The First Grade Blues

So, Ivy has spent one month in first grade....one. long. month.

The little good girl I had last year in Kindergarten is long gone, and in her place is a whiny, reluctant 6 year old teenager!!

How, you ask? I think it revolves around her lazy disposition and spelling tests, but we'll see.

First, she despises working. She refuses to do homework. I sit with her and try to encourage her to do every problem or question. I start out being the nice supportive mommy, gently coaxing answers out of her and encouraging her to write neatly.

After an hour of this (and we've only completed 2 questions!!), I decide that I have to get something done! So, I leave her to it, refusing TV, snacks, and drinks until it's complete. When she starts chewing on her pencil or playing a game with her crayons, I step in a up the threat level.

Of course, 10 minutes later, I'm offering drinks and candy if she will just finish two more problems!!!

One evening, I swear she spent two and a half hours writing twelve spelling words twice each. That's 6.25 minutes spent on each word....

In the height of my homework frustrations, I find a worksheet under the coffee table one evening. After I study it, I realize it is this week's spelling words. I call another 1st grade mom, and she thinks the worksheet was supposed to be turned in on Tuesday. It's Saturday.

When I lay it in front of Ivy and ask her why it was under the coffee table, she confesses that she put it there. "Why?????" I ask. (I'd like to tell you I asked in my nice voice, but that would be a lie.)

Ivy says, "Mommy, I want to go back to Kindergarten. This first grade stuff is just too much work."

So, after making her swear to give it to her teacher and apologize when the weekend was over, I contemplated her statement. True, there was a lot more work...and the infamous Tracee-stress-inducers called spelling tests (I mean, it would be so much easier if I could just take them for her!!) But, I hated to tell her this, it was only going to get worse. I mean, if she couldn't copy twenty-four words in less than two hours, how was she ever going to do 50 math problems?? And heaven forbid she would ever have to write a paper!!

I'm not sure what the future holds for her and her inability to focus on her homework....all I know is I have only two short years to figure it out before I have two homework-skipping time-wasting divas on my hands....

10 items of randomness for my 100th post

Whoo-hoo!!!

It's my 100th post! Can you believe that 100 blog-worthy things have happened to me? (okay, I'll be honest- probably only 47 blog-worthy things have happened...the remaining 53 are not very good).

So, in honor of my 100th post of nothing, I decided to compose 100 short stories about things that have happened to me lately...

And then I got realistic....and decided to post ten.

Here goes:

1. Story keeps wanting strange foods for breakfast...this morning it was mozzarella and oranges. Yesterday she wanted bananas and a hot dog. At least she's not mixing them up.

2. Abby (my dog) needs shaved. Badly. Every time I let her in the house, a steady trail of hair flows behind her, kind of like Pig Pen and his dirt from Charlie Brown. If she lays down on the rug, when she gets up, it looks like she's left little puppies all over the carpet. I have swept more the past week than I have in a year.

3. I did Zumba for the first time the other day....in addition to finding out that I still have the coordination of an adolescent, I also realized that I can't seem to move my hips...at all. Oh well, at least I didn't fall.....

4. Ivy's doing this annoying thing where she laughs all the time, even when she's in trouble. I'm not sure how to handle this, but it infuriates me!!! I find myself saying all those cliches my mom used to say to me....funny how that keeps happening.

5. I painted my fingernails hot pink for a wedding last weekend. And then I put on a red dress. (If there's a man reading this who's thinking, "What's wrong with that?"....that's tacky!!) Then I stole some sea shells from the reception for my hermit crabs...and got caught doing it by a groomsman.

6. Story's starting to get in to a good sleep routine again, but Ivy is being very resistant to going to sleep anytime before midnight...which is weird because it's usually the other way around! Methinks we need some Benadryl assistance.....

7. I should really clean the house...but I'm not too excited about doing that because in 4 hours, I'll just need to sweep it again. Why bother when the improvement is short-lived I say?

8. Story and I have had some interesting conversations lately as her vocabulary has improved and she's become more talkative. Too bad I still can't understand anything she says.

9. I'm trying to teach Ivy to give herself a shower...and it's hard! What makes it worse is she has no desire to do it herself either. I mean, I guess if someone offered to bathe me everyday, I'd probably let them, so I see her point, but, wow, it would be so much easier if I could say, "Ivy go take a shower" and 72 minutes later after much nagging and yelling, she's cleaned herself!!

10. Story's favorite new lullaby? Dynamite by Taio Cruz. I know, right?

The doctor appointment

Story had her yearly check up and shots scheduled for 10 AM.

You would think that I could get both kids ready and out the door by then, but my children are on "summer schedule," which means waking up at 10 would be an issue.

I had decided that we'd leave at 9 to give ourselves a good cushion of time just in case anything went wrong. (If you've learned anything from my blog, it would be that something always goes wrong!)

I got dressed and then attempted to wake the kids up. Story popped right out of bed when I told her she would get a certain sippy cup after she got dressed. Ivy wasn't so easy, but she eventually did what I asked (with much whining).

As I was assisting Ivy with her hair, Story grabbed her Nintendo DS and was doing one of their favorite activities: recording her voice and playing it back over and over and over again.

I put shoes on us all, made eggo waffles and an egg muffin, and put them all in baggies. I made coffee for myself, sippy cups for the kids, and ushered us all out the door...by 9:30.

Story couldn't carry her stuff because her hands were filled with the DS that she was singing "Dynamite" into. I placed her sippy cup on the arm rest in the front seat, passed out the baggies of breakfast, buckled seat belts, and took off.

I was trying to eat my egg muffin and drive without spilling anything on me, and I was doing good! Just as I mentally complimented myself, part of the muffin started to spill... I swerved a little bit to catch it, and suddenly I felt a strange cold feeling on the right side of my legs.

The sippy cup!! I hadn't given it to Story!

About the time that I screamed when I realized that kool-aid was making its way all over the seat of my shorts. I was en route to the doctor and I didn't have time to change!! How was I going to keep from dying of embarrassment???

I grabbed a jacket from the back seat and started mopping it up, finally just sitting on it, hoping that it would wick away the moisture from my shorts. Once settled in the seat again, I heard a scream from the back seat...and the a giggle from my two kids. Followed by a repeat of the scream, and then more giggling. Story had recorded me!

So, off to the doctor I went with a wet rear-end, my scream in the back seat a reminder that I should have given Story her cup!

Ivy's not on the team!

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!

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?

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....

Am I old?

Ivy and I like to have deep conversations in the car on our way to school. They include subjects such as why I have moles, how I'm almost really old, and whether I look pretty or not. Today's is about what will happen in twenty years:

IVY: Mommy, what do you think I will look like in twenty years?

ME: Well, you should be taller, your hair will be different, and you'll be just as pretty.

IVY: Mommy, what will you and Daddy look like in twenty years?

ME: Well, Daddy will have grey hair. And we'll have wrinkles.

IVY: Daddy will have grey hair?

ME: Yes.

IVY: You'll have grey hair, too, right?

ME: Nope.

IVY: Yes you will.

ME: Nope, I color my hair, Ivy.

IVY: Yes you will. You'll have long grey hair, and you'll wear it in a bun.

ME: No! It will not be grey, long, or in a bun.

IVY: Why not?

ME: Because I'll only be 53!

IVY: Really??? That's old!!!!!!!

ME: So, that's old, but I'm not old right now?

IVY: Oh...yes, you're old right now. But in twenty years, you'll be really old.

Thanks, Ivy.