Today’s throwback thursday is simply a picture from August 2009. I simply cannot believe my this boy turned into my roly-poly blond toddling machine… boggling.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Every now and then I get out of the habit of updating. Things happen in my life that just shouldn’t be blogged about - not bad things, but there’s plenty of things that don’t need to be aired out on the intrawebs.
I do have one question I’ve been mulling around in my head lately. If another child is physically violent with my kid, I get that I should teach them to defend themselves. I’m not thrilled about that, but I do understand the thought behind it. No worries at the present, no one is hurting my WonderGirl.
But what about mean girls? Studies have shown that the “Queen Bee” syndrome starts in girls as young as 2 1/2 and 3 years old. Every now and then I witness cliques forming and nasty little things being said my girl’s way. I don’t know where kids learn the joy of excluding others to make themselves feel better, but they do. Is there a class for this?? I never figured it out. Now, my WG is a total spaz, and I’m not saying she’s a saint, but she doesn’t know what to say when someone is mean to her. I don’t know how to tell her to defend herself, because mean girls always have a nastier thing to say and engaging them can really hurt. In a battle of mean, my kid is pretty much unarmed. And asking to be included has… uncomfortable results.
But I’ve been hurt by mean girls, age 2 to the present. I know how awful it feels to be excluded, or have someone point out what a total loser you are. And my heart breaks to think that my sunshine is going to have to go through it too.
But what’s a nice girl to do?
Friday, September 24, 2010
A revolutionary idea that converts existing roadways into a national solar power grid is up for a major cash prize.
Scott Brusaw is working on a project to encapsulate solar panels in high-strength glass capable of standing up to thousands of cars and trucks passing by each day. He estimates that a single parking lot paved with solar panels — even one where cars are parked — could power the big box store it serves, and a cul-de-sac paved with solar panels could take an entire subdivision off the grid even on a cloudy day.
After several woman collapsed upon completing the 800 meter dash at the 1928 Olympics, the powers that be in the world of running decided that women lack the constitution to run long distances. Running was thought to be not only unladylike, but dangerous for frail, frail ladies. Some hypothesized that running long distances could cause a woman’s uterus to fall out of her body, and we all know that the worst thing that could possibly happen to a woman is NOT HAVING BABIES. Women were barred from racing distances of more than 200 meters.
In 1967, Kathrine Switzer, a 20 year old college student, registered to run the Boston Marathon under the name “K. V. Switzer.” When race officials discovered that K. V. was a woman, the race had already started. This picture shows perfectly-named Boston Marathon official Jock Semple attempting to physically remove Switzer from the event, reportedly shouting, “Get the hell out of my race and give me those numbers!” Switzer’s college athlete boyfriend bodychecked the race official and the pair continued running.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Las night my mom called me. I could only tell it was her by the familiar cackle, as she was laughing so hard she couldn’t speak. She’d apparently just read the post about WonderGirl’s antics in tumbling class. I gave her the blow-by-blow and we both giggled. My child is the nicest kind of psychotic there is.
Just before we hung up, she asked me why in the world would I would be giving parenthood advice when I have only been a mother for just under 4 years. That also gave her a chuckle. The thought had also occurred to me, but becoming a mother was not a particularly easy road for me so I figured I should share what I’ve gleaned since I gleaned it all through blood, sweat and tears. I went back to my old blog and looked for an entry from those first few days to post as an example of how tough it had been and how hard I had to work at this. But I couldn’t find just one. I went through a few months of entries and couldn’t stop crying. I had been brutally honest, but reading through now I remember all the things that were so bad that I couldn’t write about them. Holy snap, I’d forgotten how bad it had really been.
In between all of it, strangers and friends from around the globe would write me e.mails with encouragement and answers to my questions. I know I say it far too often, but thank you, intrawebs. Thank you to every single one of you who reads my drivel and shares your lives with me. You were a blessing then and are a joy to me now.
So, I won’t post anything today from those days… just a HUGE hug. We’ve come a long way, baby.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
The rest of the parents got to sit in the tumbling class and observe their cherubs, but I had to stay out and watch the Dude run up and down the hallway. It was nice, but I was a little worried that I wasn’t able to watch over my very… excitable child in class.
At the very end I peeked in the through the window and saw the kids all in a line, taking turns running and jumping off of a springboard. All orderly and such. And then…. WG’s turn. She posed, arms over her head, and yelled at the top of her lungs, “AND NOW, PREEESENTINGGG… THE AMMMMAAAAAZZING ME!!!!” posed a few more times then ran and jumped with a flourish.
Apparently, this was not the first time she’d done that in class today. Sigh. I think we’re seeing the effect of having season passes to Circus World two years in a row.
