Showing posts with label Andrew. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Andrew. Show all posts
Saturday, February 21, 2015
Thursday, February 19, 2015
Friday, January 30, 2015
Birthday Party
Last weekend we finally had Andrew's Birthday Party.
Andy was born on December 17th. It's a horrible time of year to have a birthday party. Everyone is fraught with holiday tension, schedules are crammed with holiday parties, and because of all this the party planning really needs to start before Thanksgiving. It never does.
Last year none of the boys had a birthday party, so this year I promised. It's just that we had to pick dates that were a little later than the actual birthdays. Because of Christmas, basketball games... things like that.
These days parties get ridiculous. They're all at movie theaters, laser tag, arcades. The simplest party invites 8 people for $300, and you still have to bring your own cake. It's great if you can afford it because you don't have to worry about the pizza.
But I decided not to go all out.
Steve came over and set up the playstation on the big screen in the den.
Andy had a guest list of 7 people.
We bought an ice cream cake at the market basket.
I ordered pizza to be delivered.
It snowed 8 inches and three kids cancelled.
But the four that showed up had a great time.
This is how I'm doing all of my kids' parties. The boys had a blast. They hung out and did what kids do and I didn't need to do much of anything except clean my house and worry about folks getting up and down the driveway.
Nate's birthday party is in 2 weeks. We're doing this. I'll figure out if 3rd graders are as great as the 1st graders. But so far Nate only wants 5 kids...
Andy was born on December 17th. It's a horrible time of year to have a birthday party. Everyone is fraught with holiday tension, schedules are crammed with holiday parties, and because of all this the party planning really needs to start before Thanksgiving. It never does.
Last year none of the boys had a birthday party, so this year I promised. It's just that we had to pick dates that were a little later than the actual birthdays. Because of Christmas, basketball games... things like that.
These days parties get ridiculous. They're all at movie theaters, laser tag, arcades. The simplest party invites 8 people for $300, and you still have to bring your own cake. It's great if you can afford it because you don't have to worry about the pizza.
But I decided not to go all out.
Steve came over and set up the playstation on the big screen in the den.
Andy had a guest list of 7 people.
We bought an ice cream cake at the market basket.
I ordered pizza to be delivered.
It snowed 8 inches and three kids cancelled.
But the four that showed up had a great time.
This is how I'm doing all of my kids' parties. The boys had a blast. They hung out and did what kids do and I didn't need to do much of anything except clean my house and worry about folks getting up and down the driveway.
Nate's birthday party is in 2 weeks. We're doing this. I'll figure out if 3rd graders are as great as the 1st graders. But so far Nate only wants 5 kids...
Friday, October 03, 2014
Like Cooking, but with Kids!
There are a ridiculous number of people in the world who believe that children should help in with the cooking.
Seriously, I remember being a kid and making Christmas cookies with my mom. I remember it well because there was this really odd shape of cookie cutter and I had no idea what it was, kind of a lumpy thing, and I liked using it to cut shapes out of the dough, and then I would eat the dough. My mother flipped out a bit, then chased us all from the kitchen so she could actually put some cookies in the oven, and so we would die from eating raw eggs. (by the way, the cookie cutter was a camel. I never understood what a camel had to do with Christmas, but that's because I was a heathen and camels didn't pull the sleigh.)
I've tried to get my kids interested in cooking. The books say you can... the many many cookbooks for children, most with large sections that say "GET MOMMY TO HELP YOU CUT THE CARROTS!" Made for children who are dumb enough to eat radishes just because they are peeled and placed on a plate in the shape of someone's hair. My kids are too smart for that, people. Put fruit on a pancake and guess what? It's still fruit. Only now it's ruined the pancake.
Anyway, I have my moments where I try to let the kids help. "You can get a four year old to tear the lettuce!" it says, larger-than-life smile implied in the tone of the font.
So a couple of years ago, in some strange moment of weakness, I purchased a monster cook book. It has things like mummy meatloaf and potato skins disguised as yeti claws. But it also has a few gross desserts. I let the boys each pick an item to make. Andy chose something called "Trifle With Death."
Before pouring in the lime jello, the vanilla pudding, or the marshmallows, the first step is to tear up a sponge cake. I figured if I four year old could tear lettuce, my three kids could tear up a sponge cake.
"Is this piece big enough?" Nick asked, holding up a crumb the size of a raisin.
"It says one inch pieces," I said.
blank looks.
"A little bigger, like this," I said, holding up a piece about the size of a large grape.
"Is this big enough?" Nick asked, holding up a crumb the size of a raisin.
"No," I said.
"Like this? Like this? IS this good?" as all three boys needed me to approve every single pinched morsel of squashed sponge cake that went into the dish.
It was slightly insane.
The boys ate half the marshmallows. They were really impressed with the jello. And the pudding, which was stirred for about three seconds before the boys gave up.
The concoction is now in the fridge until tomorrow, when we get to sprinkle the top with crushed oreos and gummy worms. And gummy eyeballs, if we can find them before then. I'm afraid, and already feeling slightly ill.
