Ivy and Story were laying on my bed watching Team Umizoomi. I've not watched this show enough to tell you anything about it except that the characters are made up of shapes and they have annoying voices.
But, just like all shows of that kind, the little whatever-they-ares ask the audience questions to help them with whatever conflict has arisen. We've all watched Dora say, "Where do we go next?" with a huge and annoying pause afterwards which your kid is supposed to fill with some kind of answer.
In this instance, I had no idea what the "team" of zoomey-bloomeys were on quest to do, but they were asking a series of questions on which number was larger. I listened to Ivy answering the television...
TV: Which number is larger? 9 or 3?
IVY: 9!
TV: Which number is bigger? 10 or 1?
IVY: 10!!!
Which of these numbers is more? 8 or 5?
IVY: FIVE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I was so proud of how excited she was to be answering math questions!!! It seemed like she got more and more vocal with each question. Then....
TV: And which of these is bigger? 12 or 7?
Ivy took a deep breath and screamed, "Answer your own stupid questions!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Just do it yourself!!!!"
"Ivy!" I said. "What's the problem??"
She rolled her eyes, pointed to the TV and said, "Geez, Mommy, this guy can't do his own math and it's very annoying."
So, maybe the powers-that-be at Nick, Jr. should take this into account....too many questions can be annoying to the parents AND the kids!
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Sunday, June 26, 2011
The Toenail Fairy
About a month ago, I, along with my friend Sally**, was invited to judge my school's cheerleading tryouts by my esteemed colleague Susie**, the cheerleading coach.
Didn't that sound professional?????
As usual, I brought Ivy and Story with me, and they spent most of their time in the warm-up room playing with the ranks of the cheering hopeful. Story lasted until right before the scoring began, and then she hadtohavehermommy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Some well-meaning students brought her to me in Susie's classroom.
She played around the room where we were adding and figuring out the squad, seeming to be content as long as she and I were in the same place. Sally left for the restroom, and as she did, Story eyed the door with a particular interest.Our classroom doors and kind of heavy, and will close themselves unless propped open.
I really didn't pay attention to Story and she opened the door, then let it fall closed repeatedly. Opening it was hard for her because the handle was above her eye-level. After a couple of minutes, Story found that she could do with it what she wanted- ride the door as it shut.
She opened it, held tight onto the handle, picked up her feet, and the door would give her a little ride as it closed. I think I even pointed out how cute it was to Susie once.
Unfortunately, a downside to the heavy doors and Story's lack of height was that she couldn't be seen from the other side of the door.
When Sally came back from the bathroom, she opened the door, not being able to see Story. And Story, unfortunately, had her feet on the ground trying to pull the door back to ride again. There was a scream, an, "Oh no!" and Story started bawling. I ran, picked her up, and told her to shake it off as usual.
Then I saw the blood.
It was pouring out from under her big toenail. I ran to the bathroom, leaving a red trail behind us. I didn't know what to do, so I ran it under cold water...and it wouldn't stop. Sally and Susie followed me to the bathroom with a band aid, but it was several minutes until I could put it on. And what was left? A toenail I was sure would come off.
As the days went by, the toenail started rising, and looking just plain gross. I couldn't bear the sight of it, and just kept applying band-aids. I confided in my friend Jenna that I was sure I couldn't deal when the thing fell off. She was my support, having lost a toenail herself once.
As the days turned into weeks, I became angry. Why hadn't the stupid thing fallen off yet?? Why was I being tortured by the likes of a toenail?? Story wasn't about to let me cut it off, and I wasn't sure I could do it either. Finally, one day when we were at Jenna's house, and Ivy and Story were playing with her daughter, Jenna came outside with a baggie. "Story lost her toenail!!" she exclaimed.
So, not only did I not have to witness it, I didn't even have to deal with the clean-up!
The only issue was Jenna had told Story that the toenail fairy would visit her that evening. All I had to do was remember to put it under her pillow. Right.
First, I lost the toenail. Then, I forgot to put anything under her pillow. She didn't remember till late the next day, so I thought, okay, I can do it tonight instead! Except the next day, I forgot again. Luckily, I changed the sheets, though, and when she asked about it, I pulled a 5 dollar bill out of my wallet and thrust it into her hands, explaining I had found it when I changed the sheets, which was good enough for Story.
