I hoped, and I wished, and I prayed. I offered up silent sacrifices befitting the huge favor I was pleading for with my mind. I told myself not to get my hopes up, not to get my heart set on what very well might not happen, and to be ready for the disappointment. As I live in a town of parents known to be pushy and unreasonable, I kept my desires to myself. I made no demands. I just... kept... hoping against hope that this one little sign of promise would play out in our favor. Today was the last day of school, and the manila envelope in Chickadee's backpack held a report card, several...
1) Even the world's most selfish child will offer three of her six chicken nuggets to her sobbing brother who insists that he most certainly did NOT ask for that cheeseburger. 2) Do not bother trying to clarify to a small pacifist that it is technically impossible to avoid all of the tent caterpillars on the driveway while pulling in. Just agree that you avoided them all. 3) When your child's therapist says that things are "much more productive" when you attend sessions rather than your ex, try not to gloat. Also resist the urge to share this information with him. Just schedule all future...
I called my father today to wish him a happy Father's Day, on account of I would get a great big F in "Sandwich Generation;" I can either focus on my children or my parents, but not both. As I've been rather busy with the kids of late (read: trying to keep them alive and relatively well cared for while keeping from them the fact that I am a blubbering mess), I neglected to even send my father a card. (See also: I suck.) But, hey! The advantage of being a mess--or maybe it's just the advantage of having a cool Dad, I dunno--is that a phone call seems to do the trick, and everyone is...
Me: Wow, that was really nice of you, Chickadee. Monkey, what do you say to your sister? Monkey: BOOGER! Me: Monkey! Monkey: Sorry. Me: What do you say? Monkey: Thaaaaaank you-- Me: Better-- Monkey: --wiggy wiggy wiggy BOOGERS! I'm thinking of opening my own finishing school.
"It ain't the heat, it's the humility." --Yogi Berra It hit 90 here, today. I didn't notice until late afternoon when I was elbow-deep in mulch and suddenly uuuuuuuuuugh I'm dizzy.... But, um, the front flower beds are weed-free and raked out and ready for planting. But me being stupid enough to overheat and dehydrate is not actually all that interesting, even to me. So, moving right along! Did you know that my children share DNA? It's true, I swear. Though it's pretty hard to believe, at times. Especially when they're so unalike, and both can occasionally render me speechless in totally...
I try to give my children age-appropriate instruction in the lessons I think they need to learn. So today, on Memorial Day, I figured it was time for them to start learning some hard lessons about sacrifice, liberty, and the responsibility inherent in being a citizen. Unfortunately, they don't live in a democracy. They live in a relatively benevolent dictatorship, but, whatever. Details. So this morning, I donned my welding helmet and latex gloves, grabbed the biggest trash barrel we have, and went into Chickadee's room. It's not like I hadn't TOLD them what was going to happen. But I really...
I used to do a regular Friday segment where folks could ask me questions and I did various combinations of truth and fiction in the answers. Then everyone and their cousin started doing it and I had been asked what my favorite book was four or five times and so I stopped doing it. But I kinda dug having a Friday "thing." So here's my stab at a new one. This will be the first in a series, unless, of course, I get bored or die or have something else really important happen next Friday that pre-empts the second installment. Anyway. Friday Flashbacks! See how there's alliteration? Two Fs in a...
Shiz is wondering why it is that parents tell the childless about how hard it is to have kids, and how potty training sucks and children like to put things up their noses and by the way let me tell you about the time my kid spiked a fever of 112 and we were at the Emergency Room for a week while they sliced the kid into 5,239 little pieces and cooled them in ice cube trays and then reassembled the cooled-down child using several gallons of Demabond but I'm afraid she'll never play the violin again. I'm not sure that I agree with her assessment, by the way. But certainly, yes, we parents do...
Today was not a good day. There is a phenomenon that occurs in families with multiple children when one of those children has behavioral issues. Mine is not the first where this has happened and it will not be the last. It should be of some comfort to me, this. But it's not. Mostly I want to fling myself spread-eagle to the ground and scream "NOT FAIR NOT FAIR NOT FAIR!!" until I'm worn out from beating my fists and kicking my feet. Here is what happens: One child starts to have problems, and you are (naturally) gripped with anxiety and worry. The struggle begins to get these problems...
