Just when I thought spring had sprung we get snow. I'm really ready for some serious spring weather to stay. It gets teasingly warm and then drops back to cold but snow was a bit too much.
We got a new septic tank! Yeah, I know, who gets excited about septic tanks? I do, especially since the old one broke. It worked fine as far as flush and be gone but there was an odd hole in the ground out back. So one fine morning the guys came and dug a really big hole, pulled up the old and replaced it with a new bigger concrete model. I found the whole procedure interesting and actually photographed it. I can play it as a slideshow for #2 who is really into heavy machinery. Poor kid had to go to school that day as it was spring picture day. I now have a huge mud area in back and am thinking of setting up ropes around it and renting it out for mud wrestling matches. I could use the revenue from ticket sales to pay for the tank. I'll have to run that idea by the Hubby. I have a feeling that if it involves babes in bikinis he'll be pro. He and all his friends will have to pay the cover charge. I bet my girlfriends would send their husbands down just to get some quiet time. If I offer child care I'll make a fortune! Most moms I know just want some quality alone time.
Any who- that went off topic! So I'm still working on the sewing room. I've hit the wall on creative layout for all my stuff. I think I have too many interests and not enough room or time. So I'm still trying to get all the bits and pieces arranged so I can put either the laptop or the sewing machine on my desk and use the side table for workspace. Someday I may get this done and looking good- until then it's better than everything scattered in boxes here and there upstairs but it's a slow go.
I've been working on some Easter decorations- paper bunnies and eggs, needlefelted eggs, some flowers and a couple of chicks. I've also got #1's 8th birthday coming up. Party decor to be planned and made. Too much to do and not anywhere enough time to do it. These holidays and things to celebrate come too close together! Good thing May should be pretty quiet- just the Memorial Day Parade for the Brownies. Maybe I'll get some projects done before school is out for summer. Wish me luck!
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Monday, March 23, 2009
More renovations completed
We finally finished the upstairs of the extension. Two kids bedrooms and one large playroom. #1 is moved in and enjoying her bedroom. #2 will be moved in soon, but that requires more planning due to the autism and changing of routines. They have most of their stuff moved but some remains in #2's current room- the downstairs room soon to be known as the library and computer room. I have been working hard on sorting what makes to trip to the new area and what goes to the garage for a big garage sale this spring. I also have been working hard on turing #1's old room, which is 10 X 9, into a sewing and crafting room. I ripped out the wire closet stuff and replaced it with shelving to either side of the door to store boxes of fabric, scrapbooking supplies, felt and wool roving. I am so excited but still have much to do to have my little room done. I've got to move all the craft stuff out of the various places I've been storing it and get it arranged (and re-arranged until I'm happy) so it will be functional. My goal with the sewing room, playroom and kids rooms is to get all the stuff which belong in each room in there, organize it so it's easy to find and clean. That goal ought to take me forever. I am not organized by nature. So to give a quick peek at some of the kids area-
This is Princess #1's bed. Pink- it's all about pink! And a few hundred of her favorite stuffed friends.
This is the computer and teaching area of the playroom. I don't homeschool but I do supplement the school work with our own lessons. #1 loves picking topics to research- most recently the effect of nutrients on the body. How vitamins and minerals are digested and used. It was a colorful conversation from the start with deciding what food is healthy and which is not, taking a bite and swallowing through to the final output. #2 needs more work to reinforce the things he learns in school. Spelling, writing and pointing to items requested can be done here. There are plenty of supplies here and also in the craft area. 
This is the craft area. Everything was still dumped on the table for sorting when I snapped this pic. It is now cleared with boxes by type of craft. Clay, paint, markers, color pencils, paper, etc. It looks better now. There is a book case area, and will be a train table area for our dear friend Thomas and his gazillion little train friends.
This is the puzzle area in #2's room. While the pink bed is a HUGE part of #1's room, #2 is all about his puzzles. They get put together all over the floor. Now he will have a large area for them. The toybox was hand made by my mother with a circus theme. I had decided, long beofre I knew about our joinging the 'autism circus' that his room theme would be an old time circus in a tent. His walls are canvas color with a rubbed red trim. #1 also has a handmade toybox with a beatrix potter theme.
Here is a close up of the hand painting on #2's. It says "And in the center ring" with dogs performing on a horse, a balloon and a tightrope.
Here is #1's toybox. The front is a wallpaper border with various Beatrix Potter characters. And when I get a better picture- with less sun from her window- I will post it.
The seat is hand painted.
The sides are also hand painted. Again, all this was done by my mother.
So there you get to see what has been going on here. We have been very busy since last summer with getting this all done. Most of the work was done by us around Hubby's work schedule and any time we could find. And there is always more to be done!!
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Who knows where the time goes
I am always amazed at how quickly time flies and I wasn't doing anything much. I'm spending most days hibernating and trying not to go out into the freezing cold. As the years spin by I realize how cold it gets here. My days of building snow forts all day are over. I'm more of the short bursts of snow play broken up by hot chocolate and the wood stove. #1 LOVES the snow and plays on the back hill with the sled, saucer and toboggan for a few hours at a time. #2 is more of the go in the snow to wait for the bus, eat a bit of snow and get on the bus. He's not a sled kid. Snowmen hold no interest. He doesn't like hot chocolate. It can make playing outside after school a bit hard on me. The constant back and forth from house to yard always brings more snow into the house than I intended but #2 is willing to eat it all.
