How do you define succes as a parent? How do you define failure? In general I think parents these days are way too hard on themselves when judging their own parenting skills. Hey, there is no manual and even if there is, it is a one size fits all which we know does not apply to our circumstances.
My defining moment as a failure of a parent came to me like this. I was single parenting at the time, working a full time demanding job and trying doubly hard in the corporate world to make up for that time when I had the luxury of being a stay at home mom. My ex had moved to a far away state and I had absolutely no family in the area to offer assistance. So I was in the thick of it. Me, myself and I. My life basically revolved around the kids and I would not have had it any other way. I rarely dated (I would have but only if there had been interesting prospects and none presented themselvs very often) and my social life with other friends was really very minimal simply because there wasn't time.
But the kids were a little older now; about 8 and 10. I have always enjoyed the academic world. My degree was in Russian Studies and Spanish. I was working in the business world and had never taken a single business class. My employer offered a tuition reimbursement program and the kids were becoming fairly independent. Why not? I thought I could afford one night a week away from them to take a masters level class and it could double as some socialization with other adults as well.
On Sundays I usually tried to have the house in order so we could start another week off on a good organized foot. My classes usually ended up being on a Tuesday or Wednesday night and usually by the time I got home from my class the house had already begun to look like a war zone. I tried hard to anticipate needs and throw dinner into the crock pot on the night I would be gone to school or at least make sure that there was lunch meat available for sandwiches and milk that wasn't sour but I wasn't always successful .
About my 3rd semester into the program, I diligently called home during the class break, as was my routine, to check on the kids. "Moooommmm" my son whined. "Can you stop at McDonalds on your way from school and bring us some real food?"
That's when I knew without a doubt that I had failed as a parent. My son thought McDonalds was real food!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Monday, March 31, 2008
Back seat discipline
When K&K were about 4 and 6 years old we were living in a fairly rural location in mid-Michigan. The setting was very pretty, on a lake, but boy it was really inconvenient. There was a burg about 7 miles away but the closest real town was about 20 miles away.
Due to that fact, running errands of any substance required a lot of forethought. First you had to time it just right leaving after lunch so the bellies were full but arriving back home in time to throw something in the oven quick for dinner. Otherwise you spent an arm and a leg at fast food places. You lined up as many errands as possible to make sure you were using your gas and time as efficiently as you could.
One day I think I had tried to fit in just one too many stops and both kids had just gotten darn right ornery. In general they were good travelers but I must have pushed them just a little beyond their capacity that day. They started bickering with each other and whining and basically being little brats and would not let up. My usual tactics to get them to quit were not working. I was fed up. Hey, they weren't the only ones sick of being in the car and hungry to boot. I was too. After several times reprimanding them and reminding them of the good behavior I expected, the bickering continued. That's when I lost it with them.
I started raising my voice angrily, not quite yelling , but almost. They continued on. They were both in booster seats buckled in the back. Keeping my eye on the dirt road that I was on, I stuck my hand in between the front seats, reaching back and started to swat at their legs. I smacked one of them, but they got wise and dodged my groping hand. I was swatting uncontrollably. They started giggling at my vain attempts. Oooh boy, that really raised my ire. My voice continued to raise as I hurdled empty threats at them. By this time, I'm embarrassed to admit it, but I was yelling. The louder I yelled, the madder I got and the more I swatted and the harder my foot was pressing on the accelerator.
Just then in a quick glance to the rear view mirror I spotted it . . .flashing lights . . .yes, my angry foot had us going 55 mph in a 40 mph zone. In retrospect it would have been much more cost effective to have just given in for once and stopped at Micky Ds.
Due to that fact, running errands of any substance required a lot of forethought. First you had to time it just right leaving after lunch so the bellies were full but arriving back home in time to throw something in the oven quick for dinner. Otherwise you spent an arm and a leg at fast food places. You lined up as many errands as possible to make sure you were using your gas and time as efficiently as you could.
One day I think I had tried to fit in just one too many stops and both kids had just gotten darn right ornery. In general they were good travelers but I must have pushed them just a little beyond their capacity that day. They started bickering with each other and whining and basically being little brats and would not let up. My usual tactics to get them to quit were not working. I was fed up. Hey, they weren't the only ones sick of being in the car and hungry to boot. I was too. After several times reprimanding them and reminding them of the good behavior I expected, the bickering continued. That's when I lost it with them.
I started raising my voice angrily, not quite yelling , but almost. They continued on. They were both in booster seats buckled in the back. Keeping my eye on the dirt road that I was on, I stuck my hand in between the front seats, reaching back and started to swat at their legs. I smacked one of them, but they got wise and dodged my groping hand. I was swatting uncontrollably. They started giggling at my vain attempts. Oooh boy, that really raised my ire. My voice continued to raise as I hurdled empty threats at them. By this time, I'm embarrassed to admit it, but I was yelling. The louder I yelled, the madder I got and the more I swatted and the harder my foot was pressing on the accelerator.
Just then in a quick glance to the rear view mirror I spotted it . . .flashing lights . . .yes, my angry foot had us going 55 mph in a 40 mph zone. In retrospect it would have been much more cost effective to have just given in for once and stopped at Micky Ds.
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Mother's Day
Every day is children's day but Mother's Day only rolls around once a year.
I love my kids dearly. They are very special to my heart. I'm sure there are many other mother's around the world who could report similar stories.
This is the typical Mother's Day story about being served breakfast in bed.
