In my neck of the woods it's been quite unseasonably warm. That is until very recently. Right now it's down right frigid. With the shift in the weather has come a sudden shift in attitudes. Gone are the casual smiles exchanged with ease and the nice cheerful small talk. In it's place are a bunch of scowls and grumps.
I was checking out at a local grocery store last week. The sky was grey and the wind was cold. For the first time since last winter snow flakes had begun to drift aimlessly down from the clouds. It wasn't much. It wasn't even a threat to leave a dusting in it's wake. It was simply a few flurries destined to be forgotten as quickly as they had appeared.
The cashier, however, was living in the moment. She glanced out the window near us and groaned. "I'm so NOT ready for winter!" she said and went back to slowly dragging my purchases across the scanner as if by reflex.
"You are aware it's the middle of January right?" I said to her.
She glared at me and shrugged a little. I, not being one to care much for shrugs like that pressed onward.
"I mean, you've had lots of time TOO get ready for snow. It should have been snowed at least one good snow by now," I said, satisfied I had made a point.
She just squinted her eyes a little and said, "Yeah, but last week it wasn't cold."
I think I might have rolled my eyes, but I can swear to it. Here's the thing - there are somethings in life you simply can't control. What you CAN control is how you respond to it.
1.25.2007
Another Perspective
I don't even remember how the conversation began. I do, however, remember very clearly how it went.
Logan said, "Some day I will grow up and be a man like Daddy."
I said "Yup" because I know that if you fail to give Logan at least some sort of verbal nod at minimum he will repeat himself until he's convinced you heard him.
He added, "A big man. Tall."
I changed subject slightly, "And when you're a big grown-up man, what will you do? What kind of job?"
He thought a moment and I expected his usual litany of career options to begin it's march from his aspiring lips. Instead he smiled big and said, "I'm going to sit at my desk all day until it's time to eat. Then I'll get up."
And to think, he's not actually *seen* Daddy at his desk job in at least two years. I figured I'd press a little, "Ok, but what will do at that desk?"
"Work," Logan said in that familiar tone that speaks volumes. As in: Geez, Mom!
He nodded. "Yup, I'm going to do work at my desk until it's time to eat. But before that I'm going to be a Daddy."
"Oh, well, honey, it might be easier if you get your job at the desk first and THEN become a Daddy. That way you can buy food for the baby and live some place that's not my house," I told him for all the obvious reasons.
"Why?" he asked.
"It is just better that way," I told him, wondering when it was time to give him the "Honey, girls prefer employed men" speech. He's 4. I figured it wasn't time yet.
"Why?" he asked.
"It just is," I told him.
--
And yet another work-related laugh:
I'm related to a chef. Not one that ever cooks for us, mind you, but a real, honest to goodness, trained at one of the top culinary schools in the world chef. One with a job as a head chef/general manager.
He's getting married and ends up dragged along to a lot of bridal shows. (And as a good big sister I laugh at him much for going. I've been to those - loaded with grooms they are not.) His favorite thing to do at these shows is sample the food and fill out all those little slips you're supposed to fill out if you wish to win things.
Last one he went to he won.
A personal chef is coming over tomorrow night to cook him and his future wife a dinner.
I know. It's sick.
Logan said, "Some day I will grow up and be a man like Daddy."
I said "Yup" because I know that if you fail to give Logan at least some sort of verbal nod at minimum he will repeat himself until he's convinced you heard him.
He added, "A big man. Tall."
I changed subject slightly, "And when you're a big grown-up man, what will you do? What kind of job?"
He thought a moment and I expected his usual litany of career options to begin it's march from his aspiring lips. Instead he smiled big and said, "I'm going to sit at my desk all day until it's time to eat. Then I'll get up."
And to think, he's not actually *seen* Daddy at his desk job in at least two years. I figured I'd press a little, "Ok, but what will do at that desk?"
"Work," Logan said in that familiar tone that speaks volumes. As in: Geez, Mom!
He nodded. "Yup, I'm going to do work at my desk until it's time to eat. But before that I'm going to be a Daddy."
"Oh, well, honey, it might be easier if you get your job at the desk first and THEN become a Daddy. That way you can buy food for the baby and live some place that's not my house," I told him for all the obvious reasons.
"Why?" he asked.
"It is just better that way," I told him, wondering when it was time to give him the "Honey, girls prefer employed men" speech. He's 4. I figured it wasn't time yet.
"Why?" he asked.
"It just is," I told him.
--
And yet another work-related laugh:
I'm related to a chef. Not one that ever cooks for us, mind you, but a real, honest to goodness, trained at one of the top culinary schools in the world chef. One with a job as a head chef/general manager.
He's getting married and ends up dragged along to a lot of bridal shows. (And as a good big sister I laugh at him much for going. I've been to those - loaded with grooms they are not.) His favorite thing to do at these shows is sample the food and fill out all those little slips you're supposed to fill out if you wish to win things.
Last one he went to he won.
A personal chef is coming over tomorrow night to cook him and his future wife a dinner.
I know. It's sick.
1.22.2007
So this is what a workaholic feels like. . .
I'm tired.
And yet I'm wired.
Last week I got a call. There I was innocently trying to get some lunch at my most favorite supermarket in the entire world (hey, if you were where I was you'd understand the obession) and my mobile phone starts ringing. Although when it first rang I did not hear it. I climb in the van and turn in the direction to return to the office where sane people work.
The phone rings again. This time I hear it.
It's the old office. They have been desperately trying to track me down. They need help. Fast.
And so I, in the interest of generating some extra cash for a 10th annivsary weekend away in late spring, heard them out. Then I accepted the very labor intensive job within it's unbelievably short deadline.
Let me first say that even now, nearly 5 months to the day of bidding bossman adieu, I still tense up when I hear his voice. Is that warped or what?
But on to the good stuff. I work sporadically over the weekend. I work at the real job today, come home to a snowball fight with the remaining vestiages of the itty-bitty snowfall we got last night, watch brainless TV and then settle back in to working for oldplace. I finished just a short-time ago. Still flush with the heaps of thanks and praise from bossman. I know it's a fleeting thing - it always is - and yet it never stops to make me gloat a little when he's laying it on thick.
