So, I've not posted anything for three days. Why would I do that, you might ask.
It's because nothing interesting has happened to me. And the title of this blog is "Interesting Things that Happen to Tracee." As a result, typing about the mundane would be....mundane.
Tonight, though, two interesting things happened.
One: my husband watched the kids while I went and played for the Wizard of Oz. They were asleep when I got home, and one of them was actually in pajamas! He told me all about the evening they spent at the park and McDonald's, and I could totally empathize with him about everything- taking the kids places, being exhausted, losing Happy Meal toys, blah blah blah. It was good to get out, even though my mouth hurts.
Two: While I was at the Wizard os Oz, I got hit with an apple. Not a real one either. The trees were throwing applrs at Dorothy and the Scarecrow and one of them hit me while I was playing....
And that was the super exciting Saturday......
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Depression
I'm depressed.
But, like a good control freak, I've narrowed it down to a couple of things.
Maybe it's because LOST ended. I've been watching it since it started and now it's gone. Forever.
I don't think it hit me until last night. The finale was on TV on Sunday, but LOST usually came on TV on Tuesdays. And when Tuesday came and went with no new episode, then it finally sunk in. It's over.
Maybe it's my allergies? They are baaaad. I thought that by preemptively starting Claritin in February I might miss being sick this spring. And it held the pollen at bay for a while.....
But now it's come back with a venegance. My ear is clogged. I'm way too congested (I have no idea how I am even still breathing). And I am coughing.
But, then again, it could be the fact that our work email changed to a different provider.
It's so different. I don't think I like it. If you know me well, you know I hate change. Items I use everyday cannot be moved from their place, so something I use as frequently as email having a big change is enough to give me a panic attack. Or maybe just a general feeling of unease.
It's also a busy time of year. Maybe that's the reason?
Concerts, musicals, end of the year items, testing, Ivy's school activities, recitals, piano lessons....it's all amassing at the speed of light and I feel like I am barely floundering from one day to the next. I'm on a ship in the midst of a hurricane and I am trying to keep one hand on the rail. It's enough to bring me down.
Another reason: my house.
It's dirty. Messy. I keep killing spiders. The yard's not looking good. The laundry's not done. I think the kids only have one more pair of clean underwear. The trash smells. But, I'm so exhausted when I get home that nothing is getting done until school's out.
I'm just going to have to suck it up and get over it.
But, like a good control freak, I've narrowed it down to a couple of things.
Maybe it's because LOST ended. I've been watching it since it started and now it's gone. Forever.
I don't think it hit me until last night. The finale was on TV on Sunday, but LOST usually came on TV on Tuesdays. And when Tuesday came and went with no new episode, then it finally sunk in. It's over.
Maybe it's my allergies? They are baaaad. I thought that by preemptively starting Claritin in February I might miss being sick this spring. And it held the pollen at bay for a while.....
But now it's come back with a venegance. My ear is clogged. I'm way too congested (I have no idea how I am even still breathing). And I am coughing.
But, then again, it could be the fact that our work email changed to a different provider.
It's so different. I don't think I like it. If you know me well, you know I hate change. Items I use everyday cannot be moved from their place, so something I use as frequently as email having a big change is enough to give me a panic attack. Or maybe just a general feeling of unease.
It's also a busy time of year. Maybe that's the reason?
Concerts, musicals, end of the year items, testing, Ivy's school activities, recitals, piano lessons....it's all amassing at the speed of light and I feel like I am barely floundering from one day to the next. I'm on a ship in the midst of a hurricane and I am trying to keep one hand on the rail. It's enough to bring me down.
Another reason: my house.
It's dirty. Messy. I keep killing spiders. The yard's not looking good. The laundry's not done. I think the kids only have one more pair of clean underwear. The trash smells. But, I'm so exhausted when I get home that nothing is getting done until school's out.
I'm just going to have to suck it up and get over it.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Dirt
Today was Ivy's first full time day of daycare (her preschool ended on Friday).
On Mondays, I usually pick the kids up from daycare, change Ivy's clothes and rush them to Ivy's ballet class. Today when I pulled in, I forgot for a moment that Ivy had been there all day...
But I was instantly reminded that she had when I looked at her. She was head-to-toe dirt. I looked over at Story who was sitting in the dirt throwing rocks. At other kids. Kids that were clean.
I looked around at the other kids not getting pummeled in the head by gravel. They were clean, too! Why did my two darlings feel it necessary to get as dirty as possible? I grabbed them both by their hands and took them to the daycare bathroom.
It was worse in the light. I immediately noticed the fine dust in Story's hair, the black depths between Ivy's toes...could I take her to ballet in this condition with a clear conscience? Wouldn't the teacher take one look at her and decide she was the "smelly kid" for today? I grabbed a wadful of toilet paper and wet it. I made several attempts to remove the most obvious dirt but all I could do was clean their faces and make semi-clean streaks on their legs.
I went ahead and put Ivy in her leotard and tights and took them to the car. Her practice clothes covered up the best part of the mess, so I felt okay about taking them.
At bathtime, I ran extra bubble bath and let them soak a long time. By the time we were done, the water had a dark brown tint.
On Mondays, I usually pick the kids up from daycare, change Ivy's clothes and rush them to Ivy's ballet class. Today when I pulled in, I forgot for a moment that Ivy had been there all day...
But I was instantly reminded that she had when I looked at her. She was head-to-toe dirt. I looked over at Story who was sitting in the dirt throwing rocks. At other kids. Kids that were clean.
I looked around at the other kids not getting pummeled in the head by gravel. They were clean, too! Why did my two darlings feel it necessary to get as dirty as possible? I grabbed them both by their hands and took them to the daycare bathroom.
It was worse in the light. I immediately noticed the fine dust in Story's hair, the black depths between Ivy's toes...could I take her to ballet in this condition with a clear conscience? Wouldn't the teacher take one look at her and decide she was the "smelly kid" for today? I grabbed a wadful of toilet paper and wet it. I made several attempts to remove the most obvious dirt but all I could do was clean their faces and make semi-clean streaks on their legs.
I went ahead and put Ivy in her leotard and tights and took them to the car. Her practice clothes covered up the best part of the mess, so I felt okay about taking them.
At bathtime, I ran extra bubble bath and let them soak a long time. By the time we were done, the water had a dark brown tint.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
The Bad Smell
Yesterday evening, I noticed that the kitchen had a Bad Smell. I thought maybe it was the garbage. I tied up the sack, took it out, and then lit a candle. Problem solved.
This morning when I woke up, I smelled the Bad Smell again. It smelled like raw chicken left to its own devices. The trash was already out, so I knew it couldn't be that. I lit a candle, and then noticed that the sink was full of dishes. I thought, Maybe the dishes stink? Or the garbage disposal?
So, I unloaded and reloaded the dishwasher. I poured baking soda into the disposal and ran it after a minute. Then, I poured more in to sit for a couple of hours. I scrubbed the sink with Borax, followed by Windex for a shine.I also replaced the dishtowels just in case. Problem solved again.
My mother-in-law and I went to the store and came back a few hours later. The Bad Smell hit me as soon as I opened the laundry room door, only this time it was packing a punch. What could it be? Was it the towels I had put in the hamper? I rushed to the kitchen and lit all the candles. I brought the stinkiest candle into the laundry room.
My mother-in-law and the kids made a hasty exit outside. I, however, had to endure the Bad Smell while unpacking groceries. While putting away the boxed goods, I noticed that the Bad Smell was stronger near the stove. I opened the oven, but there was nothing in it. I inspected the cooktop. It was clean. What on earth could this olfactory offender be? I sincerely hoped it wasn't a dead mouse behind the stove....
On a whim I opened the microwave above the stove and almost passed out. The Bad Smell was in the microwave!! I bravely stood up and looked inside the appliance. There was a raw piece of chicken on the rotating plate in the microwave surrounded by a yucky colored liquid. I flashed back to Thursday evening when my husband was cutting up meat for Shish-kabobs to be eaten at work and vaguely remembered defrosting chicken for him. A piece and some liquid must have fallen off as the plate was pulled from the microwave.