And then she lost the $5 somewhere. I hope to find it in the playroom soon. Mom of the Year right here, people!
**names have been changed to protect my innocent bffs Traci, Jamie, and Myrtle. Oops, did I just say that?
Didn't that sound professional?????
As usual, I brought Ivy and Story with me, and they spent most of their time in the warm-up room playing with the ranks of the cheering hopeful. Story lasted until right before the scoring began, and then she hadtohavehermommy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Some well-meaning students brought her to me in Susie's classroom.
She played around the room where we were adding and figuring out the squad, seeming to be content as long as she and I were in the same place. Sally left for the restroom, and as she did, Story eyed the door with a particular interest.Our classroom doors and kind of heavy, and will close themselves unless propped open.
I really didn't pay attention to Story and she opened the door, then let it fall closed repeatedly. Opening it was hard for her because the handle was above her eye-level. After a couple of minutes, Story found that she could do with it what she wanted- ride the door as it shut.
She opened it, held tight onto the handle, picked up her feet, and the door would give her a little ride as it closed. I think I even pointed out how cute it was to Susie once.
Unfortunately, a downside to the heavy doors and Story's lack of height was that she couldn't be seen from the other side of the door.
When Sally came back from the bathroom, she opened the door, not being able to see Story. And Story, unfortunately, had her feet on the ground trying to pull the door back to ride again. There was a scream, an, "Oh no!" and Story started bawling. I ran, picked her up, and told her to shake it off as usual.
Then I saw the blood.
It was pouring out from under her big toenail. I ran to the bathroom, leaving a red trail behind us. I didn't know what to do, so I ran it under cold water...and it wouldn't stop. Sally and Susie followed me to the bathroom with a band aid, but it was several minutes until I could put it on. And what was left? A toenail I was sure would come off.
As the days went by, the toenail started rising, and looking just plain gross. I couldn't bear the sight of it, and just kept applying band-aids. I confided in my friend Jenna that I was sure I couldn't deal when the thing fell off. She was my support, having lost a toenail herself once.
As the days turned into weeks, I became angry. Why hadn't the stupid thing fallen off yet?? Why was I being tortured by the likes of a toenail?? Story wasn't about to let me cut it off, and I wasn't sure I could do it either. Finally, one day when we were at Jenna's house, and Ivy and Story were playing with her daughter, Jenna came outside with a baggie. "Story lost her toenail!!" she exclaimed.
So, not only did I not have to witness it, I didn't even have to deal with the clean-up!
The only issue was Jenna had told Story that the toenail fairy would visit her that evening. All I had to do was remember to put it under her pillow. Right.
First, I lost the toenail. Then, I forgot to put anything under her pillow. She didn't remember till late the next day, so I thought, okay, I can do it tonight instead! Except the next day, I forgot again. Luckily, I changed the sheets, though, and when she asked about it, I pulled a 5 dollar bill out of my wallet and thrust it into her hands, explaining I had found it when I changed the sheets, which was good enough for Story.
And then she lost the $5 somewhere. I hope to find it in the playroom soon. Mom of the Year right here, people!
**names have been changed to protect my innocent bffs Traci, Jamie, and Myrtle. Oops, did I just say that?
Sunday, June 19, 2011
My bad list
If you know me, you know that I am scared of many things. By disclosing this list, I expect you to (right now!!) make a vow that you will never use it against me.
It might be therapeutic to "put it all out there," but I'm actually cringing at the thought of typing some of these words....
Here goes.....
Mustard
Ew. That was difficult to type. This scares me. The color, the word, the smell....when I was 5 months pregnant, I got some on my hand and I panicked...I ran...and then fell down. I had to spend hours in a hospital being monitored (it was horrible...I had to lay down in a bed, they brought me juice, gave me a TV remote control....absolutely horrible! LOL)
Then, one time a student thought it would be funny to put some on the door of my classroom. I couldn't unlock it, I had to get the janitor. Even after I watched them clean it off and bleach it five times, I wouldn't touch the handle with my bare skin for about three weeks. The thought of it still induces gagging.
Pickles
You could chase me around with an evil cucumber. I'd run screaming. Ivy almost touched one when she was a year old, and luckily I grabbed her just in time. One year olds don't understand why you won't touch them until they are bleached.
