I often wonder if my constant nagging, yelling, or wagging my finger at the children has any effect. It seems like I repeat myself time after time. This incessant beating my head against the wall serves not only to give me continual headaches, but has also put me on a first name basis with all of the employees at Home Depot. My husband is getting tired of patching the walls.
I often forget, that while they seem to be on another planet when I try to drill information into those tiny little pointed heads, there must be some mechanism that records whatever is being said. I however, have never figured out the path from my voice to their brain, but as long as it reaches the final destination, I don't worry about it.
Last night, Meelie No, for reasons known only to her, decided to take off her sock, and throw it at her sister, who was doing nothing other than diligently working at her homework. It hit her smack dab in the middle of the face.
As most of you know, Meelie No is going through some extensive testing at school. And by all that is holy, it's totally cool because they give you snacks while you work, or so I am reliably informed.
She's already been recommended for after school tutoring, which does not lack snacks either. According to my 7 year old connoisseur of snacks, this ROCKS.
She is an extremely bright child, and has made the honor roll each time this year, and the years proceeding. The problem lies within processing directions. She needs too much clarification. She aces tests, but has problems with in class work and has to be constantly helped when doing homework. I'm told it's like a short in her wiring.
Yesterday was the girls last day of school and they are now embarking on the holiday Christmas vacation. I have today off. And they are spending it with me. Blink, blink.
This entire week has been a whirlwind of emotions. I'm never quite sure what I am coming home to. School work has been light, parties have been going on and the excited vibrations are enough to topple the Empire State Building, as well as to cause me to drink quite heavily. I jest about the Empire State Building.
Last night, my youngest was a good example of that. She was bouncing of the walls when she came home. I had to look at everything she made (which included the coolest ornament with her picture on it), and listen to how everything was done. It's one of my favorite times. She gets so excited, as did her sister at that age. But people, they can TURN on you. She was happily bouncing around the house when all of a sudden, her life came to a screeching halt and the world ended. Amen.
I've learned that there are ways (sometimes) to distract her, my little emotional bundle of joy. Tonight, after what promised to be a major emotional meltdown, I noticed that she smelled wonderful (I was rocking her on my lap). She told me that her teacher had scented candles at school. She also said it could have been from Mrs. M's house (her daycare provider), because her house always smells so good (and I am here to tell you that it does).
From then on out it was smooth sailing. She loves to hear about funny things she did as a child (for that matter, my oldest still gains comfort in that). I told her that by the time she was two days old, she had discovered her thumb, and has never stopped sucking it since. I told her about her fierce independence, which she constantly displays. For example, when I would want to help her get dressed you would hear "I DO MAMA, I DO!." That was a term that I came to love and dread at the same time.
Memories are good things. Even, if perhaps, the memory is one that makes you want to crawl back into your shell, they are memories. They shape us and make us who we are today. I have alot of them from my childhood, and I share them freely with my girls. They love it when my folks tell them about things from their own childhood, or anything from the past. Bless my parents. They are so patient with them and they seem to enjoy the sharing these things as well.
As usual, I seem to have strayed from the topic on hand. But then again, I'm not sure what the topic was supposed to be.
Today was spent getting my hair cut (with three girls, Meelie's friend went with us), and then we went to get our nails done. For the little ones, it was just a polish. Chickie and I had the manicure, which she really loved. Right now, the little two are outside playing, and I would imagine, wreaking havoc on the dogs. In a little bit, when we get rid of the excess energy, we'll make some Christmas ornaments.
I’d say we have had a very successful Friday.
The concert was, by far, the most wonderful thing I've ever been to. Ok, I've not been to alot of concerts, but this one just had to be one of the best of the year. Of course, the fact that my daughter was in the band, playing the trumpet, most likely has a big influence on my opinion. But we won't mention that. It was beautiful. Let's just leave it at that.
In all honesty, I was truly amazed at what this band instructor had done with sixth graders who had only been playing their instruments since the end of August. That man must have the patience of a Saint.
Chickie loves to play the trumpet, and loves everything about being in the band. She is, at least at this time, planning on being in it next year as well. The 7th and 8th graders played as well, and it we remarkable to listen to the progression of each grade.
I'm finding myself looking forward to the next concert which will be in the spring.
It's a good feeling when you see your child really excited about something. Just looking at her face make having to listen to First Rockin' Christmas 3,786 times worth it.
Of 6th graders. In band. My daughter plays trumpet. Please hold me.
I'm thinking that Ralph wants to help. Check out the extended entry.
Meelie No: Mom, do you know what a couple is?
Me: Yes, it's two.
Meelie No: Yep..but do you know what a half a couple is?
Me: Um, one?
Meelie No: Nope, it's four!
I guess maybe I need to go back to school. This new math is kililng me.