Bravely, I grabbed the plate. Unfortunately, my middle name is not Grace and I slipped and spilled the offensive juice all over the cooktop and my feet. I almost lost it.
But then I got it together. Who has cleaned up more poop mess than anyone else? ME. Who has been puked on by every member of her family including the dog? ME. Speaking of the dog, who slid through doggie diarrhea a couple weeks ago? ME. This wasn't any worse than that! I could do this!
I threw the plate to the sink. I grabbed the roll of paper towels and tossed a wad in the microwave to sop up the mess. I threw some on the cooktop and the rest on the floor. I dove to the cabinet under the sink and pulled out the antibacterial wipes which went straight to my feet. After a good foot scrub, I threw away the wet and offensive paper towels and scrubbed everything else with the wipes until I felt the bacteria lift away from the surfaces. I washed the plate three times with dish soap and then put a cup of white vinegar in the microwave for 5 minutes to get rid of the smell.
It took a little bit longer to rid the house of the Bad Smell, but I worked on it. Now, the house is smell free (until Story poops again) and the mystery is solved. Who needs Scooby-Doo anyways? =)
This morning when I woke up, I smelled the Bad Smell again. It smelled like raw chicken left to its own devices. The trash was already out, so I knew it couldn't be that. I lit a candle, and then noticed that the sink was full of dishes. I thought, Maybe the dishes stink? Or the garbage disposal?
So, I unloaded and reloaded the dishwasher. I poured baking soda into the disposal and ran it after a minute. Then, I poured more in to sit for a couple of hours. I scrubbed the sink with Borax, followed by Windex for a shine.I also replaced the dishtowels just in case. Problem solved again.
My mother-in-law and I went to the store and came back a few hours later. The Bad Smell hit me as soon as I opened the laundry room door, only this time it was packing a punch. What could it be? Was it the towels I had put in the hamper? I rushed to the kitchen and lit all the candles. I brought the stinkiest candle into the laundry room.
My mother-in-law and the kids made a hasty exit outside. I, however, had to endure the Bad Smell while unpacking groceries. While putting away the boxed goods, I noticed that the Bad Smell was stronger near the stove. I opened the oven, but there was nothing in it. I inspected the cooktop. It was clean. What on earth could this olfactory offender be? I sincerely hoped it wasn't a dead mouse behind the stove....
On a whim I opened the microwave above the stove and almost passed out. The Bad Smell was in the microwave!! I bravely stood up and looked inside the appliance. There was a raw piece of chicken on the rotating plate in the microwave surrounded by a yucky colored liquid. I flashed back to Thursday evening when my husband was cutting up meat for Shish-kabobs to be eaten at work and vaguely remembered defrosting chicken for him. A piece and some liquid must have fallen off as the plate was pulled from the microwave.
Bravely, I grabbed the plate. Unfortunately, my middle name is not Grace and I slipped and spilled the offensive juice all over the cooktop and my feet. I almost lost it.
But then I got it together. Who has cleaned up more poop mess than anyone else? ME. Who has been puked on by every member of her family including the dog? ME. Speaking of the dog, who slid through doggie diarrhea a couple weeks ago? ME. This wasn't any worse than that! I could do this!
I threw the plate to the sink. I grabbed the roll of paper towels and tossed a wad in the microwave to sop up the mess. I threw some on the cooktop and the rest on the floor. I dove to the cabinet under the sink and pulled out the antibacterial wipes which went straight to my feet. After a good foot scrub, I threw away the wet and offensive paper towels and scrubbed everything else with the wipes until I felt the bacteria lift away from the surfaces. I washed the plate three times with dish soap and then put a cup of white vinegar in the microwave for 5 minutes to get rid of the smell.
It took a little bit longer to rid the house of the Bad Smell, but I worked on it. Now, the house is smell free (until Story poops again) and the mystery is solved. Who needs Scooby-Doo anyways? =)
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
On the way home
Yesterday after giving piano lessons, I packed Story and Ivy into the car and started the 15 minute drive home. Ivy had spent the day with her school at a pizza place. Story had spent the day doing whatever she does at daycare.
Then, I realized that we had left Ivy's prizes from the pizza place at the house where I had just been giving lessons. Dilemma: do I go ahead and tell her and watch her scream and cry in the car? Or wait until she realizes it on her own and then screams and cries?
I decided to risk it. Better crying in the car than all evening. "Ivy," I tentatively began. "Where are your prizes?"
Ivy looked up at the rearview mirror. "Oh," she said softly, "I think I left them at Gretchen's." Wait a minute. This was not the response I was anticipating at all. Where was the crying? The howling? The insistence that I drive back there this minute?
"Ivy, I'll call them and tell them to bring your prizes to school tomorrow."
"Okay."
I was shocked. Could it be that my little girl was maturing? Nah. I pondered this for a moment, then looked back up at the rearview mirror to check on her again.
Ivy's eyes rolled back in her head and she closed her eyelids. Oh, no! She was falling asleep!!! At 6 P.M.!!!!! In the car with a million errands to run!!! It had to be stopped.
"Ivy! IVY!!! IVY!!!!!!!!" Small flutter of eyelids.
Then, I did the thing that comes naturally for a parent: reaching behind the seat and tapping her on the legs. "Ivy!! Wake up!!" I looked in the mirror again. Her head was rolling back and forth amid the head bumpers on the booster seat. Oh no! This wasn't going to be good! I knew as soon as I got in to town that I'd have to wake her up, and then I'd get the crying and screaming I was concerned about.
I tried moving the steering wheel back and forth a bit. Nothing. I turned the radio up really loud. Nada. Finally I said, "Story! Wake Ivy up!!"
"She sweeping."
"I know! Wake her up?" Story just giggled and went back to watching Tom and Jerry.
I sped down the road towards Rite Aid. In the parking lot, I jumped out, threw open her door, let loose her seatbelt and shook her. "Ivy! IVY!!" This was a disaster. See, not many people without young kids remember or realize this, but when your child takes a nap at 6 p.m. in the evening, there will be a price to pay about 11 p.m. that same evening unless you can keep them asleep. Which I couldn't unless they were both asleep.
Ivy opened one sleepy eye. "No, Mommy. I'm sleepy." After more shaking, messing with her hair and threats, I finally told her she could ride on my back into the store. So, she grabbed onto my neck and plopped herself onto my back...and fell asleep again.
I eventually walked into the store holding the hand of my three year old and with a sleeping mass of 5 year old loosely gripping my neck. The guy in the Dayquil aisle looked at me like I was a freak.
Then, I realized that we had left Ivy's prizes from the pizza place at the house where I had just been giving lessons. Dilemma: do I go ahead and tell her and watch her scream and cry in the car? Or wait until she realizes it on her own and then screams and cries?
I decided to risk it. Better crying in the car than all evening. "Ivy," I tentatively began. "Where are your prizes?"
Ivy looked up at the rearview mirror. "Oh," she said softly, "I think I left them at Gretchen's." Wait a minute. This was not the response I was anticipating at all. Where was the crying? The howling? The insistence that I drive back there this minute?
"Ivy, I'll call them and tell them to bring your prizes to school tomorrow."
"Okay."
I was shocked. Could it be that my little girl was maturing? Nah. I pondered this for a moment, then looked back up at the rearview mirror to check on her again.
Ivy's eyes rolled back in her head and she closed her eyelids. Oh, no! She was falling asleep!!! At 6 P.M.!!!!! In the car with a million errands to run!!! It had to be stopped.
"Ivy! IVY!!! IVY!!!!!!!!" Small flutter of eyelids.
Then, I did the thing that comes naturally for a parent: reaching behind the seat and tapping her on the legs. "Ivy!! Wake up!!" I looked in the mirror again. Her head was rolling back and forth amid the head bumpers on the booster seat. Oh no! This wasn't going to be good! I knew as soon as I got in to town that I'd have to wake her up, and then I'd get the crying and screaming I was concerned about.
I tried moving the steering wheel back and forth a bit. Nothing. I turned the radio up really loud. Nada. Finally I said, "Story! Wake Ivy up!!"
