April 21, 2009
Today I bought a bicycle. I am a bicycle owner. This is the first bike that I have owned in, mmmm, five years. The one that I sold at our garage sale five years ago, however, I hadn’t ridden in, mmmm, five years, and it was the bike that I’d had since I was 13ish. It was time – time for that one to go.
So, I’ve been doing the Spin (indoor cycle) class at the gym for a year and a half now, and I LOVE it. It is such fun, sweatastic torture; it kinda rocks my world. A lot. When I first told Mike that – because of my love for and skill in Spin – I wanted to get an ‘actual’ bike, he looked at me for a moment, thinking. Then he said, “You realize it’s not going to be the same as Spin – the bike actually moves. Outside.”
I rolled my eyes, not even gifting him with a response.
“You’ll have to go down hills and fast.” Ahhh, there he hit a nerve. I have a fear of down hills and fast – particularly when they happen at the same time. This was a serious issue for us when, very early on in our relationship, Mike tried to teach me how to rollerblade. We were in the Montlake Parking lot at the UW – this enormous expanse of parking lot that…was…too…steep…for…me. I’m telling you, you don’t realize how bumpy and lumpy parking lots are until you’re traversing the mountainous plains on a couple of pairs of wheels. Terrifying. (“Mountainous plains” – yes, I realize that’s an oxymoron). Needless-to-say, the rollerblading lessons were a test to our relationship. We survived, but I have never rollerbladed since.
Yes, I realize that I may have to go downhill quickly, but it’s a challenge I’m ready to face. That’s what the brakes are for anyway! The other challenge I may have to face is cars…scary. Cars are scary and fast. I think I’ll be more of a bike trails kind of a biker not a militant “Share the Road,” driving IN the car lane kind of cyclist.
I have ambitions of becoming one of those cyclists with the fancy spandex and alienesque bike helmets that ride in packs in the wee hours of weekend mornings. Except I won’t drive near cars…and I may sort of avoid going downhill. Up hill on the other hand. Bring it on!
I also have one other issue. I have extremely low bike helmet self-esteem. This issue can be traced back to my childhood as so many of our issues can. (My childhood was excellent, by the way). My first and only ever bike helmet was this perfectly round bubblegum pink bubblegum helmet head situation. My shadow looked like Jack from Jack in the Box commercials. PERFECTLY ROUND. I looked like a big pink ping pong ball on a body. My best friend from childhood, Rachel, still likes to mock my bubblegum pink bubblegum helmet head. Hey – she had to be seen with me, so I took us both down!
So, I bought a non-bubblegum pink bubblegum helmet head helmet yesterday. It’s sleek – silver and periwinkle but periwinkle in a very grown-up cyclist sort of a way. When I put it on, the boys (as if prompted), said, “Cool, Mom. That helmet is SO cool.” Hmmm. No matter how ‘cool’ it may be (and I have doubts that it is actually cool), I still feel like a chubby 11 year old in a bubblegum pink bubblegum helmet. Maybe the fancy spandex will help. Bright spandex? Making me feel cooler? Less dorky? That, I fear, is also an oxymoron.
Today, I bought a bicycle. A grown-up, grip shifting 21-speed, dark blue beauty of a bicycle. It doesn’t have slick little racing wheels or the fancy racing curved-down handlebars. Instead of being all hunched over, focused on the race, I can sit-up comfortably enjoying the view and the ride. I have ambitions of becoming a fancy spandexed-cool-helmet-racing cyclist, but for now I’m happy with the fact that I actually have a bike to ride and the immense desire to ride it!
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Friday, April 17, 2009
Was it my blatant disrespect and flippancy? Did my irreverence and mockery of that nasty of nasties: vomit, earn me a just and appropriate punishment?! If so, I will never again treat the subject of vomiting with such an uncouth demeanor….except for this one last time; just right now; this once.
On Tuesday, I posted my last Blog entry regarding the pukey natures of our children. Little did I know that the same fate was about to be dealt unto moi. I felt absolutely, perfectly fine in the morning. I did my usual Tuesday routine – took Matthew to preschool and then Zachary and I went to the gym where I partook in the fun-torture of sweat-dripping spin class. After class, I got showered, retrieved my youngest from the gym kids’ club, my eldest from preschool and then we drove up to my friend Rebecca’s house for a play date.
Rebecca and I have established a marvelous trend with our play dates. We fix an easy, kid-friendly lunch for the boys (four of them, when we’re all together), then once they’re happily playing, we sit down to a feast of gourmet deliciousness…and occasionally a glass or two of wine. Now, my two “Going Out Girls” – Rebecca and Larissa, with whom I go out dancing approximately once a month – have a delightful time mocking what a “light weight” I am. As Larissa says it only takes a drink or two and Jenny is “HILARIOUS on the sauce.” So, I guess this is a good thing. It means: a.) I’m a cheap date, b.) I don’t ever drink much or really ‘over my limit’ as my limit is so low, and c.) I make for an excellent Designated Driver as I can’t have anything at all or I lose my DD role. Though I’m not often allowed to be DD as I’m “HILARIOUS on the sauce.”
Back to Tuesday afternoon, Rebecca and I were off to a grand start – a delicious lunch and a glass of wine. OK, a glass and a half. That’s it. We’d been visiting for a couple of hours, when suddenly I started to not feel well at all.
“What’s the deal? Why do I feel so awful?” I asked Rebecca.
“I don’t know,” she said, “you haven’t even had two full glasses…you should be able to handle that much.”
And then, it hit me. Oh man, I’m going to be sick. I believe that I somewhat calmly said, “I think I need to go throw up now.” I got myself to the bathroom and WAZAMEE. I won’t go into the gory details, but let’s just say it was gory. This was a rated R – no kids under 17 allowed in without parents – kind of a vomit. It was a horror movie. I immediately thought of Zach and how he so calmly handled his rainbow puke incident. Oye.
I reclined on the couch for a little bit and then feeling better decided I better get us home. We had about 20 minutes on 405 during which I practically had my head hanging out the window like a dog, just hoping the fresh air would make me feel better. Zach fell asleep and Matthew was sitting ever so quiet and peacefully in the back seat while I fought my own personal hell in the front. I managed to get us to our exit and was about 3 minutes from home when I had to pull off the road into a gravel turnaround and get sick again…into the plastic bag we use for garbage in the car. Matthew, during my…uh ‘episode’, said, “Mommy, the bag is leaking.” Just what you want to hear.
We made it home, and I called Mike saying, ‘back-up, I need back-up.’ I got the boys in the house, 101 Dalmatians turned on, wiped up the car a little bit, and then got sick again…and again…and again..and again. I don’t remember the last time that I was sick like that. And I don’t want to. I don’t ever want to remember it ever again. (Good thing I’m documenting this for all eternity).
So, what was it? Was it food poisoning? Stomach flu? With the exception of Zach’s one random rainbow vomitous occasion, no one else has gotten sick (thank goodness!). Punishment for making a mockery of vomit?
And speaking of mockery, yesterday, Mike had the audacity to mock my puking skills. Like – you have to be good at vomiting! He said, “Yeah, you’re a terrible puker. The boys handle it better than you. They just puke, get it done and move on. You spend all this extra energy freaking out and kicking your legs and practically convulsing.”
“Well, I don’t like throwing up!” I cried defensively. “I mean, what am I supposed to do? It’s puke! Why am I so bad at it?”
“Woah,” Mike said, “are you offended because you’re not a good puker?”
“I’m offended because YOU said I’m not a good puker. I might be an excellent puker, it’s just that you have a low opinion of my puking skills, and that’s just not nice.”
“Are you really actually SAD that you don’t have good puking skills?” He asked.
“Um, I don’t know. Why are we still even talking about this and analyzing my puking skills?”
By the way, for the record, I’m an AMAZING puker. (OK, who am I kidding? I’m the worst puker I know. But I have many of other good and valuable qualities to make up for my lack of puking skills). I told my parents today how poorly Mike thinks of my puketasticness, and my dad said, without skipping a bit, “Yeah, you’ve always been bad at it.”
Fine!
On Tuesday, I posted my last Blog entry regarding the pukey natures of our children. Little did I know that the same fate was about to be dealt unto moi. I felt absolutely, perfectly fine in the morning. I did my usual Tuesday routine – took Matthew to preschool and then Zachary and I went to the gym where I partook in the fun-torture of sweat-dripping spin class. After class, I got showered, retrieved my youngest from the gym kids’ club, my eldest from preschool and then we drove up to my friend Rebecca’s house for a play date.
Rebecca and I have established a marvelous trend with our play dates. We fix an easy, kid-friendly lunch for the boys (four of them, when we’re all together), then once they’re happily playing, we sit down to a feast of gourmet deliciousness…and occasionally a glass or two of wine. Now, my two “Going Out Girls” – Rebecca and Larissa, with whom I go out dancing approximately once a month – have a delightful time mocking what a “light weight” I am. As Larissa says it only takes a drink or two and Jenny is “HILARIOUS on the sauce.” So, I guess this is a good thing. It means: a.) I’m a cheap date, b.) I don’t ever drink much or really ‘over my limit’ as my limit is so low, and c.) I make for an excellent Designated Driver as I can’t have anything at all or I lose my DD role. Though I’m not often allowed to be DD as I’m “HILARIOUS on the sauce.”
Back to Tuesday afternoon, Rebecca and I were off to a grand start – a delicious lunch and a glass of wine. OK, a glass and a half. That’s it. We’d been visiting for a couple of hours, when suddenly I started to not feel well at all.
“What’s the deal? Why do I feel so awful?” I asked Rebecca.
“I don’t know,” she said, “you haven’t even had two full glasses…you should be able to handle that much.”
And then, it hit me. Oh man, I’m going to be sick. I believe that I somewhat calmly said, “I think I need to go throw up now.” I got myself to the bathroom and WAZAMEE. I won’t go into the gory details, but let’s just say it was gory. This was a rated R – no kids under 17 allowed in without parents – kind of a vomit. It was a horror movie. I immediately thought of Zach and how he so calmly handled his rainbow puke incident. Oye.
I reclined on the couch for a little bit and then feeling better decided I better get us home. We had about 20 minutes on 405 during which I practically had my head hanging out the window like a dog, just hoping the fresh air would make me feel better. Zach fell asleep and Matthew was sitting ever so quiet and peacefully in the back seat while I fought my own personal hell in the front. I managed to get us to our exit and was about 3 minutes from home when I had to pull off the road into a gravel turnaround and get sick again…into the plastic bag we use for garbage in the car. Matthew, during my…uh ‘episode’, said, “Mommy, the bag is leaking.” Just what you want to hear.
We made it home, and I called Mike saying, ‘back-up, I need back-up.’ I got the boys in the house, 101 Dalmatians turned on, wiped up the car a little bit, and then got sick again…and again…and again..and again. I don’t remember the last time that I was sick like that. And I don’t want to. I don’t ever want to remember it ever again. (Good thing I’m documenting this for all eternity).
So, what was it? Was it food poisoning? Stomach flu? With the exception of Zach’s one random rainbow vomitous occasion, no one else has gotten sick (thank goodness!). Punishment for making a mockery of vomit?
And speaking of mockery, yesterday, Mike had the audacity to mock my puking skills. Like – you have to be good at vomiting! He said, “Yeah, you’re a terrible puker. The boys handle it better than you. They just puke, get it done and move on. You spend all this extra energy freaking out and kicking your legs and practically convulsing.”
“Well, I don’t like throwing up!” I cried defensively. “I mean, what am I supposed to do? It’s puke! Why am I so bad at it?”
“Woah,” Mike said, “are you offended because you’re not a good puker?”