The kids new bedrooms will be done soon and then comes the mammoth chore of moving all their stuff . We're down to floor molding, varnishing the doors and touching up any trim paint. This is all being done by Dear Hubby so it's done after work and weekends. It's been a long process but will be worth it in a few more weeks. I have no idea how #2 will react to the changes but it should be interesting. They will also have a new playroom for all their stuff. The idea is to corral most of the toys and detritus so that some of the downstairs doesn't look like I run a home daycare.
The kids new bedrooms will be done soon and then comes the mammoth chore of moving all their stuff . We're down to floor molding, varnishing the doors and touching up any trim paint. This is all being done by Dear Hubby so it's done after work and weekends. It's been a long process but will be worth it in a few more weeks. I have no idea how #2 will react to the changes but it should be interesting. They will also have a new playroom for all their stuff. The idea is to corral most of the toys and detritus so that some of the downstairs doesn't look like I run a home daycare.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Today is my birthday. So I'm feeling very reflective right now and have decided to post a retrospective.
I don't feel my age. Mostly I feel quite a bit younger but every so often it creeps up and I feel a million years old. It really depends on the state of aches and pains. I've led a fun life, so far. I have quite a bit more arthritis than I should as a result. When you break some bones and dislocate others you will end up with something approaching arthritis, so we'll call it arthritis for now. I've broken plenty while having fun- fingers, toes, a rib or two, my nose repeatedly and my spine once. Never an arm or leg- nothing normal like that. The nose has one of my favorite stories attached to one of it's breaks. The baseball game I didn't play. All I did was watch a game at McCarthy Park in Buffalo. A warm up session involving a missed catch, a ricochet, my turning my head and bam- one broken nose. I'm still not too fond of seeing baseballs coming at my face. But it was 30 years ago. The spine involved a horse, a jump and far more guts than brains. I believed I was going to clear the jump on the horse, I was wrong. Ben Hur went right and I did not. Sounds like a Buffalo Bills moment- wide right. It was a defining moment- I have excellent posture as a result of all the time in a back brace while I healed. I did get back on the horse- a year later when I could ride again. There are some other funny stories about various breaks and fractures- like how I slammed my thumb in the car door and it was locked, or getting punched in gym class for mentioning the girl next to me was more 'developed' than the rest of us in sixth grade, the getting hit by a car in the March of Dimes Superwalk and having my knee wrecked. Oddly enough most of these memories have become funny- or at least funnier than they were at the time they happened.
I have very fond memories of growing up in University Heights. Our street had a park at one end, an island in the middle and was on a hill. Skate boarding, roller skating and sledding were all fun. Unless you were my Dad who broke his leg skateboarding when he hit the gravel and debris at the edge of the road (we did warn him to stay in the middle of the street.). Times were VERY different then. It was nothing for me to leave the house early and be gone all day without telling my mother much of my plans. she could ring to one friends house who may say we had left for another who would then pass along that we had gone to yet another house. Things were just slower and more relaxed. Childhood was not as structured as it is today. All these enrichment activities and scheduled classes were not as common. Most everyone I knew took piano for awhile with the same teacher- at her house, dance or gymnastics right after school and scouts. Maybe one or two things at a time. Playdates were NOT arranged by parents very often. Sometimes if there were new kids the new parents would approach our parents and set up a playdate at their house to meet the new kid. Mostly playdates consisted of yelling "see ya Saturday." as I ran home to dinner. We played in each others homes yards, garages and trees- sometimes even if the kid who lived there wasn't home. We all went to see the kid with the chicken pox so we'd all be sick together. An entire neighborhood of pox covered kids now would prompt a FEMA response, the CDC to consider a quarantine and child welfare agencies to look askance at the parents. Did I mention that bicycle protective gear consisted of long pants and shirt as opposed to shorts and T shirt? Falling off the bike meant picking road grit out of your wound with a dozen of your closest friends helping- nothing like possible blood borne pathogens there.
While it sounds like there was no supervision at all, there was actually no end of supervision. Every adult in the area watched us- and yelled at us for being bad, stupid, dangerous and whatever else they decided to yell over. If you got hurt there was no shortage of adults to help. Someone would come rushing outside at the first sound of crying. They would either take you into their bathroom, wash you up and slather iodine on your cut followed by a band aid (read that as red badge of courage) and call your mom or send another kid to get your mom. I don't recall any lawsuits over who bandaged my numerous skinned knees. Fights were usually settled by flailing fists until whatever the problem had been was deemed solved by the rest of us or by yelling and name calling. None of it did any irreparable damage and some taught me faster lessons than getting yelled at by my parents. Water balloon wars were fought by boys against girls- always. Snowball fights were against whoever you could hit. Driveways were to be shovelled first- then play. The rules of childhood were simple but written in stone. When Mom rang the cast iron bell I had to go home and if I was inside some one's house and anyone else heard it, they would get me. We didn't 'leave a man behind' to get punished for being late to dinner. Bigger kids crossed little kids into the park. They refereed fights and settled lesser arguments. Sometimes they even put on magic shows for us. They didn't bully us for our shoes, jacket, electronics (not that we had electronics) or anything else.