"She sweeping."
"I know! Wake her up?" Story just giggled and went back to watching Tom and Jerry.
I sped down the road towards Rite Aid. In the parking lot, I jumped out, threw open her door, let loose her seatbelt and shook her. "Ivy! IVY!!" This was a disaster. See, not many people without young kids remember or realize this, but when your child takes a nap at 6 p.m. in the evening, there will be a price to pay about 11 p.m. that same evening unless you can keep them asleep. Which I couldn't unless they were both asleep.
Ivy opened one sleepy eye. "No, Mommy. I'm sleepy." After more shaking, messing with her hair and threats, I finally told her she could ride on my back into the store. So, she grabbed onto my neck and plopped herself onto my back...and fell asleep again.
I eventually walked into the store holding the hand of my three year old and with a sleeping mass of 5 year old loosely gripping my neck. The guy in the Dayquil aisle looked at me like I was a freak.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
An observation
Ivy and Story used to hate taking their nightly dose of Zyrtec. My husband created a comfortable, supportive routine in which they can take the medicine.
First, I give them each a small cup with the dose in it and a sippy cup of Kool-Aid. Then, Daddy will coax them into taking their medicine followed by a drink from the sippy cup. The entire time, the girls used to be crying and begging not to have to take their medicine.
Now, it's like a contest to see who can take it the fastest. Daddy says, "Go!" and the both tip the medicine cups into their mouths, trying to swallow the medicine as fast as they can. Almost simultaneously they slam their medicine cups on the coffee table, grab their sippy cups with the other hand and suck down some kool-aid before they can taste their medicine. Then, they get and give "high-fives" to each other and us.
Does this sound like a certain type of behavior to you? I'm a little worried about sending them off to college one day......
First, I give them each a small cup with the dose in it and a sippy cup of Kool-Aid. Then, Daddy will coax them into taking their medicine followed by a drink from the sippy cup. The entire time, the girls used to be crying and begging not to have to take their medicine.
Now, it's like a contest to see who can take it the fastest. Daddy says, "Go!" and the both tip the medicine cups into their mouths, trying to swallow the medicine as fast as they can. Almost simultaneously they slam their medicine cups on the coffee table, grab their sippy cups with the other hand and suck down some kool-aid before they can taste their medicine. Then, they get and give "high-fives" to each other and us.
Does this sound like a certain type of behavior to you? I'm a little worried about sending them off to college one day......
Monday, May 17, 2010
Story and the search for the perfect potty
I've noticed that the "Ivy" posts are tending to outweigh the "Story" posts, so I thought I'd even it out.
Story has always been....well, there's no better way to say it: constipated. She's been taking medicine forever for it, but it doesn't do her any good.
Potty training was a bear. Once we got peeing down, she was so unpredictable on the number two that she stained almost every pair of panties she has.
Now, she seems to get it. But, she'll hold it in until it absolutely refuses to stay in her body another second. And she'll try to go several times in a day before she actually produces a result.
Tonight was a little different. She asked me 12 times to take her to the bathroom in the first 15 minutes we were home. I would take her, she'd sit on the "big girl potty" for 10 seconds, then scoot off.
Then she said, "Mommy, I go to potty," for the 13th time. I took her to her bathroom, but she wouldn't go in. "No, Mommy!" She grabbed my hand with her chubby, sticky one and dragged me through the house to my bathroom. I pulled down her pants, she gathered up the tutu around her, and sat down. Six seconds later, she slid off the toilet, pulled up the panties, and fixed the tutu.
Five minutes later she grabbed her butt with one hand, my arm with the other, and led me to our guest bathroom. Panties down, tutu in hand....nothing. She slid off.
We ended up making a round to all three bathrooms before she finally went...in my bathroom.
I cleaned the toilet in there Sunday, but now you can't tell.....
Story has always been....well, there's no better way to say it: constipated. She's been taking medicine forever for it, but it doesn't do her any good.
Potty training was a bear. Once we got peeing down, she was so unpredictable on the number two that she stained almost every pair of panties she has.
Now, she seems to get it. But, she'll hold it in until it absolutely refuses to stay in her body another second. And she'll try to go several times in a day before she actually produces a result.
Tonight was a little different. She asked me 12 times to take her to the bathroom in the first 15 minutes we were home. I would take her, she'd sit on the "big girl potty" for 10 seconds, then scoot off.
Then she said, "Mommy, I go to potty," for the 13th time. I took her to her bathroom, but she wouldn't go in. "No, Mommy!" She grabbed my hand with her chubby, sticky one and dragged me through the house to my bathroom. I pulled down her pants, she gathered up the tutu around her, and sat down. Six seconds later, she slid off the toilet, pulled up the panties, and fixed the tutu.
Five minutes later she grabbed her butt with one hand, my arm with the other, and led me to our guest bathroom. Panties down, tutu in hand....nothing. She slid off.
We ended up making a round to all three bathrooms before she finally went...in my bathroom.
I cleaned the toilet in there Sunday, but now you can't tell.....
Reverend Ivy
From 7:15 p.m. until 8:00 p.m. this evening, Ivy was moved by the spirit.
She added, "In the name of the Lord," at the end of all of her sentences.
Here's a sampling:
Mommy, the refrigerator's closed...in the name of the Lord.
Story is making fun of me....in the name of the Lord.
I have to pee...in the name of the Lord.
I want another bagel...in the name of the Lord.
Mommy, do you love me...in the name of the lord?
Story pooped in the potty..in the name of the Lord!
Watch this....in the name of the Lord!
Tomorrow will be better...in the name of the Lord.
Can I have cake for dessert..in the name of the Lord?
It sure is raining...in the name of the Lord.
Abby ate my food...in the name of the Lord!
It's almost like that fortune cookie game......almost.
She added, "In the name of the Lord," at the end of all of her sentences.
Here's a sampling:
Mommy, the refrigerator's closed...in the name of the Lord.
Story is making fun of me....in the name of the Lord.
I have to pee...in the name of the Lord.
I want another bagel...in the name of the Lord.
Mommy, do you love me...in the name of the lord?
Story pooped in the potty..in the name of the Lord!
Watch this....in the name of the Lord!
Tomorrow will be better...in the name of the Lord.
Can I have cake for dessert..in the name of the Lord?
It sure is raining...in the name of the Lord.
Abby ate my food...in the name of the Lord!
It's almost like that fortune cookie game......almost.
Friday, May 14, 2010
SURE
Ivy's new favorite word? SURE.
She uses it in place of the word YES, which can make her intentions very confusing.
Ivy, would you like to wear this? SURE. I mean, you could wear this instead. SURE.
Ivy, do you want chicken nuggets and ketchup for dinner? SURE. Well, we could have something else.
Ivy, would you like a sucker? SURE.
Ivy, did you hit your sister? SURE.
Ivy, did you eat your lunch? SURE.
Ivy, did you brush your teeth? SURE.
Do you want to play Candyland? SURE.
Will you let the dog out? SURE.
I'm not sure about people who don't teach middle school kids, but everytime I hear someone answer a question with the word "SURE," I think one of three things.
"Sure, Mommy." Ugh.
"Ivy, SURE doesn't mean yes...it means...um, I don't care or I don't really want to but I will."
"Mommy, it means YES."
"Well, I know it does, but when you say that I don't really know if you really want a Happy Meal."
"Oh."
You know what's exciting? All evening, when we ask her a question, she says, "Su- I mean yes, Mommy."
Score one for the Mommy!!!!!
She uses it in place of the word YES, which can make her intentions very confusing.
Ivy, would you like to wear this? SURE. I mean, you could wear this instead. SURE.
Ivy, do you want chicken nuggets and ketchup for dinner? SURE. Well, we could have something else.
Ivy, would you like a sucker? SURE.
Ivy, did you hit your sister? SURE.
Ivy, did you eat your lunch? SURE.
Ivy, did you brush your teeth? SURE.
Do you want to play Candyland? SURE.
Will you let the dog out? SURE.
