take a nap so I can, too.

And if meditation doesn't work...

2010-10-26T14:54:00.002-04:00

Wood Block Relaxing: verb. Trying to relax but in no way getting there.

Recently I've seen a lot of articles about doing breathing exercises and meditating to help relax and destress. I've been feeling more anxious than is necessary lately, so I thought I would give it a go. Mind you, I'm not into the looking-for-enlightenment sort of thing, but just sitting quietly and breathing and just letting it all go for a moment.

So, early in the afternoon, I was anxious and perplexed. Bad weather has given me an ongoing headache for days. I got lost thinking and planning about something all morning, and before I knew it, I had forgotten to make myself lunch. The children, of course, had already eaten. Then those little pesky thoughts start to set in.

Scout meeting. There's a scout meeting tonight. Forgot. Bobcat badge. Oh, darn it, does he still remember the stuff he memorized for that? Camping trip coming up. No! The health form! I forgot to fill in the health form! Shirts. We're supposed to get those shirts from the lady at the meeting. Did I remind Husband to pick up cash for that? Wait. What time is it? I have to go get Philosopher child from school. How's our bread supply? WHY IS VIKING TODDLER CRYING THIS TIME???

Finally, returning home from the school, seeing how much I needed to accomplish today and how very lacking I had been, I decided to give that sitting quietly thing a go. I calmly told the boys to pick up the toys in the living room, and I was going to spend 5 minutes in my bedroom having just a few quiet moments.

I shut the door and sat down. Relaxing? No. This is what I immediately heard:

"Pick up the toys!"
"Get off of me!"

Relaxing. Riiiiiiight...

Wide Confinement

2010-10-22T10:50:00.004-04:00

Wide Confinement: noun. State of having lots of space but nothing to really call your own.

Do you remember when you were a kid or a teen? How you couldn't wait to have your own house so your mom would stop telling you to put all your things in your room? Remember when you first had this dreaded conversation about the state of cleanliness of your room:

"It's MY room!" you scream.

"No it's not!" your mom yells. "It's MY room in MY house! You don't HAVE a room!"

OK, at least that's how it went between me and my mom. Maybe yours was one of those "give them space" types.

ANYWAY...

I'm a grown-up now. Supposedly. I have a house and my personal belongings are scattered through it (take that, Mom!). And yet, I really don't have a space that I can point to and say, "Mine!" Not a big deal in the grand scheme of things. I mean, at least I have a house to live in when so many people around us are losing theirs. There have been at least 3 foreclosures on our block this year.

The thing is that it's not just about having my own space. The problem lies with me. Me and this short dreaded word: crafts. In recent times, I've found out that crafty makes me happy, and crafty often involves a sewing machine. That's not the problem in and of itself, but the fact that I have no permanent place to set up my craftily craftiness. I set up a folding table in the living room, put my supplies on it, and put the supplies away when I'm done. Sometimes I even remember to put the folding table back.

In a small house, it is hard to find a permanent place to put these things. And then I got the wandering eye which fell upon (*scary music here*) Husband's work/hobby room. I bet I could reorganize that to make some extra space along that one wall...

Did you hear that? Husband, somewhere, just shuddered in terror.

Vantasm

2010-10-18T10:23:00.003-04:00

Vantasm: noun. An object, person, or situation that clearly exists, but the children say otherwise.

10:30am, Monday morning. Philosopher Child was at school, Viking Toddler was playing quietly, and I was catching up on housework. After a quick pick-up of all the rooms in the house, a quick mop, doing the dishes, cleaning the bathrooms, and putting in a load of laundry, I was going through lunch options in my mind.

We had pizza a few days before, and the there was a slice left over. (Yeah, yeah, I know how bad pizza is for you, especially since I'm trying to shed a few pounds, but this place has epicly awesome pizza.) Viking Toddler started asking for it at about 8:30am.

"[Viking Toddler]! Are you hungry?" I asked at 10:30. "Do you still want that pizza? Or a sandwich?"

And then came the reply from my little guy. "[Viking Toddler]'s not here!"

Oh. Um, that's new.

"OK," I replied, not quite sure what else to say. "Let me know when he gets back."

Kinda, sorta, but not quite MIA

2010-10-09T21:46:00.002-04:00

I know, I know. I've been a bad, bad blogger. I haven't written for a few weeks and have even lost a few followers. All being my fault for my not making time.

But where have I been, you ask? Well, let's see here. Husband had to get his wisdom teeth taken out (all 4!), so I was nursemaid for a bit. The Boys were both sick at one time. Philosopher Child just started Cub Scouts. And of course, CRAFTING! There was some pumpkin pie from scratch (and I do mean scratch), some sewing of clothing for me and a pair of lounge pants for Viking Toddler, and I'm currently working on Halloween costumes. I'm desperately trying to get Philosopher Child's costume done before his teacher announces the date of the Halloween party, which should be coming up any time now.

But wait! You didn't come here to read about the inner workings of my day-to-day boring life.* You came here for me to tell you a ridiculous story and be entertained! So here you go!

Misapplique: verb. To take an understanding of one situation and mistakenly apply it to another.

When Philospher Child was smaller, he looked at a tree that had lost its leaves and announced, "That tree is naked!" The innocence and inherent truth in the statement was flooring, not to mention hilarious. I had completely forgotten about this situation until a few days ago when he saw a tree that lost its leaves and made the same statement, but more as a memory that he had once said it than a serious statement.

Viking Toddler, not to be outshone in an-y-thing, started calling every single tree "naked." And, because that clearly wasn't enough, he started saying the trees had *ahem* things that you see while naked. Way to go, Viking Toddler! You made a simple walk to school both funny and uncomfortable! We don't shout words like that in public.

------------------------
*Husband asked me one day about Twitter. I told him that I don't Twitter because I'm simply not that interesting.

"What will I write about?" I said. "Doing laundry?"

"Apparently," he responded, "that's what Twitter is for."