In our neighborhood we were the odd family. The hippie family. There was another hippie family for awhile but they moved. We didn't have TV and we grew our own vegetables. My dad drove a corvette (right- not very hippie but he liked 'vettes.). Ours was the place everyone went to tinker on cars- and help Dad build corvettes. My mother brought the teeter totter into the house one day when it started to rain. It was a large hand carved wooden (think Brio and Haba, now) thing that I wish I had today. The other parents thought we were nuts and the kids loved it. Boy do I wish things were that simple for my kids. But lets be honest- times changed.
I walked to school until fourth grade. I went to a school which is now an art gallery. I can still remember my classrooms and the utility room where I would clean erasers after school. That school closed and I went to a larger school for one year. It was awful. I loved my teacher but I hated the bus, the size, staying there for lunch ( I had walked home for lunch before)and pretty much everything about it outside my classroom. That seems to be the beginning of the changes. Fifth grade I went to yet another school where I stayed until eleventh grade. But things were changing and we were all going to different schools in my neighborhood. I went to a public school (remember- hippie parents) and almost everyone else went to the local catholic school. New friends, new hobbies and new schools kept us apart.
Fast forward to today and I rarely drive through my old neighborhood anymore although my mother lives just minutes away from that house. The park is still there but it looks like it's rarely played in, the houses are the same but they feel different. Some of the families are still there, some are not. I guess I miss what it was more than I wonder what it is now. Some memories are sacred and don't need to be tarnished by the reality of today colliding with the wild abandon of then. So I usually take a main road by the old neighborhood and visit my mother. As for my kids- they have woods in the yard and a small town to grow up in. That will have to fuel their future reminiscences of their childhoods.
#1 looked at me recently after I told her about my childhood (edited so she wouldn't do half the stupid dangerous stuff I did) and she said, with total sincerity, "I wish I was around back in the good old days." I wasn't sure if I wanted to wring her little neck for making my childhood into the 'good old days' or hug her. We compromised for laughing that I wasn't THAT old- yet- and that she can make her own set of 'good old days' memories to tell her kids. So I have a birthday to attend to. I wonder how old I'll be when I can plan my own party and it will still be a surprise party???? Maybe next year at the rate my memory is going.
I don't feel my age. Mostly I feel quite a bit younger but every so often it creeps up and I feel a million years old. It really depends on the state of aches and pains. I've led a fun life, so far. I have quite a bit more arthritis than I should as a result. When you break some bones and dislocate others you will end up with something approaching arthritis, so we'll call it arthritis for now. I've broken plenty while having fun- fingers, toes, a rib or two, my nose repeatedly and my spine once. Never an arm or leg- nothing normal like that. The nose has one of my favorite stories attached to one of it's breaks. The baseball game I didn't play. All I did was watch a game at McCarthy Park in Buffalo. A warm up session involving a missed catch, a ricochet, my turning my head and bam- one broken nose. I'm still not too fond of seeing baseballs coming at my face. But it was 30 years ago. The spine involved a horse, a jump and far more guts than brains. I believed I was going to clear the jump on the horse, I was wrong. Ben Hur went right and I did not. Sounds like a Buffalo Bills moment- wide right. It was a defining moment- I have excellent posture as a result of all the time in a back brace while I healed. I did get back on the horse- a year later when I could ride again. There are some other funny stories about various breaks and fractures- like how I slammed my thumb in the car door and it was locked, or getting punched in gym class for mentioning the girl next to me was more 'developed' than the rest of us in sixth grade, the getting hit by a car in the March of Dimes Superwalk and having my knee wrecked. Oddly enough most of these memories have become funny- or at least funnier than they were at the time they happened.
I have very fond memories of growing up in University Heights. Our street had a park at one end, an island in the middle and was on a hill. Skate boarding, roller skating and sledding were all fun. Unless you were my Dad who broke his leg skateboarding when he hit the gravel and debris at the edge of the road (we did warn him to stay in the middle of the street.). Times were VERY different then. It was nothing for me to leave the house early and be gone all day without telling my mother much of my plans. she could ring to one friends house who may say we had left for another who would then pass along that we had gone to yet another house. Things were just slower and more relaxed. Childhood was not as structured as it is today. All these enrichment activities and scheduled classes were not as common. Most everyone I knew took piano for awhile with the same teacher- at her house, dance or gymnastics right after school and scouts. Maybe one or two things at a time. Playdates were NOT arranged by parents very often. Sometimes if there were new kids the new parents would approach our parents and set up a playdate at their house to meet the new kid. Mostly playdates consisted of yelling "see ya Saturday." as I ran home to dinner. We played in each others homes yards, garages and trees- sometimes even if the kid who lived there wasn't home. We all went to see the kid with the chicken pox so we'd all be sick together. An entire neighborhood of pox covered kids now would prompt a FEMA response, the CDC to consider a quarantine and child welfare agencies to look askance at the parents. Did I mention that bicycle protective gear consisted of long pants and shirt as opposed to shorts and T shirt? Falling off the bike meant picking road grit out of your wound with a dozen of your closest friends helping- nothing like possible blood borne pathogens there.
