Caroline's alter ego of the day derives from her older brother's obsession. As we merrily filled 50 water balloons this morning on the patio (all of which were demolished within 5 minutes at the party, thank you very much), she informed me that she was Calvin, and I was Hobbes. For the rest of the day, I was expected to address her as such. If I lapsed, she'd remind me like this:
"'What are you doing, Hobbes?' says Calvin."
Ian used to do the exact same thing. Not the alter ego thing, he's never done that, but the narration, as if he's reading aloud a book about himself. "'Look at the dump truck, Mama!'... Ian shouted." It always made me want to scoop up his old-souled toddler self and cover him in kisses, and it turns out I'm still just as susceptible this time around.
I am way too bushed tonight to give particulars about the party or to regale you with my lofty reflections about my firstborn turning eight and all the life lessons he has inadvertently bestowed upon me. Maybe tomorrow. In the meantime, let's hear it for the CAFFEINE AND WATER BALLOONS party-planning strategy! Highly recommended!
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Monday, July 28, 2008
Crazy Day
Highlight of insanely busy time that was today: Taking my niece, who turned 8 today, to see Kit Kittredge: An American Girl. One of those rare movies that is genuinely G-rated and entirely pleasant. Besides, I got one-on-one time with Ashley, who's getting too old for most toys anyway (We gave her a couple of the American Girl books, too). All in all, quite a treat!
Low point of today: Watching two adults, both apparently in their fifties, argue over a spot in line at Hobby Lobby (Hobby Lobby, folks! Not the soup kitchen!) The dialogue went something like this, as they migrated to a newly-opened register:
Man: Excuse me, I was ahead of you in line.
Woman: Mumble mumble [I think she said, "It's not that big a deal.")
Man: YES, it IS a big deal. I was here FIRST!
Woman: What an ass.
Man: No, YOU'RE an ass.
My jaw was literally hanging open. Had Mary Poppins been there, she'd have crisply intoned, "Close your mouth, Hannah; we are not a codfish." I honestly felt like planting myself in front of those people, particularly the man, and saying to them, "And what would your mama say if she could see you now?"
Silver lining of low point: I can congratulate myself for having successfully parented at least two of my young children past the maturity point of some adults out there. I think even Caroline could have given them a run for their money.
Low point of today: Watching two adults, both apparently in their fifties, argue over a spot in line at Hobby Lobby (Hobby Lobby, folks! Not the soup kitchen!) The dialogue went something like this, as they migrated to a newly-opened register:
Man: Excuse me, I was ahead of you in line.
Woman: Mumble mumble [I think she said, "It's not that big a deal.")
Man: YES, it IS a big deal. I was here FIRST!
Woman: What an ass.
Man: No, YOU'RE an ass.
My jaw was literally hanging open. Had Mary Poppins been there, she'd have crisply intoned, "Close your mouth, Hannah; we are not a codfish." I honestly felt like planting myself in front of those people, particularly the man, and saying to them, "And what would your mama say if she could see you now?"
Silver lining of low point: I can congratulate myself for having successfully parented at least two of my young children past the maturity point of some adults out there. I think even Caroline could have given them a run for their money.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Sure is quiet
Um. Not to complain or be needy or anything but, gosh, is everyone on vacation? I know Jenny, my most faithful leaver of comments, is traveling, but all of sudden it seems that the trickle of cyberlove has dried up. I'd better come up with SOMETHING to dazzle the readers I keep discovering I have before everyone falls asleep or goes off to read The New York Times or something.
But therein lies the problem. NOTHING exciting is happening around here. Is it possible to write an entire blog post in which I do nothing but kvetch about the heat and how it is slowly but surely sapping any semblance of energy or motivation I previously had? Methinks this is whence the phrase "dog days of summer" arose. My gosh, I knew I was a bit on the lazy and dispassionate side, but lately? It's like I'm moving through my day in a vat of Jell-O.
For example. We just returned from my niece's 8th birthday party, an outdoor affair at which any sane guests (meaning the adults) all vied for seats in the shadiest spots. The insane ones, of course, were in the pool, taking refuge under water. But my sister-in-law, in the space of an afternoon, managed to transform her home from the tornado path it had reportedly been to company-ready presentability, and then throw a barbecue, complete with hand-decorated cakes, without ever showing a trace of sweat or a smudge of melted mascara. I'm not sure I ever saw her sit down for more than two minutes put together. I, on the meantime, was at my most celebratory while sprawled, motionless, in the hammock under a tree with my two year old. I actually had enough spare energy to speak coherently! And laugh! Out loud!
And here's even worse news. On Tuesday evening, it's MY turn to throw a party. Ian is turning eight, and he has the itch to boogie woogie! I managed to convince him (meaning, I wrote it on the invitations and mailed them, then informed him) to have the party at a nearby park and pool, rather than our house. The idea of a mob of hyper tweens, fueled by a frightening cocktail of testosterone and cake, stampeding through our house and small yard just made me need to lie down. Maybe permanently.