Mundafit

2010-09-17T09:04:00.002-04:00

Mundafit: noun. A fit thrown over something mundane and generic.

So, the morning was like any other morning. Tra-la-la-la-la, walking Philosopher Child to school with Viking Toddler in tow. Get the school, turn around, head home.

We get to the street and the ever-friendly (in a good way) crossing guard stops traffic so we can cross. As we are walking away, she calls out to Viking Toddler, "See you later, alligator!"

"Aren't you going to say good-bye?" I asked Viking Toddler.

"No," he replied, clearly rather angry. "She called me alligator."

I told the story to Husband. He patiently tried to explain to our little guy that you are supposed to say, "After while, crocodile!"

Well, he didn't like that. "I'm not a crocodile!"

Funky and fresh apron giveaway

2010-08-29T17:30:00.002-04:00

Yes, folks, it's that time again. The ladies over at TAG are giving away your choice of an awesome apron from Cupcake Provocateur! Pop on over an enter!

Mama Bear

2010-08-26T09:46:00.002-04:00

Mama Bear: noun. When a mother gets very, very angrily protective of her children.

OK, I didn't exactly make this one up. Still, it goes with today's story.

Recently, a man who lives across the street from my son's school has been running his sprinklers when he *knows* that all the kids are going to be passing by. Now, to be fair, we are on water restriction, meaning you have an assigned day to water, and you must water before 10am or after 4pm. So, it's not like there aren't other times he could water.

Today I found out that the man was asked to move his times for the safety of the children. You see, you can't cross the street here and avoid the situation because across the street is where the bus entrance/exit is. The kids have almost gotten hit trying to avoid getting wet. Still, the guy refused to move the times and claimed that he couldn't, which of course is bull.

This morning, after another wet walk, I was standing just barely out of the spray with some other parents and we were expressing our frustration to each other over the situation. The man came out of the house and addressed us.

"Is that any better?"

Apparently, he had moved the times by a few minutes, but it didn't make a difference. He was still running them during the time the children are passing by.

"We're still getting kids veering into the street," the crossing guard said.

"Well," said the man, "I called the water department and they can't do anything about it." I kind of heard this as "The water department isn't going to make me change." Of course the guy has other times he can run his sprinklers that are still on his days in the prescribed times. *Eye roll*

"Couldn't you run them half an hour earlier?" asked one of the dads.

"No," said the man. "I need to walk my dogs in the backyard. No."

Finally, a frustrated dad said, "It's a safety issue, bud."

And then, are you ready for this? The man said, "Not my problem."

Are you kidding me? The guy KNOWS that kids are almost getting hit trying to avoid getting wet, but he still refuses to budge a little because it is not his problem? REALLY????

My inner Mama Bear was about to throw her own hissy fit. I excused myself because I was going to say something I was going to regret. I'm so frustrated because the guy knows this is a problem, but also knows that, legally, we can't do anything about it. Not at all. He will continue to completely soak a very LONG stretch of sidewalk (you didn't think I was talking just a few feet, did you?), parents, and kids, plus cause a safety hazard, because he technically doesn't have to do anything, and he knows it.

Parenmorph

2010-08-17T14:35:00.002-04:00

Parenmorph: verb. When you are suddenly standing in the same position your parents were in with you.

Let me tell you a story. Once upon a time, when I was in elementary school, I wasn't finishing my class or homework. Sometimes I was lazy, sometimes I was bored, sometimes I didn't see the point. I mean, if I understood the concept the first time, why do I have to do 15 more times? Family legend says that when my mother talked to the teacher about it, the teacher said, "Doesn't she have nice eyes, though?"

Fast forward to today. Waiting for Philosopher Child to come out of school, his teacher came up to me. She told me, for the 3rd time in the past week, that he is not finishing his classwork. I assured her we would be talking about it with him. Again. (I also took away some favorite activities until he is able to finish his work for a week straight, but that's beside the point.)

"I really want to tell you he had a great day," she said. "I really do. But he had plenty of time to finish, and he didn't. But he's so sweet and has such nice eyes."

Ladies and gentlemen, the Twilight Zone.

Misobject Part II and what's up with the pear bird over there

2010-07-23T14:09:00.002-04:00

OK, this isn't quite a "part II" in the way I usually define it, but it is an update. I've been told by Husband that I have been remiss in updating the story. So here we go. About that slipper...

Here was my theory: since we left the dog in the care of a neighbor when we left on an unexpected and sudden trip, we also left our neighbor our house keys. We figured, if the dog becomes a problem, she could bring the dog to our house and just come in and feed her and let her out. I thought that perhaps she was cleaning up her house, saw the slipper, and decided if it didn't belong to her kids, it must belong to us. Then, she used the key to drop off the slipper in our house.

Makes perfect sense. I was rather proud of that theory.

And then, it turned out to not be true.

See, the slipper was not a slipper at all. That's right. Not. a. slipper. You see, Philosopher Child had just been upgraded from a 5-point-harness car seat to a big boy booster seat, and that "slipper" was...oh, I'm so embarrassed...an armrest cover for the booster seat.

ANYWAY...

And, now what's up with the new background. I get my backgrounds from The Cutest Blog on the Block. There's a link in the upper left hand corner. I still love their backgrounds and everything, but the background that I was using has been removed and replaced by new ones. Sorry. The bird is a place holder until I find another one that I like. Maybe I'll have a vote on a new one or something.

Misobject

2010-07-15T09:28:00.002-04:00

Misobject: noun. An object that you have no idea where it came from or how it came to be where you found it.

Did you miss me? I missed you! I was called out of town rather suddenly (everything is fine), and haven't had much time to write.

However, something unusual happened upon my return, which was yesterday, in case you were wondering. But again, I ramble.

I planned on making bread today. As I was cleaning off the table, I found a child's slipper. Just one. And although that is not remarkable in and of itself, what is odd is that it is not ours. I don't recognize it even a little bit. It certainly does not belong to my children, and since we have been away for almost 2 weeks, coming back to find it is a bit strange.