Soon I will settle to sleep. I will confirm there are no edits needed from me tomorrow and then I will produce the nice invoice that will subsidize my trip to a truly romantic little getaway an hour from here. And then I will be thankful that this is not my norm - this workaholic stuff sucks.
And yet I'm wired.
Last week I got a call. There I was innocently trying to get some lunch at my most favorite supermarket in the entire world (hey, if you were where I was you'd understand the obession) and my mobile phone starts ringing. Although when it first rang I did not hear it. I climb in the van and turn in the direction to return to the office where sane people work.
The phone rings again. This time I hear it.
It's the old office. They have been desperately trying to track me down. They need help. Fast.
And so I, in the interest of generating some extra cash for a 10th annivsary weekend away in late spring, heard them out. Then I accepted the very labor intensive job within it's unbelievably short deadline.
Let me first say that even now, nearly 5 months to the day of bidding bossman adieu, I still tense up when I hear his voice. Is that warped or what?
But on to the good stuff. I work sporadically over the weekend. I work at the real job today, come home to a snowball fight with the remaining vestiages of the itty-bitty snowfall we got last night, watch brainless TV and then settle back in to working for oldplace. I finished just a short-time ago. Still flush with the heaps of thanks and praise from bossman. I know it's a fleeting thing - it always is - and yet it never stops to make me gloat a little when he's laying it on thick.
Soon I will settle to sleep. I will confirm there are no edits needed from me tomorrow and then I will produce the nice invoice that will subsidize my trip to a truly romantic little getaway an hour from here. And then I will be thankful that this is not my norm - this workaholic stuff sucks.
1.17.2007
This little piggie
New parents often have a weird obession with their newborn's toes. At some point in those early hours of life, there's a tally taken - do we have 10? Yes we have 10. Well all right then! (I have no idea what we'd do if we ever counted more or less.) Then there are the non-parental adults in a child's world that seem to have a baby foot thing going. A friend of mine was giddy waiting for the day she could get peek at the little baby toes of both my kids. So tiny to the point you questioned their reality. Could a person be THAT small?
I must confess to finding the small feet in my house a bit of an intrigue. They're invovled in some pretty big 'firsts', if nothing else - those often well documented first steps. The 'biggie' as notable milestones go. And yet, they are so darn small. So flat and so fat. Yup, we're talking puffy little toddler feet.
A few weekends ago when the weather denied it ought to celebrate winter and we basked in the warm sun on the beach Megan gave up her insistance that beach sand on naked toes was unacceptable. She plugged her foot deep into cool, damp piles of sand. She ran across the uneven ground sending clumps of sand about knee high (to her) out behind her to illustrate the nature of speed. She sat and wiggled those toes in the fine grains.
And of course I took pictures.
I sat looking at this particular one for a while. It seemed a little odd at the time to take it - but that never stopped me from doing so before. My husband laughed a little when he saw it. Megan finds it terribly amusing. Yet it illustrates something to me in a way other photos can not.
In our hallway there is a picture frame with a black and white photo of Megan merely days old. Below her photo is a black stamped footprint next to her name and details of her birth stats. (We have an indentical frame for Logan on the opposite wall.) When we stamped her foot that day, it seemed so big - She seemed to have such 'huge' fit as newborns go. Yet now that print seems so tiny it's surreal. So hard to believe my bundle of energy was every that little bundle of baby.
And yet this photo. That foot. Still so small.
Megan is not quite two and half years old. She's got so much life ahead of her and at the same time, so much change already behind her. She's done some major growing recently - not just in size. We've come to know her personality and have begun to understand how to make adjustments in our behaviors to have some success with hers.
And then there's her brother. When he's on his own or with her seems so big. When he's with "big" kids though, he still so small. He's wise beyond his years. He's still such a little kid at the same time.
In the next few weeks we're going to sit with his teacher at the preschool and we're going to talk about his progress this year - and the antipation of next year. The big "K."
He's excited. He can't wait ride a school bus and hit Kindergarten!
Me, I'm a bit in a daze over it. I look at that tiny foot print in my hallway. I look at the photos of his first steps - the big pride-filled smile on his little 10 month old face. I look at the mix of joy and nervous on his face his first day of preschool last year. I look at his foot today - so much bigger and yet still quite small in a way. This same foot that's going to walk him up the steps of that big yellow vehicle and then into those big brown doors of elementary school. I can imagine the years ahead as that same, albeit much larger foot, walks him down an aisle with a cap and gown - so many years away and yet not so many.
Those little feet taking them so very far.
1.15.2007
ARGH!!!
So I finally figure out something I wanted to write and I even have a picture I wanted to put with it...and I can't get a damn photo to upload.
Sure, I could blog it without the illustration but what fun would that be? Instead I will go off and pout now. I'm sure there is something not worth my effort watching on TV.
Sure, I could blog it without the illustration but what fun would that be? Instead I will go off and pout now. I'm sure there is something not worth my effort watching on TV.
1.10.2007
Old Man Winter fights back - but he's still losing
This was Saturday:
It was nearly 70 degrees out. I do not live in Florida. This is not supposed to be January weather here. But that's ok. We did not complain, we went to the beach and we enjoyed it.
This is today:
It was nearly 70 degrees out. I do not live in Florida. This is not supposed to be January weather here. But that's ok. We did not complain, we went to the beach and we enjoyed it.This is today:
Yes it's snowing. It is 33 degrees outside and it is snowing. Or at least it was. It was fleeting. It lasted all of 20 minutes. Her coat was in the car, we about to head otu to pick up the big kid from preschool. We took a moment to dash out back to get what could be our only chance at snow this year. (At least if we use the last two months as an indicator.) She demanded her snow boots and her sled. We left the house instead.
The boy got to go out with his class. They caught snowflakes on their tongues. By the time we were all bundled in our coats and our way to the school parking lot the snow had ended. By the time we left the craft store 20 minutes later, the snow was melted - gone. Over. Done with.