While it sounds like there was no supervision at all, there was actually no end of supervision. Every adult in the area watched us- and yelled at us for being bad, stupid, dangerous and whatever else they decided to yell over. If you got hurt there was no shortage of adults to help. Someone would come rushing outside at the first sound of crying. They would either take you into their bathroom, wash you up and slather iodine on your cut followed by a band aid (read that as red badge of courage) and call your mom or send another kid to get your mom. I don't recall any lawsuits over who bandaged my numerous skinned knees. Fights were usually settled by flailing fists until whatever the problem had been was deemed solved by the rest of us or by yelling and name calling. None of it did any irreparable damage and some taught me faster lessons than getting yelled at by my parents. Water balloon wars were fought by boys against girls- always. Snowball fights were against whoever you could hit. Driveways were to be shovelled first- then play. The rules of childhood were simple but written in stone. When Mom rang the cast iron bell I had to go home and if I was inside some one's house and anyone else heard it, they would get me. We didn't 'leave a man behind' to get punished for being late to dinner. Bigger kids crossed little kids into the park. They refereed fights and settled lesser arguments. Sometimes they even put on magic shows for us. They didn't bully us for our shoes, jacket, electronics (not that we had electronics) or anything else.
In our neighborhood we were the odd family. The hippie family. There was another hippie family for awhile but they moved. We didn't have TV and we grew our own vegetables. My dad drove a corvette (right- not very hippie but he liked 'vettes.). Ours was the place everyone went to tinker on cars- and help Dad build corvettes. My mother brought the teeter totter into the house one day when it started to rain. It was a large hand carved wooden (think Brio and Haba, now) thing that I wish I had today. The other parents thought we were nuts and the kids loved it. Boy do I wish things were that simple for my kids. But lets be honest- times changed.
I walked to school until fourth grade. I went to a school which is now an art gallery. I can still remember my classrooms and the utility room where I would clean erasers after school. That school closed and I went to a larger school for one year. It was awful. I loved my teacher but I hated the bus, the size, staying there for lunch ( I had walked home for lunch before)and pretty much everything about it outside my classroom. That seems to be the beginning of the changes. Fifth grade I went to yet another school where I stayed until eleventh grade. But things were changing and we were all going to different schools in my neighborhood. I went to a public school (remember- hippie parents) and almost everyone else went to the local catholic school. New friends, new hobbies and new schools kept us apart.
Fast forward to today and I rarely drive through my old neighborhood anymore although my mother lives just minutes away from that house. The park is still there but it looks like it's rarely played in, the houses are the same but they feel different. Some of the families are still there, some are not. I guess I miss what it was more than I wonder what it is now. Some memories are sacred and don't need to be tarnished by the reality of today colliding with the wild abandon of then. So I usually take a main road by the old neighborhood and visit my mother. As for my kids- they have woods in the yard and a small town to grow up in. That will have to fuel their future reminiscences of their childhoods.
#1 looked at me recently after I told her about my childhood (edited so she wouldn't do half the stupid dangerous stuff I did) and she said, with total sincerity, "I wish I was around back in the good old days." I wasn't sure if I wanted to wring her little neck for making my childhood into the 'good old days' or hug her. We compromised for laughing that I wasn't THAT old- yet- and that she can make her own set of 'good old days' memories to tell her kids. So I have a birthday to attend to. I wonder how old I'll be when I can plan my own party and it will still be a surprise party???? Maybe next year at the rate my memory is going.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
The Turkey Cometh
So it's less than a week to Thanksgiving. This year I'm slightly ahead of the game. I've got the turkey and sides already. The pies will get done and I'm only lacking whipping cream and cranberry sauce. I tried to get the cranberries but there was a mob by the display so I'm going to get them on my final pass through the market next week. Not too many decorations for Thanksgiving- some leaves and window clings courtesy of #1, a construction paper turkey by #2 and that's about it. Thanksgiving is like the middle child- it was never the first or last. Most of my current focus for decorations is Christmas- little paper mittens and stockings for a garland, paper cones for the advent calendar, some glue and glitter for the paper decor, a new vacuum bag for after the paper decorating, lots of little lights strung hither and yon. Little Christmas books, candles, frames, statues, stuffed animals, etc. everywhere. There is nothing as fun as stringing the 600 mini lights along the dining room molding and windows. Last year I used little transparent 3M sticky hooks to help hold the lights in place- please cross your fingers that I can find them in time to use them again this year. I have a knack for putting things in a safe place that I'll surely remember next time I need whatever. Someday I'll find so many things on time I'll finally have that psychotic break I've been waiting on.
So I agreed to be tech support for #2s class. I get to learn the Boardmaker computer program. What is that you ask? It is a program from Mayer-Johnson for communication with language delayed or impaired individuals. It is a bit daunting but I think I'll be OK. There are cool tutorials on the website and the instruction manual is huge! The goal is to create pictures with words to help the class learn the words at the same time as facilitating communication. Autism being the minefield of possibilities that it is you never really know what will work. One of my goals is to get him onto a schedule at home to ease the tantrums. He will be able to look at a book and follow the list without much help after learning all the various components. Sounds like me and my PDA. Where am I supposed to be and what do I need to get done. Same idea but it will also factor in the life skills he needs to master- getting dressed himself, brushing hair and teeth- with different brushes- breakfast, hand and face washing, etc. It's a huge list if you stop to think of all the little things we all have to do daily. Anyways, back to tech support for the class- I get to make the activity boards, pictures needed for class use or in the home to augment learning, schedules in pictures, etc. If you've heard of PECS- picture exchange communication system, you get the idea. Some of the pictures are funny- I mean that in both senses of the word. The brush your teeth picture has no nose or eyes, because the focus is on brushing the teeth. Wish me luck, I think I'm gonna be really busy!