OK, so we're at the park, but still! Providing pizza, cake and activities for about thirty people (including adults and siblings) requires ENERGY. And ORGANIZATIONAL SKILLS.
Or maybe just plenty of CAFFEINE. And WATER BALLOONS.
But therein lies the problem. NOTHING exciting is happening around here. Is it possible to write an entire blog post in which I do nothing but kvetch about the heat and how it is slowly but surely sapping any semblance of energy or motivation I previously had? Methinks this is whence the phrase "dog days of summer" arose. My gosh, I knew I was a bit on the lazy and dispassionate side, but lately? It's like I'm moving through my day in a vat of Jell-O.
For example. We just returned from my niece's 8th birthday party, an outdoor affair at which any sane guests (meaning the adults) all vied for seats in the shadiest spots. The insane ones, of course, were in the pool, taking refuge under water. But my sister-in-law, in the space of an afternoon, managed to transform her home from the tornado path it had reportedly been to company-ready presentability, and then throw a barbecue, complete with hand-decorated cakes, without ever showing a trace of sweat or a smudge of melted mascara. I'm not sure I ever saw her sit down for more than two minutes put together. I, on the meantime, was at my most celebratory while sprawled, motionless, in the hammock under a tree with my two year old. I actually had enough spare energy to speak coherently! And laugh! Out loud!
And here's even worse news. On Tuesday evening, it's MY turn to throw a party. Ian is turning eight, and he has the itch to boogie woogie! I managed to convince him (meaning, I wrote it on the invitations and mailed them, then informed him) to have the party at a nearby park and pool, rather than our house. The idea of a mob of hyper tweens, fueled by a frightening cocktail of testosterone and cake, stampeding through our house and small yard just made me need to lie down. Maybe permanently.
OK, so we're at the park, but still! Providing pizza, cake and activities for about thirty people (including adults and siblings) requires ENERGY. And ORGANIZATIONAL SKILLS.
Or maybe just plenty of CAFFEINE. And WATER BALLOONS.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Randy Pausch, Rest in Peace
One of the people I mentioned (the most famous one) in my Sunshine and Shadows post, Randy Pausch, died yesterday of complications from pancreatic cancer. Here is the link to the news article/obituary.
Friday, July 25, 2008
Define Normal
This morning I was all ready to compose a post stating the following: "We're back to normal, the kids are getting along relatively well again after the constant bickering in Boston, the impulsive behaviors are down to a dull roar, my blood pressure is subsiding to its typical near-comatose levels."
OK, OK. Revision. "We're back to normal, which these days seems to mean that the kids have assumed their roles of making threatening moves (Ian) to elicit blood-curdling screams (Eliza) and frustrated slaps (Caroline). And I, of course, have a headache."
But aside from all that, I'm struck again by how dependent we are on our morning routine. By "we," I mostly mean Ian, which reminds me of how the psychiatrist said that kids like him, appearances to the contrary, really do function best with a high degree of structure. In our house, that means that nothing happens before the Morning List is done. Really, this is one of my most successful areas of parenting. I may be totally deficient in a number of areas (making crafts, planning birthday parties, etc.etc.), but by golly, we do the Morning List. Here's how it works. Back in September, I wrote the following five steps out on a whiteboard in the hallway: 1- Eat breakfast and clear dishes [this is when we read our Bible story]. 2- Get dressed, and put away pajamas. 3- Brush Teeth. 4 - Feed pet. 5- Do morning chore (ask Mom). Ian and Eliza each had a magnetized, laminated picture of him or herself, which they'd move down the board as they finished each step.
Well, the list has worked wonders for Ian (Eliza, not so much). He just DOES it now, and knows that his computer time hinges on completing the list first. The chore is anything from helping empty the dishwasher to wiping off the kitchen table and counters to starting a load of laundry to vacuuming a room. Hurray! Maybe I need to do a list for our entire DAY.
Okay, not really. I couldn't handle that. But it IS cute to have Caroline run up to me on occasion and inquire in her 2-year-old voice, "Mom, what's my morning chore?"
Yesterday -- AFTER the Morning List, of course -- my Mother-in-law and I took my three kids plus two similar-aged nieces to the IMAX show at the Texas History Museum. Here was the best part. As she and I sat at the outdoor cafe munching on our caesar salads and watching five kids pretty much swing from the chandeliers around us (as I told my SIL when she picked up her kids later, "The children were very ENTHUSIASTIC about the museum"), I mentioned to her with a sigh that I'd had some rather wild and impulsive behavior to police during the recent trip. She sort of blinked at me and said, "But isn't that just how kids are when they're traveling?"
And for that, she earned big brownie points from this tired mama.
OK, OK. Revision. "We're back to normal, which these days seems to mean that the kids have assumed their roles of making threatening moves (Ian) to elicit blood-curdling screams (Eliza) and frustrated slaps (Caroline). And I, of course, have a headache."