It's still cold and blustery. It could flurry again at any minute.
But this coming Saturday it's supposed to hit 60 again...with rain.
What the hell?!
1.07.2007
lasting impressions
Yesterday was unbelievably mild for January. We're talking short-sleeves and jeans...in January. When it's usually sweater and coat weather. Maybe snowing. Or at least really cold rain.
We took advantage of the pleasant temperatures to renew our annual pass to the best beach around. And then we spent time on the beach. Some of us found it a great day to take our shoes off and dig our toes into the cool, damp sand. Some of us found it a good excuse to take some photos. Some of us found it worth our while to do both. I'll let you guess which one I was.
The wind wiped my hair into a frentic dance about my head. My bare feet relished the chance to feel the tiny grains of sand tickle the soles. All around me were images begging to be perserved. Some of them spoke to me the way photos can. Reminders that no matter what occurs to us in a living moment, everything we touch or do has great potenial to create a legacy. Images like this:
We took advantage of the pleasant temperatures to renew our annual pass to the best beach around. And then we spent time on the beach. Some of us found it a great day to take our shoes off and dig our toes into the cool, damp sand. Some of us found it a good excuse to take some photos. Some of us found it worth our while to do both. I'll let you guess which one I was.
The wind wiped my hair into a frentic dance about my head. My bare feet relished the chance to feel the tiny grains of sand tickle the soles. All around me were images begging to be perserved. Some of them spoke to me the way photos can. Reminders that no matter what occurs to us in a living moment, everything we touch or do has great potenial to create a legacy. Images like this:
(And for the record, the new image in my header was also a product of yesterday's beach day.)
1.03.2007
So that little big thing
Anyone that knows me well, knows that I don't typically care much what another person does or doesn't do as long as it causes no harm to me or others. To each his/her own. This particularly extends to relationships. Frankly, as long as I'm not the one dating/marrying a person, I don't have to like him/her. If you do, great, I hope you're both happy for a long time.
Unless, of course, things don't appear to be very healthy - and by healthy I mean detrimental to either or both parties. This, is why I was fretting weeks ago about that little big thing. I was worried. Yet I had to keep quiet. It wasn't a time or place for me to speak up. It wasn't up to me to make this call. I had to just watch from a distance and be ready to catch if someone should fall.
And someone did trip just prior to Christmas. So I caught. And then I talked. I shared what was in my heart. He listened. He mulled...and he's still marching on ahead. But at least he now marches with caution. And at least I know I was honest and I know whatever he elects to do, he does so informed. I can not ask for anything more.
For the record, maybe it's just me, but if you love someone, you love them completely. You don't seek to change them into something better. If you love them you don't tear them apart behind their back to anyone in your email address book. If you love them you don't place the blame for anything and everything squarely at their feet. If you're honest with yourself and your mate you take responsbility when you screw up. If you're honest you recognize the person you're with needs to be the one that wants change - and you support not shove them in their effort. If your honest you recognize your issues are best worked out between you, not between you and any sympathetic (or not) ear you come in contact with.
I'm sad but I'll be supportive. He's made the choice despite knowing what he knows. I'll just grin and make nice again. I'll be here to catch if he should falter again. It's back to our status quo - but at least I'm back here without the heavy weight on my shoulders. I said my peace. It's all I can do.
Unless, of course, things don't appear to be very healthy - and by healthy I mean detrimental to either or both parties. This, is why I was fretting weeks ago about that little big thing. I was worried. Yet I had to keep quiet. It wasn't a time or place for me to speak up. It wasn't up to me to make this call. I had to just watch from a distance and be ready to catch if someone should fall.
And someone did trip just prior to Christmas. So I caught. And then I talked. I shared what was in my heart. He listened. He mulled...and he's still marching on ahead. But at least he now marches with caution. And at least I know I was honest and I know whatever he elects to do, he does so informed. I can not ask for anything more.
For the record, maybe it's just me, but if you love someone, you love them completely. You don't seek to change them into something better. If you love them you don't tear them apart behind their back to anyone in your email address book. If you love them you don't place the blame for anything and everything squarely at their feet. If you're honest with yourself and your mate you take responsbility when you screw up. If you're honest you recognize the person you're with needs to be the one that wants change - and you support not shove them in their effort. If your honest you recognize your issues are best worked out between you, not between you and any sympathetic (or not) ear you come in contact with.
I'm sad but I'll be supportive. He's made the choice despite knowing what he knows. I'll just grin and make nice again. I'll be here to catch if he should falter again. It's back to our status quo - but at least I'm back here without the heavy weight on my shoulders. I said my peace. It's all I can do.
1.02.2007
I'd wish ya a Happy but I've got a plug instead
New post is up over on SoccerMom Vote. Go. Read me. But, if you feel the urge to comment, promise you'll be nice. :)
Oh, and Happy New Year!
Oh, and Happy New Year!
12.29.2006
The kid view of holidays
We wade through the remanents of Christmas here at my house - the piles of unwrapped toys that slowly make their way from tree skirt to new resting place, the decorations that will eventually come down, the left-over food in the fridge, the birthday decorations the kids insisted we put up on Christmas Eve. (Including a Thomas the Tank Engine birthday banner because Baby Jesus is a boy so he'll like Thomas.)
And now we prepare for New Year's.
Logan 'got' Santa a few years ago. This year he's asking questions that start my wheels turning fast. "Doesn't Santa get full?"
"Huh?"
"He gets cookies at every house. Doesn't he get full?" he asks with one eye partially squinted at me in way that tells me the question is really about him analyzing every itty bitty detail.
"Well, all that hard work makes him very hungry."
"I'm leaving him one cookie. He's going to get fat eating too many at every house."
"Honey, Santa is fat. That's party of his charm."
"Yeah, but I think he needs an apple."
There was the discussion Santa coming to his school: Mommy? Is it the *real* Santa coming to preschool or just a fake one?
WHAT?!
And finally, "Why can't I stay up to see Santa on Christmas Eve?"
"Well, Santa is shy," I say with a wink to Dad as we sit in the front seats of the darkened car.