One Mother's Day I had just gotten out of bed when my kids ushered me back to the bed and instructed me to wait there. I obediently went back to the bed where my brain began to churn through all of the things I should be doing; throw the load of wash in, do the dirty dishes from the night before, fold a load of wash, scrub the bathtub and toilet etc. etc. and in the mean time yearning for my morning cup of coffee. You can only imagine how hard it was to stay in the bed wide awake waiting.
True to your expectations, about a half hour later my two children appeared back at my bedside to serve me breakfast in bed. It looked delicious!! Two burnt pieces of toast accompanied by a side of very scrambled eggs. The eggs looked totally wierd, they were in pieces, like in teensy eensy little balled up balls.
Come to find out, the kids didn't think they were cooking properly and not really knowing how in the world to prepare scrambled eggs, my son had the bright idea of adding more oil to the pan!!! So, if you ever want to know how to make scrambled eggs ball up into little bally balls, just add oil!!
Mmmmmm. Delicious Max! That was certainly one of the best Mother's Days ever. Always remember, it's the thought that counts.
I love my kids dearly. They are very special to my heart. I'm sure there are many other mother's around the world who could report similar stories.
This is the typical Mother's Day story about being served breakfast in bed.
One Mother's Day I had just gotten out of bed when my kids ushered me back to the bed and instructed me to wait there. I obediently went back to the bed where my brain began to churn through all of the things I should be doing; throw the load of wash in, do the dirty dishes from the night before, fold a load of wash, scrub the bathtub and toilet etc. etc. and in the mean time yearning for my morning cup of coffee. You can only imagine how hard it was to stay in the bed wide awake waiting.
True to your expectations, about a half hour later my two children appeared back at my bedside to serve me breakfast in bed. It looked delicious!! Two burnt pieces of toast accompanied by a side of very scrambled eggs. The eggs looked totally wierd, they were in pieces, like in teensy eensy little balled up balls.
Come to find out, the kids didn't think they were cooking properly and not really knowing how in the world to prepare scrambled eggs, my son had the bright idea of adding more oil to the pan!!! So, if you ever want to know how to make scrambled eggs ball up into little bally balls, just add oil!!
Mmmmmm. Delicious Max! That was certainly one of the best Mother's Days ever. Always remember, it's the thought that counts.
Hood Ornament
Continuing on the note of travel disasters I swear I am one of the most unobservant people in the whole wide world.
One morning I had to be into work extra early so it was around 6:30 a.m. At that time I was driving a big old blue Cadillac (to explain that is a whole other post). I was traveling my daily commute on the highway when all of a sudden a big bird swooped out of the sky. I recall thinking "gee I hope that birdy doesn't hit me." Ka thunk. Too late. It did. Oops. Well, I felt bad but there was really no way to avoid it. I dismissed the incident and forgot all about it.
That day I had errands to run on my lunch hour and so ran around town to the bank, to the post office, thru a fast food drive thru for lunch and back to work.
Then, in the evening, it was more running around, doing the loop thru Grandville, coming home to get my dauther and take her to cheerleading practice, stopping off at the grocery store, to the pharmacy, back home, back out to pick the daughter up from practice, thru another fast food drive thru for her dinner and back home.
It was at that point that I glanced back at the car and lo and behold, sticking out of the grill on the front of the car was a HUUUUMOOONNGGOUSSS OWL. I mean it was hilariously huge; it's poor head plastered into the grill with it's big butt and body sticking out in front about a foot.
I was absolutely horrified by the fact that I had hit that poor thing and not given it the due respect of a timely removal. I was cracked up by the fact that I had driven around all day with it jutting out of the front of my car like some kind of divining rod and hadn't even noticed it.
P.S. - I made my son yank it out of there. I didn't have the heart.
One morning I had to be into work extra early so it was around 6:30 a.m. At that time I was driving a big old blue Cadillac (to explain that is a whole other post). I was traveling my daily commute on the highway when all of a sudden a big bird swooped out of the sky. I recall thinking "gee I hope that birdy doesn't hit me." Ka thunk. Too late. It did. Oops. Well, I felt bad but there was really no way to avoid it. I dismissed the incident and forgot all about it.
That day I had errands to run on my lunch hour and so ran around town to the bank, to the post office, thru a fast food drive thru for lunch and back to work.
Then, in the evening, it was more running around, doing the loop thru Grandville, coming home to get my dauther and take her to cheerleading practice, stopping off at the grocery store, to the pharmacy, back home, back out to pick the daughter up from practice, thru another fast food drive thru for her dinner and back home.
It was at that point that I glanced back at the car and lo and behold, sticking out of the grill on the front of the car was a HUUUUMOOONNGGOUSSS OWL. I mean it was hilariously huge; it's poor head plastered into the grill with it's big butt and body sticking out in front about a foot.
I was absolutely horrified by the fact that I had hit that poor thing and not given it the due respect of a timely removal. I was cracked up by the fact that I had driven around all day with it jutting out of the front of my car like some kind of divining rod and hadn't even noticed it.
P.S. - I made my son yank it out of there. I didn't have the heart.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
A bunny, a bag and a barrel
A few years ago when my son was trying out a semester at Northern Michigan University up in Marquette, we decided to take a trip up to see him. It is about an 8 hour drive from Grand Rapids if you go the speed limit. It takes about 4 hours to get to the Mackinaw Bridge and then about 4 more hours on two lane highways from that point to get to Marquette.