So I agreed to be tech support for #2s class. I get to learn the Boardmaker computer program. What is that you ask? It is a program from Mayer-Johnson for communication with language delayed or impaired individuals. It is a bit daunting but I think I'll be OK. There are cool tutorials on the website and the instruction manual is huge! The goal is to create pictures with words to help the class learn the words at the same time as facilitating communication. Autism being the minefield of possibilities that it is you never really know what will work. One of my goals is to get him onto a schedule at home to ease the tantrums. He will be able to look at a book and follow the list without much help after learning all the various components. Sounds like me and my PDA. Where am I supposed to be and what do I need to get done. Same idea but it will also factor in the life skills he needs to master- getting dressed himself, brushing hair and teeth- with different brushes- breakfast, hand and face washing, etc. It's a huge list if you stop to think of all the little things we all have to do daily. Anyways, back to tech support for the class- I get to make the activity boards, pictures needed for class use or in the home to augment learning, schedules in pictures, etc. If you've heard of PECS- picture exchange communication system, you get the idea. Some of the pictures are funny- I mean that in both senses of the word. The brush your teeth picture has no nose or eyes, because the focus is on brushing the teeth. Wish me luck, I think I'm gonna be really busy!
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Reading can be hazardous to my health
Happy November.
I have finally been forced to entertain the idea that reading is dangerous. Not as in it's gonna kill me but in the it's gonna drive me crazy kind of dangerous. You may be wondering what kind of reading I'm talking about. It's not the big expensive Christmas wishlist catalogs I'm talking about, it's not even my reading that's the problem. #1 has taken to reading everything she can. It doesn't matter what it is, she reads it to me and if she can't figure out the word she spells it to me. Right, I know, that's great- she is really trying hard to read and expand her knowledge. Welllllll, we all know a little knowledge is a dangerous thing, right. Well so is a little reading. Especially when the conversation runs something like this-
#1 "Mom, how fast are you going?"
Mom "47"
#1 "The sign said the speed limit is 45. You're speeding!"
Mom (thinking I'll change the focus to something safer- like math) "How many miles per hour over the speed limit am I?" (Dumb move, Mom)
#1 " Mooooom, the speed limit is 45, it doesn't matter how many miles over the limit you are, the police officer is going to arrest you."
Mom "huh- what police officer?"
#1 "Can I have your cell phone?"
Mom "No, why?"
#1 "So I can call the police and tell them you are speeding."
Mom "Not gonna happen. I'm doing 45 now so you can relax."
#1 "Can you hurry, I hafta go to the bathroom."
It's a no win situation sometimes. The good twin said "sure honey, I'll speed right home so you can pee." The bad twin said "the speed limit is 45." I'm pretty sure that the internal argument over how to respond is leading me closer to a nervous breakdown. I find that remaining silent after this type of discussion is the best choice. Nobody gets their feelings hurt and nobody learns any words they don't need to use at a later date. I find it's usually easier to drive with #2 that #1, he doesn't feel the need to interject pithy commentaries in the middle of a song I love and haven't heard in a million years. On the other hand since #2 doesn't talk- ever, it does get boring sometimes to drive with him. Unless you count odd noises from the back seat. Try checking on odd noises at 55 on the thruway. Usually I just take for granted he is being himself and having a strange noise interlude. The rear view mirror is not helpful, by the time you get it adjusted to see what he is doing he's quiet and gazing happily out the window. By the time I get it back to seeing the truck behind me he's making odd noises again. I think children realize the amazing power they have when they are in the car and abuse it.
I love the fact that #1 is really off and running (amok) with this whole reading thing. I love to read and actually will read anything put in front of me, which explains why I know so much about the kids cereal. I have no recollection of being like this as a child.
"What does no turn on red mean, Mommy?"
"It means you can't make a right turn when the light is red."
"Can you turn left?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Can we talk about this when we get home and I can explain about the flow of traffic and crossing lanes of traffic, oh nuts- that was our turn."
"Why did you go by our turn?"
"I was talking and not thinking."
"Can't you think and talk at the same time?"
"Yes, but I can't seem to think, talk and drive all at the same time."
Oh the things we say when we are doing other things. Or worse the things I've almost said while doing other things-
"Mommy, Can I live at home with you forever?"
"NO!!!!!" narrowly caught before falling out of my mouth.
Lets look at some of the conversational cliff hangers. We all know the way kids ask questions that have a good answer, a better answer and a please don't let me say that one answer. Shall we visit a few of my favorites and review the good, better and bite your tongue answers?
#1 "Why did you want kids?"
good- "Daddy and I thought the Grandmas deserved some grandchildren."
better- "Daddy and I wanted a little girl just like you."
Bite your tongue- "Jack Daniels made it seem like a swell idea."
#2 "Where did I come from?"
good- "The hospital."
Better- "Mommy's belly."
bite your tongue- "Mars."
#3"Is math hard?"
good- "No."