===============================================
Co-worker: I'm betting I won't get these parts in on time. Talking to this supplier is driving me to drink.
Me: There's a flask in my bottom right hand drawer.
Co-worker: Hah, that's good. I only wish.
Me: Help yourself. I've got some Altoids in the middle drawer. Take a couple. They disguise your breath.
I love it when I can keep a straight face when I do that. They are never really sure if I'm kidding around or not.
Chickie: You owe me an extra $3 for cleaning this stuff up.
Me: Why?
Chickie: I just about vomited. I'm never cleaning Sugar Plum's (Meelie No's Guinea Pig) cage again.
Me: Have you taken an look at your room lately?
Chickie: And your point is?
Me: Exactly.
My children are as different as night and day. I've never really been able to comprehend just how that could happen, but there you have it.
Meelie No (often times referred to as Nosey Rosie), my youngest, is quite the challenge. She has a temper that rivals the best of them. I am too often it its path. At the same time, this child can be one of the most sensitive, caring children around.
While walking from the garage to my car parked in the driveway this morning, I overheard a conversation between my significant other and Chickie. It went something like this:
Chickie: Man, it's seriously cold out here!
SO: No duh Sherlock (is this man supportive or what?)
Chickie: That's me, master of the obvious!
I'm thinking she needs to cut back on the mysteries that she's watching with the SO.
Hello, my name is Moogie. I have a pre-teen. And I don't understand her.
Does this sound familiar to you?
One of the great mysteries is how friendships come and go, in a whirlwind of emotion, heartache, and the everlasting "I can't believe that she did that I will never talk to her again or be her friend."
Oh, did I mention that they are friends again? The absolute best of buddies. On the phone together as much as possible. Tonight they are meeting up at the rink. Because they have so many details to discuss, and, oh, "what about that really cute new guy? I think he likes you."
My head is spinning most of the time these days. I'm positive that somewhere in the past, she must have suffered a great fall, and her brain stem has disconnected from her spinal chord and there is no visible sign of brain activity. I'm hoping that will heal itself.
It leaves me scratching my head. So much so that I have developed a bald spot. Look, right there, right on the top. See it? I'm so afraid to open my mouth, and give an opinion. Because, most likely it's wrong. Heaven help me but I don't remember ever being like that (Mom, it's time for you to leave the room now. I don't want to damage my reputation, ok?).
There are days when we battle incessantly, and sometimes, there are these wonderful breaks. Where we don't argue at all. Like when she's asleep.
Don't get me wrong. It's a wild and somewhat nauseous ride, but I don't want to get off of it. Unless of course, someone was to offer me an all expenses stay at a condo in Hawaii. I want to see how the story ends. And I want to see her married, and happy. And have children. You see where this is going.
And then there was this discussion we had the other day. She was frustrating me beyond belief. No matter what I said, it wasn't right. Just to back up a bit, she was grounded for the day, and was not happy with me. She was fairly convinced that I was an unfit mother, and living on the streets would be better than being with me.
So, we were having this discussion. She told me that "this girl" was always allowed to stay at the skating rink until it closed at midnight. Her mom lets her do anything."
I asked, "If she jumped off of the Golden Gate Bridge, would you follow her?"
She said, "Yes."
I said, "Well then, you're alot more stupid than I look."
Guess I showed her.
I read this post by Carmi over at Written Inc and it really made me stop and think.
Just when and how do we let our children go?
Ask me an easy one, why don't you? For me personally, there are so many different stages of "letting go." The first sleep over. The first camp. The first overnite or longer stay at Grandma and Papa's, without Mom and Dad. The first day of Kindergarten. And, Lord help me, the first day of Middle School.
I use the latter as an example because I believe that letting her get on that bus, to head on out to THAT.HUGE.SCHOOL was extremely difficult for me to do. We went to open house on Monday, so I got a good look at the school and all of the classrooms. I can't tell you how many times we asked for directions.
She hopped on the bus and Mom and Dad were promptly forgotten. After all, her FRIENDS were there, and to show any sign of fear is just not done. We all know how that works. We've all been there at one time or another.
I fretted about her all day which is why I was thankful we were so busy at work. I didn't have time to dwell on the negative. What if she gets picked on? What if she can't find her way to the classroom? What happens if she doesn't like a teacher? What happens if she ends up in the wrong room? My baby. She is growing up.
I have to take pride in the fact that she wasn't experiencing the level of anxiety that her mother was feeling. That she was excited to be moving on up the ladder of higher education. That I was able to hide from her the fact that my heart was breaking because no longer will I drive her to her first day (or maybe the first week) of school, and walk her to class.
I'm thankful that she still will kiss me in front of her friends and tell me that she loves me.