"He wasn't so shy when he talked to me at school," Logan quips back.
Crap.
Megan caught on to Santa too. She requested a big, fat, squishy red Veggie Tale tomato. Ask her today why she begged Santa for one.
"Because Mommy said no. I tell Santa can bring it."
Mommy said no to a lot of things leading up to Christmas. Apparently Santa hasn't learned that word. (For the record, Grandma bought the tomato and gave it to us to stick it with the rest of the Santa loot.)
Yes, they both "got" Christmas. This year, however, Logan actually 'gets' New Years Eve. He's understood days of the week prior to this. He'd even had an understanding of the months. This year, though, he's got a full appreciation of a year change beyond the realm of his own birthday. To boot, this year he wants to party, baby.
And so we are.
No. The preschooler and the toddler will not welcome the year with the drop of the sparkley ball in Times Square. But they will get party hats, noise makers, confetti and sparkling apple cider in fake champagne glasses before their natural bedtime. I've told Logan to start thinking - during the celebration he's to share one thing that was special during 2006 (his soccer team, he's already decided) and one thing he looks forward to in 2007 (the school bus and Kindergarten.)
It'll be a nice start to a new tradition.
And now we prepare for New Year's.
Logan 'got' Santa a few years ago. This year he's asking questions that start my wheels turning fast. "Doesn't Santa get full?"
"Huh?"
"He gets cookies at every house. Doesn't he get full?" he asks with one eye partially squinted at me in way that tells me the question is really about him analyzing every itty bitty detail.
"Well, all that hard work makes him very hungry."
"I'm leaving him one cookie. He's going to get fat eating too many at every house."
"Honey, Santa is fat. That's party of his charm."
"Yeah, but I think he needs an apple."
There was the discussion Santa coming to his school: Mommy? Is it the *real* Santa coming to preschool or just a fake one?
WHAT?!
And finally, "Why can't I stay up to see Santa on Christmas Eve?"
"Well, Santa is shy," I say with a wink to Dad as we sit in the front seats of the darkened car.
"He wasn't so shy when he talked to me at school," Logan quips back.
Crap.
Megan caught on to Santa too. She requested a big, fat, squishy red Veggie Tale tomato. Ask her today why she begged Santa for one.
"Because Mommy said no. I tell Santa can bring it."
Mommy said no to a lot of things leading up to Christmas. Apparently Santa hasn't learned that word. (For the record, Grandma bought the tomato and gave it to us to stick it with the rest of the Santa loot.)
Yes, they both "got" Christmas. This year, however, Logan actually 'gets' New Years Eve. He's understood days of the week prior to this. He'd even had an understanding of the months. This year, though, he's got a full appreciation of a year change beyond the realm of his own birthday. To boot, this year he wants to party, baby.
And so we are.
No. The preschooler and the toddler will not welcome the year with the drop of the sparkley ball in Times Square. But they will get party hats, noise makers, confetti and sparkling apple cider in fake champagne glasses before their natural bedtime. I've told Logan to start thinking - during the celebration he's to share one thing that was special during 2006 (his soccer team, he's already decided) and one thing he looks forward to in 2007 (the school bus and Kindergarten.)
It'll be a nice start to a new tradition.
12.20.2006
15 years too early
I told Megan that we had to leave to pick Logan up from his youth group program at our church. She was resistant to leaving. She had plans to play Thomas. I made it clear this was not negotiable. She thought about it and then nodded.
“Ok. I’ll drive, you sit in the passenger seat,” she said and headed off to find the car keys.
“Ahh, Meg, you can’t drive,” I said because sometimes you have to state the obvious to a two year old on a mission.
“Why?” she asked.
“Well for starters,” I told her, thinking I had a good angle, “You’re still wearing your diapers.”
You could see the little mental shrug. “Ok. I’m going to use the potty ALL. The. Time.”
For the record when I got her strapped in her car seat and stuck the keys in the ignition myself she cried and cried and cried, “I was going to drive! Bad mommy! I’m going to use the potty all the time and drive!” (And, as a matter of fact, she’s in the bathtub as I type this telling Bruce all about it – I wanted to drive the car and I tell mommy I will use the potty but she still say no!”)
I’m so much in trouble with this one!
“Ok. I’ll drive, you sit in the passenger seat,” she said and headed off to find the car keys.
“Ahh, Meg, you can’t drive,” I said because sometimes you have to state the obvious to a two year old on a mission.
“Why?” she asked.
“Well for starters,” I told her, thinking I had a good angle, “You’re still wearing your diapers.”
You could see the little mental shrug. “Ok. I’m going to use the potty ALL. The. Time.”
For the record when I got her strapped in her car seat and stuck the keys in the ignition myself she cried and cried and cried, “I was going to drive! Bad mommy! I’m going to use the potty all the time and drive!” (And, as a matter of fact, she’s in the bathtub as I type this telling Bruce all about it – I wanted to drive the car and I tell mommy I will use the potty but she still say no!”)
I’m so much in trouble with this one!
12.18.2006
4 year old frienship
Today was cuddle-and-story time at preschool. I dropped Meg off at Grandma's and headed over for my date. Logan was quite excited to see me arrive. I was instructed on how to sit (criss-cross-applesauce...or for those that don't have children in a PC world - Indian Style.) Logan snuggled himself onto my lap and leaned back against me.
He turned slightly to look at me and whispered with some measure of excitement, "I asked Mark if I could go to his birthday party and he said yes."
"Oh, ok. Well that's great," I said. I glanced at the row of cubby boxes on the wall but my vantage point wasn't one that allowed a good peak. I assumed I'd find the invite when Logan retrieved his papers at the end of class. I mean surely this came up because the kids were talking about a party - right?
Yet, there was no invite. No sign of any pending party.
We walked out the car - Logan yammering on about this and that. I helped him with his seat belt, climbed into my seat and waited for a pause in his running commentary.
Finally my chance.
"Logan? When is Mark's birthday?"
" I don’t know. I guess he’ll tell me when it is and when I’m supposed to come to his party."
He turned slightly to look at me and whispered with some measure of excitement, "I asked Mark if I could go to his birthday party and he said yes."