I thought, well, some companies send out samples of their wares in hopes that you will buy some. Maybe that's what this is. Unlikely, but not impossible. I asked Husband about it, since he's the one who brought in the mail, but he didn't know what I was talking about.

So here we have one odd mystery slipper.

I have a suspicion of where it came from. I'll have to do some more investigating.

Swear of Mispronunciation part III

2010-06-28T11:53:00.003-04:00

Part I Part II
Swear of Mispronunciation: noun. A word that a child mispronounces, and ends up coming out as a swear word.

OK, I'm trying to tread extremely careful with what I'm about to say. It's funny, but hard to write (or read) without blushing.

The other night, we had pizza and breadsticks for dinner. I know, I know. Bad mommy. But stay with me.

Viking Toddler comes up to me (and get ready to blush), and said, "I found my d*ck."

"What?" I asked, wondering where he heard such a word. I decided that surely I must be misunderstanding him.

"My d*ck," he repeated.

No, that can't possibly be what he's saying...could it?

He walked over to the table, picked up a breadstick and announced, "D*ck."

Oh.

"No, honey. That's a stick. A stick."

Indirections

2010-06-21T08:27:00.002-04:00

Indirections: noun. Directions that make no sense.

So, the other day we left the monkeys with a sitter and took the fluffy one to get her yearly shots. All went well, except of course, she needed to be muzzled because she just doesn't dig the doctor's office.

Anyway, on the way out, I mentioned to the nurses that she had tear staining under her eye, and do they know what would cause that?

"We're just nurses," they replied. "We aren't allowed to give that kind of advice. You'll have to see the doctor."

OK, I wasn't sure it was THAT big of a deal, but... I understand that protocol is protocol.

A few minutes later, one of the nurses came to me and whispered conspiritorially, "While you are waiting to see the doctor, you can use an eyewash. It could be something in her eye." She proceeded to give me (give as in hand it to me. I had to buy it) a bottle of eyewash in a small box.

"It's like eyewash for people," she said, "but this one is for dogs." Remember that. It's important to the point of the story.

Sounds about right. While we are sitting there waiting for the results of the annual heartworm test, I glance at the instructions on the box. The first thing I see, I kid you not, is this:

Remove contact lenses before use.

Are you with me? And that wasn't the only instruction that didn't make sense. I was reading down the list and found that most of the instructions didn't actually apply. At least, not to dogs.

(By the way, it turns out it was probably dirt in her eye. All fixed, no vet visit necessary.)

Night Confusion Part III

2010-06-01T19:19:00.004-04:00

First off, you see the little follower tab on the right hand side, about a third of the way down? Do you see the number? 99. How awesome is that? Those of you who were here from early on remember when 10 was a huge deal. Now 99. You know what would be better? 100. Just saying.

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

The other night, I was getting everything ready for Husband and I to go to bed. As I was sitting in the living room, finishing some last minute tasks, Philosopher Child, who had been asleep for a few hours at this point, appeared in the hallway. He stood there and just stared at me.

"Can I help you?" I said.

"cnigobesnow?"

"What? I'm sorry, I can't hear you. You'll have to come here."

He ran up to me and said, "Can I go to bed now?"

Huh? Uh... "Yes. You can go to bed now."

That's a new one. Getting up to ask to go to bed.

Jellyroll Project

2010-05-24T09:56:00.003-04:00

Jellyroll Project: noun. A project that starts as nothing at all, or even from something unrelated, but rolls up to be much bigger than anticipated.

Watching a baseball movie=reseeding the lawn. Did you know that? Me, either.

Husband and the Boys were watching an old movie about Lou Gehrig. This lead the boys to want to go out and play baseball, which Husband took care of while I did the dishes. A short time later, Husband poked his head inside and asked me to keep on eye on the Boys because he was working on something. I went out and found that Husband had pulled up a very roughly 1/3 of the yard. Apparently, being outside with the boys caused him to notice that a great deal of the backyard was nothing but sand and weeds.

So now, the grass seed has been chosen. The section of the yard we are going to reseed first is getting clearer and clearer. And on a class section of our door, written in dry erase marker, is a diagram of the yard with appropriate measurements that only an engineer could love.

Ridiculcy

2010-05-16T11:34:00.003-04:00

Ridiculcy: noun. Policies that make no sense but you must abide by them anyway.

Where I live, the school year is winding down to its last few days. With the end in sight, the principal of our school asked us to participate in the brand-new, shiny, incredibly awesome "Online Registration" for the upcoming year. Seems simple enough. Online registration=not having to hand carry the papers to the school. How awesome is that?

So, after following the trail of links you have to follow to get to the fabled registration form, I found out something...confusing. To me, and I'm sure to you, "online registration" means just that. Registering online. Turns out that is not this school's definition of the term. Then what is their definition, you may ask.

Are you ready for this?

According to this school, "online registration" is being able to download the form to print it out at home and bring it to school, as opposed to having to pick up a form at the school.

Last time I checked, that's not what that meant...

Exhibit A

2010-05-06T09:12:00.003-04:00

Exhibit A: noun. Any evidence or set of circumstances that show things didn't exactly happen the way your child says they did.

Aaaaaand...we're back. Sorry about the time away, folks. The family are all better, and I just have a bit of a cough and sore throat left, but nothing I can't work through. Much better than before when I had trouble just being up and didn't want to be awake, but couldn't sleep. So now, on with our story.

Husband's birthday was a couple of weeks ago. I made him is favorite: German Chocolate Cake. As a side note, this is odd because he likes neither chocolate nor coconut, but I guess in cake form...?

Anyway, in the early hours of the morning, Husband and I were in bed when we heard the clink of the metal bowl we used to cover the cake being moved. Husband jumped out of bed and caught Philosopher Child sitting on a bar stool suspiciously close to the cake. Husband told him to leave it alone.

When the morning started a short time later, Philosopher Child came to me and told me the dog had gotten on the stool, lifted the bowl with her nose, and licked the frosting off the cake.

