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.
Monday, May 17, 2010
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)