I’m going to start a new series. I’m going to call it Things I’ve Learned About Parenthood. Catchy, I know. If you want to know about “real” parenthood, get one of those books by a “doctor.” Someone who never had their child yell out in the Dollar Tree - “Mommy, what part of the body is the butt?” like mine did today. Oh, she knows where her butt is and she also knows that is not a nice word to go shouting out in public, even if it is Dollar Tree. The butt was the body part she sat on while getting a talking to on the way home. She also has a butt on her cranium, I think. I haven’t seen it, but she can exhibit the symptoms of a person afflicted with having a butt on their head.
She is also awesome.
Anywho, here a few Things I’ve Learned About Parenthood, part one, and in no particular order:
It is not as bad as anyone says. Yes, you will change to the point that you may not recognize yourself and your marriage will also change completely, but change is good. Do you want to be the same person you were at 16? I’m certainly glad I’m not. Changing and growing is fantastic. It’s kind of the point of this life thing. And I don’t know about anyone else, but I sure as heck like my marriage a bazillion times better now than when we were first married. Sure there’s trial by fire moments, but the point is you come out of them smelling like toast together. That’s kind of awesome.
They break stuff. So hide everything you cherish. Seriously, WonderGirl has broken EVERY SINGLE NECKLACE AND BRACELET of mine that she has ever touched. She broke my favorite sunglasses today. And no amount of telling her “STOP. STRETCHING. THAT.” will register the next time they touch your jewelry. So, accept it. It just won’t change, and hide your stuff. Problem solved.
You will have amazing days. Days where you are trying to grocery shop and you are playing word games and singing with your kids while walking through the aisles and they are loving it and behaving like angels, and some stranger will come up to you and tell you that you are the best mother they have ever seen and that your children and the most adorable children that have ever lived. You will feel better than you have ever felt in your life. And then other days you will have to leave the store holding one of those child over your shoulder while they are kicking and screaming “DON’T DO THIS TO ME, MOMMY!!!” and everyone is looking at you, thinking that you are an abusive crack addict who has been smacking your kid around when in fact, you are the mom that said that you weren’t buying any gummy bears because said little girl just got over the stomach flu and you don’t want to give her any junk food just yet. You will also reconsider all your life decisions up to that point and wish for the sweet release of death. But the awesome thing is, at some point they fall asleep and wake up happy and oblivious to whatever horrible things happened earlier. No kidding, they won’t remember anything. They’ll go right back to thinking you are the beez kneez. It is one of the greatest things ever invented about children.
You will feel that you look like a drowned rat. Take pictures with you in them anyway, and stick them in photo albums. Those cheesy scrapbooks are not necessary and your kids won’t know the difference. They will look through them over and over and love seeing you in action with them. And you’ll need it too. Also, you look way hotter than you realize.
Singing. Is important. Not just the Wheels On The Bus, but church songs, anything, all the time. I teach music at church to the nursery kids (ages 18 mos.-3 years) and it’s obvious which kids are sung to at home and who is not. The ones who don’t have it in the home sit there with a glazed, dull look, but the kids who do try to move along and mouth some words of their own. They know that this music thing is something they can participate in, and it isn’t just some thing they hear in the car. The kids who sing with their families are by far the more well-adjusted kids in the group.
Manners are awesome, and are something you should teach to babies. Your one year old can be polite and kind. 2 years old is too late. More on that later, WonderGirl has tumbling class. Where she will NOT be yelling out the word “butt.” I hope…
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
The xx : Islands A bit ago, Aubrey posted about dancing to this song with her husband. She lives up in the pacific Northwest, where she is tragically hip and it makes me intensely jealous in my digs in the Midwest. I mean, this is her kitchen: DUDE. I feel so tragically un-hip. So I fell in love with this song, and have been listening to it over the last few weeks, dissecting each part. I love that about minimalist music - how you can hear each individual part doing so little, and yet when they all come together it is strangely greater than any one instrument. So then over the weekend the husband called me up all excited and told me about this amazing new band he heard about on NPR. He digs the minimalist thing too. And I got to say “The xx?? I know all about them, they are sooo cool!” And I felt less tragically un-hip. And THEN he got out his new electric drum set and told me he’d like to try and write some music with me, inspired by the awesomeness of The xx. YAY! Thanks, Aubrey!
The xx : Islands
A bit ago, Aubrey posted about dancing to this song with her husband. She lives up in the pacific Northwest, where she is tragically hip and it makes me intensely jealous in my digs in the Midwest. I mean, this is her kitchen:
DUDE. I feel so tragically un-hip. So I fell in love with this song, and have been listening to it over the last few weeks, dissecting each part. I love that about minimalist music - how you can hear each individual part doing so little, and yet when they all come together it is strangely greater than any one instrument.