We left right after work on a Friday night. My husband drove the first 4 hours and then just over the bridge turned the driving over to me. It was black as pitch up there. The cities, or should I say towns, are few and far between so there are no city lights to speak of. We were enveloped in darkness with only my headlights cutting a path into the future. An occasional car would pass going in the other direction.
I'll be the first to admit that my depth perception has never ever been good which is a handicap when driving. My night vision is not good either and only has gotten worse as I've gotten older. So all of these physical limitations sort of exacerbated the difficulties I was having driving that not. Not to mention I was pretty tired from already having put in a long day at work.
Anyway, it was probably about midnight. I was driving around 60 miles an hour when all of a sudden, directly in front of me, a bunny was staring at me. It was up on it's hind quarters and you could tell by the stare that it was mesmerized by my car head lights. I have no idea how far away it was because as I've mentioned, my depth perception really sucks.
I had a choice to make. I could swerve to the left and hope the bunny didn't hop in that direction too. But I risked losing control of the vehicle if I did that since I was going pretty fast. Or I even risked hitting an on-coming vehicle if one suddenly appeared over the hill. The other choice I thought of in that split second was to just continue forward and pray that the bunny run out of my way in either direction. I chose the second option, held my breath and continued straight forward. I stared at the bunny. The bunny stared at me. A loud thump*/splat sound by the bunny/car impact and a loud scream by me pierced the silence of the night and scared all of my passengers awake.
I was heart sick to have killed an innocent animal but worse than that this incident really shook me up. Only about a year before my mom and dad were in a horrible car crash when they were hit head on by a drunk driver. My dad died on impact. My mom survived but the accident has taken years of vitality aware from her. Anyway, the correlation here is that the second I hit that bunny rabbit an instantaneous vision appeared in my mind of what it must have been like to be my dad driving along in his car with the headlights of a drunk driver aimed straight at you. The accident scene showed how far to the right my dad tried to swerve to avoid being hit and without going down into the ditch to maintain control of the vehicle. If it weren't for this I'm sure my mom would have been killed too but because of dad's quick thinking or instinctive driving reactions, it was the drivers side of the vehicle that bore the brunt of the impact.
It was like I was the drunk driver and the bunny was my dad. I know. How stupid. Right? But the visual image was so powerful in that moment that I was really shook up. Plus I gave my passengers a heart attack.
I still had about 2 hours of driving left from that point. An uneventful hour passed. I was fighting sleep to stay alert at the wheel, it was probably about 1:00 a.m. now. The bunny incident had left me so skittish that my nerves were on edge. Just then, out of nowhere a black figure appeared in front of my head lights. My heart was pounding. This time I had no time to think of options. Just as I started to instinctively tap the brakes I hit the dark object it!!! Straight on!!! The garbage bag undulated and hovered before me and then was swept away in a whirlwind; caught between the gentle night breeze and the forceful airflow caused by my car. My heart skipped a few more beats. The passengers all woke with a start. They were quickly losing faith in my driving skills. Geez but the phsycological damage that darn garbage bag caused!
We were almost there, about 15 minutes and we would have finally arrived to our desination city of Marquette. It was almost 2:00 a.m. and I was going about 40 mph. All of a sudden I found myself in a construction zone. Once again I was caught off guard due to the circumstances; it was dark, it was late, I was tired, I have no depth perception and I did not anticpate the unexpected construction barrels. The car knicked one of the barrels. I jerked the steering wheel to the right to avoid hitting any more. My heart skipped another few beats, the barrel rolled out of sight and the passengers awoke with a jolt. Good thing we were almost there!
I never new "B" objects were so dangerous.
*Gives a new meaning to the name of Thumper
We left right after work on a Friday night. My husband drove the first 4 hours and then just over the bridge turned the driving over to me. It was black as pitch up there. The cities, or should I say towns, are few and far between so there are no city lights to speak of. We were enveloped in darkness with only my headlights cutting a path into the future. An occasional car would pass going in the other direction.
I'll be the first to admit that my depth perception has never ever been good which is a handicap when driving. My night vision is not good either and only has gotten worse as I've gotten older. So all of these physical limitations sort of exacerbated the difficulties I was having driving that not. Not to mention I was pretty tired from already having put in a long day at work.
Anyway, it was probably about midnight. I was driving around 60 miles an hour when all of a sudden, directly in front of me, a bunny was staring at me. It was up on it's hind quarters and you could tell by the stare that it was mesmerized by my car head lights. I have no idea how far away it was because as I've mentioned, my depth perception really sucks.
I had a choice to make. I could swerve to the left and hope the bunny didn't hop in that direction too. But I risked losing control of the vehicle if I did that since I was going pretty fast. Or I even risked hitting an on-coming vehicle if one suddenly appeared over the hill. The other choice I thought of in that split second was to just continue forward and pray that the bunny run out of my way in either direction. I chose the second option, held my breath and continued straight forward. I stared at the bunny. The bunny stared at me. A loud thump*/splat sound by the bunny/car impact and a loud scream by me pierced the silence of the night and scared all of my passengers awake.