Better- "I'll always help you learn math."
Bite your tongue- "Yes."
#4"Will my goldfish go to heaven?"
Good- "I'm sure your goldfish is happy where ever they go."
Better- "I'm sure your goldfish is in goldfish heaven right now."
Bite your tongue- "No, it went to the septic tank."
Why is it that the bite your tongue answer is usually the first one you think of? Am I the only one in the universe who has these good mommy/bad mommy moments where I have to actually weigh my answers against how it could be repeated back in public?
I've come up with a new plan to annoy telemarketers. I give the phone to #1 and let her get some phone manners practice. She's quite polite but really getting indignant that they keep hanging up on her. How rude can they be? Hey, you call my house during the dinner hour and you can expect to talk to whomever I hand the phone to- including the dog, who is NOT much of a conversationalist but he sure can do loud breathing. They should be thankful I don't put them on speaker so they can hear all the commotion and strange questions. "Mommy, why do they call during dinner?" "Because they figure we're home to be annoyed." "What's for dinner?" "I don't remember what I made but grab some while it's hot." "Hey #2, sit on the chair, not the table. #1 use a fork. #2 eat off your own plate." Dinner here does have a twilight zone quality to it most nights. Then they all go to their own little areas after dinner and I can almost believe I'm alone in the house for 3.5 minutes until the next drama begins something like this.... "mom, he's touching/stealing/looking at something of mine." And we are off for more fun.
I have finally been forced to entertain the idea that reading is dangerous. Not as in it's gonna kill me but in the it's gonna drive me crazy kind of dangerous. You may be wondering what kind of reading I'm talking about. It's not the big expensive Christmas wishlist catalogs I'm talking about, it's not even my reading that's the problem. #1 has taken to reading everything she can. It doesn't matter what it is, she reads it to me and if she can't figure out the word she spells it to me. Right, I know, that's great- she is really trying hard to read and expand her knowledge. Welllllll, we all know a little knowledge is a dangerous thing, right. Well so is a little reading. Especially when the conversation runs something like this-
#1 "Mom, how fast are you going?"
Mom "47"
#1 "The sign said the speed limit is 45. You're speeding!"
Mom (thinking I'll change the focus to something safer- like math) "How many miles per hour over the speed limit am I?" (Dumb move, Mom)
#1 " Mooooom, the speed limit is 45, it doesn't matter how many miles over the limit you are, the police officer is going to arrest you."
Mom "huh- what police officer?"
#1 "Can I have your cell phone?"
Mom "No, why?"
#1 "So I can call the police and tell them you are speeding."
Mom "Not gonna happen. I'm doing 45 now so you can relax."
#1 "Can you hurry, I hafta go to the bathroom."
It's a no win situation sometimes. The good twin said "sure honey, I'll speed right home so you can pee." The bad twin said "the speed limit is 45." I'm pretty sure that the internal argument over how to respond is leading me closer to a nervous breakdown. I find that remaining silent after this type of discussion is the best choice. Nobody gets their feelings hurt and nobody learns any words they don't need to use at a later date. I find it's usually easier to drive with #2 that #1, he doesn't feel the need to interject pithy commentaries in the middle of a song I love and haven't heard in a million years. On the other hand since #2 doesn't talk- ever, it does get boring sometimes to drive with him. Unless you count odd noises from the back seat. Try checking on odd noises at 55 on the thruway. Usually I just take for granted he is being himself and having a strange noise interlude. The rear view mirror is not helpful, by the time you get it adjusted to see what he is doing he's quiet and gazing happily out the window. By the time I get it back to seeing the truck behind me he's making odd noises again. I think children realize the amazing power they have when they are in the car and abuse it.
I love the fact that #1 is really off and running (amok) with this whole reading thing. I love to read and actually will read anything put in front of me, which explains why I know so much about the kids cereal. I have no recollection of being like this as a child.
"What does no turn on red mean, Mommy?"
"It means you can't make a right turn when the light is red."
"Can you turn left?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Can we talk about this when we get home and I can explain about the flow of traffic and crossing lanes of traffic, oh nuts- that was our turn."
"Why did you go by our turn?"
"I was talking and not thinking."
"Can't you think and talk at the same time?"
"Yes, but I can't seem to think, talk and drive all at the same time."
Oh the things we say when we are doing other things. Or worse the things I've almost said while doing other things-
"Mommy, Can I live at home with you forever?"
"NO!!!!!" narrowly caught before falling out of my mouth.
Lets look at some of the conversational cliff hangers. We all know the way kids ask questions that have a good answer, a better answer and a please don't let me say that one answer. Shall we visit a few of my favorites and review the good, better and bite your tongue answers?
#1 "Why did you want kids?"
good- "Daddy and I thought the Grandmas deserved some grandchildren."
better- "Daddy and I wanted a little girl just like you."
Bite your tongue- "Jack Daniels made it seem like a swell idea."
#2 "Where did I come from?"
good- "The hospital."
Better- "Mommy's belly."
bite your tongue- "Mars."
#3"Is math hard?"
good- "No."
Better- "I'll always help you learn math."
Bite your tongue- "Yes."
#4"Will my goldfish go to heaven?"
Good- "I'm sure your goldfish is happy where ever they go."