Seriously, I remember being a kid and making Christmas cookies with my mom. I remember it well because there was this really odd shape of cookie cutter and I had no idea what it was, kind of a lumpy thing, and I liked using it to cut shapes out of the dough, and then I would eat the dough. My mother flipped out a bit, then chased us all from the kitchen so she could actually put some cookies in the oven, and so we would die from eating raw eggs. (by the way, the cookie cutter was a camel. I never understood what a camel had to do with Christmas, but that's because I was a heathen and camels didn't pull the sleigh.)
I've tried to get my kids interested in cooking. The books say you can... the many many cookbooks for children, most with large sections that say "GET MOMMY TO HELP YOU CUT THE CARROTS!" Made for children who are dumb enough to eat radishes just because they are peeled and placed on a plate in the shape of someone's hair. My kids are too smart for that, people. Put fruit on a pancake and guess what? It's still fruit. Only now it's ruined the pancake.
Anyway, I have my moments where I try to let the kids help. "You can get a four year old to tear the lettuce!" it says, larger-than-life smile implied in the tone of the font.
So a couple of years ago, in some strange moment of weakness, I purchased a monster cook book. It has things like mummy meatloaf and potato skins disguised as yeti claws. But it also has a few gross desserts. I let the boys each pick an item to make. Andy chose something called "Trifle With Death."
Before pouring in the lime jello, the vanilla pudding, or the marshmallows, the first step is to tear up a sponge cake. I figured if I four year old could tear lettuce, my three kids could tear up a sponge cake.
"Is this piece big enough?" Nick asked, holding up a crumb the size of a raisin.
"It says one inch pieces," I said.
blank looks.
"A little bigger, like this," I said, holding up a piece about the size of a large grape.
"Is this big enough?" Nick asked, holding up a crumb the size of a raisin.
"No," I said.
"Like this? Like this? IS this good?" as all three boys needed me to approve every single pinched morsel of squashed sponge cake that went into the dish.
It was slightly insane.
The boys ate half the marshmallows. They were really impressed with the jello. And the pudding, which was stirred for about three seconds before the boys gave up.
The concoction is now in the fridge until tomorrow, when we get to sprinkle the top with crushed oreos and gummy worms. And gummy eyeballs, if we can find them before then. I'm afraid, and already feeling slightly ill.
Tuesday, September 23, 2014
Thursday, September 04, 2014
Homework
It's official.
All three boys now have homework.
None of them like to do it.
Right now, the boys are at Steve's, and there is an unfinished assignment on the kitchen table, due tomorrow.
I told the boy it should all be done yesterday, and was assured I was being ridiculous.
This would be slightly easier if the boys didn't have to be wrestled into their chairs to complete this stuff.
All three boys now have homework.
None of them like to do it.
Right now, the boys are at Steve's, and there is an unfinished assignment on the kitchen table, due tomorrow.
I told the boy it should all be done yesterday, and was assured I was being ridiculous.
This would be slightly easier if the boys didn't have to be wrestled into their chairs to complete this stuff.
Monday, September 01, 2014
Name That Feeling
I really have tried to keep the boys in touch with their emotions. Maybe I haven't. Or maybe I've done such a good job that Andy actually didn't feel nervous the first day of first grade.
Or maybe it's just that he watched too much of that scary Freaky Five Friday thing with his brothers and was too scared to go to sleep, so he was awake with me until 11pm, folding laundry, and then spent the rest of the night sleeping diagonally in my bed. And on the first day of school he was so tired he couldn't muster up any nerves at all.
Thursday, August 28, 2014
Try, Try Again
Maybe I don't need to write something deep and meaningful every time I post on this blog.
Maybe I need to take some of the pressure off.
Maybe it can be something simple, like a comment. Or a short paragraph. Or a fleeting thought.
Maybe when a few of those have gone up, the deeper, more meaningful posts will come back.
Maybe it can start with a few photos.
Like a new start to a new school year.
Maybe I need to take some of the pressure off.
Maybe it can be something simple, like a comment. Or a short paragraph. Or a fleeting thought.
Maybe when a few of those have gone up, the deeper, more meaningful posts will come back.
Maybe it can start with a few photos.
Like a new start to a new school year.
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| School Day 1. Grades 1, 3, 4 |
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| School Day 1. Grades 1, 3, 4 |
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| School Day 1. Grades 1, 3, 4 I said "make a face like a Dalek" andNick grinned |
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| School Day 1. Grades 1, 3, 4 Photo Session Silly Face |
Saturday, May 24, 2014
Jenga and Ice Cream
I had a hard day at work, I told the boys.
Did you staple your fingers again? Andy asked.
My first week at work I actually stapled my fingers together. That happened. But not this week.
Nope, I said. It was just a hard day.
It was a good day at work, actually. I learned a lot of new things and was happy to learn them, but as things need to be completed by certain times the day wasn't very forgiving to my learning curve.