I was heart sick to have killed an innocent animal but worse than that this incident really shook me up. Only about a year before my mom and dad were in a horrible car crash when they were hit head on by a drunk driver. My dad died on impact. My mom survived but the accident has taken years of vitality aware from her. Anyway, the correlation here is that the second I hit that bunny rabbit an instantaneous vision appeared in my mind of what it must have been like to be my dad driving along in his car with the headlights of a drunk driver aimed straight at you. The accident scene showed how far to the right my dad tried to swerve to avoid being hit and without going down into the ditch to maintain control of the vehicle. If it weren't for this I'm sure my mom would have been killed too but because of dad's quick thinking or instinctive driving reactions, it was the drivers side of the vehicle that bore the brunt of the impact.
It was like I was the drunk driver and the bunny was my dad. I know. How stupid. Right? But the visual image was so powerful in that moment that I was really shook up. Plus I gave my passengers a heart attack.
I still had about 2 hours of driving left from that point. An uneventful hour passed. I was fighting sleep to stay alert at the wheel, it was probably about 1:00 a.m. now. The bunny incident had left me so skittish that my nerves were on edge. Just then, out of nowhere a black figure appeared in front of my head lights. My heart was pounding. This time I had no time to think of options. Just as I started to instinctively tap the brakes I hit the dark object it!!! Straight on!!! The garbage bag undulated and hovered before me and then was swept away in a whirlwind; caught between the gentle night breeze and the forceful airflow caused by my car. My heart skipped a few more beats. The passengers all woke with a start. They were quickly losing faith in my driving skills. Geez but the phsycological damage that darn garbage bag caused!
We were almost there, about 15 minutes and we would have finally arrived to our desination city of Marquette. It was almost 2:00 a.m. and I was going about 40 mph. All of a sudden I found myself in a construction zone. Once again I was caught off guard due to the circumstances; it was dark, it was late, I was tired, I have no depth perception and I did not anticpate the unexpected construction barrels. The car knicked one of the barrels. I jerked the steering wheel to the right to avoid hitting any more. My heart skipped another few beats, the barrel rolled out of sight and the passengers awoke with a jolt. Good thing we were almost there!
I never new "B" objects were so dangerous.
*Gives a new meaning to the name of Thumper
Monday, March 24, 2008
Puddle panic continues
As if two pee pee stories isn't enough, I have yet one more. The last one involved a girlfreind from the Catholic school I attended, this one involves a cousin and the Catholic church we attended.
It's really quite the same scenario. I was about the same age as in my last story . . . what is it about that age? I guess everything is funny then. Anyway, my cousin and I were in church. I whispered something to her that must have struck her funny. She started to snigger and was trying to hold it in (the laughter that is). Seeing how uncomfortable she was getting trying to stifle the giggles only made me persist in trying to make her laugh more. I was successful and true to the story thread, she wet her pants in the pew.
What is it about me making people laugh so hard they wet their pants? Thankfully this has not happened at work (to date . . that I know of).
It's really quite the same scenario. I was about the same age as in my last story . . . what is it about that age? I guess everything is funny then. Anyway, my cousin and I were in church. I whispered something to her that must have struck her funny. She started to snigger and was trying to hold it in (the laughter that is). Seeing how uncomfortable she was getting trying to stifle the giggles only made me persist in trying to make her laugh more. I was successful and true to the story thread, she wet her pants in the pew.
What is it about me making people laugh so hard they wet their pants? Thankfully this has not happened at work (to date . . that I know of).
Another puddle drama
I attended a Catholic elementary school. That fact is really inconsequential to this story but yet somehow in my mind it is so much a part of it. I can still see the blue plaid pleated skirts and white blouses and navy blue sweaters that we had to wear. The school was within walking distance of my house, maybe 6 to 8 blocks from it. Anyway, I had a good friend named Christie Hinkley and we'd often walk home from school together.
The day was early in spring. After a long Michigan winter we couldn't help but be happy and full of energy. I can't remember what in the heck we were talking about as we meandered home but I must have said something really funny that made Christie start to laugh. She begged me to stop it, because she had to go to the bathroom really bad and she said I was going to make her pee her pants.
Well, what kind of a reaction do you think I had to that comment? Of course I just continued on with whatever it was that was so funny . . . . .and lo and behold, within just a few houses of her own, Christie Hinkley lost it and peed her pants right out on the public side walk. We were laughing hysterically by that time. I apologized but of course I didn't mean it. I thought it was a riot and I even think she thought it was funny too!!
Is it a coincidence that Hinkley rhymes with tinkley? Has anyone ever made you pee your pants? Or visa versa, have you ever made anyone pee theirs?
The day was early in spring. After a long Michigan winter we couldn't help but be happy and full of energy. I can't remember what in the heck we were talking about as we meandered home but I must have said something really funny that made Christie start to laugh. She begged me to stop it, because she had to go to the bathroom really bad and she said I was going to make her pee her pants.
Well, what kind of a reaction do you think I had to that comment? Of course I just continued on with whatever it was that was so funny . . . . .and lo and behold, within just a few houses of her own, Christie Hinkley lost it and peed her pants right out on the public side walk. We were laughing hysterically by that time. I apologized but of course I didn't mean it. I thought it was a riot and I even think she thought it was funny too!!
Is it a coincidence that Hinkley rhymes with tinkley? Has anyone ever made you pee your pants? Or visa versa, have you ever made anyone pee theirs?
Diaper disaster
This is just a random silly memory from my childhood. I'm not sure what made me think of it.
Once, when I was little, I'd say I was about 4 years old, my sister and I were playing house or something. Anway, she is about 3 years older than me and of course she was the mom so she could boss me around and she made me be the baby. We were upstairs fooling around and she had me go into the bathroom where she deftly pinned a washclothe on me as a diaper and then she told me I had to pee in the diaper.