I'm not sure about people who don't teach middle school kids, but everytime I hear someone answer a question with the word "SURE," I think one of three things.
- They really don't want to do/eat/wear that.
- They are upset that I asked the question.
- They are being a smart aleck.
"Sure, Mommy." Ugh.
"Ivy, SURE doesn't mean yes...it means...um, I don't care or I don't really want to but I will."
"Mommy, it means YES."
"Well, I know it does, but when you say that I don't really know if you really want a Happy Meal."
"Oh."
You know what's exciting? All evening, when we ask her a question, she says, "Su- I mean yes, Mommy."
Score one for the Mommy!!!!!
Thursday, May 13, 2010
A sad post
Tonight Ivy told me that she wanted to go live with her teacher.
Don't get me wrong, I know kids say a lot of stuff like that. And I shouldn't take it personally. She's five, she doesn't know it hurts my feelings. I shouldn't react; it shouldn't hurt. She's going to say a lot worse when she hits middle school, it definitely shouldn't hurt yet while she was still a baby.
But it did.
Probably because it was on the heels of an enormously stressful day where many things went wrong and I felt bad already. Or maybe it's because she's been really touchy and downright mean the past few days and we're not gellin' like usual.
I tried very hard to control myself. "Ivy," I said, "if you live with someone else that means you're not in our family anymore." (Okay, maybe I didn't control myself.)
She shrugged. It was the second insolent shrug I had witnessed that day. It caused my heart to sink and my mind to wander.
Doesn't she know what I do for her everyday? That I sacrificed taking medicine that might actually work for a year and a half so she could breastfeed? And I gave up all hope of a clean car, nights out with friends, and new clothes for myself just so I could make her life comfortable? I buy chicken nuggets and ketchup in bulk! I eat pizza and McDonald's waaaay more than I want or need to! I haven't bought a grown-up DVD in years!
And then I felt what every Mom fears to feel.....the "OMG I sound just like my mom" feeling. You know, the one where a phrase comes out of your mouth (a familiar sound from your own childhood) that you swear you could not have said in the presence of your own children...it must be your mother channeling herself through your mouth! Except this time, it was scarier- I was having thoughts that my mother used to have when I was young. Not just saying cliches....actually thinking like my mom.
So, not only does my five year old dislike living with me, but I also have the knowledge that my mom has invaded my brain. Great end to the day.
Don't get me wrong, I know kids say a lot of stuff like that. And I shouldn't take it personally. She's five, she doesn't know it hurts my feelings. I shouldn't react; it shouldn't hurt. She's going to say a lot worse when she hits middle school, it definitely shouldn't hurt yet while she was still a baby.
But it did.
Probably because it was on the heels of an enormously stressful day where many things went wrong and I felt bad already. Or maybe it's because she's been really touchy and downright mean the past few days and we're not gellin' like usual.
I tried very hard to control myself. "Ivy," I said, "if you live with someone else that means you're not in our family anymore." (Okay, maybe I didn't control myself.)
She shrugged. It was the second insolent shrug I had witnessed that day. It caused my heart to sink and my mind to wander.
Doesn't she know what I do for her everyday? That I sacrificed taking medicine that might actually work for a year and a half so she could breastfeed? And I gave up all hope of a clean car, nights out with friends, and new clothes for myself just so I could make her life comfortable? I buy chicken nuggets and ketchup in bulk! I eat pizza and McDonald's waaaay more than I want or need to! I haven't bought a grown-up DVD in years!
And then I felt what every Mom fears to feel.....the "OMG I sound just like my mom" feeling. You know, the one where a phrase comes out of your mouth (a familiar sound from your own childhood) that you swear you could not have said in the presence of your own children...it must be your mother channeling herself through your mouth! Except this time, it was scarier- I was having thoughts that my mother used to have when I was young. Not just saying cliches....actually thinking like my mom.
So, not only does my five year old dislike living with me, but I also have the knowledge that my mom has invaded my brain. Great end to the day.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Pump up the volume
My house is a loud one.
Depending on who's home and awake, it can be a very loud one with all its members competing for attention and time. The worst times are in the evenings when all four of us and the dog are home. Usually, my husband and I are trying to watch a TV show that requires us to hear what the characters are saying (why we didn't give this up when we had kids I'll never know).
Children are magnetically drawn to parents that are involved in something that is enjoyable. It doesn't matter where they are or what they are doing, the radar dings and Ivy and Story speed around all obstacles, down stairs, even through closed doors, to position themselves directly in front of the television or whatever object we might be paying attention to.
If mere positioning doesn't do the trick, they will then telepathically conspire to perform. This might be dancing, jumping, making faces, or even fighting with each other. Ivy and Story are very good at this. When they walk in front of the television and see that Mommy and Daddy have are still paying attention to those boring people on the screen, their first step is to stage some kind of theatrical performance.
"Mommy, watch my ballet dance!" Ivy yells as she does some kind of jumpy, twittery move.
"Daddy, wook at me!" Story screams as she attempts to jump off of the coffee table.
This behavior usually results in us pausing the TV, watching the performance and clapping or lecturing (in the case of the coffee table) . Then, we resume viewing.
Not to be outdone, the girls might continue doing different loud movements or dances, screaming for our attention every time. Or, they might just continue to do the same thing, over and over and over and over again until Daddy has reached his threshold and looks at Mommy and says, "I can't hear." I will then get up off of the couch and persuade the kids to go to the other room, sometimes going with them pretending that I am going to play or something. If I'm lucky, my husband won't start the show again till I am back....but I'm usually not lucky.
I race back to the couch and get interested again. In phase two, little feet pitter patter through the hallway. Nothing. Then, the scrape of one of the stools on the kichen floor. Nothing. The sound of a cabinet opening. More feet. "MOOOOOMMMY, Story's on the counter." Sing-song tattle-tell voice.
"Story, get down," I call from the couch.
Five minutes later, chaos reigns. The kids are throwing stuff from the counter, singing, yelling, fighting, whatever works. Most often, I can drown this out by simply turning up the TV and refusing to go in there. Daddy, who does not have this innate ability to ignore his children, gets upset and stops the show again. Sometimes, only one of us go in there, but eventually we call for reinforcements. TV and grown-up time is left until the munchkins are in bed, which is a whole other quandry to deal with.
The best plan is to not watch anything until the children go to sleep. But, sometimes I can't stay up till midnight to watch a TV show.
Depending on who's home and awake, it can be a very loud one with all its members competing for attention and time. The worst times are in the evenings when all four of us and the dog are home. Usually, my husband and I are trying to watch a TV show that requires us to hear what the characters are saying (why we didn't give this up when we had kids I'll never know).
Children are magnetically drawn to parents that are involved in something that is enjoyable. It doesn't matter where they are or what they are doing, the radar dings and Ivy and Story speed around all obstacles, down stairs, even through closed doors, to position themselves directly in front of the television or whatever object we might be paying attention to.
If mere positioning doesn't do the trick, they will then telepathically conspire to perform. This might be dancing, jumping, making faces, or even fighting with each other. Ivy and Story are very good at this. When they walk in front of the television and see that Mommy and Daddy have are still paying attention to those boring people on the screen, their first step is to stage some kind of theatrical performance.
"Mommy, watch my ballet dance!" Ivy yells as she does some kind of jumpy, twittery move.
"Daddy, wook at me!" Story screams as she attempts to jump off of the coffee table.
This behavior usually results in us pausing the TV, watching the performance and clapping or lecturing (in the case of the coffee table) . Then, we resume viewing.
Not to be outdone, the girls might continue doing different loud movements or dances, screaming for our attention every time. Or, they might just continue to do the same thing, over and over and over and over again until Daddy has reached his threshold and looks at Mommy and says, "I can't hear." I will then get up off of the couch and persuade the kids to go to the other room, sometimes going with them pretending that I am going to play or something. If I'm lucky, my husband won't start the show again till I am back....but I'm usually not lucky.