“I’m offended because YOU said I’m not a good puker. I might be an excellent puker, it’s just that you have a low opinion of my puking skills, and that’s just not nice.”
“Are you really actually SAD that you don’t have good puking skills?” He asked.
“Um, I don’t know. Why are we still even talking about this and analyzing my puking skills?”
By the way, for the record, I’m an AMAZING puker. (OK, who am I kidding? I’m the worst puker I know. But I have many of other good and valuable qualities to make up for my lack of puking skills). I told my parents today how poorly Mike thinks of my puketasticness, and my dad said, without skipping a bit, “Yeah, you’ve always been bad at it.”
Fine!
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Our kids were MADE to take road trips across our state…with one major exception, which I’ll get to later. But seriously, Eastern Washington is actually VERY exciting for two John Deere and farm obsessed little boys. We spent Easter weekend in Spokane with Mike’s family and had a great time…with one major exception…that I’ll get to. The boys were super thrilled to have three ‘sleepovers’ in a hotel with a pool and to see their Aunt Jamie, Uncle Dan and Uncle Harry and Aunt Dolores/Nana. (Matthew combined Uncle Harry and Nana at one point into ‘Uncle Nanny.’ He’s just following the trend I guess. That’s sorta like Brangelina.)
We spent time with the family, eating a lot of great food and trying to get the wiggles out of our kiddles at the hotel pool and the playground at church. On Easter Sunday, after discovering that the Easter Bunny does hop his butt into a Spokane hotel room, we had the hotel continental breakfast – a healthy affair of rainbow Fruit Loops, lime green yogurt some apple and a couple pieces of Easter candy. We went to church to fight the crowds at the 11am Mass. A couple of times during church, Zach said his tummy hurt. We didn’t think too much of it as he’d said the same thing a couple of times earlier in the weekend. And apparently, we are the type of parents who ignore their children’s pleas for help.
When Mass was over, we wanted to let the boys rip around a bit before going to Harry and Dolores’ for Easter dinner. Unfortunately, it was pouring rain, so the playground was not going to work. We decided to visit a McDonald’s in the area that had a great indoor play place. I sat Zach down on the bench to remove his shoes so he could join Matthew on the big rainbow climbing structure when…it happened…that exception that I discussed earlier…the reason why our boys aren’t necessarily the best travelers…they take after their parents. They are pukey. They are a very pukey little people.
Zach proceeded to vomit repeatedly – a cheery Happy Easter vivid and colorful confection of vomit that matched the McDonald’s play structure in brightness but represented all the hues from his rainbow breakfast. And of course, OF COURSE, I was concerned for the well-being of my little one though I did manage to quickly jump back and just hold him with arm extended. I saved my ‘Easter dress,’ however I did get a smattering of brilliant Easter vomit on the toe of my boot. (Good thing I wasn’t wearing open-toed shoes!)
This is why our kids are – yet aren’t – good travelers. The thing is we all tend to get car sick fairly easily, but the great thing about our kids is they handle puke like little puketastic champions. (Yes, they handle vomiting WAY better than I do.) Zach even mentioned nonchalantly later at Harry and Dolores, “I puked at McDonald’s.” Like – no big. Just another day in my life, guys. What up?
Meanwhile, back at McDonald’s during the spectacular moment, I stood there frozen not knowing what to do. Mike was in the main part of the restaurant so I was solo with the boys. Thankfully (but unfortunately for them), another family was eating nearby. (Mmm, bet they enjoyed the last part of their meal). The mom jumped up and said that she’d let someone know what had gone on. Mike arrived and stopped in his tracks. His look said something like, “Ahhh, snap!”
We stripped off Zach’s shoes and pants and jacket. He saved his new Easter shirt at least! We wrapped him in swaddling clothes and laid him in a mang—…no wait, that’s a different Christian holiday and a different baby all together. We wrapped him in my coat and sat him on the bench.
Within moments a young (maybe 16 year old) dude came in with his McD’s mop and traveling bucket ‘o soapy water. He was the coolest kid EVER. When I started to apologize for the mess, he cut me off and said, “I have a little brother…I’ve had this stuff all over me. And once, when I was little I ate my entire Easter basket of candy in an hour. I puked rainbow ALL NIGHT…oh, sorry, you’re eating, you probably didn’t need to hear that.” We assured him that we could definitely handle it and continued with our cinnamon roll as if we’d been discussing the weather.
After a bit, Zach had perked up substantially and asked to play on the big toy. “Hmmm,” we said, “the sign says socks are required; it doesn’t say anything about pants!” But we opted to keep our little puker contained with us on the bench.
The rest of our Easter trip was great…until…the LONG drive home. Apparently the return trip through Eastern Washington just isn’t quite as magical and exciting as on the way there. By the time we neared Ellensburg (a little over half-way to home), we heard the dreaded words – this time from Matthew: “I think I’m going to throw-up now.” But then he didn’t. We were worried when we stopped for lunch at Taco Bell.
“Let’s see,” Mike said, “we’ve vomited in a Jack in the Box [after a road trip with Matthew, once] and now a McDonalds…I guess we should give Taco Bell a chance.” Thankfully, Matthew’s upset tummy never did amount to anything though we did forego swim lessons yesterday afternoon. The thought of Matthew puking in the pool with all those kids in there…yeah, we just didn’t think we should go there.
Ahhh, just another vacation with the Martins!
We spent time with the family, eating a lot of great food and trying to get the wiggles out of our kiddles at the hotel pool and the playground at church. On Easter Sunday, after discovering that the Easter Bunny does hop his butt into a Spokane hotel room, we had the hotel continental breakfast – a healthy affair of rainbow Fruit Loops, lime green yogurt some apple and a couple pieces of Easter candy. We went to church to fight the crowds at the 11am Mass. A couple of times during church, Zach said his tummy hurt. We didn’t think too much of it as he’d said the same thing a couple of times earlier in the weekend. And apparently, we are the type of parents who ignore their children’s pleas for help.
When Mass was over, we wanted to let the boys rip around a bit before going to Harry and Dolores’ for Easter dinner. Unfortunately, it was pouring rain, so the playground was not going to work. We decided to visit a McDonald’s in the area that had a great indoor play place. I sat Zach down on the bench to remove his shoes so he could join Matthew on the big rainbow climbing structure when…it happened…that exception that I discussed earlier…the reason why our boys aren’t necessarily the best travelers…they take after their parents. They are pukey. They are a very pukey little people.
Zach proceeded to vomit repeatedly – a cheery Happy Easter vivid and colorful confection of vomit that matched the McDonald’s play structure in brightness but represented all the hues from his rainbow breakfast. And of course, OF COURSE, I was concerned for the well-being of my little one though I did manage to quickly jump back and just hold him with arm extended. I saved my ‘Easter dress,’ however I did get a smattering of brilliant Easter vomit on the toe of my boot. (Good thing I wasn’t wearing open-toed shoes!)
This is why our kids are – yet aren’t – good travelers. The thing is we all tend to get car sick fairly easily, but the great thing about our kids is they handle puke like little puketastic champions. (Yes, they handle vomiting WAY better than I do.) Zach even mentioned nonchalantly later at Harry and Dolores, “I puked at McDonald’s.” Like – no big. Just another day in my life, guys. What up?
Meanwhile, back at McDonald’s during the spectacular moment, I stood there frozen not knowing what to do. Mike was in the main part of the restaurant so I was solo with the boys. Thankfully (but unfortunately for them), another family was eating nearby. (Mmm, bet they enjoyed the last part of their meal). The mom jumped up and said that she’d let someone know what had gone on. Mike arrived and stopped in his tracks. His look said something like, “Ahhh, snap!”
We stripped off Zach’s shoes and pants and jacket. He saved his new Easter shirt at least! We wrapped him in swaddling clothes and laid him in a mang—…no wait, that’s a different Christian holiday and a different baby all together. We wrapped him in my coat and sat him on the bench.
Within moments a young (maybe 16 year old) dude came in with his McD’s mop and traveling bucket ‘o soapy water. He was the coolest kid EVER. When I started to apologize for the mess, he cut me off and said, “I have a little brother…I’ve had this stuff all over me. And once, when I was little I ate my entire Easter basket of candy in an hour. I puked rainbow ALL NIGHT…oh, sorry, you’re eating, you probably didn’t need to hear that.” We assured him that we could definitely handle it and continued with our cinnamon roll as if we’d been discussing the weather.
After a bit, Zach had perked up substantially and asked to play on the big toy. “Hmmm,” we said, “the sign says socks are required; it doesn’t say anything about pants!” But we opted to keep our little puker contained with us on the bench.
The rest of our Easter trip was great…until…the LONG drive home. Apparently the return trip through Eastern Washington just isn’t quite as magical and exciting as on the way there. By the time we neared Ellensburg (a little over half-way to home), we heard the dreaded words – this time from Matthew: “I think I’m going to throw-up now.” But then he didn’t. We were worried when we stopped for lunch at Taco Bell.
“Let’s see,” Mike said, “we’ve vomited in a Jack in the Box [after a road trip with Matthew, once] and now a McDonalds…I guess we should give Taco Bell a chance.” Thankfully, Matthew’s upset tummy never did amount to anything though we did forego swim lessons yesterday afternoon. The thought of Matthew puking in the pool with all those kids in there…yeah, we just didn’t think we should go there.
Ahhh, just another vacation with the Martins!
Thursday, April 09, 2009
Ahh, children. Last night during dinner Zachary said something that just cracked me up. I was having a glass of wine (this is not breaking news), and he looked over at me and said, “Mom, stop with the wine.” What? Does he think I’m on the sauce too much or something?! As far as I know one glass of wine every day or every couple of days is not only healthy but even Dr. Oz approved! Stop with the wine! Ha!
Tuesday, April 07, 2009
The entire Seattle area has been sprinkled with magic dust. When the sun FINALLY makes its lazy appearance here, the whole world (of Seattle) changes. People are happier, friendlier. Maybe they don’t need to be quite so jacked up on caffeine. The sun energizes them in a way that mocks a coffee-induced stupor during a rainstorm or gray constipated sky. We don’t need to be quite so wired and high-strung. We’re all just a little more laidback and a lot happier.
Funny to think that only five days ago we had snow!! This wacky weather. OK, I will move on, I don’t actually plan on blogging about the weather.
This weekend, with the added blessing of sunny warm magic, was fantastic. My brother Timothy and sister-in-law Rebecca came up to celebrate an early Easter. We spent Saturday at the parental units’ place. There was Lego-play, delicious food, a trip to the art museum (for a select few of us), Easter egg-dying, wine-drinking, more delicious food-eating…and more Lego-play. Matthew spent the night and got some extra bonding time with his uncle/godfather. He was in heaven.
Sunday morning, I actually got my butt out of bed at 7 and went for a 6 mile run – solo. This is big. I’ve been feeling pretty blah about my running lately – not getting to train for the half marathon like I wanted to, and now even Andrea (my 3 mornings a week running partner) is cutting back on our together runs so that SHE can train harder. (Look, the girl’s legs are twice as long as mine. She’s definitely faster than me, so even on a good day I hold her back. Oh, and I have this little habit of talking the entire time we run which slows us up even more. It definitely makes sense that she do most of her training runs without me). So, I needed to prove to myself that I still have it in me to do this on my own. I CAN self-motivate. I needed to find that runner within who ran a 13 mile training run (without music or headphones or anything) on a dusty TRACK (around and around and around…) on a 75 degree sunny afternoon. I needed to find the girl that talked and smiled through 26.2 miles of pure hell and torture. Anyway. Found her! (How are ya? I’ve missed you. Welcome back.)