Being the middle child that I was and always aiming to please, I willed myself to go number one. Much to our surprise, a warm straight stream came right through the "diaper" and made a big puddle on the floor. We were laughing silly and scrambling to get me dressed back in my clothes and clean up the mess before my mom got wind of it. It she had we probably would have gotten our butts spanked!
Once, when I was little, I'd say I was about 4 years old, my sister and I were playing house or something. Anway, she is about 3 years older than me and of course she was the mom so she could boss me around and she made me be the baby. We were upstairs fooling around and she had me go into the bathroom where she deftly pinned a washclothe on me as a diaper and then she told me I had to pee in the diaper.
Being the middle child that I was and always aiming to please, I willed myself to go number one. Much to our surprise, a warm straight stream came right through the "diaper" and made a big puddle on the floor. We were laughing silly and scrambling to get me dressed back in my clothes and clean up the mess before my mom got wind of it. It she had we probably would have gotten our butts spanked!
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Ice Cream Sandwiches
In a stream of consciousness, my last post reminded me of this event.
My oldest sister loved to read. As a matter of fact she didn't do much else besides that. O.K., that's not exactly true. She was 16 at the time and in high school and she had just turned old enough to get a real job besides babysitting. She worked at a local hospital doing key punch cards or something related to old computer data input technology. The important point here is not what job she was doing but the fact that this meant she had her own disposable income. She was rich!! And a little lazy too I might add (what 16 year old isn't?)
One weekend she stayed upstairs in her bed practically the whole day just reading away. Her room which she shared with two others of us was in a remodeled attic. About the middle of the afternoon a couple of my other siblings and I went up to see what she was doing. You know how nice it is to be reading a good book and have a treat to eat with it? She saw the three of us, thought of the $$ in her pocket and made us a deal. Being the treat deprived children that we were, when she offered us the deal, it didn't even dawn on us to negotiate. We agreed to her terms and were off.
About 25 minutes later we were back at her bedside delivering the goods. We had run down to the local party store (that's what they were called in those days, not convenience stores) and bought her a whole 12 pack box of ice-cream sandwiches. She took the box, pulled out one measly ice cream sandwich that she split 3 ways for us and doled the sections out. We happily accepted the meager portion alloted to each of us and were on our merry way while she began to devour the first of the remaining eleven delights. Yes, you guessed the end of the story. She ate them all right there in one sitting, never leaving the comfort of her book and bed.
Can you even believe we settled for so little? All for a bite of ice cream sandwich!
My oldest sister loved to read. As a matter of fact she didn't do much else besides that. O.K., that's not exactly true. She was 16 at the time and in high school and she had just turned old enough to get a real job besides babysitting. She worked at a local hospital doing key punch cards or something related to old computer data input technology. The important point here is not what job she was doing but the fact that this meant she had her own disposable income. She was rich!! And a little lazy too I might add (what 16 year old isn't?)
One weekend she stayed upstairs in her bed practically the whole day just reading away. Her room which she shared with two others of us was in a remodeled attic. About the middle of the afternoon a couple of my other siblings and I went up to see what she was doing. You know how nice it is to be reading a good book and have a treat to eat with it? She saw the three of us, thought of the $$ in her pocket and made us a deal. Being the treat deprived children that we were, when she offered us the deal, it didn't even dawn on us to negotiate. We agreed to her terms and were off.
About 25 minutes later we were back at her bedside delivering the goods. We had run down to the local party store (that's what they were called in those days, not convenience stores) and bought her a whole 12 pack box of ice-cream sandwiches. She took the box, pulled out one measly ice cream sandwich that she split 3 ways for us and doled the sections out. We happily accepted the meager portion alloted to each of us and were on our merry way while she began to devour the first of the remaining eleven delights. Yes, you guessed the end of the story. She ate them all right there in one sitting, never leaving the comfort of her book and bed.
Can you even believe we settled for so little? All for a bite of ice cream sandwich!
Friday, March 14, 2008
Food for Thought
I am the middle child in a family of seven children. I have really fond memories of my childhood and really loved growing up in a big family. But it had its downside too.
Food, for instance. We never had name brand products to eat. Mom was very good at budgeting which meant that we had the cheapest brand of everything. We rarely had sweets for snacks; we just had fillers, whatever mom thought would fill up our hollow legs. And we never had sweet cereal.
At the dinner table we were all very territorial about our plates. If you looked away for one second you risked that the sibling next to you would help themselves to your apportioned mound of steaming mashed potatoes and gravy. When something special was being passed around (green or black olives for example) there was always a limit as to how many/much we could take.
I absolutely love olives. I remember trying to sneak more than my share of olives. Green olives were easy but black olives posed more of a challenge. We always had the pitted kind and I learned to hide the pits underneath the edge of my plate and would always make sure to clear it myself on those days and sneak the olive pits up off the table at the same time.
O.K., so I lied. One time mom did buy sweet cereal. She bought a box of Captain Crunch (it must have been a really good sale). We were told we could not have it for a snack that night but that we had to wait until the morning, and then we could each have one bowl.
What is the definition of a bowl? My brother, who is one year older than me to the day, got up at 6:00 a.m., doled out 6 scanty bowls for his siblings, and proceeded to pour the rest of the box of cereal into a mixing bowl and chowed it right down. Oh my gosh, when we found out what he had done, the rest of us were furious. But he claimed innocence "all I had was one bowl!"
