Thursday, October 11, 2007
Just a Reminder
It's Zero-Nutrition Thursday!!! In honor of the day, I downed three pieces of a milk chocolate Symphony bar with toffee and almonds. Actually, I finished it. Now I've got leftover apple-cranberry pie. And, oh darn! I can't share with the children because they're allergic to the ingredients!
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
I Need A Note
The house is filled with the usual last-minute pounding of feet. Upstairs to brush teeth; downstairs for shoes and jacket and backpack. Bang! One kid out the door. I pause, but there's no second bang. Then, a man's voice, "What?" He sounds strangled. The heavy footsteps of someone who knows he's in trouble enter the hall and a small body thwumps down on the stairs, our time-out spot. This can't be good.
I thump down the stairs faster than I have in weeks. Ross is sitting on the step, with the very still posture of a boy who knows he is in way over his head and looks as if he's about to puke. My stomach drops. "Why aren't you going for the bus," I ask.
He winces slightly as he catches his breath. "You need to write a note to the Principal," he says softly.
I almost puke. "I WHAT?"
"I need you to write a note saying what we'll do for my punishment, for taking clay from the Art Room," he says to clarify. I feel my brain trying to process this information. 7:52am is not my finest hour.
7:52am! The time makes it through my pre-coffee fog. I grab his shoulder and propel him toward the door with an adrenaline urgency. "Run! You're going to miss the bus!"
"But I need the note," he wails. I note that he's now sounding strangled and it occurs to me that his not having the note will be a great start to the punishment.
"We don't have time for that now! When the Principal asks you for the note, you'll have to tell her why you don't have it today," I say and whoosh him out the door.
I glance at the clock: 7:53am. Too soon for wine, even in Paris. I decide to call the Main Office and let them know about the late news delivery, so it won't be a surprise when Ross turns up empty-handed. After, I send up a quick prayer for patience, strength, $225,000, and get on with my day.
After school, we entertain the usual dance of homework, reading, and hockey bags. Ross is atypically attentive to his work and doesn't say much of anything until dinner. After he's mostly through with his meal, he braces himself and says, "Mama, we need to do my note. I have to have it for tomorrow." He pauses, takes another bite. Almost with spirit, he adds, "And you can't make my punishment be that I have to stay inside for recess this week, because I already have to do that." Ross takes another bite and Chris struggles not to choke.
We manage to swing into a casual discussion of what he'd done. It seems that Ross took the bit of clay to work in his classroom, while he was thinking. His eyes popped open when I pointed out that stealing something small is still stealing - clearly he hadn't thought of it that way. He also hadn't thought about what would happen to the Art Room clay supply if every child in the school took just a small piece for himself. We talk about these and I watched Ross realize why the teachers are so upset; why his little bit of clay is such a big deal. He is well aware that stealing is wrong - he just hadn't thought to hang the term "stealing" on his own action. As the label falls into place in his head, he takes a deep breath. "So, what should we do for my punishment," he asks, head hanging.
"We'll talk about it when you get back from hockey," I say. He looks grim as I thrust him out the door again. The anticipation of his punishment has got to be giving him an ulcer by now. While he's gone, I start to compose the letter. When he gets home, he hangs his hockey gear and gets ready for bed. We read the letter to his Principal together and I make sure that Ross understands what I've written and what it means. The punishment Chris and I agree on is writing lines, which Ross can do during his inside recess periods. Ross HATES writing lines. He takes several stabs at getting out of it but looks blank when I ask what he thinks would be a suitable alternate; he can't come up with a single thing to suggest. Finally, we print the letter over his protests and both of us sign it. I clip the letter to a blank writing book for his lines, stick both into his knapsack, and send him up to bed.
As Ross rounds the corner at the top of the stairs, Chris offers me a high-five. "You're awful," he exclaims, quietly. "Good job!"
I thump down the stairs faster than I have in weeks. Ross is sitting on the step, with the very still posture of a boy who knows he is in way over his head and looks as if he's about to puke. My stomach drops. "Why aren't you going for the bus," I ask.
He winces slightly as he catches his breath. "You need to write a note to the Principal," he says softly.