You know what? It's ok. She's fine. She had a blast but was tired after a long day. She did fine.
And I will too.
Friday I went with my kids, my girlfriend and her children on a mission to finish school shopping. Next year I am going to hire someone to do it for me. It was a madhouse. Everyone and their grandmother, as well as their cousin’s brother’s uncle’s wife was out to do the same thing. I was able to accomplish most of the things on my list but I’m telling you, it was a three Valium day. There is nothing quite as lovely as standing in a dressing/restroom in a consignment shop, with two children who dress slower than the tortoise that is buddies with the hare.
Oh, and then there is that lovely aspect of the child (Meelie No) I sometimes refer to as “OHMIGAWDDOYOUTHINKIAMSTANDINGHEREFORMYHEALTH?” She has to check out every single item she puts on, looking at each angle to make sure it portrays her to be the angel she believes she is. What one must remember when dealing with this oh-so-strong willed (she gets it from her father) child is that her life is all about pink. If it has pink in it, chances are she will love it. It took me way too long to figure that out.
And then we have the Preteen Princess (Priss?) Chickie. “Too frilly. Mother (she always calls me that when she is disgusted with something I have done/said/am wearing/am doing), I cannot BELIEVE you are even showing that to me, it has PINK on it. I am so over pink. I so have to shave my legs tonight. I haven’t shaved in like, 2 DAYS and I cannot wear shorts/skort if my legs are hairy.”
Is it any wonder that I am in a constant state of confusion?
We ended up making it safely home, despite scratch on the left hand rear driver’s side that some jerk gave me as a present in the parking lot. We didn’t have to pull out the canoes or tread water (God waved his arms and the sea parted) even though we drove through the middle of a torrential downpour. I was more than certain we were going to be blown off the bridge. Our children survived despite the fact that we only fed them lunch and ice cream (“I do not care about the children of China. I am starving and I live in the United States.”)
When all is said and done, I may be locked in a padded room with nothing but my oh-so-comfy underwear on, but my children will be the best dressed for the first day of school. Oh, and their backpacks? Totally awesome. One is pink and the other is black. Can you guess which backpack goes to whom?
Seriously. Maybe I should put up a Paypal account or something. Dayum Tooth Fairy.
Meelie No lost one tooth over vacation. She lost another one last night. THERE ARE FOUR MORE LOOSE TEETH IN HER MOUTH AS I TYPE! One of them is laying flat so that when she closes her mouth, you can see the tip sticking out, no joke. Chickie lost a tooth last night as well, and has another one about ready to come out.
I can't stand loose teeth. I can't stand looking at them wiggle. I can't stand watching them be pulled. By God I'll change a blown out diaper or clean up after a child that has emptied the entire contents of her stomach on my living room rug (hey that's better than saying vomit or up-chuck don't you think?), but please, don't make me pull out your tooth.
My husband is evil. He has a massive presence in my children's lives and it shows. They love to taunt me. "Look Mom...wiggle, wiggle, wiggle." Sometimes, we'll all be watching TV and he'll signal one of the girls to come over and lay their head in his lap to check the status of teeth. "Whoa sweetie...it looks like it's almost time to rip this sucker out! Look how loose it is Mom!"
My bank account is dwindling. If things keep going this way, I’ll be lucky to make the mortgage payment. Of course, by the time that happens, I'll probably be living out the rest of my days at Rolling Hill Meadows, gumming Zwieback and sipping Ensure.
The tooth on the left, which is sort of sticking out of her lips, and the one next to it are now gone. Click on picture for a larger image.
For those of you with children (or not), here’s a question. Which is easier to raise? A boy or a girl? Which of the two is more preferable? While I realize that all children lack any sign of detectable brain activity until well after puberty, I firmly believe there is a major difference.
For me personally, I feel girls are much easier. Ok, yes, they are moody. All right, all right, I fully comprehend that with them, everything is a major life-altering event. Yes, I understand that if you look cross-eyed at them, they will burst in to a hysterical plethora of uncontrollable weeping. I can now report that with my eldest child, the friend of the week has now whittled down to “friend of the hour.” Meow.
I’m the mother of two children, both female. Even though they have a tendency to remind me of Kathy Bates, in Misery (I’m your number one fan), I love them to death. Both have friends of the male persuasion. Chickie has one of them attached to her hip. But? They are just friends, because you know, “ewww, GOD MOM GET A CLUE. I don't LIKE him, like him.” I have so much to learn.