After my run we went to church for Palm Sunday. Matthew was still with my fam, so we only had Zachary to take care of, and then he got to play in the nursery during Mass. Sheesh! Who knew that having only one offspring was so easy?!! We’d definitely forgotten. Post-Church, we grabbed a quick bite to eat and then headed outside for some sun and much-needed yard work. Dad, mom and Tim (Chris was at home sick), brought Matthew home around that time. Now, Matthew has already had two visits from the Tooth Fairy – his two bottom guys. I was a little disappointed, however, that by the time those teeth came out, the permanent ones were already securely in place. No big gappy grin for him. We had dinner with friends on Sunday evening – friends who have THREE boys; ages 5 ½, 4 ½, and 2. I will admit that I was a bit jealous when I saw 5 ½ year old Ben’s big ‘all I want for Christmas is my two front teeth’ smile.
Much to my glee, we discovered last week, that Matthew’s top two teeth were quite loose and wiggly – particularly the left one. There were many jokes made on Saturday, particularly including my dad and brother Tim, that they would be happy to hold him down and get the pliers to get it out. This, of course, brought the anticipated response of squeals from Matthew. “Noooo!” he would protest with his hand-clamped tightly over his tightly closed mouth.
Yesterday, we spent most of the gorgeous day at the Zoo. Matthew was highly distracted throughout our visit by his Snaggle Tooth. That little thing was literally hanging on by just a thread. I told him in the morning (as he turned it nearly 380 degrees and had it sticking horizontally right out of his mouth), that I didn’t think that tooth would be accompanying us to the Zoo. But, it did. And Matthew spent the entire time, with his grubby little Zoo-dirtied fingers in his mouth wiggling it and moving it all around.
When we got home, the boys played in the backyard while I cleaned off the deck preparing for our first BBQed dinner of the season. All of a sudden, Matthew yelled, “My tooth!” With his crustified and dirt-stained hand he carried that little treasure like it was the Olympic Torch. We put it on a little plastic plate for safe-keeping. The thing was so loose that, in the end, he didn’t even have to pull it. It just all of a sudden fell – it gave up the weary job of clingy by one tiny thread; it let go and landed peacefully on his tongue. And I took, perhaps my favorite picture of Matthew to date. Now, I’m on him to get that other top one out so he can SERIOSULY ROCK the jack-o-lantern look.
Funny to think that only five days ago we had snow!! This wacky weather. OK, I will move on, I don’t actually plan on blogging about the weather.
This weekend, with the added blessing of sunny warm magic, was fantastic. My brother Timothy and sister-in-law Rebecca came up to celebrate an early Easter. We spent Saturday at the parental units’ place. There was Lego-play, delicious food, a trip to the art museum (for a select few of us), Easter egg-dying, wine-drinking, more delicious food-eating…and more Lego-play. Matthew spent the night and got some extra bonding time with his uncle/godfather. He was in heaven.
Sunday morning, I actually got my butt out of bed at 7 and went for a 6 mile run – solo. This is big. I’ve been feeling pretty blah about my running lately – not getting to train for the half marathon like I wanted to, and now even Andrea (my 3 mornings a week running partner) is cutting back on our together runs so that SHE can train harder. (Look, the girl’s legs are twice as long as mine. She’s definitely faster than me, so even on a good day I hold her back. Oh, and I have this little habit of talking the entire time we run which slows us up even more. It definitely makes sense that she do most of her training runs without me). So, I needed to prove to myself that I still have it in me to do this on my own. I CAN self-motivate. I needed to find that runner within who ran a 13 mile training run (without music or headphones or anything) on a dusty TRACK (around and around and around…) on a 75 degree sunny afternoon. I needed to find the girl that talked and smiled through 26.2 miles of pure hell and torture. Anyway. Found her! (How are ya? I’ve missed you. Welcome back.)
After my run we went to church for Palm Sunday. Matthew was still with my fam, so we only had Zachary to take care of, and then he got to play in the nursery during Mass. Sheesh! Who knew that having only one offspring was so easy?!! We’d definitely forgotten. Post-Church, we grabbed a quick bite to eat and then headed outside for some sun and much-needed yard work. Dad, mom and Tim (Chris was at home sick), brought Matthew home around that time. Now, Matthew has already had two visits from the Tooth Fairy – his two bottom guys. I was a little disappointed, however, that by the time those teeth came out, the permanent ones were already securely in place. No big gappy grin for him. We had dinner with friends on Sunday evening – friends who have THREE boys; ages 5 ½, 4 ½, and 2. I will admit that I was a bit jealous when I saw 5 ½ year old Ben’s big ‘all I want for Christmas is my two front teeth’ smile.
Much to my glee, we discovered last week, that Matthew’s top two teeth were quite loose and wiggly – particularly the left one. There were many jokes made on Saturday, particularly including my dad and brother Tim, that they would be happy to hold him down and get the pliers to get it out. This, of course, brought the anticipated response of squeals from Matthew. “Noooo!” he would protest with his hand-clamped tightly over his tightly closed mouth.
Yesterday, we spent most of the gorgeous day at the Zoo. Matthew was highly distracted throughout our visit by his Snaggle Tooth. That little thing was literally hanging on by just a thread. I told him in the morning (as he turned it nearly 380 degrees and had it sticking horizontally right out of his mouth), that I didn’t think that tooth would be accompanying us to the Zoo. But, it did. And Matthew spent the entire time, with his grubby little Zoo-dirtied fingers in his mouth wiggling it and moving it all around.
When we got home, the boys played in the backyard while I cleaned off the deck preparing for our first BBQed dinner of the season. All of a sudden, Matthew yelled, “My tooth!” With his crustified and dirt-stained hand he carried that little treasure like it was the Olympic Torch. We put it on a little plastic plate for safe-keeping. The thing was so loose that, in the end, he didn’t even have to pull it. It just all of a sudden fell – it gave up the weary job of clingy by one tiny thread; it let go and landed peacefully on his tongue. And I took, perhaps my favorite picture of Matthew to date. Now, I’m on him to get that other top one out so he can SERIOSULY ROCK the jack-o-lantern look.
Wednesday, April 01, 2009
And in continuing with my three-years-ago reflection, here’s what was going down:
Saturday, April 01, 2006 8:55PM
Today is my Dad's birthday. Yes, April Fool's. No, I don't mean that as a joke, I mean that it's true his birthday is April Fool's Day. Yesterday I asked Matthew if he knew who had a birthday today, and he said, "Happy Birthday, Zach?" We all emphatically said, "No! No! We hope not!"
Well, turns out Zach did want to kick off April Fool's Day with a bang. I woke up to some of the worst contractions I've had since I got here. Now, as I've said, all of my nurses here have been wonderful, and I still stand by that. My nurse last night, however, while still VERY nice, sort of made me nervous. She's an older gal and quite a large gal. When she came into my room she was sweating and panting and holding on to any stationary object for support as she walked. She was so shakey when taking my temperature that I thought I might have permanent hearing loss from how hard she pushed the thermometer (all the while a-quivering like mad!) into my ear. So, when I woke up with fairly bad, regular contractions at 6am I was disappointed (but maybe not all that surprised) that she hadn't been monitoring them well enough from the nurse's station to come in, wake me up, and give me something to slow them down. I paged her to the room (twice...as she didn't respond the first time...or maybe it just took her that long to walk down the hall), and after watching the contractions for an additional 10 minutes, she agreed that I needed the Terbutaline shot. The woman was a-shaking so badly I thought she would miss my arm and stab me in the face with the needle. Mind you, my arm is a fairly large target now-a-days as the regiment of 'bulk-up-baby-Zachary' (and therefore moi) is underway and has proven to be quite successful thus far. (Both of my dimples have started to fill in with extra chub -- going, going, gone). So, once again, I had an interesting start to my Saturday. The day ended well with cupcakes and ice cream (more of that important bulking up) to celebrate Dad's birthday. Matthew was convinced that -- just as all gifts -- Dad's present had a "truck inside...funjunjun truck" (that's the phoenetic spelling for how Matthew says fire engine). Needless to say, he was a little disappointed with the computer scanner.
Saturday, April 01, 2006 8:55PM
Today is my Dad's birthday. Yes, April Fool's. No, I don't mean that as a joke, I mean that it's true his birthday is April Fool's Day. Yesterday I asked Matthew if he knew who had a birthday today, and he said, "Happy Birthday, Zach?" We all emphatically said, "No! No! We hope not!"
Well, turns out Zach did want to kick off April Fool's Day with a bang. I woke up to some of the worst contractions I've had since I got here. Now, as I've said, all of my nurses here have been wonderful, and I still stand by that. My nurse last night, however, while still VERY nice, sort of made me nervous. She's an older gal and quite a large gal. When she came into my room she was sweating and panting and holding on to any stationary object for support as she walked. She was so shakey when taking my temperature that I thought I might have permanent hearing loss from how hard she pushed the thermometer (all the while a-quivering like mad!) into my ear. So, when I woke up with fairly bad, regular contractions at 6am I was disappointed (but maybe not all that surprised) that she hadn't been monitoring them well enough from the nurse's station to come in, wake me up, and give me something to slow them down. I paged her to the room (twice...as she didn't respond the first time...or maybe it just took her that long to walk down the hall), and after watching the contractions for an additional 10 minutes, she agreed that I needed the Terbutaline shot. The woman was a-shaking so badly I thought she would miss my arm and stab me in the face with the needle. Mind you, my arm is a fairly large target now-a-days as the regiment of 'bulk-up-baby-Zachary' (and therefore moi) is underway and has proven to be quite successful thus far. (Both of my dimples have started to fill in with extra chub -- going, going, gone). So, once again, I had an interesting start to my Saturday. The day ended well with cupcakes and ice cream (more of that important bulking up) to celebrate Dad's birthday. Matthew was convinced that -- just as all gifts -- Dad's present had a "truck inside...funjunjun truck" (that's the phoenetic spelling for how Matthew says fire engine). Needless to say, he was a little disappointed with the computer scanner.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Around this time of year I can’t help but reflect back on what I was doing exactly three years ago right now. Zachary will turn three in precisely four weeks. Three, I repeat, THREE! I remember three. I remember four better, but I definitely remember three. So, three years ago I was a lazy bum. I was the biggest bum – just lying around in bed ALL DAY LONG. Lying in bed, all day and all night, in the hospital for seven weeks to keep Zach cooking.
I thought it would be interesting to see what I had blogged about, and to my utter glee both today’s and tomorrow’s (of three years ago) entries are two of my favorites. I have a few memories that really stand out from that whole hospital experience, and it’s ironic that March 31st and April 1st include some of the most stand-out moments.
So, now for a look back:
March 31, 2006
4:51PM It's day 19 here in the hospital, but who's counting, right? Uh, me. Yesterday, Doctor Anton said, "Wow! It's gone really fast, hasn't it? It seems like you just got here." No, actually I beg to differ. It doesn't go really fast if you're the one lying in the bed staring at the clock slowly ticking by. It feels like I've been here for three months not almost three weeks. But hey! Three weeks is still a big accomplishment. I do realize that, and I promise that I don't stare at the clock...that often.
I have a new friend in my room! Vern the Fern is now hanging from the ceiling by the window. Thankfully, while he is a cheerful, friendly plant, I haven't started talking to him for company...not yet anyway.