The first two weeks I went back to work, in January, I cried every single night. I was so tired, so overwhelmed. I felt incompetent at work. I felt out of control at home. The careful balance I'd created over the past 10 years of childcare and laundry, housework and homework, came crashing down like a Jenga tower with the wrong piece pulled from the bottom.
The thing about these block towers that come crashing down? They can always be rebuilt. Sure, the new tower won't be like the old tower. But maybe it'll be even better. Maybe you can build that extra part on the corner and expand the fortress walls... or rip the wallpaper down in the bathroom and pick a nice paint shade to brighten the place up a bit.
I keep having to remember that.
So, Thursday I had a hard day. It was crazy and frantic and I left wanting to do nothing but kick my shoes off and go to sleep. It was all I could think about when I picked the boys up from karate.
But then came the Ice Cream Social.
Every year the PTA has an Ice Cream Social at the school. Everyone is invited. The teachers and volunteers serve small bowls of ice cream and large bowls of toppings - gummy bears, sour patch kids, sprinkles, cherries, chocolate chips - they have chocolate syrup and whipped cream. Everything but nuts. No nuts.
Everyone goes to the Ice Cream Social. All students and their parents and their siblings and next year's kindergarteners and their families and siblings. The kids eat large bowls of sugar and go running around playing ball at the back of the gym or on the playground, and parents try to have conversation where they make themselves heard.
Last year we went to the Ice Cream Social, and it was not a good experience. Oh, I bet it was for the kids. I think the kids were fine. I think that they were too distracted by Ice Cream and Loud Craziness to notice anything was amiss. But for me, it was a defining factor in making the decision to proceed with divorce. Without going into too much detail, that night was the last straw. Now I don't usually make rash decisions, especially where my family and my children are concerned, so know there was plenty of thought that went into it before then. I'd weighed my options, I'd given thought to what I wanted, what I needed, what all the choices would mean.
And then came the Ice Cream Social.
Last straw. I heard the snap. I felt the pull of that Jenga piece and the wobble of the tower as it started to crash.
Thursday at karate the boys reminded me the Ice Cream Social was that night. And I'd promised them we'd go.
I was tired from working a new part of the job, overwhelmed with what I was going to do for dinner. Lonely. Missing my family, missing my friends. Making plans for the long weekend that didn't include cookouts and friends or trips to the beach, but laundry and vacuuming and putting screens in windows, and working number magic with finances to allow me to pay my bills, send the boys to summer camp, and buy a new car. I was in tears already with the lot of it.
And here comes the Ice Cream Social.
I cried.
I went.
I took the boys.
And it wasn't that bad. I mean, how can a bowl of 1 part ice cream 2 parts chocolate sauce 3 parts topping be bad? There's some good that comes out of that. And watching the boys scramble around for a few minutes in a large group of other boys? That's good, too. These are good moments.
And yes, I felt more out of place than ever, sitting there, trying to be a normal looking mom. Yes, I was tired from work and wanted to be home. And yes, I was and am still harboring resentment towards the school figureheads for certain interactions we've had this year. BEcause the principal wears those dresses and calls the children kiddos and smiles and nods at me while not outright saying anything but insinuating that my child might not be good enough. And also because for some reason I was seen as not good enough to work in this place.
But whatever.
Despite all of that, I survived. I ate my ice cream and then went home and went to sleep.
And the next day I woke up and the sun was shining. I worked out and make the boys breakfast (cereal) and got them to school and I was feeling pretty OK. Actually, I felt rather good and upbeat.
Because we move on. We pick up our Jenga blocks and we stack them again, one at a time. We go to build a different block tower, one with stronger walls and a better view and a hiding place for all the treasures we've collected.
Did you staple your fingers again? Andy asked.
My first week at work I actually stapled my fingers together. That happened. But not this week.
Nope, I said. It was just a hard day.
It was a good day at work, actually. I learned a lot of new things and was happy to learn them, but as things need to be completed by certain times the day wasn't very forgiving to my learning curve.
The first two weeks I went back to work, in January, I cried every single night. I was so tired, so overwhelmed. I felt incompetent at work. I felt out of control at home. The careful balance I'd created over the past 10 years of childcare and laundry, housework and homework, came crashing down like a Jenga tower with the wrong piece pulled from the bottom.
The thing about these block towers that come crashing down? They can always be rebuilt. Sure, the new tower won't be like the old tower. But maybe it'll be even better. Maybe you can build that extra part on the corner and expand the fortress walls... or rip the wallpaper down in the bathroom and pick a nice paint shade to brighten the place up a bit.
I keep having to remember that.
So, Thursday I had a hard day. It was crazy and frantic and I left wanting to do nothing but kick my shoes off and go to sleep. It was all I could think about when I picked the boys up from karate.
But then came the Ice Cream Social.
Every year the PTA has an Ice Cream Social at the school. Everyone is invited. The teachers and volunteers serve small bowls of ice cream and large bowls of toppings - gummy bears, sour patch kids, sprinkles, cherries, chocolate chips - they have chocolate syrup and whipped cream. Everything but nuts. No nuts.