But I’m floundering. The boys? I cannot relate. They are all polite to me, but they seem to just bounce around. They teach my willing children delicate roses to belch, fart and scratch, loud enough and often enough to make a redneck proud. If you are reading this, and are married to me, you are not excluded. They give me presents, which include toads and spiders, and gleefully bring me their bounty of cockroaches, each vying for the spot of "which one of us has the bigger insect." They look at me expectantly when they hand me a shoebox, carefully filled with dirt and plants, and A.LITTLE.TINY.SNAKE. They lean up against me when I am cooking, hoping that I will let them taste “whatever is on the stove that smells so good because I haven not eaten in like, forever, because my parents don’t have any food, and can I spend the night?”
So, now that I've given you all the positive sides of both sexes, which one would you chose?
When I took the kids (mine and one of their friends) to the aquatic center on Friday, I overheard a conversation that I found somewhat interesting.
Meelie No: Two plus two is really 5.
Chickie: No it's not. It's 4.
Meelie No: No, it's 5. It's God's math.
Miss M: God's math?
Meelie No: Yes. One plus one is really 3.
Chickie: No it's not stupid. It's two.
Me: Watch the name calling back there Chickie.
Chickie: Mom, is there such a thing as God's math?
Me: Well, Chickie. I've never heard of it before, but who knows?
Meelie No: Chickie, aren't you afraid of making God mad? Jesus won't be your friend.
Miss M: God and Jesus are the same person.
Meelie No: No they're not. Jesus is God's son.
Miss M: Hides face in knees and begins to cry
Me: What's wrong Miss M?
Miss M: I got confused, that's all.
Me: Well, basically, Miss M. is pretty much right. You see, Christians believe in the Triune God. The father, son and holy spirit. God is the father, Jesus is the son, and the holy spirit is Jesus, after he rose from the dead.
All three in the back seat: Dead silence.
Meelie No: Well, three plus two is 6.
Miss M: Yeah
Chickie: Yep!
Well, who could argue with that? After all, it's God's math.
This post got me to thinking. What Rob says is true, in a lot of ways. Thankfully, we’ve been able to introduce our kids to a lot of different things since we’ve moved here. Things that we didn’t have access to when living in a big city.
As far as blackberries, I would have to tell Rob I’ve got that one covered. There are woods behind most of the houses here in my neighborhood. Woods or retention ponds. We’ve got blackberries (from a neighbor's back yard) coming out the wazoo. What fun. I arm the kids (and not just mine) with a zip lock freezer bag and send them on their way. I think it’s hysterically funny that the majority of the blackberries never find their way back to my house. Where did they go? Take a look at the kids faces and shirts. I think you’ll find the answer there.
Mo: Mom, I got to wash you like a hog.
Note to readers: The interpretation would be "I've got to watch you like a hawk."
I fully admit that I am one of those moms. My children are the brightest, most talented, most intelligent children on the face of this earth. Any of you who have children should not be surprised by this statement.
You are? Come on. Haven't you ever thought to yourself that your child outshines any other?
Ok, let's not count the times that their brain stem disconnects from their spinal chord and there is no sign of activity. It comes with the territory, does it not?
There are days that my chest feels as though it's going to explode, and I'm going to pop all the buttons on my vest. My child did that. Isn't she the best?
I'm one of those parents that have to fight back tears at a concert, or at a softball game when my child hits a home run, or catches a pop up in the bottom of the last inning. Or reads me a book from cover to cover, only asking for help on three words. Or gamely tries a new food at someone elses house, and discovers that it's not so bad after all. The list is endless.
I have no favorites. Well, I do but they are each my favorite in their own way. We are best friends, in that "I'm still your mom though" kind of way.
I try hard to be a strong presence in their lives. I know all of their teachers by their first names. I've got a good relationship with all of their friends. Lord knows, I've become a pro at the whole sleepover thing, thankfully, my house seems to be the place they like to hang out.
I need only to look at them, or raise my voice slightly to let them know that they have displeased me, and it breaks their heart. I love them even when they scream "I HATE YOU!" because I have done something, such as make them take responsibility for their actions, or some other horrible, unspeakable, crime I have committed. My response is automatic. "That's ok, I love you enough for the both of us." As a side note, this is not generally well received.
I've just got to be doing something right. When that child of mine catches that pop up, or makes that home run, and she searches for me in the stand, grinning like a Cheshire Cat. And I in turn, smile at her, give her the thumbs up, and sign "I love you."
There are days when I want to shout "STOP!" Stop growing up. Stop becomming independent. Stop moving away from me. But then I think about my job. To guide them. To help them. To help sooth the emotional hurts. To help them understand. And when they take those steps away from me, I am so proud. My child did that. Without me. I had a hand in it.
Letting go is hard, but as a parent it's what I need to do. I teach them the best way I know how, and then watch them grow and learn. And hurt. And recover. Don't get me wrong. I'll always be there when they need me. But some things they must learn to do on their own.
It's so difficult to put the feeling of pride, or love even, into words. It just IS.
Can you relate?
