As Chris noted earlier today, it has been Hot 'round here. Very Very Hot. Too Hot To Play Outside Hot. I never realized there was such a thing as Too Hot To Play Outside, but there really is. I was driving back from some errands (oh, blessed babysitter: how I do love thee) this morning and heard on the radio that---in addition to being So Very Hot outside---we were having a day of dangerously high ozone levels, and so it was recommended that all children, elderly, pets, and anyone who likes to breathe oxygen stay inside as much as possible. [This, by the way, confuses me. First, isn't there...
I've been trying to remember all day, what that animal at the end of Dr. Doolittle (the book, not the movie) is called. I think it's a Pushme-Pullyou. That's what I should've dubbed Chickadee. Monkey had a birthday party at a local kids' museum to go to, and I called the birthday mom to ask if she thought there was enough age-appropriate stuff there for Chickadee; if so, I would buy us tickets and we'd come in as well. Oh, she said, we have several kids who aren't coming. Just come on in and let her join the party. Was she sure? Oh, sure, they had other siblings coming, please just join us....
In my continuing quest to make sure my children require therapy for the duration of their childhood and well into their adult years, today I took them to the mall. Dressed as cows. Yes, it's okay. Take a moment to soak that up. It was 97 degrees outside, and I dressed them as cows and took them to the mall. Because I am the Greatest. Mother. EVER.* But this reminds me (and what a nice segue) to point out that if you are planning on acquiring a men's or ladies' special edition, 3-Day-supporting, ultra-super-cool Woulda Coulda Shoulda t-shirt, you need to do so by the end of next week. The...
My children have discovered this World Wide Web thing, and my life may never be the same. We were riding along in the car today, on our way home from grocery shopping, and Chickadee piped up from the back seat: "Mama, when you were a kid, and you didn't have computers, what did you DO if you wanted to know something about something?" I suggested that I was going to need just a WEE BIT more information to go on, to answer that question, and she continued: "I mean, what if you wanted to find out the state bird or whatever?" When I told her we would go to the library, she LAUGHED AT ME. "They...
You know that phrase, "Pick your battles?" Oh, if you're a parent, I'll bet it's not so much a phrase as a mantra. That and "this too shall pass" have gotten many a parent through some dark hours. I don't like to pick my battles. More to the point: I want to pick ALL of the battles. Not because I enjoy fighting. I don't. But I want to be in charge. And I want it done my way. Let's face it; my job is to turn these kids into functioning members of society, and that means inflicting my will on them until they stop acting like crazed baboons. Still, sometimes I decide to try this whole "picking...
I really thought that by now, the kids and I would be well into our Summer Routine. We are, indeed, if our routine is no routine whatsoever, and one or both of the following things may or may not have happened recently only I am totally not admitting anything: A) We are lolling about at the library one afternoon, nary a care in the world, when my cell phone rings. It's my ex, wanting to know where we are. I'm about to explain in detail why his question and his tone are unnecessary, when I realize why he's calling. It's his afternoon with the kids, Chickadee has Tae Kwon Do class to get to,...
This morning--the LAST! DAY! OF! SCHOOL!--dawned cheerful and bright, and I realized that for all of my careful end-of-year organization and preparation, somehow, I hadn't procured a gift for the bus driver. This was a problem. Not only do we have the only bus driver in the history of elementary schools who actually LIKES and is GOOD WITH small children, I'm pretty sure she spends her entire (meager, no doubt) salary on treats for the kids. The woman deserves canonization, really, but I usually settle for a small gift. What to do, what to do. Oh! A Dunkin Donuts gift card! Know what else...
Ah, Summer. Hello, Summer! Um, wait. Wait, Summer! Please wait a couple of days! This is the last time I'll have to deal with this particular problem--which is due to varying schedules between private and public school (and from here on out my children will suffer equally at the hands of our tax dollars gone awry)--but Monkey is done with school, and Chickadee still has two more days to go. This is a recipe for sibling smackdown, in case you were wondering. My job, as the attending adult in this situation, is to pretend that it's No Big Deal and somehow make sure that Monkey and I have some...
Monkey is officially a kindergarten graduate. He has a diploma and everything. The kids put on an entire circus which was so stinking cute it made my teeth ache. The ringmaster kept saying things like "Aaaaand nowuh. Pwease put yowur hands togevver for da funniest cwowns awound!" The tightrope walkers stood on the balance beam and picked their leotards out of their cracks. The clowns forgot their lines. The acrobats kept falling on their butts. The jugglers (one of which was Monkey) hit each other in the face with their balls. The magicians reached into the hat to pull out a rabbit... and...