Perhaps one of the best parts of this pregnancy has been meeting Dr. Kevin Case. He is the specialist that performed all of our high-tech, 3-D ultrasounds. Dr. Case is unlike any doctor that I have ever met -- and I have met quite a few and they've all been good. Dr. Case, however, is phenomenal. He has been giving mothers and fathers their first view of their children for many, many years, and yet he has not become at all desensitized to what he's looking at. At all of our appointments, Dr. Case thanked me for allowing him to share in those amazing first images of our son. He applauded our decision to pass up some of the prenatal testing done to determine the likelihood of disability in the baby (and some people do have terminations based on the often inaccurate results). He said something to the effect of, " Your decision tells me that you will love this baby unconditionally and I thoroughly agree with that choice."
I just recently wrote Dr. Case a note to thank him for being such a compassionate, caring doctor. He wrote a note back to me saying, "Good morning, Jenny. Thank you for your beautiful note. You are a kind and compassionate soul. Zachary is such a beautiful baby...You have enriched my life. With warmest regards, Kevin Case. I'll bet we get to late May!" Isn't that impressive? What an incredible doctor to go so far above and beyond the call of duty! With his note, Dr. Case included a couple of quotes.
Enjoy:
"She leaned closer to look at the baby lying on the blanket on the grass. They knew nothing about her, whether her mother was young or old, rich or poor. But Mrs. Blessing could see that this baby was beloved, and in the soft grass, with the breeze blowing the crippled limbs of the old apple trees, that seemed to be all that mattered." -- Anna Quindlen, 'Blessings'
"Where there is great love there are always miracles. One might almost say that an apparition is a human vision corrected by divine love. I do not see you as you really are, I see you through my affection for you. Miracles seem to me to rest not so much upon our faces or voices or healing power coming suddenly near to us from afar off, but upon our perceptions being made finer, so that for a moment our eyes can see and our ears can hear what is there about us always." -- Willa Cather, 'Death Comes For The Archbishop"
I thought it would be interesting to see what I had blogged about, and to my utter glee both today’s and tomorrow’s (of three years ago) entries are two of my favorites. I have a few memories that really stand out from that whole hospital experience, and it’s ironic that March 31st and April 1st include some of the most stand-out moments.
So, now for a look back:
March 31, 2006
4:51PM It's day 19 here in the hospital, but who's counting, right? Uh, me. Yesterday, Doctor Anton said, "Wow! It's gone really fast, hasn't it? It seems like you just got here." No, actually I beg to differ. It doesn't go really fast if you're the one lying in the bed staring at the clock slowly ticking by. It feels like I've been here for three months not almost three weeks. But hey! Three weeks is still a big accomplishment. I do realize that, and I promise that I don't stare at the clock...that often.
I have a new friend in my room! Vern the Fern is now hanging from the ceiling by the window. Thankfully, while he is a cheerful, friendly plant, I haven't started talking to him for company...not yet anyway.
Perhaps one of the best parts of this pregnancy has been meeting Dr. Kevin Case. He is the specialist that performed all of our high-tech, 3-D ultrasounds. Dr. Case is unlike any doctor that I have ever met -- and I have met quite a few and they've all been good. Dr. Case, however, is phenomenal. He has been giving mothers and fathers their first view of their children for many, many years, and yet he has not become at all desensitized to what he's looking at. At all of our appointments, Dr. Case thanked me for allowing him to share in those amazing first images of our son. He applauded our decision to pass up some of the prenatal testing done to determine the likelihood of disability in the baby (and some people do have terminations based on the often inaccurate results). He said something to the effect of, " Your decision tells me that you will love this baby unconditionally and I thoroughly agree with that choice."
I just recently wrote Dr. Case a note to thank him for being such a compassionate, caring doctor. He wrote a note back to me saying, "Good morning, Jenny. Thank you for your beautiful note. You are a kind and compassionate soul. Zachary is such a beautiful baby...You have enriched my life. With warmest regards, Kevin Case. I'll bet we get to late May!" Isn't that impressive? What an incredible doctor to go so far above and beyond the call of duty! With his note, Dr. Case included a couple of quotes.
Enjoy:
"She leaned closer to look at the baby lying on the blanket on the grass. They knew nothing about her, whether her mother was young or old, rich or poor. But Mrs. Blessing could see that this baby was beloved, and in the soft grass, with the breeze blowing the crippled limbs of the old apple trees, that seemed to be all that mattered." -- Anna Quindlen, 'Blessings'
"Where there is great love there are always miracles. One might almost say that an apparition is a human vision corrected by divine love. I do not see you as you really are, I see you through my affection for you. Miracles seem to me to rest not so much upon our faces or voices or healing power coming suddenly near to us from afar off, but upon our perceptions being made finer, so that for a moment our eyes can see and our ears can hear what is there about us always." -- Willa Cather, 'Death Comes For The Archbishop"
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
I had an awesome teaching day yesterday. I needed an awesome teaching day yesterday. Last week, I had one exceptionally challenging teaching-related day in which someone beat me up repeatedly with a “you suck” stick. It hurt. It hurt bad. Especially because I’ve done nothing wrong; this person just holds my mere existence against me. I shan’t go into detail, however if you want the full detailed version feel free to request a copy of my dissertation on the topic.
Anyway, yesterday was wonderful. I spent two full hours teaching a total of 120 2 ½ -5 year olds at the boys’ preschool. It’s funny that sometimes (and often) the kids who are the most challenging – the ones who are there not to learn from you but to teach YOU – are often the ones you end up liking the most. One of these kids is (I’ll change his name) Tommy. Tommy is five going on fifteen. Every single day he wears a fly fisherman’s vest (you know the kind full of zippered pockets and compartments); I have yet to find out if he keeps anything in these pockets. Tommy is the Alpha Dog. The leader of the pack. The head hauncho. The boss. Tommy is the Godfather. Every little boy in Tommy’s class wants to sit next to him, to be his best friend, they want to BE him. And Tommy plays it all so cool. They are just wee peons. They bore him, these pointless lowly mortals.
Unfortunately, from day one, Tommy decided that music class was beneath him. It was a waste of time. On the very first day, he sighed audibly and said, “This is so boring.” He’s five! Five year olds shouldn’t be bored with music and dancing, instruments, parachute-play and bubbles. Come on! Therefore, it has been an uphill battle with his entire class. If Tommy doesn’t think that music class is fun, then most of them are convinced it must be a pointless exercise. I was discussing Tommy with Matthew’s teacher (Matthew is not in the same class as Tommy, by the way). Mrs. Morris said that once she reprimanded Tommy for something and he said, “Woman! Why you gotta be so hard on me? Gah, you’re as bad as my mom.”
I’ve gradually been winning Tommy over – primarily because our last two themes were ones that interest 99.9% of all boys under the age of 8 – dinosaurs and transportation. This time we were singing about animals so I knew that I’d need to work some magic to get Tommy on my side. Once you’ve got Tommy in your corner, then you know you’re good to go. (But it would take some serious finagling to get Tommy pumped about the “Animal Pokey” – you know: “you put your piggy in, you put your piggy out, you put your piggy in and you shake it all about.” Each kid gets a picture of a different farm animal. You get the idea). I decided that kissing Tommy’s butt would be the way to go.
I took him aside before class started and schmoozed and oozed over him to no end. I raved about how well he’s been doing in class, and gosh, I could REALLY use his help. Would he be my special helper and sit next to me to help show the other kids (those silly guys just don’t get it sometimes!) how it’s all done? He looked at me, seriously contemplating this offer, and then said, “Well, I didn’t look at my notes on this.”
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing and remaining completely deadpan, I said, “Do you think you can wing it? You know, just follow my lead? It’s cool that you didn’t have a chance to study up. I could sure use your help.” He gave me a brief nod – a little mini-adult nod like yes, lunch next week would work out well, thank you; we’ll be in touch.
Magic. Having that boy by my side transformed that class of whiners into the most enthusiastic, farm animal music-loving group of mini-musician kidlets I’ve ever seen! At one point, after collecting a batch of instruments I sat down in a different part of the circle – actually directly opposite from Tommy. Before I could start the next song, he said, “Uh, Ms. Jenny, did you forget our agreement? You need to sit by me.” He pointed briskly at the Ms. Jenny-sized vacant spot by his side. I nodded and said, “Yeah, thanks, Tommy, I just wanted to watch you for this one, I’ll be back over there soon.” Charmed. He was pleased with that deal despite it not being our original ‘agreement’.
At the end of class, Tommy, hung back and said, “Thanks, Ms. Jenny. Music was fun today.” Dude. I love that kid.
Anyway, yesterday was wonderful. I spent two full hours teaching a total of 120 2 ½ -5 year olds at the boys’ preschool. It’s funny that sometimes (and often) the kids who are the most challenging – the ones who are there not to learn from you but to teach YOU – are often the ones you end up liking the most. One of these kids is (I’ll change his name) Tommy. Tommy is five going on fifteen. Every single day he wears a fly fisherman’s vest (you know the kind full of zippered pockets and compartments); I have yet to find out if he keeps anything in these pockets. Tommy is the Alpha Dog. The leader of the pack. The head hauncho. The boss. Tommy is the Godfather. Every little boy in Tommy’s class wants to sit next to him, to be his best friend, they want to BE him. And Tommy plays it all so cool. They are just wee peons. They bore him, these pointless lowly mortals.
Unfortunately, from day one, Tommy decided that music class was beneath him. It was a waste of time. On the very first day, he sighed audibly and said, “This is so boring.” He’s five! Five year olds shouldn’t be bored with music and dancing, instruments, parachute-play and bubbles. Come on! Therefore, it has been an uphill battle with his entire class. If Tommy doesn’t think that music class is fun, then most of them are convinced it must be a pointless exercise. I was discussing Tommy with Matthew’s teacher (Matthew is not in the same class as Tommy, by the way). Mrs. Morris said that once she reprimanded Tommy for something and he said, “Woman! Why you gotta be so hard on me? Gah, you’re as bad as my mom.”
I’ve gradually been winning Tommy over – primarily because our last two themes were ones that interest 99.9% of all boys under the age of 8 – dinosaurs and transportation. This time we were singing about animals so I knew that I’d need to work some magic to get Tommy on my side. Once you’ve got Tommy in your corner, then you know you’re good to go. (But it would take some serious finagling to get Tommy pumped about the “Animal Pokey” – you know: “you put your piggy in, you put your piggy out, you put your piggy in and you shake it all about.” Each kid gets a picture of a different farm animal. You get the idea). I decided that kissing Tommy’s butt would be the way to go.
I took him aside before class started and schmoozed and oozed over him to no end. I raved about how well he’s been doing in class, and gosh, I could REALLY use his help. Would he be my special helper and sit next to me to help show the other kids (those silly guys just don’t get it sometimes!) how it’s all done? He looked at me, seriously contemplating this offer, and then said, “Well, I didn’t look at my notes on this.”
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing and remaining completely deadpan, I said, “Do you think you can wing it? You know, just follow my lead? It’s cool that you didn’t have a chance to study up. I could sure use your help.” He gave me a brief nod – a little mini-adult nod like yes, lunch next week would work out well, thank you; we’ll be in touch.
Magic. Having that boy by my side transformed that class of whiners into the most enthusiastic, farm animal music-loving group of mini-musician kidlets I’ve ever seen! At one point, after collecting a batch of instruments I sat down in a different part of the circle – actually directly opposite from Tommy. Before I could start the next song, he said, “Uh, Ms. Jenny, did you forget our agreement? You need to sit by me.” He pointed briskly at the Ms. Jenny-sized vacant spot by his side. I nodded and said, “Yeah, thanks, Tommy, I just wanted to watch you for this one, I’ll be back over there soon.” Charmed. He was pleased with that deal despite it not being our original ‘agreement’.
At the end of class, Tommy, hung back and said, “Thanks, Ms. Jenny. Music was fun today.” Dude. I love that kid.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Matthew loved his “kid interview” so much he wanted another one. And Zach got his say in too. (The first 11 questions are just Matthew, then Zach got involved so I specified after that).