I almost puke. "I WHAT?"
"I need you to write a note saying what we'll do for my punishment, for taking clay from the Art Room," he says to clarify. I feel my brain trying to process this information. 7:52am is not my finest hour.
7:52am! The time makes it through my pre-coffee fog. I grab his shoulder and propel him toward the door with an adrenaline urgency. "Run! You're going to miss the bus!"
"But I need the note," he wails. I note that he's now sounding strangled and it occurs to me that his not having the note will be a great start to the punishment.
"We don't have time for that now! When the Principal asks you for the note, you'll have to tell her why you don't have it today," I say and whoosh him out the door.
I glance at the clock: 7:53am. Too soon for wine, even in Paris. I decide to call the Main Office and let them know about the late news delivery, so it won't be a surprise when Ross turns up empty-handed. After, I send up a quick prayer for patience, strength, $225,000, and get on with my day.
After school, we entertain the usual dance of homework, reading, and hockey bags. Ross is atypically attentive to his work and doesn't say much of anything until dinner. After he's mostly through with his meal, he braces himself and says, "Mama, we need to do my note. I have to have it for tomorrow." He pauses, takes another bite. Almost with spirit, he adds, "And you can't make my punishment be that I have to stay inside for recess this week, because I already have to do that." Ross takes another bite and Chris struggles not to choke.
We manage to swing into a casual discussion of what he'd done. It seems that Ross took the bit of clay to work in his classroom, while he was thinking. His eyes popped open when I pointed out that stealing something small is still stealing - clearly he hadn't thought of it that way. He also hadn't thought about what would happen to the Art Room clay supply if every child in the school took just a small piece for himself. We talk about these and I watched Ross realize why the teachers are so upset; why his little bit of clay is such a big deal. He is well aware that stealing is wrong - he just hadn't thought to hang the term "stealing" on his own action. As the label falls into place in his head, he takes a deep breath. "So, what should we do for my punishment," he asks, head hanging.
"We'll talk about it when you get back from hockey," I say. He looks grim as I thrust him out the door again. The anticipation of his punishment has got to be giving him an ulcer by now. While he's gone, I start to compose the letter. When he gets home, he hangs his hockey gear and gets ready for bed. We read the letter to his Principal together and I make sure that Ross understands what I've written and what it means. The punishment Chris and I agree on is writing lines, which Ross can do during his inside recess periods. Ross HATES writing lines. He takes several stabs at getting out of it but looks blank when I ask what he thinks would be a suitable alternate; he can't come up with a single thing to suggest. Finally, we print the letter over his protests and both of us sign it. I clip the letter to a blank writing book for his lines, stick both into his knapsack, and send him up to bed.
As Ross rounds the corner at the top of the stairs, Chris offers me a high-five. "You're awful," he exclaims, quietly. "Good job!"
Some admin notes
I realized over the weekend that I hadn't awarded September's winner. I'm a little swamped this week, but if you collectively help me with the tally, we'll start October's contest.
Are you ladies interested in participating in National Blog Posting Month in November? It's a fun contest that requires you post every day. Yeah, that can be tough, but since there are 7 contributors, it would mean we'd all take responsibility for one day a week. Otherwise, you can post as many times a day you want. If we participate, do you think we need to add an explanation to this blog? Particularly that this is a humor blog (although I think that's a big du-uh) but also that only blog authors can accumulate and distribute points, although commenters are welcome to make recommendations.
Blog authors, let me know your thoughts...
Are you ladies interested in participating in National Blog Posting Month in November? It's a fun contest that requires you post every day. Yeah, that can be tough, but since there are 7 contributors, it would mean we'd all take responsibility for one day a week. Otherwise, you can post as many times a day you want. If we participate, do you think we need to add an explanation to this blog? Particularly that this is a humor blog (although I think that's a big du-uh) but also that only blog authors can accumulate and distribute points, although commenters are welcome to make recommendations.
Blog authors, let me know your thoughts...