So then over the weekend the husband called me up all excited and told me about this amazing new band he heard about on NPR. He digs the minimalist thing too. And I got to say “The xx?? I know all about them, they are sooo cool!” And I felt less tragically un-hip. And THEN he got out his new electric drum set and told me he’d like to try and write some music with me, inspired by the awesomeness of The xx. YAY!
Poor WonderGirl was stricken ill last night so first thing this morning, I dragged the kiddos to the doctor, both of them still in their jammies and me straight out of the shower, looking like a drowned rat. Things took an hour more than I expected, and by the time we were done, storytime at the library started in just 10 minutes. 10 MINUTES!
Should take the kids home, give them an actual breakfast and get us all dressed and looking like humans and miss storytime, or just head over there looking like crazy homeless people?
Duh. Nothing gets between me and storytime. I firmly believe attending storytime is one of the main reasons that my WG is freakin’ awesome. Also, I think along with all that free swag they give you at the hospital right after you give birth, they must take away your shame. I’ve run through an airport with a handful of poo (funny story), I’ve actually said the words “You can’t eat your ice cream until you finish your french fries” and my oldest has been wearing the same clothes for 24 hours now.
I’m cool with that. Nothing gets between me and storytime.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Dangit, I’m about to put a bullet through the GPS. I brought TWO. on my trip to Chicago today and they both sent me into the middle of flipping nowhere, where the speed limit is apparently 55. I’m sending my speeding ticket to Google. Jerks.
On a positive note, I’m getting 24 hours with my parents. Woohoo!!
This entry is from April 25th, 2008, so it’s not that big of a throwback, but it did make me giggle. SO when I thought that my friend was mad at me (when it turns out she was actually just too lazy to call me back) I wrote her a message telling her that I was sorry and she HAD to call me back. I also added this list of stuff I was willing to do to get her to call me as an incentive: 1. Promise to refrain from mentioning random anecdotes from my love life for at least 3 months. Her favorite was number 2. Of course now that I know she wasn’t mad at me, it means I am off the hook for ever hugging a dog or making jam. This also means I can still creep her out with random quips about what SexyHubby and I may or may not have been doing in the vicinity of our bedroom this morning. Heh. Got you too. Feel free to try and wash your brain out with soap. I do that to my mom all the time and it’s a wonder she still calls at all.
2. Hug a dog. (she knows that 1) they scare me and 2) I’m just not an animal person AT ALL)
3. Plant a tree of your favorite fruit and then mail you jam made from said fruit.
4. Learn Spanish.
5. Refrain from mentioning anything derogatory about Provo or Utah itself.(she’s going to the BYU soon)
SO when I thought that my friend was mad at me (when it turns out she was actually just too lazy to call me back) I wrote her a message telling her that I was sorry and she HAD to call me back. I also added this list of stuff I was willing to do to get her to call me as an incentive:
1. Promise to refrain from mentioning random anecdotes from my love life for at least 3 months.
Her favorite was number 2. Of course now that I know she wasn’t mad at me, it means I am off the hook for ever hugging a dog or making jam. This also means I can still creep her out with random quips about what SexyHubby and I may or may not have been doing in the vicinity of our bedroom this morning.
Heh. Got you too. Feel free to try and wash your brain out with soap. I do that to my mom all the time and it’s a wonder she still calls at all.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Two fancy “foreign” things you should be aware of and buy are Nutella and Babybel cheese. A jar of Nutella is breakfast, lunch, dinner, and dessert. Buy Babybel to help defray the cost of toys—My son has been playing with red Babybel wax outerskins for weeks. It’s like modeling clay. Gross? Yes well, some of us can’t afford salt dough.
I’m going to print these posts out and stick them in my scriptures for future reference,
While we’re on the subject of bleep buttons, wouldn’t it be nice if we could have one for ourselves? So many times when I’m talking, something will starting to come out of my mouth that my brain starts screaming at - “NOOOO!!! ABORT ABORT!!!” but by that point, I’ve already started it… and I end up either just saying the crazy thing OR changing it mid-stream to something completely ridiculous. Example:
“I was in Chicago last year and…. I hate muffins.”
Make sense? Me neither. It’s great when the other person gives you a blank stare and you have to explain that even you have no idea what anything you say means either.
BEEEEEP. Much better.
