Whew! We got through Easter without Rachel spilling the (jelly)beans. You see, last week she informed me that there certainly wasn't an Easter bunny. In her words, "A bunny wouldn't wear clothes and come into our house and leave eggs." Oh, okay - but a fat man from the North Pole does land on our roof and come down our chimney. Apparently, she is very selective in her suspension of disbelief.
I know she's 5 already; but compared to her siblings, Rachel's a little Einstein. Usually, our kids are 8 or 9 before they figure out that we're lying to them. I had to make her promise not to disillusion Brian (who is 2 years older) and little Susie. I threatened her, in fact, with no jellybeans if she ruined the magic of the holiday for her more gullible siblings. We take our fantasy pretty seriously around here.
About a year ago, I was "volunteered" to serve a 3-year stint as president of our townhouse community association. I guess everyone thought that with only 6 kids at home, I had extra time on my hands. Also, it was a Bunko night and a little too much wine had gone around, okay? This whole situation is laughable, as I do not know what I am doing. And I don't have any brain cells left to figure it out. Fortunately, someone else is treasurer; and he has promised me that he will have a budget figured out by tomorrow evening's yearly homeowners' meeting. I, in turn, have promised him any number of hand-knitted items if he will agree to cover for my stupidity over the next 2 years. I think that's fair, don't you?
I really hate being in charge of things that people might yell at me about.
And for those of you who were wondering, Anna did not go naked to church Easter morning; instead, she showed up in last year's Easter outfit. Fine with me. Now if I can just find the receipt for that other dress....otherwise, we may have a nifty giveaway here soon. Kalynne? Does your daughter need a sundress, along with a modesty-preserving shrug? Knee-length, looks decent with flats - just don't let her wear it with high heels, unless you approve of the strumpet look for young teens. In which case, my Anna would like to live with you.
I had a weird dream last night, too convoluted to explain here; but the part that stands out in my mind is that I was hitting people in hospital beds (invalids, I think) on the head and yelling, "Be nice to me!" It worked, too - they gave me presents.
I don't want to even think about what that means.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Type Suitable Title Here
I used all my 50% off coupons at Michaels' yesterday - this activity involved purchasing only one item at a time, walking with it out to my car, walking back in, purchasing the next one....seems silly, right? But I saved $6.25 for just 15 minutes worth of effort, which translates into earning $25 an hour. Without taxes. And I got some very nice wool yarn for $2.50 a skein.
Hey, it makes me happy.
Yesterday afternoon, I tried to get out of pushing Susie around the neighborhood on her tricycle by running into the house and telling her that I'd be "right back." I figured she would wander off to play at the tot lot with the other kids. 20 minutes later, Anna reported that Susie was still sitting there on her little pink tricycle, trusting that her mommy would come back as she had promised. Makes me feel sort of bad for forgetting all about her, you know?
Perhaps I should finally invest in one of those trikes with the long handle to push by. I always thought that the people pushing those expensive contraptions around the block were money-wasting idiots; but now I realize that buying one just might save me on chiropractic bills. Raising little ones is a younger person's game, it turns out.
At 5:30 this evening (that is, a mere 15 hours before Easter Mass) Anna announced that her Easter outfit was not at all satisfactory. You know, the outfit I spent all last Saturday afternoon taking her to stores to find, the one she loved, and that I decided was just barely long enough to be acceptable. But it turns out that there is a shoe issue. Isn't there always? Heels versus flats....you don't need the details. Suffice it to say that today she balled up the dress, shoved it into a bag with the new shoes, and handed it to me, saying, with a sob, "I can't wear these tomorrow."
I don't know when it became her job to make me feel lousy, but she certainly is good at it.
Larry and I took the younger 4 on a forced march through the woods today. (Why? To keep them from driving us crazy at home, that's why.) They did all right until it started to rain. Brian totally freaked out because he was getting wet. As Larry said, "What is wrong with him?" We hiked damply back to the car (well, Susie was on Larry's shoulders), getting lost only once. And Brian didn't melt. There was a slight crisis in the car on the way home: I had brought only 3 granola bars as provisions, so Rachel and Susie had to share one. Did I mention it was only a 5-minute drive? It felt way longer. But no one starved to death, I promise.
Where was I? Oh, yes, Larry took me out to dinner tonight. We shared a burrito, and then he bought me a kids' size hot cocoa at Starbucks. Big spenders, that's us. And then, as if that weren't enough, Larry bought me a book at B&N - Alan King's Great Jewish Joke Book. The cashier was a little put out when I presented my homeschooler's teacher discount card at the register. "We only give the discount for items actually used for homeschooling," he sniffed. But he gave in when I said, "That's right - we're studying ethnic humor." I guess he was too tired to argue. After all, we all know what happens when you mess with homeschoolers. (I'm linking to paragraphs 4 and 5 of that article - but I don't know how to link to just part of an article, so just skip the first part)(I mean, unless you want to read about California court decisions, then go right ahead).