Aaarg.
Food, for instance. We never had name brand products to eat. Mom was very good at budgeting which meant that we had the cheapest brand of everything. We rarely had sweets for snacks; we just had fillers, whatever mom thought would fill up our hollow legs. And we never had sweet cereal.
At the dinner table we were all very territorial about our plates. If you looked away for one second you risked that the sibling next to you would help themselves to your apportioned mound of steaming mashed potatoes and gravy. When something special was being passed around (green or black olives for example) there was always a limit as to how many/much we could take.
I absolutely love olives. I remember trying to sneak more than my share of olives. Green olives were easy but black olives posed more of a challenge. We always had the pitted kind and I learned to hide the pits underneath the edge of my plate and would always make sure to clear it myself on those days and sneak the olive pits up off the table at the same time.
O.K., so I lied. One time mom did buy sweet cereal. She bought a box of Captain Crunch (it must have been a really good sale). We were told we could not have it for a snack that night but that we had to wait until the morning, and then we could each have one bowl.
What is the definition of a bowl? My brother, who is one year older than me to the day, got up at 6:00 a.m., doled out 6 scanty bowls for his siblings, and proceeded to pour the rest of the box of cereal into a mixing bowl and chowed it right down. Oh my gosh, when we found out what he had done, the rest of us were furious. But he claimed innocence "all I had was one bowl!"
Aaarg.
Saturday, March 8, 2008
Universal Language
Once when traveling to Mexico City on a quick business trip, I had had a day and a half of business meetings. They had gone fairly well, but by the time I had wrapped up the last meeting I was pressed for time to get to the airport. I had been kind of tense the whole time, just not on top of my game. After the last meeting I stopped to go to the bathroom before getting out on the street to catch a taxi. Dang, Aunt Mary sured picked an awful time to make a visit. In those days I didn't pay much attention to my cycle and so of course I was caught off guard by the surprise visit and was not prepared to deal with it.
So under the time crunch to get to the airport, I decided that I had better take time to get some supplies or things would be a total disgusting mess. It was hot out. I was tired. I was tense. The suitcase I was lugging was heavy. But luck was on my side as I spotted a farmacia across the street. I made my way over to it.
The pharmacy was small and after circling through it two times looking for the feminine products, I could not find what I needed. Finally, in desperation, I decided I better ask a clerk where to find them. All of a sudden I had a panic attack. I had forgotten the word I needed to ask for the specific product. So . . .what do you do in that case? You describe what you need. I hesitatingly began in my imperfect Spanish "?Se vende aqui esas cosas para mujeres que cuando sale la sangre se mete adentro . . ?" (Do you sell those things for women, that when they're bleeding, you insert inside . . .) I was feeling embarrased to be describing in such a personal manner, but what is a woman to do?
The clerk smiled and reached behind her. "Ay, tampones, cierto?" OMG, how could I have forgotten that the word in Spanish for tampon is tampon?? I laughed my way to the airport with that one!!!
So under the time crunch to get to the airport, I decided that I had better take time to get some supplies or things would be a total disgusting mess. It was hot out. I was tired. I was tense. The suitcase I was lugging was heavy. But luck was on my side as I spotted a farmacia across the street. I made my way over to it.
The pharmacy was small and after circling through it two times looking for the feminine products, I could not find what I needed. Finally, in desperation, I decided I better ask a clerk where to find them. All of a sudden I had a panic attack. I had forgotten the word I needed to ask for the specific product. So . . .what do you do in that case? You describe what you need. I hesitatingly began in my imperfect Spanish "?Se vende aqui esas cosas para mujeres que cuando sale la sangre se mete adentro . . ?" (Do you sell those things for women, that when they're bleeding, you insert inside . . .) I was feeling embarrased to be describing in such a personal manner, but what is a woman to do?
The clerk smiled and reached behind her. "Ay, tampones, cierto?" OMG, how could I have forgotten that the word in Spanish for tampon is tampon?? I laughed my way to the airport with that one!!!
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Electrical eSpectacle
This past Tuesday I was invited to be a guest at a very high level strategic meeting because my old boss couldn't attend and he asked me to sit in as a representative on his behalf. The people in this meeting were from around the world and all at a v.p. or director level.
Our company is in the process of totally rebuilding their headquarters. They moved people out of one side of the old building and moved them to temporary quarters while they rebuilt that half of the building. Over the last month they have moved people back into that building. Since I work in the temporary location (and won't be moving back any time soon) I have only been on a walk-thru of the new building once and so am not very familiar with the new layout.
My first challenge of the day was finding the meeting. Since I wasn't directly invited to the meeting, I did not get an official meeting notice. I saw on some documentation that the meeting was going to be held in a specific location; the X.X. XXXXX location. Well, our company owns a building downtown by that name so that's where I thought the meeting was.
Not wanting to be late (and I am almost always late to things), I scrambled out of the house a good 15 minutes earlier than usual in order to make it on time. So I got down town and as soon as I pulled into the parking lot I noticed a lack of cars and a lack of hub-bub . . . uh, oh . . .I think I'm in the wrong place. But I better park and go in the building and check just in case. Darn, the signs that were posted for events taking place that day did not include this global meeting. By that time it was 10 mintues before the meeting was supposed to start.