Wait, which dog? You mean this dog? This overweight fur ball? You say this dog, this dog right here, got up on a bar stool 3 feet off the ground? Seriously?

He was adiment that his story was true. When I lifted the cover, the frosting was indeed missing from the cake. But of course, this not the way it happened. Friends, I present to you Exhibit A: He was found sitting on the stool the dog was supposedly on, the dog would have eaten the whole cake and not just the frosting, and come on. Look at her.

He later recanted his story.

Reminds me of another time...

I have not abandoned you...

2010-04-27T21:40:00.001-04:00

I am sick. Really sick. Husband and Viking Toddler already had it and got over it a few days ago. I haven't stopped writing. But let's wait until I can see the computer screen a little better, OK?

Parentation part III

2010-04-19T08:34:00.002-04:00

Philosopher Child just turned 6! He's growing so fast and I have no idea when he became so tall. But of course, this doesn't stop his questions.

On the way to school the other day, we saw a dog.

"Mommy, how do dog babies come out of the mommy?" he asked.

"Same way that people come out of their mommies," I replied.

"Oh. So, they come out of their butt?"

Um...

Parentation Part II

2010-04-08T11:27:00.003-04:00

Parentation: noun. A misunderstanding between parent and child.

There is a commercial that plays on PBS that says, "Everyday moments can become teaching moments." I do believe that to be true. When Philosopher Child was tiny and would ask for milk, I would say, "Milk starts with the letter 'M.' M says 'mmm.' It starts words like 'mommy' and 'monster'..."

One day I realized Viking Toddler didn't know his animal sounds. I thought I could teach him this in the same way I taught Philosopher Child the letter "M."

"Can I have milk?" he said.

"Sure. Milk comes from..."

"Cows!"

"And cows say..."

"Moo!"

Pretty simple. He's down with the mooing. So I tried to dabble in letters.

"Can I have milk?"

"Sure. Milk starts with the letter..."

"Cow!"

Ok. We'll work on that.

Parentation

2010-03-29T10:11:00.002-04:00

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.

Nocturnal Refusal part II

2010-03-22T10:22:00.003-04:00

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?

Happy Little Bloggie Award

2010-03-19T09:03:00.005-04:00

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!

Appliphobia Part II

2010-03-15T22:10:00.002-04:00

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.

I.am.not.kidding.

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.

Appliphobia

2010-03-14T21:46:00.002-04:00

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.

Apron giveaway

2010-03-12T11:16:00.002-05:00

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!

Night Confusion Part II

2010-03-07T23:08:00.004-05:00

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.

Shark Call

2010-03-03T08:35:00.003-05:00

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!

Momsolete

2010-02-25T21:16:00.002-05:00

Momsolete: adjective. Describes a part of the mom job that has become obsolete with the children getting older.

First off, let me say a little something here. You may have noticed there are a lot of "Comment deleted by blog administrator" stuff lately. No, I'm not happily and randomly deleting comments from my dear readers. I've just been deleting spam messages.

Now, on with our story.

Philosopher Child's school has an account with a certain book company. This book company has a great multitude of their books available on their website for children to view. The books are even read to them by actors with the words on the screen so they can follow along. Personally, I think that's fantastic. I've used it a few times to entertain the kids when I am just trying to get the dishes/laundry/cleaning done.

Coming home from an errand today, Philosopher Child said, "Can we listen to a story on the computer for story time before bed?" Wait, what? Don't I do story time? Isn't that my job?

"I thought you wouldn't want to do it," Philosopher Child continued.

"Did you think to ask me?" I said.

Clearly, he didn't understand what I meant, because then he asked, "Mom, can we listen to a story on the computer?" Not exactly the question I meant.

"I'll think about it," I said grudgingly, acknowledging that I was in danger of being replaced by a computer program.

"What?"

"She said she'll think about it," Husband said with a smile, seeing much more humor in it than I did.

In the end, I simply grabbed a book off the fresh stack from the library. There were no complaints. In fact, Viking Toddler kept running off to get more books, and Philosopher Child constantly wanted just one more story. Comforting. I guess I'm not quite obsolete yet.

Peanut Picasso

2010-02-20T16:03:00.002-05:00

Peanut Picasso: noun. A child that uses art tools and supplies in a way that is not intended by the manufacturer(s).

Behind on the housework. Again. That's kind of typical for me. Therefore, anything that will keep Viking Toddler in one place and not throwing things is a plus. Well, I happened to have some watercolor paints. Non-toxic AND washable. My kind of stuff.

I cut a Styrofoam cup down to make it less tall, filled it with a bit of water, pre-wet the paints, and put Viking Toddler in his high chair with some paper. We're set. I got to work on the chores.

A short time later, I checked on Viking Toddler's progress. He was painting his fingers with great globs of purple. Mind you, he wasn't actually putting his fingers in the paints. He was using the brush to paint his fingers. Not quite what I had in mind, but OK...

He looked up at me and exclaimed, "Mommy! I messy!"

"Yes, you are," I replied. I then showed him how to make fingerprints on the paper with his pre-painted fingers.

His reaction at first confused me. He went about the same activities as before, but there seemed to be an almost unnoticeable change in his mood. It took me a while before I realized what it was.

My little Peanut Picasso wanted a different reaction. When he spills a drink, there is an, "Oh, no!" as I rush to get a towel. When he knocks something over, there is an, "Oh, no!" as I scramble to catch it or pick it up. And when he draws on something he is not supposed to, there is a, "Not there! Draw on paper only!" as I hurry to get him some blank sheets. But when he merrily sat there painting his fingers, and at one point his face, he barely got a, "Look at that. You're so silly." He was a bit disappointed. I guess next time I should throw some confetti or something.

27 followers!

2010-02-16T09:09:00.002-05:00

Little things excite me. Like knowing someone out there actually reads my nonsense. So let me say a great big thank you to my followers! In the past week or so I've gained an extra 12 people, which is the fastest the Mom-tionary has grown ever. You all encourage me to write more.