I don't think I can handle much more of this nail biting. I need to remember to bring oxygen to the next game.
Chickie's team won their first game tonight. People, she's psyched. And so she, and her team should be. They are really comming together. Like clockwork. Can you say TEAMWORK?
Even Saturday (let me pause here and say CHICKIE MADE A HOME RUN!), when they lost, they still played a good game. They've come so far.
So, while no one else is watching, I want to ask a question. Do you think it's bad of me when I chant under my breath "strike out, strike out, strike out", when a player from the opposing team is up to bat?
I just thought I'd ask.
T-ball is an interesting game. Ok, let's face it. As long as Mo isn't in the room, it's just about the funniest game you can imagine. It's the beginning of a softball/baseball career for little kids.
It's kind of like a Long Island Ice Tea, or Velociman's Magic Punch. It feels good going down but then you find yourself riddled with uncotrollable laughing fits, whilst feeling somewhat dazed and confused. Yes, it's contagious, and no, there's no known cure.
Have you ever noticed that most of the uniforms don't fit these little tykes? Whether it's the shirts that go below the knees, the shorts that fall just above the ankles, or the helmets that block their vision. No matter, that's what makes it all the more precious in my point of view.
I like this game. It suits the age. At each inning (normally there are just two), each child gets to bat. They have four "human" pitches by a brave coach. Let me tell you this folks. I still believe it would be wise for the coaches (if male) to wear cups. But that's my opinion only. There are times when I have seen perfectly mature, grown men, rolling around on the ground crying when a child makes a serious connection to the ball with their bat...and it heads straight back towards the pitcher. Gives a new meaning to the words "blue balls" I tell you.
As I was saying, each child gets four pitches by the coach. If they haven't hit one by then, they bring out the "t". And they keep encouraging the child until the ball is hit. Sometimes, that's a bit more difficult than you would imagine. I have seen a coach kind of throw the ball out on to the field after the 42nd miss on the "t". But that's ok. All the parents are screaming (and from both teams) "Go Johnny, RUN! That's it slugger!" So you see, there are no losers here.
If by chance, your child hits the ball, one way or the other, the coaches begin yelling to get them kick started because most of them lose their brain and forget that they are supposed to run to first base after a hit. What is the most fun is when you hear everyone on the field (the adults) and everyone in the stands yelling "NO!!! THE OTHER WAY!!! RUN THE OTHER WAY!!!" I have found that we end up watching a child get a home run. In reverse.
So, we've made it to first base. When the ball is back in the hands of the pitcher (the child, not the one who pitches the ball), or the coach, or they have been tagged out, they stop running. The nice thing about it is, the kids don't get out. They are hi-fived for a good job, and are set and ready to move on to the next base. In many instances, kids make home runs. Mostly because no one can catch. Or, there are about seven kids fighting over the ball and the runner has made it to home before everything has been sorted out.
I know that there aren't alot of rules in this game. The one main rule is to have fun. But I still think that t-ball is a good foundation to teach your children alot of things. First off, it teaches them the basics of the game. It instills in them a sense of teamwork, good sportsmanship, and commitment. And that's only for starters.
This will be the last year that Mo will be playing t-ball. I, for one, will miss it.
It started of simply enough. A Saturday filled with activity. Not suprising if you remember the fact that both my kids are in softball, and dance.
I took Mo to her t-ball game at 11:00. Mr. Moogie took Chickie to Folkston for her double header. The first game started at 10:00, the second started at 12:30. Folkston is about a 40 minute drive from our house, but from the t-ball field you need to add about another 20 minutes.
I promised Chickie that I would be there for at least part of the second game.
The t-ball game went longer than expected. They normally last an hour. You do the math. I got there at the congratulatory hand shake at the end of the second game.
She was, understandably, pissed. Luckily it didn't last.
I took the kids (no we weren't finished yet) to Walmart. First I got them something to eat, because they were starving, and, you know, I never feed them. We picked up a present for Chickie who was attending a slumber party that night (ok, one kid down). While we were there, we also picked up another present for Mo, who was attending a birthday party Sunday afternoon.
When I got home, we got a telephone call from one of Mo's friends Mom's, wanting to know if Mo could spend the night Saturday night.
YES.A.KID.FREE.NIGHT.NO.GUILT!
It can't get much better than that. I forgot about Murphy. He's got a nasty habbit of showing up when you least expect it.
Both of us took one girl, and dropped them off at their destination for the evening, and came home. We both kind of stood in the garage for a bit and stared at each other.
Without further ado, here is how you go on a date, sans kids:
Just checking.
What a great night. The kids did so well. It was amazing what they did with all of them in just two days.