That meant I had to get from down town to headquarters, figure out the parking situation at the new HQ building and which door to enter (since I had seen e-mails about certain entrances not being available yet), as well as finding the meeting room all in 10 short minutes. I didn't think it was possible but thought I'd go for it. Also, I suspected that the first 1/2 hour might be people just informally gathering and getting their coffee, bagels and fruit so I figured I'd scope it out to see if I could just kind of sneak in.
I got to HQ and found parking with no problem. Then I saw someone heading towards an entrance so I just followed them and that worked out good. Then I got myself to the 2nd floor. Since it was 7:00 a.m. there were only a few worker bees around. I ran into a guy I knew and just asked him if he happened to know where the global meeting was being held. He didn't but said he saw a bunch of important looking people going through "that door." So just when I was heading toward "that door" I happened to see the president of our company who was hoofing it at quite a pace toward "that door." Being the perceptive person that I am, I figured he was going to the global meeting (probably to head it) and so I scurried up behind him and followed him thinking even if I'm late I'm not really late if he hasn't opened the meeting up yet.
But not to worry, when we got to the meeting room, everyone was casually grazing at the breakfast troph before the official 7:30 a.m. kick off. Whew, that was a close one.
Where am I going with this story? Oh yeah, so I sat like a fly on the wall (knowing my place) and thoroughly enjoyed the opportunity to sit with the execs and hear future strategy being discussed. When the portion of the meeting was done that I had been invitied to, I excused myself from the room, glanced at my watch and knew I had to hurry out to my next meeting which required driving back to the temporary building in which I am housed.
So, I was trotting rapidly along since again, I was late. I was in a world with my own thoughts, mulling over what I had just been exposed to as well as transitioning into the next meeting topic and thinking about what demands would be required of me. My head was down and I was just booking in the general direction of the door that I had entered the building through. I grabbed the door knob to twist and pull. It wasn't until that point that I glanced up. There, in bold letters, staring me in the face was a sign on the door that said "Electrical Closet!"
One minute I'm hob-knobbing with the global execs, the next I'm in an electrical closet!
If that won't keep a person humble, what will?
Our company is in the process of totally rebuilding their headquarters. They moved people out of one side of the old building and moved them to temporary quarters while they rebuilt that half of the building. Over the last month they have moved people back into that building. Since I work in the temporary location (and won't be moving back any time soon) I have only been on a walk-thru of the new building once and so am not very familiar with the new layout.
My first challenge of the day was finding the meeting. Since I wasn't directly invited to the meeting, I did not get an official meeting notice. I saw on some documentation that the meeting was going to be held in a specific location; the X.X. XXXXX location. Well, our company owns a building downtown by that name so that's where I thought the meeting was.
Not wanting to be late (and I am almost always late to things), I scrambled out of the house a good 15 minutes earlier than usual in order to make it on time. So I got down town and as soon as I pulled into the parking lot I noticed a lack of cars and a lack of hub-bub . . . uh, oh . . .I think I'm in the wrong place. But I better park and go in the building and check just in case. Darn, the signs that were posted for events taking place that day did not include this global meeting. By that time it was 10 mintues before the meeting was supposed to start.
That meant I had to get from down town to headquarters, figure out the parking situation at the new HQ building and which door to enter (since I had seen e-mails about certain entrances not being available yet), as well as finding the meeting room all in 10 short minutes. I didn't think it was possible but thought I'd go for it. Also, I suspected that the first 1/2 hour might be people just informally gathering and getting their coffee, bagels and fruit so I figured I'd scope it out to see if I could just kind of sneak in.
I got to HQ and found parking with no problem. Then I saw someone heading towards an entrance so I just followed them and that worked out good. Then I got myself to the 2nd floor. Since it was 7:00 a.m. there were only a few worker bees around. I ran into a guy I knew and just asked him if he happened to know where the global meeting was being held. He didn't but said he saw a bunch of important looking people going through "that door." So just when I was heading toward "that door" I happened to see the president of our company who was hoofing it at quite a pace toward "that door." Being the perceptive person that I am, I figured he was going to the global meeting (probably to head it) and so I scurried up behind him and followed him thinking even if I'm late I'm not really late if he hasn't opened the meeting up yet.
But not to worry, when we got to the meeting room, everyone was casually grazing at the breakfast troph before the official 7:30 a.m. kick off. Whew, that was a close one.
Where am I going with this story? Oh yeah, so I sat like a fly on the wall (knowing my place) and thoroughly enjoyed the opportunity to sit with the execs and hear future strategy being discussed. When the portion of the meeting was done that I had been invitied to, I excused myself from the room, glanced at my watch and knew I had to hurry out to my next meeting which required driving back to the temporary building in which I am housed.
So, I was trotting rapidly along since again, I was late. I was in a world with my own thoughts, mulling over what I had just been exposed to as well as transitioning into the next meeting topic and thinking about what demands would be required of me. My head was down and I was just booking in the general direction of the door that I had entered the building through. I grabbed the door knob to twist and pull. It wasn't until that point that I glanced up. There, in bold letters, staring me in the face was a sign on the door that said "Electrical Closet!"
One minute I'm hob-knobbing with the global execs, the next I'm in an electrical closet!
If that won't keep a person humble, what will?
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Boot trial
Last October I thought I needed a new pair of short brown boots so I went out and bought a fairly cute cheap pair that I thought would do the trick.