I race back to the couch and get interested again. In phase two, little feet pitter patter through the hallway. Nothing. Then, the scrape of one of the stools on the kichen floor. Nothing. The sound of a cabinet opening. More feet. "MOOOOOMMMY, Story's on the counter." Sing-song tattle-tell voice.
"Story, get down," I call from the couch.
Five minutes later, chaos reigns. The kids are throwing stuff from the counter, singing, yelling, fighting, whatever works. Most often, I can drown this out by simply turning up the TV and refusing to go in there. Daddy, who does not have this innate ability to ignore his children, gets upset and stops the show again. Sometimes, only one of us go in there, but eventually we call for reinforcements. TV and grown-up time is left until the munchkins are in bed, which is a whole other quandry to deal with.
The best plan is to not watch anything until the children go to sleep. But, sometimes I can't stay up till midnight to watch a TV show.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Happy Mother's Day to me!
I woke up with good intentions. I was going to get the kids ready and go to church.
One cup of coffee and one facebook check later, I realized the bags were all still in the car from All-District Band. Bummer. I knew I couldn't unload it all and be ready in time for church, but then again, I knew I couldn't just unload the toiletries. So, I nixed the church plan. My husband went golfing, after he unloaded everything.
I decided I'd take my time today. No laundry, just unpacking and straightening up. The kids woke up, and I made bagels. Ivy asked me if she could watch her shows while we ate, but I explained to her that on Mother's day, Mommy got to watch Law and Order on the big TV while she ate her bagel, which resulted in Ivy taking her bagel upstairs (only dropping it twice on the hardwood en route).
I ended up doing nothing for awhile. I couldn't put my kindle down. (I'm reading an Anita Blake novel).
Story came to sit with me on the couch. I turned on the Disney channel (since I was reading) and we had some good snuggle time (after she'd pulled my hair and tried to bite my nose off a couple of times). Suddenly I was very warm and very tired. I took a quick nap (not something I do often when alone with the kids- kind of keeps me from waking up to the house burning, ya know?) and woke up when Story jumped off of my stomach onto the floor.
I stretched and yawned. I made lunch. I ambled through the house sleepily not really remembering what I had to do. Oh yeah, unpack. I wasn't looking forward to it.
Mid-unpacking, I realized that the sheets had been on the bed for two weeks. I had to change them. I stopped right in the middle of taking clothes out of the suitcase and changed my sheets. It felt better. Then, I looked down and noticed that the floors were so dirty! I ran for the dustmop.
Halfway there, I remembered that I couldn't sweep until I unpacked. So, I trotted back to the bedroom, unpacked the rest of the stuff, and then ran back for the dustmop. After the floors were swept, I mopped them with the Shark. You know I can't leave the floor swept but un-mopped!!
I left the floor stuff in the living room and went to tackle Ivy's room. It was hard. I set all the little things up in the Barbie house, and then changed the sheets. I put dirty laundry in the hamper, and then hung up clean clothes. I also cleaned off and refolded two shelves of her closet. Seriously, they were bad.
I went to Story's room next, otherwise known as the 6th level of Hell. Why? Because every tiny Barbie and Polly Pocket thing is imbedded in the shag carpet. It's a nightmare. I spent what felt like three days picking all that i could nee with the human eye up and bagging it. Then, I took all the toys in the bins and dumped them in the playroom upstairs. (Why? Because Daddy and Ivy were going to clean the playroom later!!!)
Finally, I had everything in place. I got the vacuum and swept both rooms. I went back to the living room where the dustmop and Shark were staring at me. I felt guilty. Looking around, I noticed the floor had lots of doggy paw prints. It seemed as thought the Shark was saying, "Look! I can fix that for you!" So, I cleaned the floors.
To make a long story short (and stop boring you with details), during the course of the day, I also managed to guilt myself into cleaning up the whole kitchen. And it's all clean. I hope to keep it that way all week. (Yeah, right)
Even though I really wanted to take a day and do next to nothing, I was secretly glad the house was clean, That is, until Story dumped the bag of Barbie accessories in her room back in to the carpet.
One cup of coffee and one facebook check later, I realized the bags were all still in the car from All-District Band. Bummer. I knew I couldn't unload it all and be ready in time for church, but then again, I knew I couldn't just unload the toiletries. So, I nixed the church plan. My husband went golfing, after he unloaded everything.
I decided I'd take my time today. No laundry, just unpacking and straightening up. The kids woke up, and I made bagels. Ivy asked me if she could watch her shows while we ate, but I explained to her that on Mother's day, Mommy got to watch Law and Order on the big TV while she ate her bagel, which resulted in Ivy taking her bagel upstairs (only dropping it twice on the hardwood en route).
I ended up doing nothing for awhile. I couldn't put my kindle down. (I'm reading an Anita Blake novel).
Story came to sit with me on the couch. I turned on the Disney channel (since I was reading) and we had some good snuggle time (after she'd pulled my hair and tried to bite my nose off a couple of times). Suddenly I was very warm and very tired. I took a quick nap (not something I do often when alone with the kids- kind of keeps me from waking up to the house burning, ya know?) and woke up when Story jumped off of my stomach onto the floor.
I stretched and yawned. I made lunch. I ambled through the house sleepily not really remembering what I had to do. Oh yeah, unpack. I wasn't looking forward to it.
Mid-unpacking, I realized that the sheets had been on the bed for two weeks. I had to change them. I stopped right in the middle of taking clothes out of the suitcase and changed my sheets. It felt better. Then, I looked down and noticed that the floors were so dirty! I ran for the dustmop.
Halfway there, I remembered that I couldn't sweep until I unpacked. So, I trotted back to the bedroom, unpacked the rest of the stuff, and then ran back for the dustmop. After the floors were swept, I mopped them with the Shark. You know I can't leave the floor swept but un-mopped!!
I left the floor stuff in the living room and went to tackle Ivy's room. It was hard. I set all the little things up in the Barbie house, and then changed the sheets. I put dirty laundry in the hamper, and then hung up clean clothes. I also cleaned off and refolded two shelves of her closet. Seriously, they were bad.
I went to Story's room next, otherwise known as the 6th level of Hell. Why? Because every tiny Barbie and Polly Pocket thing is imbedded in the shag carpet. It's a nightmare. I spent what felt like three days picking all that i could nee with the human eye up and bagging it. Then, I took all the toys in the bins and dumped them in the playroom upstairs. (Why? Because Daddy and Ivy were going to clean the playroom later!!!)
Finally, I had everything in place. I got the vacuum and swept both rooms. I went back to the living room where the dustmop and Shark were staring at me. I felt guilty. Looking around, I noticed the floor had lots of doggy paw prints. It seemed as thought the Shark was saying, "Look! I can fix that for you!" So, I cleaned the floors.
To make a long story short (and stop boring you with details), during the course of the day, I also managed to guilt myself into cleaning up the whole kitchen. And it's all clean. I hope to keep it that way all week. (Yeah, right)
Even though I really wanted to take a day and do next to nothing, I was secretly glad the house was clean, That is, until Story dumped the bag of Barbie accessories in her room back in to the carpet.
Pillow fight
Ivy and Story were fighting over a puzzle. I tried to let them "fight it out on their own," (see earlier post), but after a few seconds I realized they were both tired and not their rational selves. (Insert funny laugh).
So, I brought them both over to the couch where they cried and screamed and tried to simultaneously get down and fight each other. I tried to talk calmly about who had the puzzle first, etc. which is a trick I use sometimes. If I can get them to talk about it long enough, then switch the conversation smoothly to something else, they cease to fight over the original item. Of course, that means that in ten minutes they will fight over something else.
In this case, when I thought I had them diverted, I lessened my grip, and they both rushed over to the puzzle and resumed their earlier skirmish with renewed violence. Ivy hit Story, she hit Ivy. I realized that as a Mom of the Year candidate, I could not allow this to go on.
So, I tried calling to them, offering other options, and finally begging. The hitting did not stop. So, I tried a diversionary tactic. I grabbed two throw pillows off the couch, crawled stealthily over to the chaise, and launched one lightly at the girls.
It hit Story on the back.