Sunday, October 7, 2007
Wait just a cotton-picking minute here
That's MY toddler giving herself a beer bath in a puddle of cat water in Karen's kitchen. And it was because I'd not checked that my diaper bag actually contained diapers and not just a dozen Little People and their animals, a can of sunscreen in a plastic zip bag, and a plastic box of TV-themed Band-Aids.Also, Karen's husband wouldn't have survived to break their nutcracker were it not for me putting on my best "Karen voice" and shouting from their front porch, "Christopher, get out of the street!"
Saturday, October 6, 2007
Are you a WME point candidate if:
...a baby who doesn't belong to you decides to use your cat dishes as a snack-bar-cum-splash-pool and you let her?
...a baby who doesn't belong to you poops on your kitchen floor, seizes the moment to make off with an open can of beer while you and her mother are distracted wiping up the floor and then, when you notice the baby has captured the beer, you laugh while her mother gets out the camera? (Note: the baby was, at the time, dumping the beer out into the tide pool previously created from the cat's water dish)
...you(r husband) buy(s) silence with cookies, even when none of the children in attendance really ate a good dinner?
...you use a third-party child to send threatening messages (along the lines of "ask again and you're all going to bed") to your own kin?
...you cook up a plot to feed your collective children little but cabbage and apple cider for a day and a half before sending them all to an overnight in the home of an evil in-law?
...a baby who doesn't belong to you poops on your kitchen floor, seizes the moment to make off with an open can of beer while you and her mother are distracted wiping up the floor and then, when you notice the baby has captured the beer, you laugh while her mother gets out the camera? (Note: the baby was, at the time, dumping the beer out into the tide pool previously created from the cat's water dish)
...you(r husband) buy(s) silence with cookies, even when none of the children in attendance really ate a good dinner?
...you use a third-party child to send threatening messages (along the lines of "ask again and you're all going to bed") to your own kin?
...you cook up a plot to feed your collective children little but cabbage and apple cider for a day and a half before sending them all to an overnight in the home of an evil in-law?
Friday, October 5, 2007
Is 10:45 AM too early for wine?
Clara's in her crib screaming. It's not naptime, but I have had enough of her. She's in one of those "I must be held and walked around or I am going to crawl around behind you clinging to your pants and whining" moods. And it's Friday and it's been a long week and I have had enough.
Ben and I were working on his cutting skills, per instructions from the school, but I have had enough of "I can't DOOO it" too and have walked away and left him to his own devices with fiskars, gluesticks and a whole box of markers (haven't I learned my lessons on this before?)
I was lying on the sofa with a pillow over my head to try to drown out Ben's whining of "Mommy HELP me" and Clara's screaming but I got up to send my frustrations into the blogosphere.
It's possible they get the whining thing from me. Where the heck is everyone? I am in need of some humorous parenting screw-ups to make me laugh and feel better about myself.
Ben and I were working on his cutting skills, per instructions from the school, but I have had enough of "I can't DOOO it" too and have walked away and left him to his own devices with fiskars, gluesticks and a whole box of markers (haven't I learned my lessons on this before?)
I was lying on the sofa with a pillow over my head to try to drown out Ben's whining of "Mommy HELP me" and Clara's screaming but I got up to send my frustrations into the blogosphere.
It's possible they get the whining thing from me. Where the heck is everyone? I am in need of some humorous parenting screw-ups to make me laugh and feel better about myself.
Thursday, October 4, 2007
For Paige
Just so you know, Mommy-to-be, with regards to mothers-in-law (or in my case, step-mother-in-law), it doesn't get better after you have kids.
Message left after canceling twice on watching our kids this weekend and we enlisted the help of her sister- and brother-in-law so that we could have a romantic getaway last weekend:
Message left after canceling twice on watching our kids this weekend and we enlisted the help of her sister- and brother-in-law so that we could have a romantic getaway last weekend:
Hi (long pause as though she's waiting for me to pick up even though it's voicemail, not an answering machine). I just wanted to let you know we had such a good time with the girls this weekend and we really bonded (audible inhalation) with Lindsay (exaggerated, another audible inhalation) this weekend...and we really would like to have both girls for an overnight soon.Sure. How about when aitch E double hockey sticks freezes over?
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