This particular shot is when the director had them all set up and was beginning her warm ups. The kids were having such a good time. Chickie is the 3rd from the right, with her fingers in the air. Goes with her personality. She wasn't nervous at all. It doesn't give proper justification to the size of the chorus. There were approximately 180 children participating.
This is when they were singing one of the six songs on the list. I'm sorry about the quality of the pictures. Out of all of them that we took, I could only get a couple of them to turn out ok after fiddling with photoshop a bit. Our camera isn't that great and the lighting was horrible. At least we were sitting up front so I got to see it up close and personal so I have the memories in my mind, if not on photos. Chickie is 4th from the right, back row.
Chickie was chosen to be in the Honors Chorus this year. She's been in Chorus all year but this is reserved for the (at least in my mind) special students.
10-15 students from each grade school in the county are picked each year. Contrary to the name, it's not based soley on singing ability. Each child is picked because of their willingness to help others, their attitude, and their grades, to name a few. To me, that's way more important than being picked because you are certain to be the next winner on American Idol.
Her concert is tonight. I'm not sure who is more excited. Her or me.
My husband and daughter, formerly known as Midget, now Meelie No (her choice and it fits-don't ask), went to Sears today to pick up some filters for the ride on mower. While in the store, they saw some go-carts.
Meelie No: Dad, I want one of those.
Dad: Honey, those are a bit out of our price range (to the tune of about $1,500)
Meelie No: No, all you need to do is that Toaster "Stoodle" get rich thing at Publix.
Dad: Is that so? How come?
Meelie No: Cuz then you could be a Tripple Nipple Gazillionaire.
I have one question for you. Just what the hell is a tripple nipple?
Chickie is in softball. Fast pitch by a machine. She is the catcher. She's good, or so the coach says, but then again, she's my child, so would she be anything but good? Of course I’m not biased. Quite frankly, I just want her to have fun. Yes, it's nice when she gets recognition but I've come to the realization that looking at her animated face when she talks about softball is all I need to know that I'm doing the right thing.
She loves the game.
If you don't count tonight's practice.
She got hit in the "privates" as well as smashed on the thumb. Both by a ball from that blasted machine.
I had to laugh. The coach thought I would be upset at her injuries. He was poised like a man on the defensive, ready to defend himself against a potentially lethal mama bear. I don't buy into that theory. When your child plays sports, the likelihood of injury is high. When you play a position like catcher, the odds go up. Deal with it. Or don't let your child play. I think I've finally convinced him that I won't be running him down in the parking lot when he least expects it.
It's times like these that you need to measure just exactly what it is your child is telling you. I am not forcing her to be catcher. To be quite frank, I'd just assume she was in a safer position. Like an outfielder. About a mile away. But that's not what she wants. It's my job, as long as it isn't detrimental to her health, to fully support that. In fact, the only thing I do is support her, IF that's what wants.
Like I said. She had a bad night. She was discouraged. She didn't want to quit but wasn't too sure she wanted to play catcher anymore. Can you blame her? Man, I'm hurting just thinking about it.
In situations such as these, a parent has to draw the line. When do you say, enough is enough? I tend to wait. As you parents know, that's not always easy because you want to jump in and support your child and by God, if she had a bad day and wants to quit softball altogether and become a nun I am so behind her it's not funny. Ok, that’s stretching it, but you get my point. Ever go through that?
But what lesson does that teach your child? Giving up is ok when you run into some rough patches? That's not really going to help her later on down the road.
I issued the-on spec hugs and kisses, murmured words of support and more importantly just listened. And she talked. And I listened some more. The more she talked, the better she felt. I didn't confirm nor negate her thoughts. I was just there.
I'm about ready to get her into the shower. Then maybe we'll read some more of her book that she's completely into. Maybe we'll just talk and giggle. But I'd imagine she'll be calming down some and that a good nights sleep will do wonders.
And I think we may just be donning that catcher's mask at practice tomorrow.
Midget came into the office while I was catching up on things and said "don't worry mommy, me and Chickie are cleaning everything up. Nothing was broken." And promptly walked out of the room.
Just wondering.
Sometimes the children's homework can be interesting. I talked a few weeks ago about Chickie having to interview my parents, via phone, about what it was like for them growing up. She just now brought the graded paper home. We weren't allowed to see it until after it was through. Here is her paper, not edited by me, complete with spelling and grammatical errors.
My Grandma's Life
By: Chickie
Jobs were different then than today's life. When my grandma was growing up jobs were very scarce. The jobs were also very low paying. If women were educated they would either become a nurse or a teacher. If they were not educated, they would either clean houses or work in factories.
In my grandma's childhood if you got sick you would have to buy expensive medicines, or mabeye in some cases sweat it out of your body. When my grandpa went to war, penicillin was discovered.
