Driving Duncan to school this morning (in the snow).
"That's not snow. That's little fluffy rain balls."
Whatever you gotta believe to get you through the day.
I Hate Spelling
10 years ago
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Mama's helper
A couple of weeks ago the girl decided to help with the housework. When I say help, I mean vacuum. When I say vacuum, I mean if you are standing in her way, you had better hope your toes don't get sucked up.
When she finished with her voluntary helping she said, "Mama, those boys did not help me at all." How to explain that her volunteering did not make volunteers of her brothers? I'm thinking when they get married their wives will worship their sister-in-law. I expect by that time they will understand that when they see a woman doing work, they had better get up off their butts and do work too.
That was a couple of weeks ago. Nobody has vacuumed since. When I say nobody has vacuumed, I mean nobody has been able to vacuum.
Matthew and I just spent an hour replacing the vacuum belt, which broke while she was vacuuming the living room. After that we removed the bag and I had to cut it open and dig through the contents because her brothers were certain she had vacuumed up some of their legos (we all heard the terrible sound as she was vacuuming the family room). The only plastic I found belonged to some kind of toy, though not a lego, and not something that registered immediately. I also found a ballerina slipper. At least we know she isn't just targeting legos. As we were getting ready to replace the bag, the head of an orange and blue dinosaur fell out the bottom of the vacuum. That is what the mysterious piece of plastic belonged to, and probably what broke the belt. We put it all back together and I started to finally vacuum the family room, but the vacuum didn't sound right. We took it apart and checked the hose, but couldn't detect any blockage. Put it back together and tried again. Again it didn't quite work right. This time Matthew removed the hose completely and stuck a hanger down it. At last. The body of the orange dinosaur. But wait, that wasn't all. There was also a 1"x3" piece of wood in there. That must have been the horrible sound in the family room. Not a lego after all.
I think I'm going to ask the girl to give us a good thirty minute warning when she wants to help the next time. The boys might actually be motivated to pick up their stuff, since I am NOT sifting through a vacuum cleaner bag again. And I will be investing in lots of vacuum belts.
When she finished with her voluntary helping she said, "Mama, those boys did not help me at all." How to explain that her volunteering did not make volunteers of her brothers? I'm thinking when they get married their wives will worship their sister-in-law. I expect by that time they will understand that when they see a woman doing work, they had better get up off their butts and do work too.
That was a couple of weeks ago. Nobody has vacuumed since. When I say nobody has vacuumed, I mean nobody has been able to vacuum.
Matthew and I just spent an hour replacing the vacuum belt, which broke while she was vacuuming the living room. After that we removed the bag and I had to cut it open and dig through the contents because her brothers were certain she had vacuumed up some of their legos (we all heard the terrible sound as she was vacuuming the family room). The only plastic I found belonged to some kind of toy, though not a lego, and not something that registered immediately. I also found a ballerina slipper. At least we know she isn't just targeting legos. As we were getting ready to replace the bag, the head of an orange and blue dinosaur fell out the bottom of the vacuum. That is what the mysterious piece of plastic belonged to, and probably what broke the belt. We put it all back together and I started to finally vacuum the family room, but the vacuum didn't sound right. We took it apart and checked the hose, but couldn't detect any blockage. Put it back together and tried again. Again it didn't quite work right. This time Matthew removed the hose completely and stuck a hanger down it. At last. The body of the orange dinosaur. But wait, that wasn't all. There was also a 1"x3" piece of wood in there. That must have been the horrible sound in the family room. Not a lego after all.
I think I'm going to ask the girl to give us a good thirty minute warning when she wants to help the next time. The boys might actually be motivated to pick up their stuff, since I am NOT sifting through a vacuum cleaner bag again. And I will be investing in lots of vacuum belts.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Samurai princess
Over the weekend a bunch of families got together to play games. (The adults played games, the kids just played.) At one point I found out that my pink-wearing princess (age six) kicked our hosts' eight-year-old son in the...well, she kicked him. This was witnessed by our hostess, who then saw her son push my daughter to the floor. The boy got in trouble for pushing a girl, and the girl was mildly advised not to kick boys. Especially there. I was going to go reprimand my daughter less mildly, and I probably should have, but I must admit there was a part of me that was rather proud of her. And then there's the fact that in this day and age it kind of sticks in my throat to tell my daughter to 'be nice to boys.' I am perfectly fine with her feeling capable of kicking a boy...anywhere, if he deserves it. The problem with this weekend is that they were fighting over which of the many rooms available to them they were going to play in. He didn't deserve it, and she needs to know that, but I don't want to quash at the age of six her reflex to fight back when she feels threatened. I also don't wish to go into detail on the various ways she could wind up feeling threatened some day. So I left her with the mild reproach she got from my friend and hoped that the instinct would remain intact, tempered by an understanding of when it's okay to kick and when it's better to just go play in another room.