She immediately let out a wail and fell over on her side. Ivy, however was laughing. Pillow number two ready in hand, I swung it up in a perfect arc and hit her...on top of the head. Ivy then joined in the screaming, which was becoming much louder than the fight had been.
Instantly feeling shame, I rushed over to the girls, scooped them up in my arms and went back to the couch. Ivy cuddled into me, sobbing deeply. Story tried to escape my arms.
I felt bad. Really bad. Had the pillows hurt them? Were they just too tired? I thought they would laugh at me and come attack me with pillows!
Story managed to squirm off my lap and run back to the puzzle. She flopped her body down on the hardwood floor (ouch!) and started screaming, "I want my DADDY!!!!!!!!!!!!" I was really sad, then.
Ivy forgave me, though, and started smiling. "Did it hurt you?" I asked. She smiled and said, "No, Mommy."
"Then why are you crying?"
She laughed. "I don't know!" So, I was about to get really mad at myself for nothing?
Story was still screaming for her Daddy. I went and picked her up again and brought her back to the couch. I said, "Story, I'm sorry, did the pillow hurt you?"
"No!!!!!!!!"
Awww, poor baby." I cradled her in my arms. "Do you still love me?"
"No, I love DADDY!!!!!" Ouch.
"Well, I love Mommy," Ivy offered. You go, girl! Then, she kissed me on the cheek.
Not to be outdone, Story proclaimed, "I love Mommy TOO!!!!!!!!!!!" and then kissed me. Ahhh, playing the "copy the other sister card." I'm definitely not above it.
So, I brought them both over to the couch where they cried and screamed and tried to simultaneously get down and fight each other. I tried to talk calmly about who had the puzzle first, etc. which is a trick I use sometimes. If I can get them to talk about it long enough, then switch the conversation smoothly to something else, they cease to fight over the original item. Of course, that means that in ten minutes they will fight over something else.
In this case, when I thought I had them diverted, I lessened my grip, and they both rushed over to the puzzle and resumed their earlier skirmish with renewed violence. Ivy hit Story, she hit Ivy. I realized that as a Mom of the Year candidate, I could not allow this to go on.
So, I tried calling to them, offering other options, and finally begging. The hitting did not stop. So, I tried a diversionary tactic. I grabbed two throw pillows off the couch, crawled stealthily over to the chaise, and launched one lightly at the girls.
It hit Story on the back.
She immediately let out a wail and fell over on her side. Ivy, however was laughing. Pillow number two ready in hand, I swung it up in a perfect arc and hit her...on top of the head. Ivy then joined in the screaming, which was becoming much louder than the fight had been.
Instantly feeling shame, I rushed over to the girls, scooped them up in my arms and went back to the couch. Ivy cuddled into me, sobbing deeply. Story tried to escape my arms.
I felt bad. Really bad. Had the pillows hurt them? Were they just too tired? I thought they would laugh at me and come attack me with pillows!
Story managed to squirm off my lap and run back to the puzzle. She flopped her body down on the hardwood floor (ouch!) and started screaming, "I want my DADDY!!!!!!!!!!!!" I was really sad, then.
Ivy forgave me, though, and started smiling. "Did it hurt you?" I asked. She smiled and said, "No, Mommy."
"Then why are you crying?"
She laughed. "I don't know!" So, I was about to get really mad at myself for nothing?
Story was still screaming for her Daddy. I went and picked her up again and brought her back to the couch. I said, "Story, I'm sorry, did the pillow hurt you?"
"No!!!!!!!!"
Awww, poor baby." I cradled her in my arms. "Do you still love me?"
"No, I love DADDY!!!!!" Ouch.
"Well, I love Mommy," Ivy offered. You go, girl! Then, she kissed me on the cheek.
Not to be outdone, Story proclaimed, "I love Mommy TOO!!!!!!!!!!!" and then kissed me. Ahhh, playing the "copy the other sister card." I'm definitely not above it.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Playing pretend
Ivy really enjoys playing pretend.
Her favorite way to play pretend is to tell me what to do. This evening she came up to me and whispered in my ear, "Mommy! Pretend I need a special dress." I said, "Okay."
Then she steps away from me and says, "Mommy, do you think I need a special dress?"
I said, "Yes." And that was the end of the game.
Often, playing pretend with Ivy is a much longer process. Sometimes I am not sure how to participate. One time she whispered, "Mommy. Pretend I am a princess and you are an evil witch. I want you to poison me, but then I will get strong and turn into a pegasus and stomp on you, and you will turn to dust." I stared at her blankly. How should I proceed with this one? Do I grab a cup and pretend it's poison? Am I really supposed tgo get stomped, or is that part pretend? How does one pretend to turn into dust? At that point, when I realized I was contemplating pretending I was dust, I walked away.
My favorites are the times she includes Story. "Mommy. Pretend that you are our Mother." That's hard. "Story is a very bad child and I am your very good princess angel girl." Really? "And you have to punish Story for stealing my fairy wings. You should punish her by making her sit in that chair in the corner." There is no way I can do this- Story would think I am really putting her in time out. I try to explain that to Ivy. But, from the time she finished her sentence, she has been pretending, and is NOT happy with my part in her melodrama.
Really, my best option is to hide. When I hear Ivy talking to herself and pulling play clothes out of the closet, I take to the hills. Or at least the bathroom.
Her favorite way to play pretend is to tell me what to do. This evening she came up to me and whispered in my ear, "Mommy! Pretend I need a special dress." I said, "Okay."
Then she steps away from me and says, "Mommy, do you think I need a special dress?"
I said, "Yes." And that was the end of the game.
Often, playing pretend with Ivy is a much longer process. Sometimes I am not sure how to participate. One time she whispered, "Mommy. Pretend I am a princess and you are an evil witch. I want you to poison me, but then I will get strong and turn into a pegasus and stomp on you, and you will turn to dust." I stared at her blankly. How should I proceed with this one? Do I grab a cup and pretend it's poison? Am I really supposed tgo get stomped, or is that part pretend? How does one pretend to turn into dust? At that point, when I realized I was contemplating pretending I was dust, I walked away.
My favorites are the times she includes Story. "Mommy. Pretend that you are our Mother." That's hard. "Story is a very bad child and I am your very good princess angel girl." Really? "And you have to punish Story for stealing my fairy wings. You should punish her by making her sit in that chair in the corner." There is no way I can do this- Story would think I am really putting her in time out. I try to explain that to Ivy. But, from the time she finished her sentence, she has been pretending, and is NOT happy with my part in her melodrama.
Really, my best option is to hide. When I hear Ivy talking to herself and pulling play clothes out of the closet, I take to the hills. Or at least the bathroom.
My daughters' first love
My children are in love. With a man. An older man.
No, it's not Daddy. It's a fellow band director. We'll call him Matt...because that's his name.
Over a year ago, we were homeless. We had sold our house, but our new one wouldn't be ready for six weeks. So,we lived with a friend for three weeks, and then we moved in with Matt and his wife for three weeks.
The girls loved Matt. He and my husband would get in about the same time, and they would say, "Hi, Daddy. MATT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" They'd rush Matt, hug his legs and not leave him alone until I forced them to go to bed.
When we moved out, I thought they would forget about Matt. Then, we saw him at a distance during a band concert. We were up on a balcony abovve the crowd. When Ivy spotted him, she yelled, "Mommy, there's MATT!!" Story chanted, "Matt! Matt! Matt! Matt!" all through the concert. You think the children of two band directors would have more respect for a concert?
This weekend is no different. My kids have been spotting him all over the hotel, making sure to point him out to us.
No, it's not Daddy. It's a fellow band director. We'll call him Matt...because that's his name.
Over a year ago, we were homeless. We had sold our house, but our new one wouldn't be ready for six weeks. So,we lived with a friend for three weeks, and then we moved in with Matt and his wife for three weeks.
The girls loved Matt. He and my husband would get in about the same time, and they would say, "Hi, Daddy. MATT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" They'd rush Matt, hug his legs and not leave him alone until I forced them to go to bed.