There were a lot of changes too. When you grew up, you were allowed to do more things. When men went to war, women and children had to take men's jobs. Another big change was after the deppression people didn't have enough money to pay taxes and insurance.
When my grandma was a child, our choices of entertainment was listning to the radio or playing games. Some of the games they played were hopscotch, hide-and-go-seek, and jaks. Also instead of swimming pools they would play in a washtub filled with water.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~``
Now, how much of our life is different than that? I love to read the children's take on things like that. What about your parents? Was there any interesting facts about when they were growing up?
I read a post over on Carmi’s site that completely opened the floodgates in my mind, in which many cherished memories are stored. I thought to myself “he’s done it again.” (Darn it Carmi)
If you haven’t already done so, go read his post. He’s published it in his column and it’s well worth the read.
There are so many things I remember my parents teaching me how to do, that my mind can’t grasp, nor settle on just one.
Heard in the back seat coming home last night:
Chickie: "Just what part of no don't you understand?"
Midget: "The N.O. part?"
And the bases are loaded. At the pitcher's mound, we have Mom. She's a tough one folks. Never let a kid walk since Popeye started eating his spinach. One look from her has most batters browning their cleats, and running home to Mama.
Mom's facing a tough chickie tonight. Seems this one has gotten to big for her britches. She's a catcher. And she's real good. Three coaches lobbied for her this year. There was a lot of trading. All that went to her head. She thinks she irreplaceable. Wants to sign a deal.
Obviously, she's never met Mom head on. Mom has this thing about sports. Seems they take a lower priority than school. No homework. No play. Grades go down. You're outta here!
Seems Chickie didn't believe that.
Cost of regsitering for softball: $48.00
Cost of new bat, glove and cleats: $72.50
Cost of the look on her face when mom told Coach she's pulling her out of the league: Priceless.
Let me tell you folks, it didn't feel nearly as good as watching Coach get in her face about it.
Time took to do homework tonight: 47 minutes, 32 seconds.
Mom: 1 Chickie: 0
I think it's gonna be a good season.
Update: I need to point out that I didn't actually pull her from the season, just threatened to. After her dressing down by the coach, she immediately changed her attitude. Let's see if it lasts.
What happens when you let my eldest child take a brush, and some hair bands to your hair. Scary isn't it?
As always, click the picture for a bigger immage, although you may not want to.
Strange things occur when it rains. All day. And.it.doesn't.stop.
I thought for sure we were going to have to get a John Boat to get us out of here.
Here is a picture of the drainage pipe right outside my garage door. As you can see, there is a pretty good stream of water coming out. At times, later on in the evening, it even got heavier.
You gotta love my kids, really you do. Please. That way I can send them to you. I will give you all of their clothes, and a month’s supply of food. This of course, will set me back and I'll have to mortgage the house to pay for it (the food) but I think it's for the best. Really.
I worked just a little bit later than usual today and then stopped of at the grocery store for some miscellaneous items. I had no sooner walked in the door when both of my children shouted "MOM, THERE IS NOTHING TO EAAAAT!" One of these days I'll be able to post with no caps but that probably won't happen until the kids are out of the house.
It's a tragedy you know. I'm a horrible mom, sure to go to Hell. I keep absolutely NO food in the house people. If you don't count the well-stocked pantry, the refrigerator inside, and out. I quickly pointed out this fact to them and they stated that there was no food any respectable kid could call a snack. With some quick thinking (which we parents are good at), we came up with a couple of passable ideas. They sauntered back into the living room happily, after admonishing me for my terrible taste in food, and my propensity for making them starve. Oh my God people, there is nothing UNHEALTHY in my house.
That of course, is not entirely true. They have just not discovered my stash of Girl Scout Cookies yet, among other things.
One thing I do want to know is why all the kids come to MY house for snacks. I suspect it is because the other parents are able to firmly state, "NO, you can not have any snacks. It is too close to dinner time." Which just goes on to prove that I am a serious marshmallow. I would prefer to think it's because I really don't want to hear the whining, which is used to state that I am an unfit parent who never buys anything remotely palatable for her poor starving children.
So really folks. Love my children. I do, but I am SO willing to share.
Ok...so this post isn't going to be about that, nor about chocolate. But this is a momentous occasion people! Stay with me now.
Are you ready? My youngest daughter lost her first tooth. She's six, will be seven at the end of March. She's been waiting to lose a tooth for oh say, the last 100 years now, according to her.
I was in the garage, organizing some stuff and talking to my husband. I heard her crying and pretty much braced myself for a tantrum. "They won't let me play with them!" Or some such. Only it wasn't crying that I heard.
Just saying...........
Have you ever heard of that term? I hadn't until just a few days ago. It seems like one of the boys in my eldest daughter's class is tormenting her. Well, actually, he is in 4th grade, but he is (or has been) one of the kids she hangs out with at home.