Time to put some jelly beans in plastic eggs and hide them around the living room (the ones I don't eat, that is)...have a Happy Easter!
Hey, it makes me happy.
Yesterday afternoon, I tried to get out of pushing Susie around the neighborhood on her tricycle by running into the house and telling her that I'd be "right back." I figured she would wander off to play at the tot lot with the other kids. 20 minutes later, Anna reported that Susie was still sitting there on her little pink tricycle, trusting that her mommy would come back as she had promised. Makes me feel sort of bad for forgetting all about her, you know?
Perhaps I should finally invest in one of those trikes with the long handle to push by. I always thought that the people pushing those expensive contraptions around the block were money-wasting idiots; but now I realize that buying one just might save me on chiropractic bills. Raising little ones is a younger person's game, it turns out.
At 5:30 this evening (that is, a mere 15 hours before Easter Mass) Anna announced that her Easter outfit was not at all satisfactory. You know, the outfit I spent all last Saturday afternoon taking her to stores to find, the one she loved, and that I decided was just barely long enough to be acceptable. But it turns out that there is a shoe issue. Isn't there always? Heels versus flats....you don't need the details. Suffice it to say that today she balled up the dress, shoved it into a bag with the new shoes, and handed it to me, saying, with a sob, "I can't wear these tomorrow."
I don't know when it became her job to make me feel lousy, but she certainly is good at it.
Larry and I took the younger 4 on a forced march through the woods today. (Why? To keep them from driving us crazy at home, that's why.) They did all right until it started to rain. Brian totally freaked out because he was getting wet. As Larry said, "What is wrong with him?" We hiked damply back to the car (well, Susie was on Larry's shoulders), getting lost only once. And Brian didn't melt. There was a slight crisis in the car on the way home: I had brought only 3 granola bars as provisions, so Rachel and Susie had to share one. Did I mention it was only a 5-minute drive? It felt way longer. But no one starved to death, I promise.
Where was I? Oh, yes, Larry took me out to dinner tonight. We shared a burrito, and then he bought me a kids' size hot cocoa at Starbucks. Big spenders, that's us. And then, as if that weren't enough, Larry bought me a book at B&N - Alan King's Great Jewish Joke Book. The cashier was a little put out when I presented my homeschooler's teacher discount card at the register. "We only give the discount for items actually used for homeschooling," he sniffed. But he gave in when I said, "That's right - we're studying ethnic humor." I guess he was too tired to argue. After all, we all know what happens when you mess with homeschoolers. (I'm linking to paragraphs 4 and 5 of that article - but I don't know how to link to just part of an article, so just skip the first part)(I mean, unless you want to read about California court decisions, then go right ahead).
Time to put some jelly beans in plastic eggs and hide them around the living room (the ones I don't eat, that is)...have a Happy Easter!
Friday, March 21, 2008
Involved Parenting and Self-Preservation
I decided to be an involved parent yesterday and arranged to meet my friend and her kids at a nearby aviation and aerospace museum. This sort of trip, let me note here, is David's idea of heaven. Brian was pretty excited, too; but Rachel was only lured by the promise of pizza afterwards. Susie is cool with anything, as long as we are nice to her (she started shouting that at the dinner table last night, apropos of nothing, as far as I could tell).
And then, as if that weren't enough parental involvement on my part, we made hamantaschen yesterday afternoon. It isn't that difficult: make the dough, chill it, roll it out, cut out the circles, put a dollop of jam in the middle of each circle, and fold the corners up just right (although how we get corners out of circles is beyond me). Of course, it requires nerves of steel to get through these steps while negotiating with 3 children who exactly gets to do what, when. I sort of needed a drink by the end.
If you have survived all the squabbling over who cuts out the circles and whose turn it is to dish out the jam, you then pop the cookie-laden sheets into the oven. Just make sure you remember to set the timer for 15 minutes. Because I didn't. Luckily, I also forgot to turn the oven on; so nothing burned. Sometimes early-onset Alzheimers can be your friend.
I'm going to have to do absolutely nothing with the children today in order to retain my Idle Parenting credentials.
All around us our friends and their families are being felled mercilessly by some sort of extreme stomach virus. We are avoiding them like...well, like the plague. I am willing to drop off some ginger ale and crackers at their doorsteps (actually, not directly at their doorsteps - I'll stand at the end of the sidewalk and sort of lob it in the direction of their contaminated front doors); but that is the extent of my compassion. I have a family to protect, after all.
Somehow, I don't think I would have been one of those hardy souls who went around nursing the ill and burying the dead during the Plague years; but I definitely would have gotten myself one of those masks.