I am happy to report that the fighting instinct hasn't gone anywhere in the last forty-eight hours. This evening we met with the same family at the track of the junior high by their house. The idea was to walk around the track and get exercise. That idea was lost on the children. They were too busy playing in sand for the long jump, sitting in the grass, and, towards the end, jumping on the pads for the high jump. There were two other boys at the pads, apparently brothers, who were giving the kids a hard time. The older of the two told them he was going to call 911 because they were not supposed to play on the pads and they were trespassing (despite the fact that his brother was actually lying under the top pad and making it impossible for our kids to jump without landing on him). We told the two boys to leave the kids alone, that no one was going to call the police and basically told everyone to leave everyone else alone. By the time we were down at the other end of the track, though, it was obvious they were back at it. Our kids were jumping on the pads, the two brothers were on their bikes, apparently telling them to get off. And then, from down the field, I see my six-year-old hop down off the pads and march up to the twelve/thirteen-year-old. She stopped right in front of him, and even from that distance, it was clear she was having an in-your-face moment. She wasn't yelling or anything, but her stance said nothing of compliance or backing down.
Later, I found out from my son that her comment at that moment was, "I'll take care of him."
He's lucky he was sitting on a bike.
I am happy to report that the fighting instinct hasn't gone anywhere in the last forty-eight hours. This evening we met with the same family at the track of the junior high by their house. The idea was to walk around the track and get exercise. That idea was lost on the children. They were too busy playing in sand for the long jump, sitting in the grass, and, towards the end, jumping on the pads for the high jump. There were two other boys at the pads, apparently brothers, who were giving the kids a hard time. The older of the two told them he was going to call 911 because they were not supposed to play on the pads and they were trespassing (despite the fact that his brother was actually lying under the top pad and making it impossible for our kids to jump without landing on him). We told the two boys to leave the kids alone, that no one was going to call the police and basically told everyone to leave everyone else alone. By the time we were down at the other end of the track, though, it was obvious they were back at it. Our kids were jumping on the pads, the two brothers were on their bikes, apparently telling them to get off. And then, from down the field, I see my six-year-old hop down off the pads and march up to the twelve/thirteen-year-old. She stopped right in front of him, and even from that distance, it was clear she was having an in-your-face moment. She wasn't yelling or anything, but her stance said nothing of compliance or backing down.
Later, I found out from my son that her comment at that moment was, "I'll take care of him."
He's lucky he was sitting on a bike.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
sarcasm
Matthew and I are perpetually late. Anyone who knows us knows this. I apologize to everyone I have been late to in the past, and all those I will still be late to in the future, because trust me, it will happen again. Having said that, I have a thirteen-year-old who hates to be late. He really is a mellow young man, but there are a few things that set him off, and being late (especially to things that are important to him) is one of those things. I think it is further proof that God has a sense of humor. He sent a punctual child (not that he had ANY inclination to be punctual on his way down thirteen years ago) to chronically tardy parents. We have the car keys and the power to MAKE him late all the time. It really is amusing.
Tonight at dinner we were doing highlights and lowlights. First off, let me say that we live less than a block away from our church and my son goes early on his own (he doesn't need us with the car keys to get there). When it was my turn for hightlights I said that one of my highlights was getting to church before the opening prayer. The so-n-so of a teenager said, "You did?" then clapped and gave me a thumbs up. I blame this on his father, who is often sarcastic on top of being late, and who was also laughing his fool head off.
Tonight at dinner we were doing highlights and lowlights. First off, let me say that we live less than a block away from our church and my son goes early on his own (he doesn't need us with the car keys to get there). When it was my turn for hightlights I said that one of my highlights was getting to church before the opening prayer. The so-n-so of a teenager said, "You did?" then clapped and gave me a thumbs up. I blame this on his father, who is often sarcastic on top of being late, and who was also laughing his fool head off.
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