At one of my baby showers, there was a huge jar of them...and it made me cry. People thought I was just overcome with emotion.
Belly buttons
They are creepy. Everyone's looks different....and I can go nuts thinking about the center of them....(taking a small break here to breathe through a paper bag).
I can't touch mine without massive mental preparation. I can feel it if someone looks at mine. I can't look at other people's....and heaven forbid someone touch theirs in my sight!!!
Walking in the lake
A while ago, I couldn't swim with fish. A friend of mine in college had talked me into getting in the ocean with her...after a half hour, I calmed down, my panic receding...until the next wave brought a huge school of fish with it. I immediately swam for the shore, swimming until my stomach touched sand. I also couldn't swim in a lake when all my friends did.
That fear receded with time, and I'm now a happy lake-swimmer...as long as it's very deep. But, walking into a lake from the shore, the feel of my feet on grass, the swirls of mud around my toes makes me sick. It's also not a good idea for me to stare at the fish-finder on the boat before I swim...
Being the Center of Attention
Now, often my conversational skills are so excellent that I become the center of a rapt group of listeners (yeah, right). And a lot of people who know me don't understand why I'm scared of it.....but, being the "planned center of attention" is a different story...walking down the aisle at my wedding...standing up and conducting a band concert (total occupational hazard there, I know)...telling a group of adults about anything...having my name announced for something...being on a stage in general...it's all frustratingly terrifying. I suddenly am over-aware of what I'm wearing, stains, how my mouth looks. If my back is turned, I am constantly brushing imaginary stuff off of it.
There are a lot more items I can put on this list, but I'm afraid I've reached my tolerance level for today....have fun reading and think of me sitting in the corner with my head between my knees taking deep breaths for the next few hours....
It might be therapeutic to "put it all out there," but I'm actually cringing at the thought of typing some of these words....
Here goes.....
Mustard
Ew. That was difficult to type. This scares me. The color, the word, the smell....when I was 5 months pregnant, I got some on my hand and I panicked...I ran...and then fell down. I had to spend hours in a hospital being monitored (it was horrible...I had to lay down in a bed, they brought me juice, gave me a TV remote control....absolutely horrible! LOL)
Then, one time a student thought it would be funny to put some on the door of my classroom. I couldn't unlock it, I had to get the janitor. Even after I watched them clean it off and bleach it five times, I wouldn't touch the handle with my bare skin for about three weeks. The thought of it still induces gagging.
Pickles
You could chase me around with an evil cucumber. I'd run screaming. Ivy almost touched one when she was a year old, and luckily I grabbed her just in time. One year olds don't understand why you won't touch them until they are bleached.
At one of my baby showers, there was a huge jar of them...and it made me cry. People thought I was just overcome with emotion.
Belly buttons
They are creepy. Everyone's looks different....and I can go nuts thinking about the center of them....(taking a small break here to breathe through a paper bag).
I can't touch mine without massive mental preparation. I can feel it if someone looks at mine. I can't look at other people's....and heaven forbid someone touch theirs in my sight!!!
Walking in the lake
A while ago, I couldn't swim with fish. A friend of mine in college had talked me into getting in the ocean with her...after a half hour, I calmed down, my panic receding...until the next wave brought a huge school of fish with it. I immediately swam for the shore, swimming until my stomach touched sand. I also couldn't swim in a lake when all my friends did.
That fear receded with time, and I'm now a happy lake-swimmer...as long as it's very deep. But, walking into a lake from the shore, the feel of my feet on grass, the swirls of mud around my toes makes me sick. It's also not a good idea for me to stare at the fish-finder on the boat before I swim...
Being the Center of Attention
Now, often my conversational skills are so excellent that I become the center of a rapt group of listeners (yeah, right). And a lot of people who know me don't understand why I'm scared of it.....but, being the "planned center of attention" is a different story...walking down the aisle at my wedding...standing up and conducting a band concert (total occupational hazard there, I know)...telling a group of adults about anything...having my name announced for something...being on a stage in general...it's all frustratingly terrifying. I suddenly am over-aware of what I'm wearing, stains, how my mouth looks. If my back is turned, I am constantly brushing imaginary stuff off of it.
There are a lot more items I can put on this list, but I'm afraid I've reached my tolerance level for today....have fun reading and think of me sitting in the corner with my head between my knees taking deep breaths for the next few hours....
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