1. What will you be when you grow up? Police officer.
2. What will you do? Catch robbers and put them in jail.
3. Who will be in your family? The mom and my six kids. Woah! That’ll be a lot of bunk beds.
4. Who is your wife? Abby. She’ll be a worker.
5. Where do the babies come from? In the mommy’s tummy, one by one.
6. How do the babies get in the mommy’s tummy? By God.
7. What kind of house will you live in? A huge, huge house.
8. What kind of car will you drive? A bus.
9. Will you have any pets? Uh, six dogs.
10. Who will take care of the dogs? All my children.
11. What will your kids’ names be? Jack, Bear, Abby, Nave, Nikki, John
12. What will Zach (little brother) be when he grows up? Zach: “A fireman.” Matthew: (Ooh, he’ll have lots of training to do). Zach: “Take the bad guys to jail.” Matthew: Oh, you’ll be a fire fighter that puts bad guys in jail. That’ll be weird. Zach: “I’ll put the strangers in jail…I don’t know about bad trees.” Matthew: Bad trees. There’s no such thing! Zach: “Bad guys live in bad holes.”
13. Zach, who will be in your family? Joshua and Noah.
14. What does the Easter Bunny? Put eggs at the people’s house.
15. What does Jesus do? He’s God.
16. What does God look like? (Matthew): A big ball of gold.
17. What happens when you die? You stay dead. You play with God in Heaven.
18. What happens to your toys when you die? Uh, you don’t play with them anymore.
19. What do Mommy and Daddy do when you’re not here? Zach: Die. Matthew: When I’m not around you fix the lamps.
20. If you could change anything about Mom or Dad what would it be? Matthew: They’ll look all old.
1. What will you be when you grow up? Police officer.
2. What will you do? Catch robbers and put them in jail.
3. Who will be in your family? The mom and my six kids. Woah! That’ll be a lot of bunk beds.
4. Who is your wife? Abby. She’ll be a worker.
5. Where do the babies come from? In the mommy’s tummy, one by one.
6. How do the babies get in the mommy’s tummy? By God.
7. What kind of house will you live in? A huge, huge house.
8. What kind of car will you drive? A bus.
9. Will you have any pets? Uh, six dogs.
10. Who will take care of the dogs? All my children.
11. What will your kids’ names be? Jack, Bear, Abby, Nave, Nikki, John
12. What will Zach (little brother) be when he grows up? Zach: “A fireman.” Matthew: (Ooh, he’ll have lots of training to do). Zach: “Take the bad guys to jail.” Matthew: Oh, you’ll be a fire fighter that puts bad guys in jail. That’ll be weird. Zach: “I’ll put the strangers in jail…I don’t know about bad trees.” Matthew: Bad trees. There’s no such thing! Zach: “Bad guys live in bad holes.”
13. Zach, who will be in your family? Joshua and Noah.
14. What does the Easter Bunny? Put eggs at the people’s house.
15. What does Jesus do? He’s God.
16. What does God look like? (Matthew): A big ball of gold.
17. What happens when you die? You stay dead. You play with God in Heaven.
18. What happens to your toys when you die? Uh, you don’t play with them anymore.
19. What do Mommy and Daddy do when you’re not here? Zach: Die. Matthew: When I’m not around you fix the lamps.
20. If you could change anything about Mom or Dad what would it be? Matthew: They’ll look all old.
Friday, March 20, 2009
OK, time is scarce, so I'm just going to be lazy and paste in something I did on Facebook for those blog-readers but not Facebook-do-ers out there.
Ask your child(ren) to answer the questions and type their answers in.
Matthew -- age 5 1/2
1. What is something mom always says to you? Don't watch a movie if you're being naughty.
2. What makes mom happy? Loving her and being nice to her.
3. What makes mom sad? When she's angry.
4. What does your mom do to make you laugh? Tickle me.
5. What did your mom like as a child? She liked to do her homework.
6. How old is your mom? I don't know.
7. How tall is your mom? I think 5 minutes tall.
8. What is your mom's favorite thing to do? Play with her son.
9. What does your mom do when you're not around? She does gym stuff.
10. If your mom becomes famous, what will it be for? Doing yoga.
11. What is your mom really good at? Being nice to her kids.
12. What is your mom not very good at? Playing Legos.
13. What does your mom do for her job? Do the laundry.
14. What is your mom's favorite food? Salad.
15. What makes you proud of your mom? Making a picture for me.
16. If your mom were a cartoon character, who would she be? I don't know.
17. What do you and your mom do together? Go to the park and play.
18. How are you and your mom the same? We don't look the same.
19. How are you and your mom different? 'Cuz my mom has black hair and I have brown hair.
20. How do you know your mom loves you? 'Cuz she's very nice and loving.
Ask your child(ren) to answer the questions and type their answers in.
Matthew -- age 5 1/2
1. What is something mom always says to you? Don't watch a movie if you're being naughty.
2. What makes mom happy? Loving her and being nice to her.
3. What makes mom sad? When she's angry.
4. What does your mom do to make you laugh? Tickle me.
5. What did your mom like as a child? She liked to do her homework.
6. How old is your mom? I don't know.
7. How tall is your mom? I think 5 minutes tall.
8. What is your mom's favorite thing to do? Play with her son.
9. What does your mom do when you're not around? She does gym stuff.
10. If your mom becomes famous, what will it be for? Doing yoga.
11. What is your mom really good at? Being nice to her kids.
12. What is your mom not very good at? Playing Legos.
13. What does your mom do for her job? Do the laundry.
14. What is your mom's favorite food? Salad.
15. What makes you proud of your mom? Making a picture for me.
16. If your mom were a cartoon character, who would she be? I don't know.
17. What do you and your mom do together? Go to the park and play.
18. How are you and your mom the same? We don't look the same.
19. How are you and your mom different? 'Cuz my mom has black hair and I have brown hair.
20. How do you know your mom loves you? 'Cuz she's very nice and loving.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Top ‘o the mornin’ to ya. That’s right, it’s St. Patrick’s Day here (…and everywhere) in the “Emerald City.” However, it’s not so green this morning. I woke up to another blanket of white fluff covering every possible surface outside. AGAIN, we have snow. And, I’m sorry, I can’t help it, but my internal schoolgirl does a small squeal of glee every time she pulls back the curtain to discover a winter wonderland outside. Will school be cancelled? Will we have a snow day? Ooh! We should have cocoa and listen to Christmas music! Yeah, yeah, I know that we’re half-way through March and Spring should be here and this snow is craziness (thank you, Global Climate Change), but it still gets me a bit giddy. And I’ll admit I’m slightly let-down that Seattle – yes, even Seattle – is getting a little nonchalant about the white stuff. They’re no longer cancelling school for a dusting! We used to cancel for a few flakes. (I told Mike – who recently emerged from the bedroom – to look outside. He grunted and continued getting his cereal. OK, granted until about 8 in the morning, all he can do is grunt, but the snow didn’t phase him at all. And I just read this to him and he said, “I grunted.” Like I should be impressed that I at least got that reaction.)
My inner schoolgirl could use a snow boost right now. A monster has been unleashed, and I’m struggling with demons. (Hmm, last week it was Gremlin-Elves, this week it’s monsters and demons. What’s with that? I live in a fantasy world, it’s true; and I’m under attack). As you may have noticed there’s a new little feature – a fancy gadget – in the upper left corner of my Blog. Didn’t see it? See it now? That, my friends, is the new source of my torture. Sure, it looks innocent enough – just a subtle single row of numbers, but really this Blog ‘visitors counter’ is nothing but a blow to the self-esteem on display. OK, I am exaggerating, so before you all start clicking on my Blog multiple times a day (let’s call them “Pity Clicks”), allow me to explain.
Jessica, my fellow Blogger, “official” Blog follower of mine, music teacher, friend from the days of yesteryear (including Symphony Camp!), and newly reunited Facebook friend introduced me to this. She said, “I figured out how to put a blog tracker at the bottom (it will count how many people view my blog!) It's very fun. I gave instructions on my blog, so check it out! Then you can actually SEE how popular and awesome you and your blog is!”…um, or not. I’ve become obsessed with this little row of zeros. It’s like 7th grade all over again. How popular am I? What can I do to fit in more? And I don’t know if this is a good or bad thing, but every time I visit my Blog to see what number I’m at, MY visit is counted as a visitor. So, currently the counter reads 00000045, but people, quite a few of those are ME visiting MYSELF!
Sigh. At least my boys occasionally help boost my self-esteem (though they frequently do the opposite too). Yesterday, after dinner, Matthew looked at me and said, “Mommy, you’re beautiful. Beautiful like a candy cane and rainbow.”
My inner schoolgirl could use a snow boost right now. A monster has been unleashed, and I’m struggling with demons. (Hmm, last week it was Gremlin-Elves, this week it’s monsters and demons. What’s with that? I live in a fantasy world, it’s true; and I’m under attack). As you may have noticed there’s a new little feature – a fancy gadget – in the upper left corner of my Blog. Didn’t see it? See it now? That, my friends, is the new source of my torture. Sure, it looks innocent enough – just a subtle single row of numbers, but really this Blog ‘visitors counter’ is nothing but a blow to the self-esteem on display. OK, I am exaggerating, so before you all start clicking on my Blog multiple times a day (let’s call them “Pity Clicks”), allow me to explain.
Jessica, my fellow Blogger, “official” Blog follower of mine, music teacher, friend from the days of yesteryear (including Symphony Camp!), and newly reunited Facebook friend introduced me to this. She said, “I figured out how to put a blog tracker at the bottom (it will count how many people view my blog!) It's very fun. I gave instructions on my blog, so check it out! Then you can actually SEE how popular and awesome you and your blog is!”…um, or not. I’ve become obsessed with this little row of zeros. It’s like 7th grade all over again. How popular am I? What can I do to fit in more? And I don’t know if this is a good or bad thing, but every time I visit my Blog to see what number I’m at, MY visit is counted as a visitor. So, currently the counter reads 00000045, but people, quite a few of those are ME visiting MYSELF!
Sigh. At least my boys occasionally help boost my self-esteem (though they frequently do the opposite too). Yesterday, after dinner, Matthew looked at me and said, “Mommy, you’re beautiful. Beautiful like a candy cane and rainbow.”
Saturday, March 14, 2009
I can now be hired for childrens’ birthday parties – like you would, say, get a pony or a bouncy house or a clown (but without the post-traumatic stress induced nightmares…I hope). You too, can now celebrate your child’s birthday with “Ms. Jenny.” I’m expanding my business, Little Ditties Music Academy, and am starting to market (a wee more aggressively) for the party end of my business. It’s…wait for it…Little Ditties Party! Yes, I make it sound so professional, so fancy: ‘aggressively marketing this aspect of my business’ talk. Really, it just means that I’ve doctored up my brochures and have been including them with my song coloring sheets at my library classes and soon will give them out at preschool and the Montessori school where I teach.
Word of mouth is how I get most of my business, and the libraries may be where it’s at. Last Friday, I had my first classes of a new five week session. I’ve now added one more library to my Friday class schedule. (So, wow. That means I expanded from one class on Fridays to two. Can you handle that? Do you follow? I know it’s VERY confusing.) Anyway, I’ve got a tight schedule. I end my class at the Bellevue library by 11am and then scoot to start my next class at the Lake Hills library at 11:30.