Monday, September 13, 2010
Today could be going better. We’ll just say that. Also, I would like a censor button. Something I could press when someone says something I should not hear. They’ll say “What was that??” and I’ll say “I’m sorry, that material is inappropriate for our listeners.” Topics to be bleeped:
- picky eaters and why they are simply a result of lazy parenting
er, that’s it really. Oh, and
Yup, two subjects I sincerely dislike having to explain so that I will not be viewed as a terrible horrible psycho mom. Because I have to come to peace with the cards life has dealt me. I cannot and should definitely not nurse, and my daughter was hardwired to hate eating most things… and just to eat in particular. I can’t change either thing, and I really, REALLY hate trying to convince anyone why these things are so. Yes, I’ve tried everything, and I’ve been through some absolutely horrible experiences and I do NOT want to have to relate them again and again in the hopes that the other person will accept, as I am trying so desperately hard to accept, that these are two things I can absolutely not control. Ug, just typing this I’m reliving those horrible moments in Brasil… both of us lying on the tile floor, sobbing our hearts out, then lying on the floor in our kitchen in Georgia, sobbing our hearts out… dagnabit, now I’m crying again. I’m bleeping this whole conversation, people. Can we all just agree to take my word on this?
Saturday, September 11, 2010
I don’t feel like I have the right to say anything about where I was or anything personal about 9/11. I cried, we all did. My friend lost her father, my simple tears or story are completely unimportant. As people tell about where they were when they heard -I think of this picture - the moment where the president was informed that America had been attacked. Politics aside, this picture captures the moment he heard… and as a fellow human, it haunts me. How I wish there was a way to never have to be the bearer or receiver of such terrible news.
I kneewww that taking a moment to look at how good I’ve got things going was dangerous. So today, we got to drag a screaming WonderGirl out of a birthday party.
Here’s my conundrum: WG won’t eat meals. She’ll do anything other than eat. She will die if you tell her to eat. Will sit there screaming bloody murder rather than JUST. EAT. And yet if she doesn’t eat, she can’t reason and gets hysterical about EVERYTHING. The issue at the party? She couldn’t find a chair to sit in while singing around the cake.
So if she’s not hungry, she’s rational and wonderful.
But she won’t eat.
Friday, September 10, 2010
Can I just have a moment here? I have been on this earth for 30 years. I have been walking for about 29 years, speaking English for about 28 years, and have been playing the violin for about 26 years. I’d say I’m pretty proficient at these things. So when I look at my parenting skills and realize I’ve been doing this for almost 4 years, I know I have LONG way to go. I’m just a baby here.
But I do have one thing I’d like to toot my horn about… I’ve been working - WORKING for all 4 years. She’s brilliant, I can’t take credit for a lot of the things she can do, or how early she started doing them. But she came out headstrong, and if I had let her, she could have been pretty selfish. All kids are, but I felt it was more important that I teach her empathy and obedience first. I had to be around her all day long, so no way was I going to let her treat me poorly. She doesn’t bark “PLEASE” as an after-thought if she needs something, she asks me in a complete sentence the first time. And “I want” is absolutely forbidden in our home. It was self preservation - I had to teach her manners for my own sanity. I need to be treated like a human, not a slave. I’m not saying she’s perfect, but I’ve put a lot of hard work in - be tougher than I wanted to be and be more patient than I wanted to be and you know what? I was right! It’s really awesome to see her be a big sister - because her first reaction is to want him to get out of her way, but then I see the wheels turn in her head and she makes an concerted effort to treat him the way she’d want to be treated. It’s pretty much the awesomest thing ever. (sidenote - have your kids read Do Unto Otters by Laurie Keller)
And one thing I’m kind of proud of? After there’s an issue, a meltdown because she didn’t get her way - we practice for the next time. So we pretend like we’re in the grocery store, walking down a hall and she pretends she sees something she likes and says “Mommy, may I please have that??” I say no, and she smiles big and says “Okay mommy!” Seriously. I work at this. When her teacher said she had trouble listening to directions at school, we made a game of it by me giving her directions and her following them (and then trading jobs for giggles) and the teacher told me today she was AWESOME!. When she acts up in church, we come home and she practices sitting reverently in the Reverent Chair. It’s not pleasant, but if you don’t practice doing things right, how are you supposed to know how to do them??
So the other day in the grocery store, I wandered aimlessly for an hour trying to remember what I needed and keep the Dude from crawling out of the cart and she kept seeing things she wanted. And every time I said no, she’d smile big and say “Okay mommy!” And I’d kiss her on the cheek and tell her how proud I was of her.
I’m just thrilled that something I did actually works.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
So back in 2001, around February 27th, I was dating a fellow music student at UNT. He actually sings with the Metropolitan Opera now, and yes, that does make me feel a little lame. But whatever, this conversation makes me giggle every time I think of it:
WANT TO HEAR A FUNNY STORY???????