Everyone goes to the Ice Cream Social. All students and their parents and their siblings and next year's kindergarteners and their families and siblings. The kids eat large bowls of sugar and go running around playing ball at the back of the gym or on the playground, and parents try to have conversation where they make themselves heard.
Last year we went to the Ice Cream Social, and it was not a good experience. Oh, I bet it was for the kids. I think the kids were fine. I think that they were too distracted by Ice Cream and Loud Craziness to notice anything was amiss. But for me, it was a defining factor in making the decision to proceed with divorce. Without going into too much detail, that night was the last straw. Now I don't usually make rash decisions, especially where my family and my children are concerned, so know there was plenty of thought that went into it before then. I'd weighed my options, I'd given thought to what I wanted, what I needed, what all the choices would mean.
And then came the Ice Cream Social.
Last straw. I heard the snap. I felt the pull of that Jenga piece and the wobble of the tower as it started to crash.
Thursday at karate the boys reminded me the Ice Cream Social was that night. And I'd promised them we'd go.
I was tired from working a new part of the job, overwhelmed with what I was going to do for dinner. Lonely. Missing my family, missing my friends. Making plans for the long weekend that didn't include cookouts and friends or trips to the beach, but laundry and vacuuming and putting screens in windows, and working number magic with finances to allow me to pay my bills, send the boys to summer camp, and buy a new car. I was in tears already with the lot of it.
And here comes the Ice Cream Social.
I cried.
I went.
I took the boys.
And it wasn't that bad. I mean, how can a bowl of 1 part ice cream 2 parts chocolate sauce 3 parts topping be bad? There's some good that comes out of that. And watching the boys scramble around for a few minutes in a large group of other boys? That's good, too. These are good moments.
And yes, I felt more out of place than ever, sitting there, trying to be a normal looking mom. Yes, I was tired from work and wanted to be home. And yes, I was and am still harboring resentment towards the school figureheads for certain interactions we've had this year. BEcause the principal wears those dresses and calls the children kiddos and smiles and nods at me while not outright saying anything but insinuating that my child might not be good enough. And also because for some reason I was seen as not good enough to work in this place.
But whatever.
Despite all of that, I survived. I ate my ice cream and then went home and went to sleep.
And the next day I woke up and the sun was shining. I worked out and make the boys breakfast (cereal) and got them to school and I was feeling pretty OK. Actually, I felt rather good and upbeat.
Because we move on. We pick up our Jenga blocks and we stack them again, one at a time. We go to build a different block tower, one with stronger walls and a better view and a hiding place for all the treasures we've collected.
Saturday, February 01, 2014
Sweet Beginnings
I hate February.
I really really hate it. It's overcast and it's cold and grey, even though by mow I'm ready for spring. January is enough for me. And yet, year after year, February settles itself in between the holiday recovery month and the month of March (which is when Spring begins to appear) with it's bland, cold, icy, self.
Sure, February is a short month. And it's a short month full of things like Valentine's Day, Birthdays of various Presidents, my mother's birthday, and an entire week of school vacation. Not to mention Groundhog Day, and Imbolc (the spring equinox). And a whole month of February is Black History Month, or African-American History Month, depending on how you feel like expressing it.
All respect for these important events and occasions aside, I still hate February.
But today, February 1st, is a little different.
It's Ice Cream For Breakfast Day.
We Celebrated. Even me. I strongly urge you to begin observing this sacred day of over-indulgence. It's Awesome, unexpected, and fun. We've gotten to the point where Nick starts counting down the days.
This morning, as we were navigating our way through melting ice-cream and sticky syrups, I asked the boys if they would celebrate Ice-Cream for breakfast day for ever, from now on.
"Yes!" said Nick. "Unless I get diabetic. Then I'll just do it for my family."
I really really hate it. It's overcast and it's cold and grey, even though by mow I'm ready for spring. January is enough for me. And yet, year after year, February settles itself in between the holiday recovery month and the month of March (which is when Spring begins to appear) with it's bland, cold, icy, self.
Sure, February is a short month. And it's a short month full of things like Valentine's Day, Birthdays of various Presidents, my mother's birthday, and an entire week of school vacation. Not to mention Groundhog Day, and Imbolc (the spring equinox). And a whole month of February is Black History Month, or African-American History Month, depending on how you feel like expressing it.
All respect for these important events and occasions aside, I still hate February.
But today, February 1st, is a little different.
It's Ice Cream For Breakfast Day.
We Celebrated. Even me. I strongly urge you to begin observing this sacred day of over-indulgence. It's Awesome, unexpected, and fun. We've gotten to the point where Nick starts counting down the days.
This morning, as we were navigating our way through melting ice-cream and sticky syrups, I asked the boys if they would celebrate Ice-Cream for breakfast day for ever, from now on.
"Yes!" said Nick. "Unless I get diabetic. Then I'll just do it for my family."