He's a kid that I've had a lot of problems with. His mouth never stops, and he can be seriously rude. Those kinds of things don't go down realy well in my house, and Moogs Jr. has, at times, exhibited the same kind of attitude.
Well, until recently that is.
Close your eyes and walk along with me. Don't be alarmed, I'll stay with you. Bask in the glow of normalcy, at least in my perspective. You may want to put on some sturdy footwear. The road is not paved and it's full of Legos and Barbie shoes. If you have no children, you may have experienced this with your relative's or friend's children. If you never plan to have any, be thankful. If you are thinking about it, be afraid.
BE.VERY.AFRAID.
Author's note: During this little ditty, I was in the kitchen, preparing dinner, and my angels, I do use that term loosely, were in the living room.
I want you to know that I really, really love my eldest daughter. Really. I do. But OH.MY.GOD. I picked her up from dance lessons tonight, and she was changing back into street clothes in the car because we were going to stop off at Publix on the way home.
All of a sudden, there was this really horrible smell and I couldn't figure out what it was. I mean HORRIBLE! And people, I've smelled some bad things in my life. I've gone through two kids.
No one put this smell in the "What to Expect When You are a Mom of a Overly Emotional Child Growing Bumps" manual. I really need to have a serious talk with the author.
Turns out it was her feet. How can a child, a girl child, have feet that smell like that?
At least it explains why her socks are constantly jumping out of the hamper.
I can't hear you. The silence is deafening.
My oldest is off to the movies with her best friend "M" and his parents. She won't be home until 9:00 at the earliest. My youngest, is spending the night with her best friend "S." It's really quiet it here.
Don't get me wrong. There is a lot of silence in this house because my kids LOVE to play outside. But it's different tonight. When they are playing, you know they may come barging in at any second. Tonight, I've got a good 2 1/2 hours or so until just ONE of them comes back. Odd feeling. But nice.
I have to laugh at my self and my penchant for being a worrier. When we made the decision to move here, I was worried my kids wouldn't adjust. Obviously, I have no clue about raising a child, because all of my worries are for naught. They have a busier schedule than we do. I feel like a social secretary.
Lately, my husband has been getting some business on the side so quite often, it takes him away from home during the evenings and the weekends. This by no means is a bad thing, but it's made a little bit more difficult when the weather isn't all that great.
This Saturday, I took my eldest out shopping (my girlfriend was with us) and the youngest went to run errands with Mr. OWW. When we all got home, Mr. OWW went to take care of a client, and I was sitting in the kitchen with the girls, and we trying to figure out what to do.
They didn't want to watch a movie, or do puzzles, or color. They didn't want to play a game. Well, that settled it then. It was time to take some pictures! I'm not sure why, but the whole picture taking thing seems to be cool at my house. While shopping on Saturday, we had stopped off at Beals Outlet and one of the things I had gotten was some PJs for the girls. As always, just click on the pictures to make them larger. Hope you enjoy!
Let me start off by saying that the day had been very cold and windy. Very overcast and gloomy so that pretty much took playing outside right out of the running. The weather is pretty much summed up in this picture. This is one of our smallest trees. We have most of our trees in the backyard.
Before I go on, I want to ask you what is wrong with this picture? Please keep in mind that there is no outside plumbing on this side of the house. It was there when we moved in and I'm still tring to figure it out.
Now that we have that out of the way, here was our basic photo shoot. It starts out with Tiny, the Demon Dog. I didn't fix the eyes and now I wish I did. She looks downright spooky don't you think?
These first two pictures are more of an introduction. These are my girls, with hats on. Don't ask me why we started here. I'm just the photographer, not the boss.
Here is a set of them modeling their new PJ's.
Just so you know, the PJs that my eldest one is wearing pretty much sums up her attitude. For that matter, it's the same for my youngest. Did you notice the water spots (she just brushed her teeth) on my eldest and the finger smudges on the door?
Here is where they set out to prove the theory that man has evovled from the ape. I don't know about you, but I think they pretty much covered this subject.
In these pictures, they are trying to climb the door frame that leads from the kitchen into the entry way. Fun stuff!
And finally, my favorites. Here are my girls just being themselves and having fun. Notice the boots? Don't ask.
My daughter’s Science Project was due a couple of days ago, and will be judged at the end of the week. This time, it was my husband’s turn to help her. A few weeks ahead of time we were busy brainstorming with her. She had some ideas, so what we tried to do was ask her questions, and make her think up a project on her own.
Not as easy as it sounds. We had to really work at not deciding for her, not doing it for her, in other words, put her in control. As a parent, you want to see your child succeed, so it’s only natural that you want to be at the helm. The problem with that is, your child doesn’t learn in the process.