Better- "I'm sure your goldfish is in goldfish heaven right now."
Bite your tongue- "No, it went to the septic tank."
Why is it that the bite your tongue answer is usually the first one you think of? Am I the only one in the universe who has these good mommy/bad mommy moments where I have to actually weigh my answers against how it could be repeated back in public?
I've come up with a new plan to annoy telemarketers. I give the phone to #1 and let her get some phone manners practice. She's quite polite but really getting indignant that they keep hanging up on her. How rude can they be? Hey, you call my house during the dinner hour and you can expect to talk to whomever I hand the phone to- including the dog, who is NOT much of a conversationalist but he sure can do loud breathing. They should be thankful I don't put them on speaker so they can hear all the commotion and strange questions. "Mommy, why do they call during dinner?" "Because they figure we're home to be annoyed." "What's for dinner?" "I don't remember what I made but grab some while it's hot." "Hey #2, sit on the chair, not the table. #1 use a fork. #2 eat off your own plate." Dinner here does have a twilight zone quality to it most nights. Then they all go to their own little areas after dinner and I can almost believe I'm alone in the house for 3.5 minutes until the next drama begins something like this.... "mom, he's touching/stealing/looking at something of mine." And we are off for more fun.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Happy Birthday to Captain Dan
My kid brother had his birthday this past Friday. My only contact with him for the day was email. Once upon a time I would have called him and razzed him about getting older but with him being in Iraq that's pretty much impossible. So I sent him a gift card to Amazon and hope he'll get something he will enjoy. I know him and figure it'll be books most likely. So let me give a brief overview of my little brother. First I use that term since everyone who knows us will laugh. He is nearly a foot taller than I am and about 2x my weight. OK- yup, I'm small but he's also big. I am nearly 4 years older so I have no intention of spilling his age (16- hahahahaha). I wanted a puppy, I think that says quite a bit, don't you? The fact that I got a naked, useless, smelly, crying creature was not what I had in mind. I was thinking small, cute, sorta hairy, would grow into a great friend in a few months. In a few months all I had was a smelly, crying, useless in a onesie kinda pet. Needless to say house training him was slow going. We'll get to the leash later. He wasn't all bad, he kept the parents busy and out of my way. So the years went by and still I waited for him to become as fun as my mother promised he would. Finally, after years of torture and pain he's not so useless. Still smelly- his shoes could cripple, not quite as naked but there are laws about that, and less prone to crying than to long amazing strings of profanity. I don't wish he was a puppy as often now.
So let me regale you with some of the moments when I wished he was a puppy- or something wild I could release and never see again. One of the most memorable moments was when, on MY birthday, he announced to my date "Gee XXX, you're not as fat as my sister said you were." I really wanted a suspension of the first commandment for that birthday, although I'm pretty sure it would have been viewed as justifiable homicide had my parents not protected the little spawn of Satan. Little brothers make nice decorations gagged in my opinion- and it could extend their life span. Or how about the story that still makes my mother laugh til her eyes water- the eggs. I like hard boiled eggs and would often boil 6 or 8 at a time. To keep the boiled from getting confused with the fresh (NOT boiled- RAW!!!) eggs I would write HB in pencil on them. Do we all see where this story is going????? OK, so as I come in the kitchen one day and smack the HB egg on the counter and it runs everywhere I realize only the spawn could have done this. According to my mother (who is still straight faced at this point) she was there when my brother (I was switched at birth- where is my rich birth family when I need them?!?) walked in, opened the fridge, took 2 eggs out with the letters HB clearly written on them, peeled and ate them. She did feel the need to mention that I might be aggravated (she is smiling and trying not to laugh by now) so critter says not to worry, takes 2 eggs that have no HB written on them (RAW!!!!), asks her for a pencil- WHICH SHE GIVES HIM, LIKE A GOOD LITTLE ENABLER- and he writes HB and puts them right where he found the other two eggs. By this time she is laughing with no attempt to hide it. The eternal question from this episode of long, long ago- what happened to the second raw HB egg? Dunno- I quit making HB eggs, kept labeling them HB in an attempt to settle the score but I didn't boil another egg until I had my own apartment.
Now that we are both older and some time has passed I don't get mad at him all over again for that. He and I actually get along- as my mother said we would. Now we get along like any two people from a moderately weird family and laugh about the moments we thought would kill us. We laugh about our kids- my 2 and his 3, our lives, our family- that gets some real good laughs and our differences. The size difference is just the start- and the most glaring. Most people would not think we are related unless they spoke to both of us for awhile. A dry sense of humor, odd turns of phrase and a strange candor mark us as related.
Since most people by now think he was only evil as a child, let me give an example of the budding camaraderie as we grew up. No one beat up my brother but me. Twisted logic but hey, we were kids. One day we were home at the same time, watching the news when we saw a piece on a woman with leukemia who needed to find a bone marrow donor. There was a drive at a church not terribly far from us. He looked at me and said "Wanna go?" So we went and got tested and listed as potential donors for someone we never met- cause it seemed like the right thing to do. I think I was about 24 or so. He was 4 years younger then, too. The day that my grandfather died in January 1999, we drove all around making arrangements with the funeral home and then to the VA to get a flag since he had been in the Army in WWII. I remember him showing his Army ID and getting in no problem while I beeped my little heart out in the metal detector. To this day I have no idea what was beeping- I was ready to (and said so out loud) strip naked and go to the 7th floor of the old Dulski Federal building in Buffalo to get the flag but the guard finally waved me over for a hand held wand check- which DIDN"T beep. I had taken off my coat and the pile of stuff on it was impressive- I had no idea jeans pockets could hole so much. My brother made sure to point out I got waved over as I threatened to strip naked- hmmmm I think I was being insulted. We got through the day and got everything set up pretty well for a pair who had never done that sort of thing before. His good friend Dave Z., also Army, showed up in uniform for the service- in a freezing cold damn blizzard- to present the flag and stand at attention for the fallen soldier. I guess he has to be a good guy to have friends like Dave.