Tuesday, January 07, 2014
Thank You, Universe. Also, Help.
I am working.
And my that I mean I'm working outside the home. Someone actually hired me to do something for them. It's not an exciting something, it's a business something. It's so boring I want to stab my eyes out with a pencil, and I under estimated both how much I would miss my kids during the day and resent having to go to work because of it. I also underestimated how big of a transition this would be for my kids. I also underestimated how freakin' difficult it would be to come home at 6pm to make dinner, try and force children to do homework they've been ignoring, bathe them, clean up what I can, and prepare everything for the next day.
Honestly, I'm not getting paid enough.
Honestly, they'd have to pay me twice as much for this to feel worth it to me.
Honestly, I feel like such a slacker when I think of working parents who do this all the time.
Honestly, I've only worked two days, and once my kids are asleep I cry about it. I feel like I'll never have enough patience again. I'll never sit down at the dinner table with the kids again. I'll never be able to sit and read them a nice relaxing story because their bedtime is always going to be forty minutes ago.
Also, since I've started working we've had a number of home repairs happen, Andy ran a fever, Andy was "Star Of The Week" and I could neither come in and help decorate his "about me" board nor come in and read a story to the class. And then Andy got a rash I'm pretty sure is bedbugs. He won't stop itching his elbows, and I've had to do a lot of unexpected laundry.
I keep reminding myself that there are really good reasons I'm doing what I'm doing. I keep reminding myself this is a temporary job. I'm sure things will get better.
But it doesn't feel like it right now.
Right now this feels exactly like what I don't want.
There has to be a better way.
There just has to.
And my that I mean I'm working outside the home. Someone actually hired me to do something for them. It's not an exciting something, it's a business something. It's so boring I want to stab my eyes out with a pencil, and I under estimated both how much I would miss my kids during the day and resent having to go to work because of it. I also underestimated how big of a transition this would be for my kids. I also underestimated how freakin' difficult it would be to come home at 6pm to make dinner, try and force children to do homework they've been ignoring, bathe them, clean up what I can, and prepare everything for the next day.
Honestly, I'm not getting paid enough.
Honestly, they'd have to pay me twice as much for this to feel worth it to me.
Honestly, I feel like such a slacker when I think of working parents who do this all the time.
Honestly, I've only worked two days, and once my kids are asleep I cry about it. I feel like I'll never have enough patience again. I'll never sit down at the dinner table with the kids again. I'll never be able to sit and read them a nice relaxing story because their bedtime is always going to be forty minutes ago.
Also, since I've started working we've had a number of home repairs happen, Andy ran a fever, Andy was "Star Of The Week" and I could neither come in and help decorate his "about me" board nor come in and read a story to the class. And then Andy got a rash I'm pretty sure is bedbugs. He won't stop itching his elbows, and I've had to do a lot of unexpected laundry.
I keep reminding myself that there are really good reasons I'm doing what I'm doing. I keep reminding myself this is a temporary job. I'm sure things will get better.
But it doesn't feel like it right now.
Right now this feels exactly like what I don't want.
There has to be a better way.
There just has to.
Saturday, December 21, 2013
Around Here
Here's what you've missed:
I forgot to inspect my car last month. When I finally remembered and took it in, I was told I could not have a sticker until I replaced three tires. Apparently it's not good when you can see the fabric underneath the rubber. They are run-flats, and cost over $200. Each.
The glass on the inside of my oven door shattered during a self-clean cycle. When I opened the door, half of the glass had already fallen into the oven, while the other half waited until I had cleaned up most of the mess to fall. The glass nuggets fell in between the oven and the door, onto the top of the oven door below, and then into the lower oven when I opened that one. I'm still finding glass bits everywhere. The oven is new from when we did the kitchen last year... just a little over a year ago. Guess how long the warranty is? Yeah.
Andrew is six.
I thought I was safe taking the cone off Gunther. I removed it long enough to clean it before noticing that one of his legs were already bloody from over-attention. So frustrating.
I got a (long term temp) job. This is a good thing. Only it is a bad thing. I am glad I got the job. I would have been devastated to not get the job. Only it's not that great a job. And I'm mourning the loss of the time I get to spend with my kids. I'm suitably terrified about childcare.
My house is a mess. I'm way behind on laundry. I'm yo-yoing between feeling on top of the world and all powerful and feeling taken advantage of and out of control. I'm sure cleaning my house while blasting music will help.
I forgot to inspect my car last month. When I finally remembered and took it in, I was told I could not have a sticker until I replaced three tires. Apparently it's not good when you can see the fabric underneath the rubber. They are run-flats, and cost over $200. Each.
The glass on the inside of my oven door shattered during a self-clean cycle. When I opened the door, half of the glass had already fallen into the oven, while the other half waited until I had cleaned up most of the mess to fall. The glass nuggets fell in between the oven and the door, onto the top of the oven door below, and then into the lower oven when I opened that one. I'm still finding glass bits everywhere. The oven is new from when we did the kitchen last year... just a little over a year ago. Guess how long the warranty is? Yeah.