But aside from all that, I'm struck again by how dependent we are on our morning routine. By "we," I mostly mean Ian, which reminds me of how the psychiatrist said that kids like him, appearances to the contrary, really do function best with a high degree of structure. In our house, that means that nothing happens before the Morning List is done. Really, this is one of my most successful areas of parenting. I may be totally deficient in a number of areas (making crafts, planning birthday parties, etc.etc.), but by golly, we do the Morning List. Here's how it works. Back in September, I wrote the following five steps out on a whiteboard in the hallway: 1- Eat breakfast and clear dishes [this is when we read our Bible story]. 2- Get dressed, and put away pajamas. 3- Brush Teeth. 4 - Feed pet. 5- Do morning chore (ask Mom). Ian and Eliza each had a magnetized, laminated picture of him or herself, which they'd move down the board as they finished each step.
Well, the list has worked wonders for Ian (Eliza, not so much). He just DOES it now, and knows that his computer time hinges on completing the list first. The chore is anything from helping empty the dishwasher to wiping off the kitchen table and counters to starting a load of laundry to vacuuming a room. Hurray! Maybe I need to do a list for our entire DAY.
Okay, not really. I couldn't handle that. But it IS cute to have Caroline run up to me on occasion and inquire in her 2-year-old voice, "Mom, what's my morning chore?"
Yesterday -- AFTER the Morning List, of course -- my Mother-in-law and I took my three kids plus two similar-aged nieces to the IMAX show at the Texas History Museum. Here was the best part. As she and I sat at the outdoor cafe munching on our caesar salads and watching five kids pretty much swing from the chandeliers around us (as I told my SIL when she picked up her kids later, "The children were very ENTHUSIASTIC about the museum"), I mentioned to her with a sigh that I'd had some rather wild and impulsive behavior to police during the recent trip. She sort of blinked at me and said, "But isn't that just how kids are when they're traveling?"
And for that, she earned big brownie points from this tired mama.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Home sweet home
We're back, and I'm like a walking -- no, sitting -- zombie right now between a very early flight and a long weekend of high-intensity parenting, especially of a certain child whose ADHD seems to crescendo into a travel-induced mania. Note to self: NEVER TRAVEL WITHOUT HUSBAND AGAIN. At least, not with all three darlings.
But I DID get to see a bunch of very old friends at a wedding there, and I DID get to feel useful by getting up a couple times a night to help my dad turn over, and we DID pick blueberries under the blazing sun with my longsuffering sister, and I DID spend a delightful day with the Nelsons, which felt like the two-and-a-half year gap since our last meeting simply hadn't happened. The kids instantly re-bonded over throwing a teddy bear in and out of a window. Hey, whatever it takes. Why beat around the bush with "How was the trip?" niceties?
Thanks to my parents and sister for accommodating me and the Wild Things.
Oh! And one more thing before I enter a coma. We introduced my dad to letterboxing while up there, going on a merry hunt through the pet cemetery nearby (nicer than it sounds). He was quite impressive, off-roading in his power-chair. But the cutest thing was at the end, when Caroline found a tiny toad, chased it, caught it, determined to bring it home, and named it ... guess. Should be "Toady," right? According to the Laws of Toddler Pet-Naming?
Ha. Try "Arlene." Go figure.
But I DID get to see a bunch of very old friends at a wedding there, and I DID get to feel useful by getting up a couple times a night to help my dad turn over, and we DID pick blueberries under the blazing sun with my longsuffering sister, and I DID spend a delightful day with the Nelsons, which felt like the two-and-a-half year gap since our last meeting simply hadn't happened. The kids instantly re-bonded over throwing a teddy bear in and out of a window. Hey, whatever it takes. Why beat around the bush with "How was the trip?" niceties?
Thanks to my parents and sister for accommodating me and the Wild Things.
Oh! And one more thing before I enter a coma. We introduced my dad to letterboxing while up there, going on a merry hunt through the pet cemetery nearby (nicer than it sounds). He was quite impressive, off-roading in his power-chair. But the cutest thing was at the end, when Caroline found a tiny toad, chased it, caught it, determined to bring it home, and named it ... guess. Should be "Toady," right? According to the Laws of Toddler Pet-Naming?
Ha. Try "Arlene." Go figure.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Boston again
This has to be wicked quick because we're about to walk out to the door to the airport, doing our monthly part to keep JetBlue in business (Caroline, this morning: "Jetblue is saying (cue the squeaky voice) -- 'Caroline, I miss you! I'm ready for you to come see me!'"). I am so ready for a break from the daily 100 degree highs! Apart from the pleasure of seeing my parents, sister and BIL, etc., and trying very hard to be helpful and provide a nice distraction in the form of three lively kids, we also get a special bonus this time: seeing Jenny, Will and the kids!!! For the first time in 2.5 years!!! I am so hoping the kids all hit it off again; a lot can change in 2.5 years. Regardless, it'll be so good to see Jenny.
And like a herd of turtles, we're off!
And like a herd of turtles, we're off!
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