The other day, when my numbers had jumped to 25, I sat discussing my bewildered excitement to Husband.

"Twenty-five! Twenty-five followers!" I said.

"Twenty-six," he corrected.

"No, twenty-five," I said, and wondered why he was arguing with me.

"Twenty-six," he insisted. "Not everyone who reads is a follower."

Aww...

Then he advised me that I should post more often.

"Sometimes nothing funny happens," I said. Do you want to read about me washing towels or how I am almost out of bread? Didn't think so.

"Well, something funny is about to happen," he said, and called my attention to the Boys, who were using a chair in a way that I'm pretty sure is not recommended by the manufacturer. Of course I had to put a stop to it. I don't really want to do a post about spending the night in the emergency room. I've already done that. Not that fun.

Balloon Man/Woman

2010-02-14T12:03:00.003-05:00

Balloon Man/Woman: noun. A person that tries, at times repeatedly, to give your child something you don't want them to have.

So, your child wants a specific toy. You tell them no for whatever reason (too dangerous, too expensive, not their birthday, not appropriate...), but, despite you not wanting your child to have that toy, a well-meaning but misguided relative or friend gets it for them anyway. You, understandably, are miffed.

Which brings me to today's story. You see, at our grocery store, they occasionally give out latex balloons to small children. That's a problem for us. With Viking Toddler being so young and still sometimes putting things in his mouth (latex balloons are huge choking hazards), we really don't want to have this particular kind of balloon around. Besides that, there is the problem of them waving them around in the car and fighting over them when they get home. Sometimes we let them have those multi-colored inflatable problems, but mostly not.

On Friday, we were standing together while an older gentleman bagged our groceries. He looked at Viking Toddler and asked, "Would you like a balloon? Ask your Daddy."

"No, thanks," Husband said.

"Are you sure?" the man pressed.

"No, that's OK," Husband replied.

And then the man, who seemed a bit irritated and confused by Husband's refusal, said, "He'll hate you later."

Or, maybe as his parents, we have a reason we are saying no, and next time you should ask US if you can give our child something.

Keyser

2010-02-10T12:50:00.002-05:00

Keyser: noun. A person who through clumsiness or carelessness breaks or loses objects, particularly, but not limited to keys.

You guessed it. This morning, my keys were unaccounted for. I checked my purse. The table. The kitchen counter. My jacket. I even shook out the sheets looking for them...which reminds me. I should probably make the bed. I eventually found them in my raincoat. I had forgotten that it had been raining yesterday.

But my haplessness with small objects is not limited to keys. I've lost my wedding ring in the washing machine. Twice. (Although that doesn't happen any more since we now have a front loader, and I wear my engagement ring, which holds my wedding band where it should be: on my finger, not tumbling around in the towels.)

The other day, I was cleaning out the boys' humidifier. I planned to wash it out, dry it, and put it away. As you may have guessed it, yes. Crash. I dropped the water reservoir, full of water, into the tub. Now we need a new humidifier.

Last night, I sat with Husband watching TV. I was drinking a cup of truly fantastic tea in a clear glass mug that Husband bought me for my birthday, along with a new tea pot and quite a bit of tea. Now, I usually don't wear my wedding and engagement rings in the house because I'm generally doing housework and I don't want to damage or lose them. But last night I was. I was absently toying with the handle of the cup when I felt my engagement ring slide across the surface of the side of the cup. Now, for those of you who don't know, diamonds and glass are not friends. Though the diamond on my heirloom engagement ring is pretty small, it is no less of a real diamond. I had gouged a chip out of the side of the cup. Oh-freaking-darn-it. I liked that cup.

At this point, you may be wondering how I function every day with two kids, a dog, and a husband. I'll tell you...I have no idea. But apparently my particular brand of nonsense is hereditary. The school nurse called about an hour ago to tell me Philosopher Child shut his finger in a door. Well, he is his mommy's child.

Momliment

2010-02-04T19:18:00.002-05:00

Momliment: noun. A compliment specifically for moms.

You know the ones I'm talking about. "You're baby is so cute!" or, "Look how good s/he is being!" Recently I started to got Momliments on Philosopher Child's reading ability.

But tonight, my friends, was the most hilarious momliment ever. A man came to the door and I foolishly answered it, thinking it was my neighbor. Well, the man on the other side told me he was doing a power usage survey. And then it happened.

He asked me if my parents were home.

Dumbfounded, I replied, "I am the parent."

He was just as confused. "Oh. I...you don't look...OK..."

I'm going to be laughing about this for a long, long time.

Shopping Shark

2010-02-01T09:20:00.003-05:00

Shopping Shark: noun. A person who is a salesperson's worst nightmare because they will argue to get what the want, or a person who has the uncanny ability to make salespeople just go away.

I've learned two things about my family members in the past few years. First, if you want a deal, you shop with Younger Sister. She knows how to double up coupons, talk the salespeople into selling the display model, and knows exactly where to go and when to get the best sales. But if you don't want to buy anything and frankly want those door-to-door salesmen to just go away, you hang around Husband.

The other day, someone that works for a window company came to our door. Husband answered and the woman started on her spiel about who she works for and what she does. At the end, Husband simply said, "No, thank you. Not interested." But instead of the woman just thanking him and walking away, she said, "Why?" Big mistake.

"Just not in the budget," Husband said. "Not interested."

"You're not interested in saving money?" she asked.

At this point, Husband was a bit annoyed. Now, understand, we love, love, love small businesses. What we don't love is people showing up at our door while we're trying to have a relaxing weekend, so it's not surprising when the next thing out of Husband's mouth was, "Do you have a licence?"

The woman said that she did and handed him one, but it was a contractor's licence. He wanted to see her peddler's licence, which he knew by this point she didn't have and wasn't really sure what he was talking about. He calmly informed her that in our town you need a special permit to peddle from door to door, to which she said the funniest words of the day: "I'm not peddling."

Personally, I'd like to know what she would call it if going door to door selling windows isn't peddling.