Andrew is six.
I thought I was safe taking the cone off Gunther. I removed it long enough to clean it before noticing that one of his legs were already bloody from over-attention. So frustrating.
I got a (long term temp) job. This is a good thing. Only it is a bad thing. I am glad I got the job. I would have been devastated to not get the job. Only it's not that great a job. And I'm mourning the loss of the time I get to spend with my kids. I'm suitably terrified about childcare.
My house is a mess. I'm way behind on laundry. I'm yo-yoing between feeling on top of the world and all powerful and feeling taken advantage of and out of control. I'm sure cleaning my house while blasting music will help.
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
Happy Birthday Andrew
Today, Andrew is 6 years old.
It's not much, turning 6. Kids turn 6 every day. The world doesn't stop turning. But it's still the most extraordinary thing. Both at once.
First of all, it's all Andy's been talking about for weeks. He's been extremely concerned because I hadn't been buying him birthday presents. (I've taken care of it.) He's been bugging me for a party, and I had to explain that we'd have one in January because December was too full already and I hadn't prepared properly. For him, turning Six is about the biggest thing that's ever happened to him, ever.
But for me... Six? Already?
When I started this blog, I was pregnant with Nathan. Andy wasn't even a blip on the radar. I can't imagine my life without my sweet and wonderful boy, but I feel as though he just got here. I am not prepared for the things six means. Bikes without training wheels, first grade, homework... Time just goes by so quickly. I want to grab every second of time with Andy that I can, do it now while he's still small enough to curl up with me in my bed for a nap and play games and help me make PBJ's.
It's not fair, really. He's such a smart kid. He can read. He can ride his bike. He has started drawing all of the time. He's learned so much and accomplished so much and I shouldn't want to discourage that. He's a marvelous boy, and every day he's growing more into the kind of older kid I am proud for him to be.
Happy Sixth Birthday, Darling Andrew!
But for me... Six? Already?
Happy Sixth Birthday, Darling Andrew!
Monday, December 16, 2013
It's Called a Schedule
Last week I say down and scheduled out the events leading us up to Christmas.
It's trickier than you might think. Remember, I'm dealing not only with my schedule, but with the boys' schedules, too. And nothing is ever as straightforward as you'd think.
So, Monday is the last day to send in a toy for the toy drive at the school. That morning I'm at the school library as a volunteer. Also, I have a music committee meeting. So I'll get Steve to take the boys.
That's it for Monday.
Tuesday is Andrew's Birthday! He's turning six! So exciting! Except Tuesday afternoons are really, really busy, with Karate for Andy at 4:15, Karate for Nate and Nick at 5pm, and piano for Andy and Nate at 6:30. I can't reschedule piano because they don't have lessons for the next two weeks. I'll make cupcakes and we'll have them with our regular Tuesday dinner-in-the-car. We'll have to have Andy's Birthday dinner on Monday.
Monday I'll pick the boys up, take them to the mall to see Santa, buy our annual ornaments, and then go out to dinner. Steve can come with us. We should be done in plenty of time for me to make it to Music Committee. And I'll wrap Andy's Birthday Gifts when we get back.
Wednesday I take the car to be inspected. Then that night I have Choir and the boys will be at Steve's so...
Thursday morning I can pack all the stuff we'll need for the DI meeting that afternoon - the boys will be creating gingerbread circuses out of graham crackers, ginger snaps, and sugar cones. And icing and candy. After the sugary meeting, we'll run off to Karate at 4:30 for Nate and Nick. OH! And it's the last day for some of the teachers to get teacher gifts, and I have to bake those...
Add to Tuesday AM - bake cookies at the same time as the cupcakes.
Add to Thursday take out trash. And Clean Bathrooms, because there is no other open space and that needs to happen.
And Friday is the last day of school with all of those parties. I need to buy napkins and plates and cups that are holiday themed. I'll need to go food shopping, but they had none at the grocery store or at CVS. Add to Wednesday - buy napkins, etc. And then Andy has a playdate at 3pm. And Nick has his DI meeting after school until 4:30. Andy will skip his karate because of the playdate, but Nate and Nick have Karate again at 5pm. Sometime in there I'll pick Andy up. Then we can have movie night and eat sugar cookies and watch Arthur Christmas or Scrooged or something.
This is all very manageable.
Only guess what? It's Monday morning, and Andrew is sick. Too sick for school. Too sick (probably) for santa and dinner out tonight.
So...
Monday, cancel the library volunteering. Email Steve and let him know we may need to reschedule Santa on Wednesday before Choir. Music committee was postponed (not because of me, ironically) so I have tonight to wrap gifts and bake cookies and figure out how Nate and Nick can conjure birthday presents for Andrew out of thin air. Also, the boys can do whatever homework they have.
Tuesday - as usual, school, library, karate, piano, dinner in the car. Only Andrew will be better (right?) and go to school so I can make all the teacher gifts.