When we moved out, I thought they would forget about Matt. Then, we saw him at a distance during a band concert. We were up on a balcony abovve the crowd. When Ivy spotted him, she yelled, "Mommy, there's MATT!!" Story chanted, "Matt! Matt! Matt! Matt!" all through the concert. You think the children of two band directors would have more respect for a concert?
This weekend is no different. My kids have been spotting him all over the hotel, making sure to point him out to us.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Story is being a punk
What is wrong with this girl today??
When I told her to apologize to the crayon she broke, she said, "Mommy. It not talk."
- She keeps spanking us all on the legs and saying "Bad, bad!"
- She wants me to pretend I am grandma.
- She tacked Ivy, got on top of her and pinched her cheeks.
- Ivy was laying on top of me and she jumped up and body slammed us.
- She is trying to shut my computer as I type this.
- She keeps opening the chocolate pretzels, licking one, and then giving it to me (of course, I have to take one for the team and eat the pretzel. Okay, this really isn't a gripe).
- She is jumping on the bed like a trampoline, pretending to burp, and saying "Mommy! I tooted!"
- She really wants a chocolate donut. Now. As in five minutes ago.
- She tried to climb in the fountain.
- She is climbing in the big tub and sliding down off the top of it.
- She has smushed Nacho Cheese Doritos into the carpet.
- She is jumping on crayons trying to break them.
When I told her to apologize to the crayon she broke, she said, "Mommy. It not talk."
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Belly buttons
Ivy has this annoying habit of pulling on her belly button. It makes me worried that she's causing herself to have an outie, which is horror upon horror. Outies are gross.
And I can't stand belly buttons. I don't like mine; I don't like to watch people touch theirs.
I mean, I cringed typing that.
And she always pushes her underwear waaaay down underneath it. It annoys me. When she puts on her tights for ballet, they are long enough to go up to her armpits, but she pushes them down below her belly button. This causes her leotard to pooch out, which in turn causes her little skirt to stick out, too. My daughter goes to ballet with a beer belly.
Tonight when I put Story's panties on after her bath, I pulled them all the way up. She said, "No, Mommy. I like Ivy," and pushed them down...below her belly button. Then, she pulled on it. I almost puked.
I seriously hope this is not God's way of causing me to relax about belly buttons. It ain't happening.
What are the odds that I would have TWO kids to irritate my belly button issues?
And I can't stand belly buttons. I don't like mine; I don't like to watch people touch theirs.
I mean, I cringed typing that.
And she always pushes her underwear waaaay down underneath it. It annoys me. When she puts on her tights for ballet, they are long enough to go up to her armpits, but she pushes them down below her belly button. This causes her leotard to pooch out, which in turn causes her little skirt to stick out, too. My daughter goes to ballet with a beer belly.
Tonight when I put Story's panties on after her bath, I pulled them all the way up. She said, "No, Mommy. I like Ivy," and pushed them down...below her belly button. Then, she pulled on it. I almost puked.
I seriously hope this is not God's way of causing me to relax about belly buttons. It ain't happening.
What are the odds that I would have TWO kids to irritate my belly button issues?
Body parts
One day Ivy and I were talking about how much she talks. I said,
Ivy, you have two ears and one mouth. God wants to you to listen more than He wants you to talk.
Ivy: So, why do I have two eyes?
Me: Um, so you can look more than you talk.
Insert pause.
Ivy: Mommy, why do I have two arms?
Me: So you can hug...more...
Ivy: But, Mommy, I have two legs.
Me: Well, it would be hard to hop everywhere.
Ivy: But I only have one nose. Should I smell less than I see?
Me: Um...
Ivy: I guess I have two holes in my nose.
Me: Yes, you do.
Ivy: I have ten fingers.
Me: Actually you have eight fingers and two thumbs.
Ivy: Thumbs aren't fingers?
Me: No.
Ivy: Why?
Me: Because they're not.
Ivy: And I only have one belly button.Why? And why is it called a belly button?
Me: Because it's like a button. On your belly.
Ivy: But it doesn't button anything.
Me: You're right.
Ivy: So, why?
Me: Ivy, I don't know.
Ivy: I don't like my panties on my belly button.
Me: No one does.
Ivy: Not even God?
Me: IVY...God doesn't have a belly button.
Ivy: Why? How do you know?
Me: Dinnertime!!
Ivy, you have two ears and one mouth. God wants to you to listen more than He wants you to talk.
Ivy: So, why do I have two eyes?
Me: Um, so you can look more than you talk.
Insert pause.
Ivy: Mommy, why do I have two arms?
Me: So you can hug...more...
Ivy: But, Mommy, I have two legs.
Me: Well, it would be hard to hop everywhere.
Ivy: But I only have one nose. Should I smell less than I see?
Me: Um...
Ivy: I guess I have two holes in my nose.
Me: Yes, you do.
Ivy: I have ten fingers.
Me: Actually you have eight fingers and two thumbs.
Ivy: Thumbs aren't fingers?
Me: No.
Ivy: Why?
Me: Because they're not.
Ivy: And I only have one belly button.Why? And why is it called a belly button?
Me: Because it's like a button. On your belly.
Ivy: But it doesn't button anything.
Me: You're right.
Ivy: So, why?
Me: Ivy, I don't know.
Ivy: I don't like my panties on my belly button.
Me: No one does.
Ivy: Not even God?
Me: IVY...God doesn't have a belly button.
Ivy: Why? How do you know?
Me: Dinnertime!!
Monday, May 3, 2010
Abby and the Nighttime of Poo
I have a dog named Abby. She is an eight and a half year old Golden Retriever. She's incredibly low maintenance (almost making up for the 2 years she was more maintanence than a houseful of kids).
Last night, she nuzzled under my arm at three AM, urging me to let her out. I did it in daze, and plopped straight back into bed. I must have let her in again without realizing it because when I woke up, she was there.
And there was dog puke. On my rug. I have an unusually strong stomach, but I really hate dog puke.
I cleaned it up, disposed of it, and checked on her. She was laying in front of the couch and seemed pretty sick. But she's a dog, and I can't hold her in my lap and rock her, so I decided to pour some coffee and salvage what was left mf my workout time.
The kitchen smelled eerily like poop. I looked all around, and never saw any, so I shrugged it off and lit a candle. Suddenly, Abby sprang up and rushed to the door. Thinking she needed to puke again, I set the cup down on the counter and ran to get the door.
As I approached the door, I slid in something icky. It was scary...I could smell the poop odor again, and my foot was slimy, but if I just ignored it, would it go away? I realized it wouldn't, so I looked down slowly and saw.....
Diarrhea. The exact color of my hardwood floor. Yuck. If there's one thing I hate worse than dog puke it's doggy diarrhea. Especially at 5 AM.
I spent 20 minutes cleaning it up, and then another 10 scrubbing three layers of skin off of my foot.
Last night, she nuzzled under my arm at three AM, urging me to let her out. I did it in daze, and plopped straight back into bed. I must have let her in again without realizing it because when I woke up, she was there.
And there was dog puke. On my rug. I have an unusually strong stomach, but I really hate dog puke.
I cleaned it up, disposed of it, and checked on her. She was laying in front of the couch and seemed pretty sick. But she's a dog, and I can't hold her in my lap and rock her, so I decided to pour some coffee and salvage what was left mf my workout time.
The kitchen smelled eerily like poop. I looked all around, and never saw any, so I shrugged it off and lit a candle. Suddenly, Abby sprang up and rushed to the door. Thinking she needed to puke again, I set the cup down on the counter and ran to get the door.
As I approached the door, I slid in something icky. It was scary...I could smell the poop odor again, and my foot was slimy, but if I just ignored it, would it go away? I realized it wouldn't, so I looked down slowly and saw.....
Diarrhea. The exact color of my hardwood floor. Yuck. If there's one thing I hate worse than dog puke it's doggy diarrhea. Especially at 5 AM.
I spent 20 minutes cleaning it up, and then another 10 scrubbing three layers of skin off of my foot.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Prom
I love prom.
Luckily, my job as a teacher enables me to stalk prom without being a weirdo. Okay, somewhat.