"Oh, ok. Well that's great," I said. I glanced at the row of cubby boxes on the wall but my vantage point wasn't one that allowed a good peak. I assumed I'd find the invite when Logan retrieved his papers at the end of class. I mean surely this came up because the kids were talking about a party - right?
Yet, there was no invite. No sign of any pending party.
We walked out the car - Logan yammering on about this and that. I helped him with his seat belt, climbed into my seat and waited for a pause in his running commentary.
Finally my chance.
"Logan? When is Mark's birthday?"
" I don’t know. I guess he’ll tell me when it is and when I’m supposed to come to his party."
12.15.2006
Mushy Mush
If you're easily nauseated by outright parental gushing, a word of caution - proceed at your own risk.
Maybe it's just me. Maybe I'm simply an emotional girl with easily misting eyes; I don't know. Sometimes one of my kids can say something or do something that makes me so proud of them I start to tear up a bit, which is what happened tonight.
Today is Meg's December sleepover. It's also Bruce's big trek to the perfect barber night. This left Logan and on our own - a date night. He picked the where and the when. I had to supply the wallet. We had dinner out together with plans to come home for a rousing Monopoly match and a good video before bed. We got sidetracked at the mall.
First it was to peek at Santa. Not speak to him, just peek at him. We peeked. Then it was chocolate at the forbidden zone (aka, peanut laden). And then it was the Disney store. I reminded Logan that he had recently spent the generous porition of his helping bucket money on a gift he'd donate through the church school program this weekend. He nodded. I pointed out the Toys for Tots table and asked if he wanted to get someone else a toy this Christmas. He nodded again and clapped.
The Disney store presented lots of nice options and so we rooted through their giant white plush winter animals marked down generously. Logan picked out the winner - a big, soft, cuddly white Heffalump. We paid. He marched back through the ball - both hands on the oversized Disney bag. He was determined to do this himself. When we got to the donation bin, Logan reached inside the bag, removed the prize and placed it gingerly in the bin with a giant smile. The two volunteers exhaled deeply and told him he was sweet. They offered him a candy cane. He took it with a nod and thanked them.
As we walked away he took my hand, clutching his reward tightly in the other hand. "You know what?" he asked me. I responded appropriately - What?
"My favorite part of Christmas is giving gifts to other people," he said with the sort of complete sincerity 4 year olds have yet to figure out how to fake. He went on to explain why he picked the toy he did - it was soft and squishy. Certain to make someone really happy and so therefore perfect for this sort of thing.
I was so proud. I *am* so proud. And I'm just a little teary eyed.
Maybe it's just me. Maybe I'm simply an emotional girl with easily misting eyes; I don't know. Sometimes one of my kids can say something or do something that makes me so proud of them I start to tear up a bit, which is what happened tonight.
Today is Meg's December sleepover. It's also Bruce's big trek to the perfect barber night. This left Logan and on our own - a date night. He picked the where and the when. I had to supply the wallet. We had dinner out together with plans to come home for a rousing Monopoly match and a good video before bed. We got sidetracked at the mall.
First it was to peek at Santa. Not speak to him, just peek at him. We peeked. Then it was chocolate at the forbidden zone (aka, peanut laden). And then it was the Disney store. I reminded Logan that he had recently spent the generous porition of his helping bucket money on a gift he'd donate through the church school program this weekend. He nodded. I pointed out the Toys for Tots table and asked if he wanted to get someone else a toy this Christmas. He nodded again and clapped.
The Disney store presented lots of nice options and so we rooted through their giant white plush winter animals marked down generously. Logan picked out the winner - a big, soft, cuddly white Heffalump. We paid. He marched back through the ball - both hands on the oversized Disney bag. He was determined to do this himself. When we got to the donation bin, Logan reached inside the bag, removed the prize and placed it gingerly in the bin with a giant smile. The two volunteers exhaled deeply and told him he was sweet. They offered him a candy cane. He took it with a nod and thanked them.
As we walked away he took my hand, clutching his reward tightly in the other hand. "You know what?" he asked me. I responded appropriately - What?
"My favorite part of Christmas is giving gifts to other people," he said with the sort of complete sincerity 4 year olds have yet to figure out how to fake. He went on to explain why he picked the toy he did - it was soft and squishy. Certain to make someone really happy and so therefore perfect for this sort of thing.
I was so proud. I *am* so proud. And I'm just a little teary eyed.
12.12.2006
What would she say to John? and other kid stuff
We have the original Little People Nativity.
Damn it.
Except today I could not talk over him because it made the throat hurt too much. I told him this. He got quite and then started talking again after a pause too short for me to say much more.
Of course that's not as antique as it sounds up there in italics. We got ours about 5 years ago when you could only order it from the catalog and the animals were not yet the new "touchy-feely" variety. We have no shepards quaking or drummer boys drumming. Just a few wise men and a new family with a angel to watch over them all.
It's been a favorite toy in our house from it's debut, in large part because it only appears in December each year.
Megan has spent a great deal of time playing with this thing since it came upstairs a few weeks ago. Sometimes she replaces the wise men for Little People kids dressed as Easter Bunnies and (LP styled)Dinosaurs.
We egg her on. After all, the baby did come for all and not just a select few.
Tonight, as we huddled with our collective runny/stuffy noses under quilts and watched the Grinch steal Christmas yet again, Megan dragged out a camel and a handful of wise men.
She'd place each of the two kings she was toting around upon the camel's back and take them for walks. Until she got bored of that. Then she retrieved the poor baby laying in a manger. She pet him with one finger as gently as a two-year old can. Then she tilted her head to one side and said, "Come on. You have to take a bath Baby Jesus."
Luckily the Grinch and Max distracted her before she filled a bowl up with water from the water cooler in the kitchen.
-
In other holiday goings on, Santa's going to get this mom in trouble. We were shopping for a book at small shop. Megan spied the tomato from the Veggie Tales. Mind you, Megan has never actually SEEN the Veggie Tales unless they've shown a video or two at church that I didn't know about. She just knew this big, red, stuffed tomato was soft and squishy....and something she did not already have.