Wednesday I take my car in, I'll run into Wal-Mart where they better have holiday themed paper dinnerware. That PM we do Santa, dinner our, then Choir, Steve will watch them here which means I have them...
Thursday morning, clean bathrooms, pay bills, DI circus, karate the day we give the teachers their gifts and I can stop thinking about them, and then
Friday, the last school day before Christmas Vacation, food shopping (buy wine), Andy Playdate, Nick DI, Nick and Nate karate, movie night, cookies, wine, and write out the schedule for the next couple of weeks so they aren't this hectic.
right?
It's trickier than you might think. Remember, I'm dealing not only with my schedule, but with the boys' schedules, too. And nothing is ever as straightforward as you'd think.
So, Monday is the last day to send in a toy for the toy drive at the school. That morning I'm at the school library as a volunteer. Also, I have a music committee meeting. So I'll get Steve to take the boys.
That's it for Monday.
Tuesday is Andrew's Birthday! He's turning six! So exciting! Except Tuesday afternoons are really, really busy, with Karate for Andy at 4:15, Karate for Nate and Nick at 5pm, and piano for Andy and Nate at 6:30. I can't reschedule piano because they don't have lessons for the next two weeks. I'll make cupcakes and we'll have them with our regular Tuesday dinner-in-the-car. We'll have to have Andy's Birthday dinner on Monday.
Monday I'll pick the boys up, take them to the mall to see Santa, buy our annual ornaments, and then go out to dinner. Steve can come with us. We should be done in plenty of time for me to make it to Music Committee. And I'll wrap Andy's Birthday Gifts when we get back.
Wednesday I take the car to be inspected. Then that night I have Choir and the boys will be at Steve's so...
Thursday morning I can pack all the stuff we'll need for the DI meeting that afternoon - the boys will be creating gingerbread circuses out of graham crackers, ginger snaps, and sugar cones. And icing and candy. After the sugary meeting, we'll run off to Karate at 4:30 for Nate and Nick. OH! And it's the last day for some of the teachers to get teacher gifts, and I have to bake those...
Add to Tuesday AM - bake cookies at the same time as the cupcakes.
Add to Thursday take out trash. And Clean Bathrooms, because there is no other open space and that needs to happen.
And Friday is the last day of school with all of those parties. I need to buy napkins and plates and cups that are holiday themed. I'll need to go food shopping, but they had none at the grocery store or at CVS. Add to Wednesday - buy napkins, etc. And then Andy has a playdate at 3pm. And Nick has his DI meeting after school until 4:30. Andy will skip his karate because of the playdate, but Nate and Nick have Karate again at 5pm. Sometime in there I'll pick Andy up. Then we can have movie night and eat sugar cookies and watch Arthur Christmas or Scrooged or something.
This is all very manageable.
Only guess what? It's Monday morning, and Andrew is sick. Too sick for school. Too sick (probably) for santa and dinner out tonight.
So...
Monday, cancel the library volunteering. Email Steve and let him know we may need to reschedule Santa on Wednesday before Choir. Music committee was postponed (not because of me, ironically) so I have tonight to wrap gifts and bake cookies and figure out how Nate and Nick can conjure birthday presents for Andrew out of thin air. Also, the boys can do whatever homework they have.
Tuesday - as usual, school, library, karate, piano, dinner in the car. Only Andrew will be better (right?) and go to school so I can make all the teacher gifts.
Wednesday I take my car in, I'll run into Wal-Mart where they better have holiday themed paper dinnerware. That PM we do Santa, dinner our, then Choir, Steve will watch them here which means I have them...
Thursday morning, clean bathrooms, pay bills, DI circus, karate the day we give the teachers their gifts and I can stop thinking about them, and then
Friday, the last school day before Christmas Vacation, food shopping (buy wine), Andy Playdate, Nick DI, Nick and Nate karate, movie night, cookies, wine, and write out the schedule for the next couple of weeks so they aren't this hectic.
right?
Sunday, December 15, 2013
Nibble Nibble, Little Mouse...
This year I was going to make my own gingerbread house.
Usually we purchase the pre-fab ones from the supermarket, and I just let the boys have at it with icing and the stale enclosed candies, but this year I was going to make my own, and it was going to be bigger and cooler.
What made me decide this was a logical and doable task, you might wonder? Well, when I was a kid, Linda made one that kind of resembled our house, and it was awesome! Not so great that we didn't destroy it by prying the licorice tiles off the roof.
Also, last year I saw this video of the Downton Abbey House being created out of gingerbread, and I was filled with a kind of.... I don't know. Longing. Jealousy. Need to create something that didn't fall apart in three minutes.
So last week I purchased our usual pre-fab gingerbread house for the boys to decorate. I figured I was dealing with enough and would wait until I had a little more... a little less... I would wait a couple more years.
Here she is. This year I got additional candy for the boys to use. I hope you enjoy the photos, because the house no longer looks like this. She is naked. And it's not just because of the boys. Those chocolate roof tiles were tempting.