I wasn't that into prom when I was in high school, which is evidenced by my own prom pictures. I only went to two proms, and was probably lucky to go to those (side note: I wasn't too popular in high school. I know, hard to imagine!). My sister got to go to a bazillion proms, which while unfair, sparked my interest.
I love the dresses and the hair. In fact, I can trace the trends in dresses from year to year. This year, dresses made from prints were fashionable. And hair has slowly made it's way from an updo on top to a knot at the neck, or a loose, barrel curl with the sides pinned.
When I look at a school yearbook (which happens a lot more than you might think...I was also on the yearbook staff in high school and am obsessed with analyzing others' pica spacing, articles, and picture facings, even yearbooks in which I have no association with- just in case you didn't know exactly how big of a nerd I was), I go straight to the prom section to see the pictures.
Sometimes when I am traveling somewhere in April or May and I pass a high school or other establishment where they are having a prom, I will pull over and watch. Which, of course, is really weird when I don't know anyone there...but I do it anyways.
I try to ask innocent questions about hair and dresses of high school girls that I know. It only takes them a couple of minutes to discover my unhealthy obsession with what they are wearing. Astonishingly, they kind of think it's funny. Which is a lot better than them thinking I'm a stalker.
Which is why it was totally okay for me to find stuff to do with two kids in tow in town for five hours yesterday just so I could go to my husband's high school prom and walk around outside looking at the dresses on the pretense that it was for my kids. I mean, it was, they were excited, but Mommy was really excited, too.
And which is why the first thing I did this morning upon awaking was to get on facebook and see if anyone had any pictures of prom posted.
I have actually been invited to chaperone prom with my husband a couple of time, but he doesn't want to go...probably because he senses my obsession might get out of control. I might actually buy my own prom dress then.
Luckily, my job as a teacher enables me to stalk prom without being a weirdo. Okay, somewhat.
I wasn't that into prom when I was in high school, which is evidenced by my own prom pictures. I only went to two proms, and was probably lucky to go to those (side note: I wasn't too popular in high school. I know, hard to imagine!). My sister got to go to a bazillion proms, which while unfair, sparked my interest.
I love the dresses and the hair. In fact, I can trace the trends in dresses from year to year. This year, dresses made from prints were fashionable. And hair has slowly made it's way from an updo on top to a knot at the neck, or a loose, barrel curl with the sides pinned.
When I look at a school yearbook (which happens a lot more than you might think...I was also on the yearbook staff in high school and am obsessed with analyzing others' pica spacing, articles, and picture facings, even yearbooks in which I have no association with- just in case you didn't know exactly how big of a nerd I was), I go straight to the prom section to see the pictures.
Sometimes when I am traveling somewhere in April or May and I pass a high school or other establishment where they are having a prom, I will pull over and watch. Which, of course, is really weird when I don't know anyone there...but I do it anyways.
I try to ask innocent questions about hair and dresses of high school girls that I know. It only takes them a couple of minutes to discover my unhealthy obsession with what they are wearing. Astonishingly, they kind of think it's funny. Which is a lot better than them thinking I'm a stalker.
Which is why it was totally okay for me to find stuff to do with two kids in tow in town for five hours yesterday just so I could go to my husband's high school prom and walk around outside looking at the dresses on the pretense that it was for my kids. I mean, it was, they were excited, but Mommy was really excited, too.
And which is why the first thing I did this morning upon awaking was to get on facebook and see if anyone had any pictures of prom posted.
I have actually been invited to chaperone prom with my husband a couple of time, but he doesn't want to go...probably because he senses my obsession might get out of control. I might actually buy my own prom dress then.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
A Saturday out and about
Today's plan was to take the girls with me to Solo and Ensemble Festival. Because it was supposed to be a LOOOONG day, I promised them that we'd go see the "princesses" after it was over (at the SV prom). I also threatened that if they weren't good, the music police would come and get them...after twenty minutes of Ivy obsessing about the music police, I had to tell her it wasn't true.
But, S&E ended at 1 PM instead of 4:30 PM...and the prom didn't start until 6. What on earth was I going to do with the two of them out in public for 5 hours??? I could have just gone home...but then Ivy would have been really mad at me. And I am starting to learn that she is both an elephant and my mom- she never forgets, and she can hold a grudge unlike anyone I know. So leaving was not an option.
Luckily, I could post my problem as a facebook status and get instant answers to my dilemma. We went to JC Penney's. We looked at kid clothes, purses, bathing suits. When we went to the "lingerie" section, both kids, for some reason, had to touch the cups of every bra. And not in a cute way, in a very embarrassing way. I thought it best to hightail it back to purses, so I tried to get them to leave, but they diabolically planned to dive IN to separate racks of bras, which had me yelling, counting to three, and dragging them out, dropping my purse in the process....which of course spilled out into the main aisle.
The dressing room was entertaining. I think the people in the other booths thought I was beating the kids. They threw a fit when I made them stop wrestling each other in front of the mirror.
Managing to make it out of JCP alive, I had no idea what to do next. I vaguely thought it would be a good idea to give up and retreat homeward...but then I decided we'd go to a movie.
We went to see How to Train Your Dragon. Or maybe it's A Dragon. I can't remember.
Three minutes in, Story had one lens of her 3D glasses popped out and was trying to engage the toddler in the row behind us. Luckily, Ivy and I were so scared of 3D dragons, we didn't pay much attention to it. Story went to sleep about 15 minutes in, so then Ivy and I were free to enjoy.
And we talked very loudly to each other throughout the movie. Nice to know she's got one of my traits.
When it was over, we went to see the "princesses." It was a good 15 minutes or so before they were tired of it. When I suggested leaving, they threw a fit...apparently playing in cigarette butt-filled gravel is too much of a good time. They needed more. I could only draw them away by suggesting the playground across the street. I said ten minutes, we spent 50.
And probably only left because it was POURING after 50 minutes. Even then, I had to call Ivy off of the slide...she cried the entire way to the car. She didn't even want to sing "Singing in the Rain." What a dud.
But, S&E ended at 1 PM instead of 4:30 PM...and the prom didn't start until 6. What on earth was I going to do with the two of them out in public for 5 hours??? I could have just gone home...but then Ivy would have been really mad at me. And I am starting to learn that she is both an elephant and my mom- she never forgets, and she can hold a grudge unlike anyone I know. So leaving was not an option.
Luckily, I could post my problem as a facebook status and get instant answers to my dilemma. We went to JC Penney's. We looked at kid clothes, purses, bathing suits. When we went to the "lingerie" section, both kids, for some reason, had to touch the cups of every bra. And not in a cute way, in a very embarrassing way. I thought it best to hightail it back to purses, so I tried to get them to leave, but they diabolically planned to dive IN to separate racks of bras, which had me yelling, counting to three, and dragging them out, dropping my purse in the process....which of course spilled out into the main aisle.
The dressing room was entertaining. I think the people in the other booths thought I was beating the kids. They threw a fit when I made them stop wrestling each other in front of the mirror.
Managing to make it out of JCP alive, I had no idea what to do next. I vaguely thought it would be a good idea to give up and retreat homeward...but then I decided we'd go to a movie.
We went to see How to Train Your Dragon. Or maybe it's A Dragon. I can't remember.
Three minutes in, Story had one lens of her 3D glasses popped out and was trying to engage the toddler in the row behind us. Luckily, Ivy and I were so scared of 3D dragons, we didn't pay much attention to it. Story went to sleep about 15 minutes in, so then Ivy and I were free to enjoy.
And we talked very loudly to each other throughout the movie. Nice to know she's got one of my traits.
When it was over, we went to see the "princesses." It was a good 15 minutes or so before they were tired of it. When I suggested leaving, they threw a fit...apparently playing in cigarette butt-filled gravel is too much of a good time. They needed more. I could only draw them away by suggesting the playground across the street. I said ten minutes, we spent 50.
And probably only left because it was POURING after 50 minutes. Even then, I had to call Ivy off of the slide...she cried the entire way to the car. She didn't even want to sing "Singing in the Rain." What a dud.
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