Regardless, Husband had made his point, and after saying no multiple times, it took explaining the law make her go away.

Holinsanity Part II

2010-01-01T20:00:00.003-05:00

Part I here.

Holinsanity: noun. The particular type of insanity people, especially parents, get around the holidays.

Christmas Eve at the grocery store. It was a surprisingly smooth shopping trip all things considered. I expected there to be a bit more holinsanity than there was, but we've seen worse on other non-holiday related days (parking carts in the middle of aisles, rude people acting like everyone else is in their way and they should be first in everything...)

In short, everything was fine until we got to the check out line. I stood by the back of the cart with the kids, while Husband stood at the front and unloaded groceries onto the belt. There was a woman in front of us with just a couple of items. Husband took one of those plastic dividers and placed it behind her items, and then started putting ours on the other side of the divider.

OK, no problem so far.

I was staring off into space when I heard Husband say something that sounded both friendly and annoyed.

I looked up. He was smiling a big, warm smile at the woman and I was absolutely confused. The words didn't match the face. What just happened?

I drifted back into waiting mode. A few moments later, all of our items were on the belt, and I heard the woman say, "See, you got them all on after all."

Huh...

When we got out to the car, I asked Husband about what had happened between him and the woman in front of us. Apparently, she thought our items were too close to hers and repeatedly forced ours backwards to increase the distance and had only made the situation worse by making rude comments to Husband, thus the friendly-yet-annoyed comment.

I've been trying to figure out what would be the purpose in doing this repeatedly. Have yet to come up with a good answer.

Ingrained Nonification

2009-12-22T19:20:00.003-05:00

Ingrained Nonification: noun. A fact, set of numbers, or other very important item that is so ingrained in your head that you could recite it in your sleep, and yet very inexplicably and suddenly forget it.

Picture it. Target. The year: 2009, a mere three days before Christmas. I was having a lovely evening with the Boys and Husband. We went out to a very uncrowded but fantastic Asian restaurant that served both Chinese and Japanese food. I tried sushi, the raw kind, for the first time (I think). Viking Toddler and Philosopher Child pretty much ate a whole bowl of those fried noodle things. Lovely evening.

We popped off to Target afterwards because we needed a few things. We got our items, got in line, and while Husband was entertaining the Boys and generally just looking about about 3 feet away from me I swiped my card and punched in my pin.

Click. Something inside says I've just done something wrong. The machine asked me to put the pin in again.

Click. Something says that still wasn't right. It wasn't. The machine asked for my pin again. If machines could talk, it would probably say, "Please enter your pin again. The CORRECT one this time, if please."

Click. A third time. Pin still not right. I stood there, dumbfounded, and realized that I have no idea what my pin is. I have completely forgotten that little number that I've used without thinking hundreds of times.

Husband stepped in and swiped his card. Good thing he was there.

And I'm still not sure what my pin is.

Eclectic Christmas Tree

2009-12-15T21:18:00.003-05:00

Eclectic Christmas Tree: noun. A Christmas tree on which the ornaments don't go together in any way.

I'm sitting here tonight looking at our unlit Christmas tree. In case you are wondering, it's unlit because the outlet is being used so that we can watch a movie. I'll plug it back in tomorrow. Two outlets on one wall, or even anywhere near each other, are unheard of at our house. But, as usual, I digress.

This brings me to my point. Who out there has a Christmas tree where the ornaments actually match each other? You know how you go in the department stores and you see the spectacular (and over-achieving) trees with ornaments that coordinate perfectly? Does your tree look like that? I don't mean you have a set of ornaments, I mean more like you only have that one set, or that set is balanced by another brilliantly matched set. Not judging, really. No, really, not judging. Just curious.

Me? Somehow I don't think the plush yellow duck that reads "baby's first Christmas" match the silver "unbreakable"* balls or the ceramic blue teardrop-shaped ornament. But that's my tree.

*Unbreakable, huh? We'll see about that. My kids don't back down from a challenge.

Letter Drop Part IV

2009-12-12T21:10:00.002-05:00

Letter Drop: verb. The act of mispronouncing a word by young children due to missing letters.

OK, this isn't quite a letter drop, but a letter add. But I'm feeling too lazy to make a new definition. Also too lazy to link back to parts I, II, and III. It's been a long day.

Anyway, Philosopher Child came up to me this evening and said, "Mommy, will you make some slushie?"

"I don't think I have the right things to make slushies," I said.

"Slushie is a type of food," he added.

"It's more of a drink."

"No," he said, "It's made from raw fish."

"...Not slushie. It's sushi."

Jaws TV

2009-12-04T09:28:00.002-05:00

Jaws TV: noun. A show or number of shows that you only thought were safe for your kids to watch. How foolish.

Christmas time is nearing, is it not? It must be, since I'm constantly yelling at Viking Toddler to get away from the Christmas tree and continually setting our wooden nativity upright again after there have been small children near it. And, of course, musing about how much I hate our tree skirt. But that's a little thing in the grand scheme of life. At least we have a house to put a Christmas tree in, and that is truly a blessing.

But I digress. As usual. I'm told that I do that. "Meander" I think is a term that has been applied to my stories by loving family members. *Cough-Younger Sister-cough*

But again, I digress. Anyway, we've been watching A Christmas Story lately. You know, the one with Ralphie and all of the "You'll shoot your eye out," and "Only I didn't say fudge." A perfectly safe family movie. You can now imagine Jaws music.

I was standing in the kitchen when Viking Toddler ran up to me and start to hit my legs with closed fists. I was confused, but told him no hitting and sent him out. Generally, that's all it takes. He went off to play, and a short while later asked to watch A Christmas Story. No problem. I put it on for him, and then everything clicked. At the point when Ralphie is beating the tar out of the neighborhood bully, Viking Toddler again ran up to me and began hitting my lges (the only thing he can reach) with closed fists. Ah ha!

Now we utilize the fast-forward button. Liberally.