"Mommy, I want the tomato," she said to me quite sweetly.
"Honey, no. I'm not buying you a stuffed Veggie Tale that you'll play with today and then forget about tomorrow. Besides, it's so close to Christmas and you're going to get so many neat things."
"I want the Veggie!" she wailed.
And I stood firm.
When we got home she was still pouting. I reminded her again about Christmas and the lovely gifts that awaited her. She didn't care. Instead she's launched a new mantra -- one that continues a week later:
"I want tomato but Mommy say no. Santa will bring me Veggie Tale!"
Damn it.
--
At least I'm not the only one she's harping on. We took their soon-to-be cousin (pending a family wedding) Christmas shopping yesterday afternoon. Three kids - 9, 4, 2 - and me in the massive chaos that was Target. I know.
As we stood in line waiting to check out, Megan spied a small stuffed elephant with a tag around it's neck - the tag is where you're supposed to put a gift card.
Hmmm.
Stuffed? Check.
Cute? Check.
Not already in inventory? Check.
Megan wailed, "Elephant! I want that! Can Santa bring it to me?" (Now, frankly folks, Santa's all done with her shopping and she's not buying another thing no matter how cute the kid is.)
Instead cousin-to-be-G stepped in. She decided to get it for Megan as her Christmas present. "But you have to wait for Christmas," she said to Megan as she put it up on the belt. I didn't bother trying to explain the whole "two-year-olds-lack-patience" problem to the 9-year old.
Megan saw her new toy-in-waiting when we got back to our house. She asked. G said no. Megan flew into full pout mode: “G say no. I can not have my elephant. Bad G.”
To prevent future outbreaks of toddler scolding big kid, the cousin decided to hide the elephant at our house. Logan suggested they hide it where he has Grandma’s gift hidden. G decided to put it near Logan’s laundry basket. Long story not so short – Megan found it tonight. We won’t telling her cousin.
--
Movie review? Happy Feet - Logan loved it and is now on a real "don't liter" kick. Megan says she liked it but she's judging the total of 20 minutes she sat still (scattered throughout the film, of course.) She will also tell you that when Daddy took her out of the theatre the fourth time he would not let her return again.
"Daddy say no I can not go back in. Bad Daddy not let me see Happy Feets."
Unless you catch on her on happy upswing in moods. Then she'll say "I saw Happy Feets Pang-in in the feeture"
Logan saw his first movie at 29 months old -- The Polar Express. He did not flinch the entire time except when he was clapping wildly in the right places. Megan, on the other hand, clearly *not* ready for the cinema.
--
Speaking of the boy. . .his teacher is working on a 'good citizens' unit at the moment. They've started a "Good Behavior Chain." Each extraordinary good deed is considered for the day's link. (Being preschool everyone is going to end up with a link sooner or later.) Logan loves this and has instituted his own chain at home -- for him.
When I pick the kids up on my work days, they both have a tendency to talk. Without. Pause. At. All. No. Stopping. Ever. On these days I sometimes have to work at talking over them saying repeatedly, "Logan. Logan. Stop. Talking. Listen. Shhhh....."
Except today I could not talk over him because it made the throat hurt too much. I told him this. He got quite and then started talking again after a pause too short for me to say much more.
"I think when we get home, I need to get your water so your throat might feel better." he said. He's thinking of what we do for him in the morning when he wakes up with a dry mouth/dry sore throat. The water always helps.
As soon as we got in the house he ran for the kitchen, dug out his favorite plastic Diego depicting cup and added water from the water cooler. He handed it to me (with about a sip worth of water in it - haste never equates to full cups.)
The hand off complete he eyed me thoughtfully and said “Ok, do I get a link on my chain for this?”
Cough. Hack. Sneeze.
The girl is sick - her nose runneth and runneth....and runneth.
The boy is getting sick. He coughs at night and occasionally races his sister to the tissue box.
The husband is sick. Sore throat he says. Tired.
The mom is sick. Mack truck ran her over. Lack of sleep compounds the problem. Did I mention the girl spent most of last night either awake and complaining or asleep and complaining?
Send chicken soup. Send much caffeine. Send lovely little videos that mesmerise children for hours. Send Grandma.
Ahh, yes. Grandma is coming. She is taking the children. Mom is going to work. Some how I think work will be more restful. Hey, I'm not new here.
The boy is getting sick. He coughs at night and occasionally races his sister to the tissue box.
The husband is sick. Sore throat he says. Tired.
The mom is sick. Mack truck ran her over. Lack of sleep compounds the problem. Did I mention the girl spent most of last night either awake and complaining or asleep and complaining?
Send chicken soup. Send much caffeine. Send lovely little videos that mesmerise children for hours. Send Grandma.
Ahh, yes. Grandma is coming. She is taking the children. Mom is going to work. Some how I think work will be more restful. Hey, I'm not new here.
12.08.2006
That little big thing
Something fairly little has gotten in my way of blogging this week. It goes like this: I want to write about something in this outlet - I NEED to write it in some outlet - but I can't. That's the little part.
The big part - well what I want to write about is fairly big I guess. It does not impact me directly, per se. But it does impact someone close to me. I'm worried this person is making a mistake -- the sort of mistake that alters the rest of your life. I just can't tell him that. And since I can't tell him that and since I never know who's going to read this blog...well I can't blog about it either.
I've spent a lot of time mulling this. Loads of time biting my tongue and smiling sweetly. I'll keep doing it. And I'll keep wishing I could write about it while not writing about it.
The big part - well what I want to write about is fairly big I guess. It does not impact me directly, per se. But it does impact someone close to me. I'm worried this person is making a mistake -- the sort of mistake that alters the rest of your life. I just can't tell him that. And since I can't tell him that and since I never know who's going to read this blog...well I can't blog about it either.
I've spent a lot of time mulling this. Loads of time biting my tongue and smiling sweetly. I'll keep doing it. And I'll keep wishing I could write about it while not writing about it.