Yesterday I get a phone call from the boyfriend at 8 freakin’ am from his cell phone.
“can I tell you a story?”
and here it is…. as told by the N…
“let’s say there’s a boy name N that was promised 300 bucks for a gig he sang for a bank, and he only got 100. Now let’s say this N got mad about this… sitting in a Wal-mart parking lot let’s say… last night and decided to donate it to a worth-while institution…”
enter me into the conversation…”N - where the heck are you??”
“let me finish… so N drives to gamble in Shreveport, Louisiana -“
“WHERE ARE YOU N??!”
“I’m in Tyler, Texas with a thousand dollars in my pocket.”
folks - here are some details you might like to know… he didn’t leave for Louisiana until 2:30 am.. the drive was 3 hours and he got back in time for his noon class.
He also apologized because gambling is against both our religions…:)
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
WonderGirl started preschool a few minutes ago. I may or may not be a blubbering mess. I miss my Sunshine. It’s ridiculous to be such a baby - it’s just 2 hours more a week than she was going to her daycare last year, and she won’t be in real kindergarten for a few more years. But I miss her. At times I am horrified to give her away to someone else for 3 mornings a week because I’m just. not. done. teaching her every second of the day. I can’t let her out of my sight, what if she makes a mistake?? (and yes, I know that’s how this parenthood thing is supposed to go.) But as anguishing it is to let her walk away from me for a few hours, I have one thing keeping me sane. I know I can trust her. I can trust her to be kind and honest. I can trust her to seek help instead of striking back. I can trust her to listen and obey. And when she has trouble with any of these things, I can trust her to try again. She’s got this. But I miss her.
WonderGirl started preschool a few minutes ago. I may or may not be a blubbering mess. I miss my Sunshine. It’s ridiculous to be such a baby - it’s just 2 hours more a week than she was going to her daycare last year, and she won’t be in real kindergarten for a few more years. But I miss her.
At times I am horrified to give her away to someone else for 3 mornings a week because I’m just. not. done. teaching her every second of the day. I can’t let her out of my sight, what if she makes a mistake?? (and yes, I know that’s how this parenthood thing is supposed to go.)
But as anguishing it is to let her walk away from me for a few hours, I have one thing keeping me sane. I know I can trust her. I can trust her to be kind and honest. I can trust her to seek help instead of striking back. I can trust her to listen and obey. And when she has trouble with any of these things, I can trust her to try again. She’s got this.
But I miss her.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
“According to Fowler’s study, if you have a divorced friend, the chance that you will get divorced as well increases by 147 percent.” Just sharing this for sheer “huh” factor. My in-laws both come from divorced families and are going on 30+ years so anyone can beat the odds. I don’t think any of my friends will give me “the divorce.” I’m actually much more likely to trick my friends into getting pregnant ;) (click on above link for article)
I’m a VERY displeased fall is here. That just means winter is inevitable and I’m pretty sure another season spent buried in snow is going finally send me into permanent residency at a loony bin. But since I have no power over any of it… I’m closing my eyes and jumping in. Cowabunga fall, you big jerk.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
GPOYW - Confession Time- edition. In my post about my jewelry yesterday, almost every comment had to do with the super awesome green shag carpeting. Sweet, except I do not have super awesome green shag carpeting. I have super awesome beige shag carpeting. Sometimes when I want to look all artsy and cool, I take pictures with the sweet apps on my phone camera that put different filters on it so as to make me look like I’m in a some weird perfume ad, and the “toy camera emulator” filter makes everything green-ish. So in the spirit of full disclosure, here are a few other ways I am tricking you in into thinking I am awesome in this photograph:
- Not a single strand of my hair is my natural color.
- My killer eyelashes are thanks to Maybelline.
- I am not transparent because of Bare Minerals bronzer.
- That Sebastian beanie doll cannot fly. I’m really holding him up in the air.
Whew. I feel a little better.
DUDE. SO we have a white dining table with no matching chairs, and since we’ll be near an Ikea this weekend (AT THE MALL OF AMERICA. I KID YOU NOT. I’M GOING TO REVA-MECCA!!!!!!) we’ve been looking at picking up some chairs there. I offhandedly showed this image to the very decor picky husband and said this would be my ideal… and he said… MAYBE. YESSSSS!!!!! Who has some old chairs they want to reupholster and paint different colors and then give them to me???
Okay, I kid. You could come over and fix them when I try and completely butcher it though!
HEAR YE. I need to document the fact that I ran 3 miles and didn't feel like death. So just to make sure it wasn't a fluke, I did...