So my brother is Army- he's in Iraq for his third time. If all soldiers were as upstanding as my brother there would be no questions about improper behavior. One thing I can say without fear of being challenged- the boy's got Honor. That's right Honor with a capital H. It's a big thing to my family to behave and live an honorable life. He's still my little brother and NOBODY gets to beat him up but me, and his kids and my kids. Nobody else. So I'm going to close this with the same thing I say everyday when I wake up- "God keep him safe and get him home OK."
Happy Birthday kiddo, may you have many, many more.
So let me regale you with some of the moments when I wished he was a puppy- or something wild I could release and never see again. One of the most memorable moments was when, on MY birthday, he announced to my date "Gee XXX, you're not as fat as my sister said you were." I really wanted a suspension of the first commandment for that birthday, although I'm pretty sure it would have been viewed as justifiable homicide had my parents not protected the little spawn of Satan. Little brothers make nice decorations gagged in my opinion- and it could extend their life span. Or how about the story that still makes my mother laugh til her eyes water- the eggs. I like hard boiled eggs and would often boil 6 or 8 at a time. To keep the boiled from getting confused with the fresh (NOT boiled- RAW!!!) eggs I would write HB in pencil on them. Do we all see where this story is going????? OK, so as I come in the kitchen one day and smack the HB egg on the counter and it runs everywhere I realize only the spawn could have done this. According to my mother (who is still straight faced at this point) she was there when my brother (I was switched at birth- where is my rich birth family when I need them?!?) walked in, opened the fridge, took 2 eggs out with the letters HB clearly written on them, peeled and ate them. She did feel the need to mention that I might be aggravated (she is smiling and trying not to laugh by now) so critter says not to worry, takes 2 eggs that have no HB written on them (RAW!!!!), asks her for a pencil- WHICH SHE GIVES HIM, LIKE A GOOD LITTLE ENABLER- and he writes HB and puts them right where he found the other two eggs. By this time she is laughing with no attempt to hide it. The eternal question from this episode of long, long ago- what happened to the second raw HB egg? Dunno- I quit making HB eggs, kept labeling them HB in an attempt to settle the score but I didn't boil another egg until I had my own apartment.
Now that we are both older and some time has passed I don't get mad at him all over again for that. He and I actually get along- as my mother said we would. Now we get along like any two people from a moderately weird family and laugh about the moments we thought would kill us. We laugh about our kids- my 2 and his 3, our lives, our family- that gets some real good laughs and our differences. The size difference is just the start- and the most glaring. Most people would not think we are related unless they spoke to both of us for awhile. A dry sense of humor, odd turns of phrase and a strange candor mark us as related.
Since most people by now think he was only evil as a child, let me give an example of the budding camaraderie as we grew up. No one beat up my brother but me. Twisted logic but hey, we were kids. One day we were home at the same time, watching the news when we saw a piece on a woman with leukemia who needed to find a bone marrow donor. There was a drive at a church not terribly far from us. He looked at me and said "Wanna go?" So we went and got tested and listed as potential donors for someone we never met- cause it seemed like the right thing to do. I think I was about 24 or so. He was 4 years younger then, too. The day that my grandfather died in January 1999, we drove all around making arrangements with the funeral home and then to the VA to get a flag since he had been in the Army in WWII. I remember him showing his Army ID and getting in no problem while I beeped my little heart out in the metal detector. To this day I have no idea what was beeping- I was ready to (and said so out loud) strip naked and go to the 7th floor of the old Dulski Federal building in Buffalo to get the flag but the guard finally waved me over for a hand held wand check- which DIDN"T beep. I had taken off my coat and the pile of stuff on it was impressive- I had no idea jeans pockets could hole so much. My brother made sure to point out I got waved over as I threatened to strip naked- hmmmm I think I was being insulted. We got through the day and got everything set up pretty well for a pair who had never done that sort of thing before. His good friend Dave Z., also Army, showed up in uniform for the service- in a freezing cold damn blizzard- to present the flag and stand at attention for the fallen soldier. I guess he has to be a good guy to have friends like Dave.
So my brother is Army- he's in Iraq for his third time. If all soldiers were as upstanding as my brother there would be no questions about improper behavior. One thing I can say without fear of being challenged- the boy's got Honor. That's right Honor with a capital H. It's a big thing to my family to behave and live an honorable life. He's still my little brother and NOBODY gets to beat him up but me, and his kids and my kids. Nobody else. So I'm going to close this with the same thing I say everyday when I wake up- "God keep him safe and get him home OK."
Happy Birthday kiddo, may you have many, many more.
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