On the first day of Christmas, my children gave to me... squabbling over arranging the nativity! On the second day of Christmas, my children gave to me... two class parties to bake for, and squabbling over arranging the nativity! On the third day of Christmas, my children gave to me... three tons of "craft" debris, two class parties to bake for, and squabbling over arranging the nativity! On the fourth day of Christmas, my children gave to me... four inches of snow (tracked inside), three tons of "craft" debris, two class parties to bake for, and squabbling over arranging the nativity! On...
Monkey: Why did the chicken fly? Me: I dunno, honey. Why? Monkey: Cuz her kids flew away! And she was chasing them! Me: Oh... haha...? Chickadee: My turn! Me: Okay. Chickadee: Why did the dinosaur lay an egg? Me: I dunno, sweetie. Why? Chickadee: Cuz she wanted to see what her baby would look like. And it was a CHICKEN! Who could ask for anything more?
Up until very recently, I had always thought--nay, assumed--that I had a firm understanding of human nature and the English language. These two things are not inherently related; no. But together, they would lend a person (say, me) the insight necessary to interact with others in a productive manner, or at least to grasp why people do and/or say the things that they do. Today it's time to confront the truth. Thirty-three years of life; thirty-one of those spent talking nearly non-stop. And the reality is that my language skills or my interpersonal skills or--most likely--both are so...
If I were a better mother (where's that button, Jenny??), when my children arrived home after school, I would immediately go through their backpacks and lunchbags and deal with the contents therein. The lunchbags would be emptied and the ice packs set back into the freezer, the various art projects admired, the pine needles and acorns surreptitiously disposed of, permission slips signed, the next day's items packed, etc. And I fully intend to do this, every day, but I always end up sidetracked by other more important matters. Such as hollering, "Excuse me, were you raised in a barn? Close...
I had an entire conversation with a friend, yesterday, about the state of our childrens' hair. Yes, if you are a mom, you're nodding your head in understanding, and if not, you're realizing that this is what our lives are about and... hey! Where are you going?? Her stance was that--although her son recently cut his own hair for reasons not entirely clear, and now looks sort of like a doofus--giving a child a buzz cut in New England in winter is cruel and unusual. His head will be cold! I pointed out that regardless of the length of the hair, a hat is in order from October until April, so...
I'd like to introduce you to my son's latest obsession. Perhaps some of you XY types can come on in here and lend me some of that insight that can only come from testosterone poisoning, because frankly, I am stumped. This is Martian Manhunter, a.k.a. John Jones, a.k.a. J'onn J'onzz (which I'm thinking is his rap star name). He's evidently a very cool dude, and I--in my unhip femaleness and even worse, MOMness--am unable to grasp his inherent fabulousness. I see a big green ugly dude in a blue diaper (and let's be honest here: the package? nonexistent. Perhaps he did too many steroids, poor...
Chickadee finally managed to get that darn tooth out, today. She fairly flew off the bus this afternoon, grimy tooth clutched triumphantly in her hand, big hole in her smile with the tip of her tongue poking through. (After dinner discovery: even a large front tooth doesn't leave a hole quite large enough to suck Skittles through, although they didn't get stuck for lack of trying.) Maybe it wouldn't have bothered me if I hadn't spent an hour shopping for pants for Monkey, today. Yesterday, I was trying to get the kids ready for church, and every pair of pants I tossed over to Monkey was met...
Words cannot describe what has beset my household since the children returned home. It seems likely that the small ones didn't sleep a wink while with their father. That would explain the extreme fatigue and concomitant snarling about how rotten their lives are. The only other explanation that would account for their behavior is that they both had brain transplants last week, and frankly that would never happen without the ex banging down my door for my half of the co-pay the moment they left the hospital. Perhaps I'm not being fair. Perhaps--in my advanced age and dimming memory--I just...
You ever have one of those Monday mornings where it feels like the universe is trying to send you a message, and the message is not very nice? Like maybe... ... your nearly-five-year-old who should be nighttime trained by now but isn't because he will be going to college in pull-ups has soaked through everything, because you were out of name-brand pull-ups and used the inferior no-name brand, and it was probably all Murphy's Law-ish-ly because you just put clean sheets on his bed last night? ... that same child wakes up with a snot-covered face and you are out of daytime children's cold...