Last week, since it was our first day, the class took a little longer (I explain things a bit more thoroughly, etc.), so I didn’t get out of Bellevue until 11:05. The little gremlin-elves that live inside the traffic lights to change the color (I used to believe this, by the way) hate me apparently. (Which is just not fair as I’m the only one who knows of their existence and I’ve kept their secret quite well, thank you very much. Well, the jig is up!) They laughed with menacingly glee as they quickly scurried up their ladders to slide the red light into place as I approached. I swear it seemed like the lights were green just a second ago! What happened to yellow, for crying out loud?! Were they trying to keep me from bringing music to the toddlers of today, the Mozarts of tomorrow?!
So, with the curse of the Light Gremelves, upon me, I charge into the Lake Hills library at 11:27 for my 11:30 class. There was a very frazzled woman standing right inside the entrance with a clipboard. The moment I banged in the door (with my two huge tote bags full of instruments and boombox), she gasped, “Are you Jenny?!” Uh, what gave it away?
“Yes,” I said, “I’m so sorry. It took me longer to get here than I expected. [Damn evil little light-changing creatures]. But it only takes me a second to set-up. Is the room unlocked?”
“Yes, but that’s not what I care about,” she said, following closely on my heel. “We have a problem.”
Uh-oh. I drop my bags (Kerplunk! Clang! Bang!) down on the table in the meeting room which will soon be transformed into a magical land of musical mayhem. “Um, problem?” I ask as I plug in my stereo and start unloading my box of rhythm sticks, bag of scarves, bottle of bubble juice.
“How many people can you take in the class?” she asks frantically. The woman looked like she might pop a vein or hyperventilate or pee her pants or experience any sort of embarrassing bodily disaster.
“Well, the library takes care of all of the class registration,” I say slowly and calmly, yet firmly, like I’m talking a toddler down from a tantrum, “And the website lists the class as having room for fifteen 2-5 year olds and a parent or grown-up chaperone.”
“Yes,” she snaps, “I know that,” she nearly shouts. (OK, so what’s your question?) “The problem is that we had 15 sign-up,” (that’s a problem?), “And we have a waiting list” (ooh! That’s good! People are interested!), “and they all showed up today…everyone. The 15 AND the waiting list.” (Oh). “And there’s THIRTEEN OF THEM” (Snap), “On the waiting list. There’s THIRTEEN AND THEY’RE ALL HERE…AND SO ARE THE 15!!” (I see the problem).
I picture a crowd, an angry mob, a throng of yelling toddlers and parents banging on the library door with torches and pitch-forks. (I don’t know why, but every angry mob must have torches and pitch-forks, right?!) Or maybe they would be more the peaceful protest type – a sit-in with harmonious singing of ‘hell no, we won’t go’ set to the tune of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star: “No, hell no, we won’t go; we won’t go without a show. We are here to sing and play. We are here for class today. No, hell no, we won’t go; we won’t go without a show.” (Yeah, I do that a lot…make-up words to kid tunes. I’m that good. Look, it’s what I do. It’s a gift. Don’t judge me).
“Uh, OK,” I say, stalling…thinking. Then I clear my head and say decisively, “I have enough instruments for 20. And with this room size, I’d say 20 is probably the max that we can take.”
She seems to relax a little now that we have a plan, and she leaves with the tough job of turning away 8 preschool music class wanna-be’s and their dedicated parents.
In the end, I don’t know how many people I had in the class. Every time, I turned back from the stereo or putting away instruments, the crowd seemed to have grown. People kept sneaking in the back door, but I did have ample instruments, scarves, bubbles – of course, and – thank goodness – Little Ditties Party! Brochures and songsheets. Hmm, maybe it was like our own little miracle of the Loaves and the Fishes. I was able to feed the multitude with music. Take that Light Gremlin-Elves! Ha!
Word of mouth is how I get most of my business, and the libraries may be where it’s at. Last Friday, I had my first classes of a new five week session. I’ve now added one more library to my Friday class schedule. (So, wow. That means I expanded from one class on Fridays to two. Can you handle that? Do you follow? I know it’s VERY confusing.) Anyway, I’ve got a tight schedule. I end my class at the Bellevue library by 11am and then scoot to start my next class at the Lake Hills library at 11:30.
Last week, since it was our first day, the class took a little longer (I explain things a bit more thoroughly, etc.), so I didn’t get out of Bellevue until 11:05. The little gremlin-elves that live inside the traffic lights to change the color (I used to believe this, by the way) hate me apparently. (Which is just not fair as I’m the only one who knows of their existence and I’ve kept their secret quite well, thank you very much. Well, the jig is up!) They laughed with menacingly glee as they quickly scurried up their ladders to slide the red light into place as I approached. I swear it seemed like the lights were green just a second ago! What happened to yellow, for crying out loud?! Were they trying to keep me from bringing music to the toddlers of today, the Mozarts of tomorrow?!
So, with the curse of the Light Gremelves, upon me, I charge into the Lake Hills library at 11:27 for my 11:30 class. There was a very frazzled woman standing right inside the entrance with a clipboard. The moment I banged in the door (with my two huge tote bags full of instruments and boombox), she gasped, “Are you Jenny?!” Uh, what gave it away?
“Yes,” I said, “I’m so sorry. It took me longer to get here than I expected. [Damn evil little light-changing creatures]. But it only takes me a second to set-up. Is the room unlocked?”
“Yes, but that’s not what I care about,” she said, following closely on my heel. “We have a problem.”
Uh-oh. I drop my bags (Kerplunk! Clang! Bang!) down on the table in the meeting room which will soon be transformed into a magical land of musical mayhem. “Um, problem?” I ask as I plug in my stereo and start unloading my box of rhythm sticks, bag of scarves, bottle of bubble juice.
“How many people can you take in the class?” she asks frantically. The woman looked like she might pop a vein or hyperventilate or pee her pants or experience any sort of embarrassing bodily disaster.
“Well, the library takes care of all of the class registration,” I say slowly and calmly, yet firmly, like I’m talking a toddler down from a tantrum, “And the website lists the class as having room for fifteen 2-5 year olds and a parent or grown-up chaperone.”
“Yes,” she snaps, “I know that,” she nearly shouts. (OK, so what’s your question?) “The problem is that we had 15 sign-up,” (that’s a problem?), “And we have a waiting list” (ooh! That’s good! People are interested!), “and they all showed up today…everyone. The 15 AND the waiting list.” (Oh). “And there’s THIRTEEN OF THEM” (Snap), “On the waiting list. There’s THIRTEEN AND THEY’RE ALL HERE…AND SO ARE THE 15!!” (I see the problem).
I picture a crowd, an angry mob, a throng of yelling toddlers and parents banging on the library door with torches and pitch-forks. (I don’t know why, but every angry mob must have torches and pitch-forks, right?!) Or maybe they would be more the peaceful protest type – a sit-in with harmonious singing of ‘hell no, we won’t go’ set to the tune of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star: “No, hell no, we won’t go; we won’t go without a show. We are here to sing and play. We are here for class today. No, hell no, we won’t go; we won’t go without a show.” (Yeah, I do that a lot…make-up words to kid tunes. I’m that good. Look, it’s what I do. It’s a gift. Don’t judge me).
“Uh, OK,” I say, stalling…thinking. Then I clear my head and say decisively, “I have enough instruments for 20. And with this room size, I’d say 20 is probably the max that we can take.”
She seems to relax a little now that we have a plan, and she leaves with the tough job of turning away 8 preschool music class wanna-be’s and their dedicated parents.
In the end, I don’t know how many people I had in the class. Every time, I turned back from the stereo or putting away instruments, the crowd seemed to have grown. People kept sneaking in the back door, but I did have ample instruments, scarves, bubbles – of course, and – thank goodness – Little Ditties Party! Brochures and songsheets. Hmm, maybe it was like our own little miracle of the Loaves and the Fishes. I was able to feed the multitude with music. Take that Light Gremlin-Elves! Ha!
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
All I can say is I don't understand Daylight Savings. Every time it rolls around I get all befuddled by the concept. "So, wait, the new 5 o'clock is really 4 o'clock? It's lighter...later? But darker earlier...or later?" Look, it's just beyond my comprehension. I don't know if a flow chart would help or a explanitory cartoon complete with conversation bubbles (think early grade science book, perhaps). But not only is confusing -- it's exhausting! And whoever came up with this 'time changing concept' obviously did NOT have children. You can reset a clock. You cannot reset a child. It's tricky business. So, we've done what any any good parent does, we've been going nonstop -- running our children constantly in order to wear them out to hopefully get them reset to this new craziness called 'Daylight Savings'. Monday morning, with dread I awoke to my alarm going off at the 'new' "5:30" (um, really, it's 4:30, people! It's 4:30)! With the slim chance of snow in the forecast, I slowly pulled back the curtain and to my utter glee saw a blanket of white covering every surface. No, "6am" (5AM!!) run for me, thank you very much. The snow has long since melted and yet I still feel like I'm trying to make up for that lost hour.
This weekend we'll be watching our friends' two little boys. From Friday morning 'til Sunday night we'll be chasing after four boys under the age of 5...5 1/2 actually. (Matthew's been correcting us on that ever since his 1/2 birthday last week.) I have a feeling with the extra rippers ripping around here getting caught up on time and sleep is somewhat out of the question. Can't we turn the clocks back, puh-lease?!
This weekend we'll be watching our friends' two little boys. From Friday morning 'til Sunday night we'll be chasing after four boys under the age of 5...5 1/2 actually. (Matthew's been correcting us on that ever since his 1/2 birthday last week.) I have a feeling with the extra rippers ripping around here getting caught up on time and sleep is somewhat out of the question. Can't we turn the clocks back, puh-lease?!
Thursday, March 05, 2009
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
The other day, I overheard the following conversation between my two boys. We were collecting mail from the mailbox and Zach wanted to carry my magazine.
Z: I want the girl one.
M: You shouldn’t want the girl one, Zach. We’re boys. We don’t like girl stuff.
Z: Ya-huh. I like girl stuff.
M: I don’t.
Z: I like girls.
M: Not me.
Z: I like to kiss girls.
M: Not me.
(A little bit later) M: Well, Abby is my girl. [Abby is my friend Larissa’s 5 yr. old daughter. Matthew and Abby have been buddies since they were in-utero.]
Z: Luna is my girl. [Luna is my friend Rebecca’s female cat.]
Z: I want the girl one.
M: You shouldn’t want the girl one, Zach. We’re boys. We don’t like girl stuff.
Z: Ya-huh. I like girl stuff.
M: I don’t.
Z: I like girls.
M: Not me.
Z: I like to kiss girls.
M: Not me.
(A little bit later) M: Well, Abby is my girl. [Abby is my friend Larissa’s 5 yr. old daughter. Matthew and Abby have been buddies since they were in-utero.]
Z: Luna is my girl. [Luna is my friend Rebecca’s female cat.]
Friday, February 20, 2009
I am so cool, and I can prove it.
So, earlier this week, we went to a friend’s house. I got my haircut while our kids all played together. The sun had broken through the clouds by the time we were done and ready to depart. It was turning out to be quite a bright, cheery day. I dug my sunglasses out of the bottom of my purse and put them on. Hmmm, something was weird. The left lens was all blurry as if there was a scratch or smudge on the glass. I rubbed the lens with my finger and when that didn’t work I took them off and rubbed it with the hem of my shirt.
The boys and I drove to the gym so that I could work-out (hooray!) and they could play at the Kids’ Club (yippee!). I drove the whole way from my friend’s house to 405 to our exit and along city streets to the gym all the while thinking that my sunglasses were just kinda weird. The left lens was just a little blurry, however, I could see well enough and I needed the glasses to block out that mysterious glowing orb in the sky. (Oh, right. It’s called “the sun.” It had been a while since it last appeared here).