Usually we purchase the pre-fab ones from the supermarket, and I just let the boys have at it with icing and the stale enclosed candies, but this year I was going to make my own, and it was going to be bigger and cooler.
What made me decide this was a logical and doable task, you might wonder? Well, when I was a kid, Linda made one that kind of resembled our house, and it was awesome! Not so great that we didn't destroy it by prying the licorice tiles off the roof.
Also, last year I saw this video of the Downton Abbey House being created out of gingerbread, and I was filled with a kind of.... I don't know. Longing. Jealousy. Need to create something that didn't fall apart in three minutes.
So last week I purchased our usual pre-fab gingerbread house for the boys to decorate. I figured I was dealing with enough and would wait until I had a little more... a little less... I would wait a couple more years.
Here she is. This year I got additional candy for the boys to use. I hope you enjoy the photos, because the house no longer looks like this. She is naked. And it's not just because of the boys. Those chocolate roof tiles were tempting.
Friday, November 15, 2013
Yesterday At Dinner...
Nathan suddenly says, "Andy! What's the opposite of sour?"
Then he lifts his palm to me and to Nick. "Don't tell him! Don't tell him!"
It's as if he and Andy were just studying for the opposite test.
Andrew gives a little knowing, smirk and says, "The opposite of sour is: Not Sour."
Well... he's kind of right...
Then he lifts his palm to me and to Nick. "Don't tell him! Don't tell him!"
It's as if he and Andy were just studying for the opposite test.
Andrew gives a little knowing, smirk and says, "The opposite of sour is: Not Sour."
Well... he's kind of right...
Saturday, November 09, 2013
Birthday - Adult Version
It sounds racy, doesn't it?
It's not.
When you're a kid, you wait all year long for your birthday, and when it comes, when it finally, Finally gets there, it's all about you. Your age goes up. People sing to you. You get cards from elderly relatives, sometimes with cash. You get cake. You get a party. Maybe the party isn't even on your actual birthday, so you stretch the celebration over a number of days, like a large wedding, with overnight guests and a breakfast the next morning.
As you get older, you realize life doesn't stop for a birthday. Not even yours. You still have to go to school - oh, you might get to bring in treats to share, and that's special. But you still have to take the science test. You still have to go to gym.
As an adult, it's all turned around. You have to go to work and no one there cares that it's your birthday. There was a cake for it a week earlier, but no one knew it was for you because it was lumped in with all the other November birthdays. Maybe some co-workers are excited and take you out to lunch, or for drinks after. Maybe you even have a Margarita! That's special.
I wasn't looking forward to this birthday. As the only adult in the house, I was picturing a lot of what I usually do. You don't get to choose, when you're a mom. Kids need to get to violin at 7:30am. They still can't find their shoes. And even if you want eggs, they all want waffles. Cut up into little strips. Usually I could defer a lot of these requests to my spouse, who would also make some effort to recognize this special day.
Well, this was the first birthday since Steve moved out.
I woke up to an empty house. Steve had the boys the night before. I knew he'd drop them off at 7:15 (remember, violin at 7:30, and I forgot to bring the violin when I dropped the boys off...) but I still had the morning to run. I played music while I make lunches (including a bag lunch for a field trip) and got school folders ready.
And then I hopped into the shower, thinking I'd have a couple of extra minutes to relax and soak.
A few moments after seven, I head shouting. I had enough time to turn off the water and step onto the mat when the door burst open and in flew Andy, grinning, clutching a large gift bag.
"Happy Birthday, Mom! You got presents!"
I stood on the bath mat, dripping wet, clutching a towel to my naked body.
"Thanks, Sweetie! I'm so happy! Can I have a minute to get dressed?"
It was a pretty good birthday, all things considered. I'll post later about what I got and the 3rd grade Veteran's Day concert. All you need to know for today is that all is wonderful.
Monday, November 04, 2013
Thursday, October 31, 2013
Wednesday, October 30, 2013
Costume
I won't buy the boys Halloween costumes.
Seriously - have you seen the prices on those things? They sell great looking costumes all over the place, but they're made so cheaply, and they each go for about $50. I have three kids. We've got years of costumes left to go. I'm not doing it.
So I either tell them they have to buy their own, or make them up from stuff we have. This is good. It teaches responsibility and gets them to use their imagination, get creative... Of course, some times I help them out. We got choir robes at GoodWill last year for the Harry Potter costumes. Yes, I had to pay for them, but they weren't that expensive, all told.
This year, Andy was going to be a skunk. I even bought him a black hoodie and small spray bottle so we could put the costume together. But we needed a white boa to complete it. I took some things to GoodWill, and while we were there we had a look... I found a boa for two dollars. I bought it. Of course, Andy found this Pokemon costume for seven dollars. And he suddenly didn't want to be a skunk anymore. I couldn't say no. He was so excited!
He wore the costume for the next three days. It already has yogurt all over the pokemon's forehead.
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