12.01.2006
Shameless Plug
So there's this bloggity friend of mine that had a pretty neat idea. First, let me say, that outside of this pretty neat idea, Nicole of Sitting Still is one of those bloggers that make you thankful you took the time to poke around sites beyond your 'inner circle.' Seriously, if it was possible to hold a coffee and/or drinks mom-a-thon across the world wide web, she's the sort of person I'd want to include. I know we'd have a great time.
So anyway, she has this great idea - a political blog. But not just a political blog, mind you, a political blog centering around the voices of an important voting block: The Soccer Mom. Yeah, you know what I'm talking about. That mini-van driving, carpooling, thinking-all-the-same block of voters either side of an election likes to woo. Except we don't all think alike (and some of us don't even have mini-vans.)
This blog, The Soccer Mom Vote, gathers many different voices from this demographic in one place. Each day a different team member waxes poetically (or debates fervently, depending on your view) on the political or social issue of her chosing. And who is that wearing Jersey #2 (and therefore posting on the 2nd of each month)? Why it's me.
First post goes up tomorrow. It's nothing earth shattering. I'm sure neither political party will be quaking in their boots in the aftermath. But it's a start.
If you're blog hopping around, come and say hi. You don't even have to wait until tomorrow. Go say hi to some of the other roster members now. Great stuff showing up there already.
So anyway, she has this great idea - a political blog. But not just a political blog, mind you, a political blog centering around the voices of an important voting block: The Soccer Mom. Yeah, you know what I'm talking about. That mini-van driving, carpooling, thinking-all-the-same block of voters either side of an election likes to woo. Except we don't all think alike (and some of us don't even have mini-vans.)
This blog, The Soccer Mom Vote, gathers many different voices from this demographic in one place. Each day a different team member waxes poetically (or debates fervently, depending on your view) on the political or social issue of her chosing. And who is that wearing Jersey #2 (and therefore posting on the 2nd of each month)? Why it's me.
First post goes up tomorrow. It's nothing earth shattering. I'm sure neither political party will be quaking in their boots in the aftermath. But it's a start.
If you're blog hopping around, come and say hi. You don't even have to wait until tomorrow. Go say hi to some of the other roster members now. Great stuff showing up there already.
11.25.2006
Kid at heart
Some people spend their "Friday after" knee deep in crazed shoppers trying to get the best price on whatever hits their must-have lists for the holidays. Not me. At least not this year. (I do confess to storming the doors of a particular craft store at 5am one year so I could use a 60% off coupon on a particular wooden train set only to return two hours later to use the 50% off coupon on smiley faced trains for said set.)
No, this year I spent "Black Friday" at a children's museum in upstate NY near the in-laws. We spent last year much the same way and with good cause. The moment we mentioned a potential return visit my now four-year old began to shot off a long list of questions relating to whether the things he remembered (quite accurately) from last year would still be there. Luckily the answer was yes, plus a whole lot more.
I'm not sure which of us enjoyed the visit most - it's a toss up between me and the two people under 4 feet tall that are in my charge. I do know that Logan did not enjoy my favorite excitement as much as Meg and I did. He had this notion that butterflies actually LANDING on you was quite horrific and not nearly as much as fun as knocking over giant chess pieces in the Giant's (of Jack and the Beantalk fame) playroom.
I (as well as the two other adults and the two-year old) found the butterfly garden to be nothing short of amazing. My only disappointment is that those two beautiful bright blue insects did not stay still long enough for a photo. And that's fine. Perhaps I'm just a glutton. I did get photos like this (click to view larger image):
No, this year I spent "Black Friday" at a children's museum in upstate NY near the in-laws. We spent last year much the same way and with good cause. The moment we mentioned a potential return visit my now four-year old began to shot off a long list of questions relating to whether the things he remembered (quite accurately) from last year would still be there. Luckily the answer was yes, plus a whole lot more.
I'm not sure which of us enjoyed the visit most - it's a toss up between me and the two people under 4 feet tall that are in my charge. I do know that Logan did not enjoy my favorite excitement as much as Meg and I did. He had this notion that butterflies actually LANDING on you was quite horrific and not nearly as much as fun as knocking over giant chess pieces in the Giant's (of Jack and the Beantalk fame) playroom.
I (as well as the two other adults and the two-year old) found the butterfly garden to be nothing short of amazing. My only disappointment is that those two beautiful bright blue insects did not stay still long enough for a photo. And that's fine. Perhaps I'm just a glutton. I did get photos like this (click to view larger image):
11.21.2006
Obligatory Thankful post
We leave tomorrow for the annual pligramage (pun intended of course) to the in-laws'. It'll be...well it'll be. It's a long ride. It's two young children. It's, oh never mind.
I am thankful, however, that I have two children healthy enough and articulate enough to complain on that long ride. I won't enjoy their "are we there yet?" ritual, but I rejoice in their ability to say it. ;)
I am thankful for the inlaws because they mean I have the husband.
I am thankful for my own health. For my family. I am thankful for the chance to sit and take it all in. For the reminder that I need to step back and take a deep breathe long enough to appreciate the things I've been gifted with.
I am thankful for the challenges because they make who I am. I am thankful for the easy roads I've stumbled upon because they give me a rest.
I am thankful for those I've yet to meet for they represent tomorrow's adventure. I am thankful for those I no longer see because their impact is still felt. I am thankful for the things it's sometimes hard to be thankful for because they help me appreciate what *is* easy to be thankful for. They also help me learn and grow.
Happy Thanksgiving.
I am thankful, however, that I have two children healthy enough and articulate enough to complain on that long ride. I won't enjoy their "are we there yet?" ritual, but I rejoice in their ability to say it. ;)
I am thankful for the inlaws because they mean I have the husband.
I am thankful for my own health. For my family. I am thankful for the chance to sit and take it all in. For the reminder that I need to step back and take a deep breathe long enough to appreciate the things I've been gifted with.
I am thankful for the challenges because they make who I am. I am thankful for the easy roads I've stumbled upon because they give me a rest.
I am thankful for those I've yet to meet for they represent tomorrow's adventure. I am thankful for those I no longer see because their impact is still felt. I am thankful for the things it's sometimes hard to be thankful for because they help me appreciate what *is* easy to be thankful for. They also help me learn and grow.