We were stopped behind a pick-up truck at the intersection right by the gym. I noticed the guy repeatedly glancing in his rearview mirror at me. Um, yeah, he was totally checking me out. And I can’t blame him – I’d just gotten my haircut and was looking pretty good.
I drove into the parking lot and stopped in our usual spot. While my haircut was great, I didn’t have the product in it that I usually do, so it was starting to get just a little frizzy, so I debated about putting it in a ponytail or maybe just putting my sunglasses on my head for walking into the gym. I decided to go for the sunglasses-on-the-head look. Without really thinking about it, I pulled down the visor so I could see how I was looking in the mirror. Um. Right.
My right sunglass lens was completely gone. GONE. I had one dark (nearly black) sunglass lens for my left eye and nothing – just empty, open, eyeball-exposing space – on my right eye. How?! HOW had I driven that whole way and not realized it?!!
I just started cracking up. The boys were like, “Huh? What’s so funny, Mom?” I turned around and pointed to my face, “Um, you coulda told me!” They both thought it was hilarious too, and I’d like to think that had they noticed it they would’ve clued me in. (Probably something to the effect of, “Mom, your face looks weird.”)
When we went into the gym, I told the girls that work in the Kids’ Club about sunglasses. One of them said, “It’s a good thing you didn’t wear your glasses into the gym. You know, you’re feeling all cool: Yeah, I’m so cool. I’m going to work out; I’ll just wear my glasses into the gym ‘cuz I’m SO cool.’” Yeah, it’s a good thing. And thank goodness I didn’t see anyone that I know. (You know – other parents from preschool or students/parents from my music classes). I’m sure that pick-up truck driver was pretty perplexed by my look. Oh yeah, he was TOTALLY checking me out ‘cuz I’m JUST THAT COOL.
[While words can paint a picture, they just can’t do this whole scenario justice. You gotta see this coolness in action to believe it. Matthew was my photographer. He did a pretty good job, huh?]
So, earlier this week, we went to a friend’s house. I got my haircut while our kids all played together. The sun had broken through the clouds by the time we were done and ready to depart. It was turning out to be quite a bright, cheery day. I dug my sunglasses out of the bottom of my purse and put them on. Hmmm, something was weird. The left lens was all blurry as if there was a scratch or smudge on the glass. I rubbed the lens with my finger and when that didn’t work I took them off and rubbed it with the hem of my shirt.
The boys and I drove to the gym so that I could work-out (hooray!) and they could play at the Kids’ Club (yippee!). I drove the whole way from my friend’s house to 405 to our exit and along city streets to the gym all the while thinking that my sunglasses were just kinda weird. The left lens was just a little blurry, however, I could see well enough and I needed the glasses to block out that mysterious glowing orb in the sky. (Oh, right. It’s called “the sun.” It had been a while since it last appeared here).
We were stopped behind a pick-up truck at the intersection right by the gym. I noticed the guy repeatedly glancing in his rearview mirror at me. Um, yeah, he was totally checking me out. And I can’t blame him – I’d just gotten my haircut and was looking pretty good.
I drove into the parking lot and stopped in our usual spot. While my haircut was great, I didn’t have the product in it that I usually do, so it was starting to get just a little frizzy, so I debated about putting it in a ponytail or maybe just putting my sunglasses on my head for walking into the gym. I decided to go for the sunglasses-on-the-head look. Without really thinking about it, I pulled down the visor so I could see how I was looking in the mirror. Um. Right.
My right sunglass lens was completely gone. GONE. I had one dark (nearly black) sunglass lens for my left eye and nothing – just empty, open, eyeball-exposing space – on my right eye. How?! HOW had I driven that whole way and not realized it?!!
I just started cracking up. The boys were like, “Huh? What’s so funny, Mom?” I turned around and pointed to my face, “Um, you coulda told me!” They both thought it was hilarious too, and I’d like to think that had they noticed it they would’ve clued me in. (Probably something to the effect of, “Mom, your face looks weird.”)
When we went into the gym, I told the girls that work in the Kids’ Club about sunglasses. One of them said, “It’s a good thing you didn’t wear your glasses into the gym. You know, you’re feeling all cool: Yeah, I’m so cool. I’m going to work out; I’ll just wear my glasses into the gym ‘cuz I’m SO cool.’” Yeah, it’s a good thing. And thank goodness I didn’t see anyone that I know. (You know – other parents from preschool or students/parents from my music classes). I’m sure that pick-up truck driver was pretty perplexed by my look. Oh yeah, he was TOTALLY checking me out ‘cuz I’m JUST THAT COOL.
[While words can paint a picture, they just can’t do this whole scenario justice. You gotta see this coolness in action to believe it. Matthew was my photographer. He did a pretty good job, huh?]
Monday, February 16, 2009
I know, I know, some of us don’t handle change well. Here you’re minding your own business, just a ‘quick’ look at Jenny’s blog to see what nonsense she’s written about today and Wa-Zammy, you’re met with a whole new look. A funky new layout. Really cutting edge. (I just thought it was pretty and time for a blog wardrobe update).
So, Valentine’s Day – come and gone. Did you enjoy it? Was it good enough for you? Did you have high hopes and were they met and if not, do you need to chat? We had a very Valentine’s/love-themed intensive weekend. It started Friday night at Church. Our Rockstar Priest (as I like to call him), Father Bryan (he is a baby priest – only 33 years old and so very cool) had requested our presence at what he was calling “Marriage Mass” or “Mass of LOVE.” We went on Friday night and renewed our wedding vows along with about 100 other couples. It was wonderful. We celebrated afterwards with a, uh, romantic (?!) family date at Baskin and Robbins.
Saturday was super packed. It started with Mike making heart-shaped pancakes (with Strawberry Syrup, so they were even red). The boys each got a box of John Deere fruit snacks…apparently that’s the 2 ½ and 5 year old boys equivalent of getting diamonds on Valentine’s Day. I spent the morning cleaning toilets, sinks and tub and vacuuming the whole house. Yes, romantic but I was very glad to get it done. Mike worked on the car. (Our ’95 Ford Taurus is just limping along…hmmm, I wonder why!) The highlight of the day was our big Engaged Encounter dinner and dance – “2nd Prom” in the evening. Even my parental units joined in the Promish fun! I thought about finding an old hideous prom dress (not one of mine, of course) complete with puffy sleeves and big-butt-bow, but decided to play it safe with a red top, short black skirt and my sassy black books which, quite frankly, make any outfit magical and divine and oh-so hot. (I’ll hopefully get a copy of a picture to post eventually).
Sunday morning brought one more LOVE-themed activity to us. Father Bryan asked if we would be willing to speak at church about Engaged Encounter – how we help prepare couples for marriage, what we get out of it, etc. So, instead of hanging out in the kid party area in the back like we usually we do, we had to act all composed in the front of the church. Well, we tried. And of course, the one day where all eyes would be on us is the day that Zach decides to throw a tantrum (something about wanting his sticker book and yet not wanting his sticker book). Mike had to take him out literally kicking and screaming (Zach was the screamer, not Mike, just to clarify). Father Bryan even gave me a grin at that – Zach is his BIGGEST fan. We tell Bryan that even if Zach was on his best behavior we wouldn’t be able to sit near him ‘cuz Zach would yell, “Father Bryan! Father Bryan! [Fawver Brwian! Fawver Brwian!]” and run up to give him a high five.
Anyway, thankfully, Zach was settled down (a bit) by the time Mike and I needed to go up to the podium to speak. My parents and brother Chris had come to our church to provide us with some back-up for when we ditched our children to make our brief presentation. Matthew was sitting with friends all cool, calm and collected. When we were up there giving our talk, I happened to look in Matthew’s direction, and I don’t think I’ll ever forget how he looked. He was perched on the end of the pew, sitting so tall and so proud and grinning from ear-to-ear. And, thankfully, we did make him proud. As we were coming back to our seats, he raised his arm up in the air and gave us a big thumbs-up. [Hey, if we can impress him then we know we did well.]
So, Valentine’s Day – come and gone. Did you enjoy it? Was it good enough for you? Did you have high hopes and were they met and if not, do you need to chat? We had a very Valentine’s/love-themed intensive weekend. It started Friday night at Church. Our Rockstar Priest (as I like to call him), Father Bryan (he is a baby priest – only 33 years old and so very cool) had requested our presence at what he was calling “Marriage Mass” or “Mass of LOVE.” We went on Friday night and renewed our wedding vows along with about 100 other couples. It was wonderful. We celebrated afterwards with a, uh, romantic (?!) family date at Baskin and Robbins.
Saturday was super packed. It started with Mike making heart-shaped pancakes (with Strawberry Syrup, so they were even red). The boys each got a box of John Deere fruit snacks…apparently that’s the 2 ½ and 5 year old boys equivalent of getting diamonds on Valentine’s Day. I spent the morning cleaning toilets, sinks and tub and vacuuming the whole house. Yes, romantic but I was very glad to get it done. Mike worked on the car. (Our ’95 Ford Taurus is just limping along…hmmm, I wonder why!) The highlight of the day was our big Engaged Encounter dinner and dance – “2nd Prom” in the evening. Even my parental units joined in the Promish fun! I thought about finding an old hideous prom dress (not one of mine, of course) complete with puffy sleeves and big-butt-bow, but decided to play it safe with a red top, short black skirt and my sassy black books which, quite frankly, make any outfit magical and divine and oh-so hot. (I’ll hopefully get a copy of a picture to post eventually).
Sunday morning brought one more LOVE-themed activity to us. Father Bryan asked if we would be willing to speak at church about Engaged Encounter – how we help prepare couples for marriage, what we get out of it, etc. So, instead of hanging out in the kid party area in the back like we usually we do, we had to act all composed in the front of the church. Well, we tried. And of course, the one day where all eyes would be on us is the day that Zach decides to throw a tantrum (something about wanting his sticker book and yet not wanting his sticker book). Mike had to take him out literally kicking and screaming (Zach was the screamer, not Mike, just to clarify). Father Bryan even gave me a grin at that – Zach is his BIGGEST fan. We tell Bryan that even if Zach was on his best behavior we wouldn’t be able to sit near him ‘cuz Zach would yell, “Father Bryan! Father Bryan! [Fawver Brwian! Fawver Brwian!]” and run up to give him a high five.
Anyway, thankfully, Zach was settled down (a bit) by the time Mike and I needed to go up to the podium to speak. My parents and brother Chris had come to our church to provide us with some back-up for when we ditched our children to make our brief presentation. Matthew was sitting with friends all cool, calm and collected. When we were up there giving our talk, I happened to look in Matthew’s direction, and I don’t think I’ll ever forget how he looked. He was perched on the end of the pew, sitting so tall and so proud and grinning from ear-to-ear. And, thankfully, we did make him proud. As we were coming back to our seats, he raised his arm up in the air and gave us a big thumbs-up. [Hey, if we can impress him then we know we did well.]
Monday, February 09, 2009
I woke up to snow on the ground this morning. Total surprise. Shockeroony. (Yes, thank you, Oprah for that last new word). The Seattle weather forecasters are MUCH better at forecasting the weather after the fact. Hmm. Wait. I think that’s not really how it’s supposed to work. Anyway, I’m happy to forego one 6am run this week to get a little bit of writing time in.
As reported last week, our eldest, Matthew, has suffered a catastrophic injury. At this point, I regret not having rushed him to the ER when the bodily trauma first occurred. WHY hadn’t his teacher called me when the accident happened?! As his mother, I should’ve been there to hold his hand and comfort him during that scary ordeal. Now, precisely a week after the incident, he is still limping as much as ever. While the wound – the 3rd degree RUG Burn – has healed and only a small scab remains as evidence of the Carpetish Disaster ’09, the lasting emotional and physical repercussions linger. [Do Rug Burns come in degrees? They must. And if they do, this one is definitely a 3rd degree.]