So, we went to Disney World...

2009-11-29T22:28:00.003-05:00

And my children didn't know who most of the characters were. Unlike our parents before us, we don't have a trove of Disney movies, but not because we are anti-happy-little-animated-characters. We just happen not to have any.

But, rather from detracting from the experience, Philosopher Child and Viking Toddler had the unique ability to see things as they were. They could ride the rides and see the shows without any previous knowledge (and a little confusion) of any of it.

The result? They had a fabulous time. Really. They had a spectacular time on the Dumbo ride, despite having no idea who Dumbo is. Same with Goofy's Barnstormer. And the tea cup ride (Mad Hatter's Tea Party? Mad Hatter's Mad Tea Party? The Mad Tea Party?), although Philosopher Child was a bit amused (and no doubt baffled) by the giant door mouse popping up from a tea pot in the center.

Now, I suppose you'd like a word and a definition. We haven't had one for a while, have we? Well, here you go:

Random Fear: noun. A seemingly random thing that a young child is frightened of.

Viking Toddler was (perhaps still is) freaked out by bugs. I mean, really, really freaked out. I showed him a rolly polly once and he screamed that it was going to get me and generally wigged out that I had picked it up. But he rode the Barnstormer (which scared me!) four times and loved it. Huh.

And that's why he's called, "Philosopher Child"

2009-11-18T10:05:00.002-05:00

In case you weren't getting the idea of why I call him that, here's a couple of real head scratchers he's said in the past few days.

"Does God eat breakfast every day?"

"Was I always real?"

"Did God make our house?" After all, He did make everything, so... Um...

"He has pointed teeth, so he's a vampire." No amount of reasoning would cause him to let go of this one. I tried.

Happy Halloween!

2009-10-31T09:55:00.004-04:00

Or for those who don't do Halloween, Happy Harvest! Or, Happy Fall!

Did you know their are not one, but two vampires at Philosopher Child's school? He told me so. It's true...or so I've heard. See what happened is there are these two kindergarteners...

Kindergartener Richard* claims that kindergartener Peter* turned him into a vampire. It must be true, because one of them has pointy teeth, says Philosopher Child.

Husband and I have told him over and over that they're not vampires. Made no effect. So finally I said, "But he comes out in the daytime. He can't be a vampire."

"No," said Philosopher Child. "He can because he goes to school."

Well, there you go. If you are a vampire and want to be out in the daytime, you must be enrolled in school.

*Names have been changed to protect the questionably innocent.

Murphy's Law of Child Discipline

2009-10-22T14:57:00.002-04:00

Murphy's Law of Child Discipline: noun. The universal law that states, "No matter how many children were perpetrating a breaking of the rules, yours will be the one that gets caught."

Philosopher Child is pretty mild mannered, all things considered. He has is snotty days like everyone else, but is mostly, well, a philosopher child. Imagine my surprise, then, when his teacher came up to me after school yesterday wanting to talk to me about a bit of trouble he had caused.

Apparently, Philosopher Child had made an obscene gesture, which I had never seen him do.* I was a bit upset, but of course I know that part of growing up is learning what is and is not socially appropriate, and this was squarely in the "not" category.

After a talk with Philosopher Child, he understood that what he did was wrong, and said he wouldn't do it again. And then...more info. This wasn't something he just up and did. He saw two other children doing it, and he simply mimicked it.

Oh, joy! I was right in thinking this didn't sound like him.

Oh, crap. Of course he's the one that got caught.

In the end, the teacher was polite and respectful and didn't fly off the deep end and demand therapy or anything like that. In fact, she, too thought this was out of character for him. In her view, what's done is done and it probably won't happen again.

*...never seen him do with one exception: he once was playing with his fingers and stuck both his middle fingers up, but of course had no idea that it meant anything at all.

Holiday Time Warp Part II

2009-10-19T09:08:00.002-04:00

Holiday Time Warp: noun. The strange yet common situation of losing several weeks or months of time upon walking into a store.

Part I here

It's that time again, kids! Again comes the weird twilight time when people are planning place settings for Thanksgiving and thinking about Christmas gifts while trying to finish up Halloween costumes.

At the very beginning of this month, I walked into a home improvement store (was it Lowes or Home Depot?) with Husband and the little monkeys. To my left was a large Christmas display. To my right, it was Halloween. I pointed this out to husband and commented on how it was October on one side of the aisle, and December on the other.

Here's the sad thing: I want to be able to say take it one thing at a time! Do Halloween, and THEN Thanksgiving, and THEN Christmas, but the sad truth is...I'm already dropping Husband less than subtle hints about a particular item I would like to see under the tree with my name on it. Hard to complain about this time warp thing when I'm part of the problem.

I guess I should finish the kids' Halloween costumes.

A Silly Scary Story for Your Silly Scary Monsters

2009-10-15T12:00:00.003-04:00

Halloween is just around the corner. Some of us parents take our kids Trick-or-Treating, some plan some sort of group activity, and some ignore the day all together. No matter what you do, I think you'll enjoy telling this little tale to your monsters. I'll be honest, this tale must have been around for some time. I heard it as a child. I told other children. A quick Google search tells me that there are many different versions of this story. Here is the one I heard, as I remember it.

The Purple Gorilla

Once there was a man [I'll call him Steve, but you can call him whatever you want. The name just makes the telling easier. You can use "I" here if you prefer. Anyway...] Steve was driving along the road one evening, when his car broke down. He looked up and noticed it was about to storm, and so set out to find a place where he could spend the night.

[When I first heard this story, it was long before the cell phones were common.]

Steve walked through several fields, and jumped a few fences, and after a while, he came to a large house. He knocked on the door, and a man answered.

"Hi," said Steve. "My car broke down. I was wondering if I can spend the night here?"

"Sure," said the man in the house. "But I must ask you not to touch my purple gorilla."

Confused, Steve said, "What's a purple gorilla?"

"I'll show you," said the man.