Happy Thanksgiving.
11.20.2006
out shape or old
There's this tree in our back yard that I've hated for a very long time. It's an evergreen - long and scraggly with feathery green fingers instead of pine needles. Late in spring I noticed it wasn't doing well. It had two primary trunks and every branch growing off the back trunk was dead.
No green. Just brown.
And then, as spring passed into summer the brown spread. With fall, came bare branches.
I don't normally nag the spouse but sometimes he just asks for it. This tree was one of those occasions. I asked him to cut it down. I nagged. I reminded. I nagged some more. I gave up. Life just got in the way and when we did have free time, other household and yard tasks demanded our attention. (Did I tell you my subconscience knack for getting rid of things I hate is to break them? The garage door last year, the storm door this year...and then the outside light fixture that I managed to break off the base of a lightbulb in?)
The boy and I headed out back today as the girl napped. I started pulling up the annual flower beds despite the few live bloosoms that clung to them. I stood back and admired the raw earth thinking how sometimes the empty bed in the crisp air felt so clean and fresh - ready and waiting for a new beginning. Then I thought of that dead ugly hated tree. The boy wanted to help - because he thinks he thinks he's much older than he is. His job, easily enough, was to stand a safe distance away and cheer me on.
I retrieved a saw. Then an ax. And hacked away. I sawed away. I worked. I swore silently under my breathe realizing why my dad used to have "under the sink language" when doing various household projects. I slung the ax again. I heard some give. I grabbed hold of a branch about as high up as I could reach while flat footed. I pulled. I changed angles and pulled again. Snap. I got better grip, a new angle and I pulled with all my might. Down came the tree.
I put the tools away in the garage home. The boy hung onto a lower branch and "helped" me drag the monster dead trunk to the front yard. It's up to the husband to discard of the thing. I have no idea what he'll do with it but I'm sure having it in his way will prompt him to do it faster than it took him to cut it down.
I felt good for about 2 minutes.
Then it hit me. I was hot. Very. Very. Hot.
I was winded. At least I was with each swing of the ax.
And my arm is killing me.
Years ago a heavy dose of spreadsheet work for a catalog I was developing started the twinges. The right hand. The repetitive stress injury (rsi). It got bad. It got better. It went a very long time without recurring. I lost the wrist brace. I forgot the way it hurt. But lately it's been back. Perhaps the height of the desk in the new office or the time spent working/playing/emailing/blogging at home. I don't know. What I do know is that using an ax clearly is not 'RSI' friendly.
I'm trying to make myself feel better about this panting for air and nursing the sore arm by believing anyone weilding an ax on an old tree would feel the same - at least anyone with an old 'mouse-related' injury. Yet I'm not sure that being relatively out of shape (despite the regular spin class attendance) or the fact that I'm not 23 any more (which would have been the last time I slung an ax, I think) wasn't a contributing factor. Then again, I'm not sure I care why it hurts. Instead I will take my sore forearm, stop trying to close my fingers into a fist (because I can't at the moment), locate the ibruprophen (nicknamed Vitamin I in our house) and convince the boy child to remain quiet long enough for me to take a hot shower while his sister finishes up her nap.
Wish me luck.
No green. Just brown.
And then, as spring passed into summer the brown spread. With fall, came bare branches.
I don't normally nag the spouse but sometimes he just asks for it. This tree was one of those occasions. I asked him to cut it down. I nagged. I reminded. I nagged some more. I gave up. Life just got in the way and when we did have free time, other household and yard tasks demanded our attention. (Did I tell you my subconscience knack for getting rid of things I hate is to break them? The garage door last year, the storm door this year...and then the outside light fixture that I managed to break off the base of a lightbulb in?)
The boy and I headed out back today as the girl napped. I started pulling up the annual flower beds despite the few live bloosoms that clung to them. I stood back and admired the raw earth thinking how sometimes the empty bed in the crisp air felt so clean and fresh - ready and waiting for a new beginning. Then I thought of that dead ugly hated tree. The boy wanted to help - because he thinks he thinks he's much older than he is. His job, easily enough, was to stand a safe distance away and cheer me on.
I retrieved a saw. Then an ax. And hacked away. I sawed away. I worked. I swore silently under my breathe realizing why my dad used to have "under the sink language" when doing various household projects. I slung the ax again. I heard some give. I grabbed hold of a branch about as high up as I could reach while flat footed. I pulled. I changed angles and pulled again. Snap. I got better grip, a new angle and I pulled with all my might. Down came the tree.
I put the tools away in the garage home. The boy hung onto a lower branch and "helped" me drag the monster dead trunk to the front yard. It's up to the husband to discard of the thing. I have no idea what he'll do with it but I'm sure having it in his way will prompt him to do it faster than it took him to cut it down.
I felt good for about 2 minutes.
Then it hit me. I was hot. Very. Very. Hot.
I was winded. At least I was with each swing of the ax.
And my arm is killing me.
Years ago a heavy dose of spreadsheet work for a catalog I was developing started the twinges. The right hand. The repetitive stress injury (rsi). It got bad. It got better. It went a very long time without recurring. I lost the wrist brace. I forgot the way it hurt. But lately it's been back. Perhaps the height of the desk in the new office or the time spent working/playing/emailing/blogging at home. I don't know. What I do know is that using an ax clearly is not 'RSI' friendly.
I'm trying to make myself feel better about this panting for air and nursing the sore arm by believing anyone weilding an ax on an old tree would feel the same - at least anyone with an old 'mouse-related' injury. Yet I'm not sure that being relatively out of shape (despite the regular spin class attendance) or the fact that I'm not 23 any more (which would have been the last time I slung an ax, I think) wasn't a contributing factor. Then again, I'm not sure I care why it hurts. Instead I will take my sore forearm, stop trying to close my fingers into a fist (because I can't at the moment), locate the ibruprophen (nicknamed Vitamin I in our house) and convince the boy child to remain quiet long enough for me to take a hot shower while his sister finishes up her nap.
Wish me luck.
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