Matthew still refuses to bend his leg. His left leg is permanently straight, apparently, and sticks out like a little broken bird leg. He takes stairs one at a time. He drags his leg behind when running. I’m still expecting him to say, “I’ve been shot! Go on without me!” His run looks more like a gimpy-horse gallop. I guess I just don’t have enough caretaker skills to help remedy this ailment of his. I think we might need to check him into a long-term rehabilitation center.
I did seek some sage advice from someone who really knows kids. Kristyn is my friend and…Childcare Expert Specialist – CES (OK, she’s our nanny who we employ while I teach music classes. I just have such a hard time saying “nanny” ‘cuz it makes me sound all hoity-toity and…grown-up. Most days I still feel like a nanny and I sit around praying that the parents get home soon to relieve me). When Kristyn arrived last week I prepped her that Matthew would need some extra special care due to the seriousness of his injury. She, of course, assured me that Matthew would be in capable hands.
Now, I heard all sorts of things from Matthew last week – ‘that he’d never walk again...for eight months, that he needed to be carried, that he couldn’t clean-up toys because of his handicap, and that he needed a “kid wheelchair”’ (to name a few). Kristyn’s report after seeing Matthew in his desolate state was, “I think it is time you face the facts Jenny: Matthew is not going to heal without proper medical attention. What does that mean? You know what it means- child wheelchair. It is clear he is only going to get worse without one. I bet you can find a good deal online. Get crackin'." I figure I can find a good deal for one on eBay or Craigslist.
When I reported to Kristyn yesterday that matters had still not improved, she wisely recognized my call for help, and yet again, provided helpful and expert counsel. "I think this situation calls for more drastic measures. It's time to start looking into specialists- what would you call a rug burn specialist? A Rugologist? Carpetologist? If they can't diagnose him with something that already exists, maybe his condition could be named after him. Then I could say to random people I encounter, "hey I know the guy that condition is named after!"" So, would that be Matthew Martinitis? Or Matthew Martin’s Disease? I’m not sure, but Kristyn sure knows her kid-injury stuff.
Meanwhile, Zachary seems to be accepting his brother’s new disability with maturity and ease. Thankfully, he’s been immune to the emotional trauma that we’re all suffering because of Matthew’s accident. Although, I am a little concerned that he’s learning some bad habits because of his big brother’s new Peg Leg Running technique. I caught him yesterday doing the gimpy-horse gallop across the family room floor as opposed to a standard run. I wonder if they have specials on kid wheelchairs. Two for one? i.e. Buy one, get one free?
All in all though, Zachary does appear unfazed. So unfazed, in fact, that a couple of days ago, he took it upon himself to provide the family with some much needed comic relief. The boys were playing well together downstairs while Mike and I finished dinner and started clearing the table. They were playing, we now realize, a little TOO well. Zachary suddenly jumped into the doorway and screamed,
“TA-DAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!” accompanied with arms extended and just a hint of jazz hands (so as not to over do it). He’s totally buck-booty-cheeked naked. Well, save for a blue hunter’s type snow hat. Gotta keep the head warm, right?
When Mike and I recovered from the shock (and hilarity) of the scene, we put on our stern parental faces and did all the “that’s not appropriate” blahblahblah, and “save the nudeyness for the bathtub” blahblahblah, while really we couldn’t make eye contact or we’d crack-up again. Ahh, thank goodness for some comic relief during these difficult and trying times for our family. There’s nothing like a hard time to pull people together. And let’s pray to God that a 3rd degree Rug Burn is the hardest time that we have to face!
As reported last week, our eldest, Matthew, has suffered a catastrophic injury. At this point, I regret not having rushed him to the ER when the bodily trauma first occurred. WHY hadn’t his teacher called me when the accident happened?! As his mother, I should’ve been there to hold his hand and comfort him during that scary ordeal. Now, precisely a week after the incident, he is still limping as much as ever. While the wound – the 3rd degree RUG Burn – has healed and only a small scab remains as evidence of the Carpetish Disaster ’09, the lasting emotional and physical repercussions linger. [Do Rug Burns come in degrees? They must. And if they do, this one is definitely a 3rd degree.]
Matthew still refuses to bend his leg. His left leg is permanently straight, apparently, and sticks out like a little broken bird leg. He takes stairs one at a time. He drags his leg behind when running. I’m still expecting him to say, “I’ve been shot! Go on without me!” His run looks more like a gimpy-horse gallop. I guess I just don’t have enough caretaker skills to help remedy this ailment of his. I think we might need to check him into a long-term rehabilitation center.
I did seek some sage advice from someone who really knows kids. Kristyn is my friend and…Childcare Expert Specialist – CES (OK, she’s our nanny who we employ while I teach music classes. I just have such a hard time saying “nanny” ‘cuz it makes me sound all hoity-toity and…grown-up. Most days I still feel like a nanny and I sit around praying that the parents get home soon to relieve me). When Kristyn arrived last week I prepped her that Matthew would need some extra special care due to the seriousness of his injury. She, of course, assured me that Matthew would be in capable hands.
Now, I heard all sorts of things from Matthew last week – ‘that he’d never walk again...for eight months, that he needed to be carried, that he couldn’t clean-up toys because of his handicap, and that he needed a “kid wheelchair”’ (to name a few). Kristyn’s report after seeing Matthew in his desolate state was, “I think it is time you face the facts Jenny: Matthew is not going to heal without proper medical attention. What does that mean? You know what it means- child wheelchair. It is clear he is only going to get worse without one. I bet you can find a good deal online. Get crackin'." I figure I can find a good deal for one on eBay or Craigslist.
When I reported to Kristyn yesterday that matters had still not improved, she wisely recognized my call for help, and yet again, provided helpful and expert counsel. "I think this situation calls for more drastic measures. It's time to start looking into specialists- what would you call a rug burn specialist? A Rugologist? Carpetologist? If they can't diagnose him with something that already exists, maybe his condition could be named after him. Then I could say to random people I encounter, "hey I know the guy that condition is named after!"" So, would that be Matthew Martinitis? Or Matthew Martin’s Disease? I’m not sure, but Kristyn sure knows her kid-injury stuff.
Meanwhile, Zachary seems to be accepting his brother’s new disability with maturity and ease. Thankfully, he’s been immune to the emotional trauma that we’re all suffering because of Matthew’s accident. Although, I am a little concerned that he’s learning some bad habits because of his big brother’s new Peg Leg Running technique. I caught him yesterday doing the gimpy-horse gallop across the family room floor as opposed to a standard run. I wonder if they have specials on kid wheelchairs. Two for one? i.e. Buy one, get one free?
All in all though, Zachary does appear unfazed. So unfazed, in fact, that a couple of days ago, he took it upon himself to provide the family with some much needed comic relief. The boys were playing well together downstairs while Mike and I finished dinner and started clearing the table. They were playing, we now realize, a little TOO well. Zachary suddenly jumped into the doorway and screamed,
“TA-DAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!” accompanied with arms extended and just a hint of jazz hands (so as not to over do it). He’s totally buck-booty-cheeked naked. Well, save for a blue hunter’s type snow hat. Gotta keep the head warm, right?
When Mike and I recovered from the shock (and hilarity) of the scene, we put on our stern parental faces and did all the “that’s not appropriate” blahblahblah, and “save the nudeyness for the bathtub” blahblahblah, while really we couldn’t make eye contact or we’d crack-up again. Ahh, thank goodness for some comic relief during these difficult and trying times for our family. There’s nothing like a hard time to pull people together. And let’s pray to God that a 3rd degree Rug Burn is the hardest time that we have to face!
Tuesday, February 03, 2009
I’ve said it before, 2 ½ year old Zachary has impressive vocabulary and quite impeccable grammar. The boys a freakin’ genius, what can I say. However, today he said the cutest little Zachism that couldn’t help but warm my heart and make me want to learn to crochet him a big cozy in which to wrap him and cuddle him forever. (Woah, sorry. That was weird. Don’t know where that came from). Zach was doing a Martin-boys favorite: pulling all of the couch cushions and pillows off of the furniture and on to the floor. They usually call this “playing pool” – and the pillows become water and one of them is the lifeguard saving the drowning one, etc. Today, however, Zachary went frantically and ecstatically about removing all cushionage from couchage in a different way; I could just sell that something special was a-happenin’.
“What are you making?” I asked him.
He grinned at me from ear-to-ear and exclaimed, “A HUGE jumporene.”
Well, I can tell you who WON’T be jumping on a jumporene this week – that’d be my gimpy son, Matthew. On Monday, despite my protestations, Matthew wore one of his pairs of ‘at-home jeans’ to preschool. (‘At-home jeans’ are the ones that within a week or so of purchase they SCREAM: “little boy who loves playing Lego’s, trucks and John Deeres on the floor!!” and they totally rock the ‘80’s torn and trashed knee look. In essence: perfect AT-HOME jeans. So, anyway, he comes out of his room all of 3 minutes before we need to walk out the door for preschool. Fine. At-home jeans it is. It’s not like I expect a three-piece suit for preschool, just something a little less…at-homey.
So, Zach and I arrive to pick up Matthew after preschool, and I’m informed by Mrs. Morris that Matthew got some serious rug burns on his knees. She wasn’t kidding. Apparently, Matthew decided to “run” on all fours while playing in the Big Room. His left knee has a pretty bad scab. Yes, I’m sure it hurts. I’m sure it’s no fun. And I do empathize…a bit. But the kid is walking around like he has a peg leg. The last couple of days, he’s told me all of the following: “I will never walk ever again – for eight months…I need you to carry me…I think I need a wheelchair…No, Mom, I can’t clean-up toys ‘cuz my knee hurts too much…My knee will never ever get better. Ever.” Yeah, you could say he’s a little dramatic. Yet he could still push Zach out of the way and sprint to the shoe-removal stool in the garage. Interesting. I think he will survive.
“What are you making?” I asked him.
He grinned at me from ear-to-ear and exclaimed, “A HUGE jumporene.”
Well, I can tell you who WON’T be jumping on a jumporene this week – that’d be my gimpy son, Matthew. On Monday, despite my protestations, Matthew wore one of his pairs of ‘at-home jeans’ to preschool. (‘At-home jeans’ are the ones that within a week or so of purchase they SCREAM: “little boy who loves playing Lego’s, trucks and John Deeres on the floor!!” and they totally rock the ‘80’s torn and trashed knee look. In essence: perfect AT-HOME jeans. So, anyway, he comes out of his room all of 3 minutes before we need to walk out the door for preschool. Fine. At-home jeans it is. It’s not like I expect a three-piece suit for preschool, just something a little less…at-homey.
So, Zach and I arrive to pick up Matthew after preschool, and I’m informed by Mrs. Morris that Matthew got some serious rug burns on his knees. She wasn’t kidding. Apparently, Matthew decided to “run” on all fours while playing in the Big Room. His left knee has a pretty bad scab. Yes, I’m sure it hurts. I’m sure it’s no fun. And I do empathize…a bit. But the kid is walking around like he has a peg leg. The last couple of days, he’s told me all of the following: “I will never walk ever again – for eight months…I need you to carry me…I think I need a wheelchair…No, Mom, I can’t clean-up toys ‘cuz my knee hurts too much…My knee will never ever get better. Ever.” Yeah, you could say he’s a little dramatic. Yet he could still push Zach out of the way and sprint to the shoe-removal stool in the garage. Interesting. I think he will survive.
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