The man took Steve down a flight of stairs into the basement. They passed through a regular wooden door. Then a thick wooden door. Then a thin metal door. Then a thick metal door. On the other side of the thick metal door was a huge cage, and in that cage was a massive purple gorilla.

"What happens if I touch the purple gorilla?" Steve asked.

"Just don't touch the purple gorilla," replied the man.

That night, as Steve was lying in bed, he just kept thinking about the purple gorilla. Finally, curiosity got the best of him. He crept down to the basement, and went through the regular wooden door. Then the thick wooden door. Then the thin metal door. Then the thick metal door. And finally to the gorilla. He reached out a hand and touched the gorilla. The gorilla flew into a rage and tore out of his cage.

Steve ran out all the doors, out of the house, across the fields, over the fences, back to his car and locked himself in. But the purple gorilla was right behind him! The purple gorilla reached out and ripped the top of the car off. He reached in towards Steve, laid his hand on him, and yelled--

"TAG! YOU'RE IT!"

Crafty Dare

2009-10-08T18:56:00.003-04:00

Crafty Dare: noun. A craft, recipe, or any from scratch project that makes most people cringe.

Yesterday I made a pumpkin pie. From an actual, honest-to-goodness pumpkin, not from a can. I have never done this before. My friends were applying some lovely adjectives to this activity, using words like "brave" and "daring." Hmm...

I'll tell you something. When someone looks at something I'm planning on doing and says, "Wow!" or, "That's brave of you!", or, "I wish I could..." it makes me really wish it works out. Deep down, I really want to know that I am clever enough to figure it out and make it work.

So, about that pie. The one from scratch. It was yummy. :) This the part where you say, "Wow!" and I say, "Aw, it wasn't that hard," and act like it wasn't.

But honestly, it wasn't that hard. Time consuming, sure, but not that hard. I ended up making the pumpkin puree one day, and the pie the next. I did get a little worried when at 40 minutes, when the recipe said the pie would be done, the pie was still mostly raw. I started watching the clock, fidgeting, and thinking about the time when I would have to leave to go get Philosopher Child from school. I checked out the window to see if any of my neighbors were home that could babysit my oven while I was out.

In the end, it worked out. It was finally done after baking for over an hour, and I was able to pick up Philosopher Child on time.

Oh, and this didn't happen this time.

Mommy Day Part III

2009-09-24T09:47:00.005-04:00

Part I here. Part II here.

Mommy Day: noun. A day when being a mommy is exhausting and frustrating.

Yesterday was quite a day. We were off to school later than we should have been, but then had to take a detour due to a loose rotweiller (we were walking). On our detour, we discovered another loose dog. Philosopher Child looked at me innocently and said, "Mommy, why does this keep happening?" Ugh.

Got home with Viking Toddler. A short time later, argued with Husband over the phone about something stupid, though this argument was my fault due to a less than stellar mood. See first paragraph above.

In the afternoon, I received some very bad news from a very good friend of mine.

Come evening, Viking Toddler had diarrhea when he just happened to not be wearing a cover over his cloth diaper. It was 2 1/2 hours of cleaning the floor, the toys, sheets, and the furniture that was in his path. And his brother. Yes, he somehow got his brother. And I'm still not done cleaning the toys.

You know when you have one of those days when you just want to go to bed?

Cute end of summer apron giveaway

2009-09-24T09:38:00.002-04:00

I know, I know. Two giveaway posts with no stories about the ~~horrors~~ activities of the boys. But coming up next post which will be posted later today. I promise.

So, click here to enter the giveaway from the apron team at TAG. Enjoy!

Another FABULOUS apron giveaway!!!

2009-09-17T10:05:00.002-04:00

Oh, my goodness. The ladies over at TAG have the giveaway of giveways this week. A fantasticly lovely red and white apron with...are you ready for this?...a matching headband. Head on over to this post and check it out!

On second thought, don't. It's mine. I saw it first. ;)

Adorable Refresher II

2009-08-30T12:51:00.002-04:00

Adorable Refresher: noun. A certain thing a child does or says that is so cute, you remember right then and there how much you love them.

Read part I here.

It was a year ago almost to the day when Philosopher Child (then having the name of Monkey Son #1) came to me and told me that he wanted to marry me, and then, realizing that I was spoken for, said he wanted to find someone like me to marry.

First off, young girls of the world--cringe! Whichever of you my son marries, he will be comparing you to me! *Insert evil laugh here.* OK, but seriously, I'd probably be an OK mother-in-law. But I digress.

Recently Philosopher Child came to me and said, "I have two girlfriends. But I don't know which of them I'm going to marry."

I looked at my 5-year-old with the most joyful disbelief. I grabbed his hand, and dragged him down the hall to Husband. I laughingly told Philosopher Child to repeat what he just said. And he did. Husband and I thought it was a hoot!

And the real kicker? I doesn't know either of the girls' names.

Patient Anger

2009-08-25T21:53:00.003-04:00

Patient Anger: noun. The anger you feel even when you are trying hard to give someone the benefit of the doubt.

First off, a thousand apologies for leaving my blog for so long. Truth is, I didn't really leave for that long, and I actually finished this post a while ago and thought I had posted it. But I only saved it. My bad. Now on with our story.

Philosopher Child's classroom is about as far away from the school entrance as you can get. So, like so many other parents of kindergarteners, I walk him to class. On one such day, I had just dropped him off to class, barely on time, and was on my way out of the school while pushing Viking Toddler in the stroller.

When the final bell rings, a few adults close the gate across school's main entrance. The final bell was ringing as I was hurrying to the gate. A woman there was yelling for the kids on the other side to hurry up and get in, then started closing the gate. I called for her to wait. She saw me, but closed the gate anyway, and merely pointed me to another exit.

Part of me wants to think, well, the gate open/closing times are probably very controlled and she had to close it immediately. And then part of me thinks, come on. I'm a few feet from the gate, pushing a toddler in a stroller that's more obstinate than he is, and you, instead of waiting a few seconds, decide to make life just a little harder. Really?