I wonder, do you have to wear it with the robes for it to be effective? Or would jeans and a sweater do just as well?
And then, as if that weren't enough parental involvement on my part, we made hamantaschen yesterday afternoon. It isn't that difficult: make the dough, chill it, roll it out, cut out the circles, put a dollop of jam in the middle of each circle, and fold the corners up just right (although how we get corners out of circles is beyond me). Of course, it requires nerves of steel to get through these steps while negotiating with 3 children who exactly gets to do what, when. I sort of needed a drink by the end.
If you have survived all the squabbling over who cuts out the circles and whose turn it is to dish out the jam, you then pop the cookie-laden sheets into the oven. Just make sure you remember to set the timer for 15 minutes. Because I didn't. Luckily, I also forgot to turn the oven on; so nothing burned. Sometimes early-onset Alzheimers can be your friend.
I'm going to have to do absolutely nothing with the children today in order to retain my Idle Parenting credentials.
All around us our friends and their families are being felled mercilessly by some sort of extreme stomach virus. We are avoiding them like...well, like the plague. I am willing to drop off some ginger ale and crackers at their doorsteps (actually, not directly at their doorsteps - I'll stand at the end of the sidewalk and sort of lob it in the direction of their contaminated front doors); but that is the extent of my compassion. I have a family to protect, after all.
Somehow, I don't think I would have been one of those hardy souls who went around nursing the ill and burying the dead during the Plague years; but I definitely would have gotten myself one of those masks.
I wonder, do you have to wear it with the robes for it to be effective? Or would jeans and a sweater do just as well?
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Because The British Are Always Right
I love this article on the BBC website. It's titled "Stressed Parents 'Make Kids Ill.'"
I'll just pause to let that sink in a minute.
Okay, anxious and depressed about being stressed yet? Because the article states that "A University of Rochester study, reported by New Scientist, found sickness levels were higher in children of anxious or depressed parents." Which is fairly ironic, considering that having a sick child makes parents fairly stressed out. Which in turn, according to these scientists, can make your child sicker. So be happy! Be cheerful! Or else!
I am so glad that something else is my fault. I didn't have enough to be worried about already.
The BBC seems to be on a bit of a crusade, actually. Peruse this article also. It's worth it, I promise. I particularly like its Manifesto of Idle Parenting on page 3. Here, I'll copy it out for you lazy ones (and thank you, Mom Bomb, for bringing it to my attention):
Am I allowed to copy all that into my post? I hope so. I love it.
Well, I hear the patter of little feet; I'm off to go lie in bed for as long as possible, and then I will push them out into the "garden" so that I can clean this pit we call home. Have an idle day, y'all!
I'll just pause to let that sink in a minute.
Okay, anxious and depressed about being stressed yet? Because the article states that "A University of Rochester study, reported by New Scientist, found sickness levels were higher in children of anxious or depressed parents." Which is fairly ironic, considering that having a sick child makes parents fairly stressed out. Which in turn, according to these scientists, can make your child sicker. So be happy! Be cheerful! Or else!
I am so glad that something else is my fault. I didn't have enough to be worried about already.
The BBC seems to be on a bit of a crusade, actually. Peruse this article also. It's worth it, I promise. I particularly like its Manifesto of Idle Parenting on page 3. Here, I'll copy it out for you lazy ones (and thank you, Mom Bomb, for bringing it to my attention):
Manifesto of the idle parent
Am I allowed to copy all that into my post? I hope so. I love it.
Well, I hear the patter of little feet; I'm off to go lie in bed for as long as possible, and then I will push them out into the "garden" so that I can clean this pit we call home. Have an idle day, y'all!
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Rain, Rain....
Lord have mercy, it's raining. And cold. And I don't know what to do with the children. We have already visited Target today, where I bought them a couple of really cheap toys in a pathetic attempt to get through the afternoon. Then I bought us one large popcorn to share and had the nerve to ask the guy for 5 free cups for water. I'm quite the big spender. I'm surprised he didn't assume I was skimping on the kids' food to support a drug habit and call the police.
But if Child Protective Services does show up at my door to investigate charges of malnutrition, I can redeem myself by showing them that Susie actually eats her carrots now, instead of sneaking them onto Brian's plate. Yet another gustatory miracle brought to you by the supernatural powers of ketchup. It's what's for dinner.
One more hour until bathtime. Maybe I'll suit everyone up and send them out to play in the rain. That should impress the authorities.
But if Child Protective Services does show up at my door to investigate charges of malnutrition, I can redeem myself by showing them that Susie actually eats her carrots now, instead of sneaking them onto Brian's plate. Yet another gustatory miracle brought to you by the supernatural powers of ketchup. It's what's for dinner.
One more hour until bathtime. Maybe I'll suit everyone up and send them out to play in the rain. That should impress the authorities.
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