I wore them on and off over the past 5 months. I was really disappointed though. The right foot was comfortable but the left foot felt really tight. When I wore them to work at the beginning of the day it would only bother me a little bit, but by early afternoon the left foot would really really feel uncomfortable.
Usually when I buy shoes I only try on the right foot because that foot is a little bigger so it the shoe is comfortable on the right, it's comfortable on the left. So I thought it was really wierd that the left boot was tight. I even checked the size of the left to make sure it was a 7.5 and not a 7.0.
Then, a couple of weeks ago, on a day when I was wearing the dreaded boots, I got stuck in a bunch of bad traffic on the way home. It was stop and go and since my car is a stick shift there is no rest for your feet in that situation. Somehow or another, that stop and go driving really started making my left foot feel horribe and I couldn't stand to keep that boot on anymore. So I unzipped it and took it off but I left the right one on cause that one was O.K.
Well, when I finally got home I had to put the left boot back on in order to walk from the car to the door in the cold garage. When I was trying to put the boot back on kind of half way still in the car, I couldn't get my foot at a good angle and then it was like there was a flap or something inside my boot that wouldn't allow me to get my foot in all the way.
And that's when I made the shocking discovery .. . . . the plastic insert that they put inside shoes and boots in order to keep their shape before selling had been inside my boot during the whole 5 months that I had been wearing it. It was a humongous plastic form and it was even bent under in one spot where my foot had crushed it upward from months of wearing it.
Of course I shared the story with my co-workers who got a hardy laugh out of it, especially when I even showed them the plastic culprit to back up my story
Geez oh peet. I could hardly believe it. And guess what, that left boot is really alot more comfortable now.
I wore them on and off over the past 5 months. I was really disappointed though. The right foot was comfortable but the left foot felt really tight. When I wore them to work at the beginning of the day it would only bother me a little bit, but by early afternoon the left foot would really really feel uncomfortable.
Usually when I buy shoes I only try on the right foot because that foot is a little bigger so it the shoe is comfortable on the right, it's comfortable on the left. So I thought it was really wierd that the left boot was tight. I even checked the size of the left to make sure it was a 7.5 and not a 7.0.
Then, a couple of weeks ago, on a day when I was wearing the dreaded boots, I got stuck in a bunch of bad traffic on the way home. It was stop and go and since my car is a stick shift there is no rest for your feet in that situation. Somehow or another, that stop and go driving really started making my left foot feel horribe and I couldn't stand to keep that boot on anymore. So I unzipped it and took it off but I left the right one on cause that one was O.K.
Well, when I finally got home I had to put the left boot back on in order to walk from the car to the door in the cold garage. When I was trying to put the boot back on kind of half way still in the car, I couldn't get my foot at a good angle and then it was like there was a flap or something inside my boot that wouldn't allow me to get my foot in all the way.
And that's when I made the shocking discovery .. . . . the plastic insert that they put inside shoes and boots in order to keep their shape before selling had been inside my boot during the whole 5 months that I had been wearing it. It was a humongous plastic form and it was even bent under in one spot where my foot had crushed it upward from months of wearing it.
Of course I shared the story with my co-workers who got a hardy laugh out of it, especially when I even showed them the plastic culprit to back up my story
Geez oh peet. I could hardly believe it. And guess what, that left boot is really alot more comfortable now.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Sticker Shock
It was not unusual of Kyle, at about 3 years old, to go off and play quietly by herself. She could really entertain herself for hours with whatever was at hand and her imagination.
But one day she had gone upstairs and I had been doing whatever it is I used to do (I always want to say "when I was working in the kitchen", yet I hate to cook so in reality I probably wasn't in the kitchen unless I had to be) I all of a sudden got this feeling that Kyle had been quiet for a little to long.
So I yelled up the stairs, "Kyle, are you alright up there?" That's when she appeared at the top of the stairs "Mommy, look, I found a box of stickers." and she was covered head to toe with my light day mini-pads!!!
But one day she had gone upstairs and I had been doing whatever it is I used to do (I always want to say "when I was working in the kitchen", yet I hate to cook so in reality I probably wasn't in the kitchen unless I had to be) I all of a sudden got this feeling that Kyle had been quiet for a little to long.
So I yelled up the stairs, "Kyle, are you alright up there?" That's when she appeared at the top of the stairs "Mommy, look, I found a box of stickers." and she was covered head to toe with my light day mini-pads!!!
Monday, March 3, 2008
Road to Nowhere
Road to Nowhere and a disappearing act like you wouldn't believe.
Kyle was about 2.5 years old. Kelsey was about 7 months old. We were living in Doylestown, PA at the time and Kyle was enrolled in a Montessori school. This meant a good 25 minute drive to get her there. The road we had to take was nicknamed the "Road to Nowhere." I guess that was because the Dept. of Transportation ran out of $$ and they never finished the road, therefore it just ended someplace and didn't go on.
Anyway, the point of this blog is a recollection I have about dropping Kyle off at the school one day and driving back home. Poor Kelsey, throughout his life he spent a good portion of his time being dragged from one place to another due to the involvement of his sister's activities. Anyway, he just downright hated his car seat. So after dropping Kyle off and heading back home, all of a sudden I realized it was very very very too too quiet in the back seat. I knew immediately that something was up. I glanced in the rear view mirror to catch of glimpse of the baby in the car seat. Much to my amazement when there were no merry eyes looking back at me. Nothing. Nobody. My mind went crazy for a minute "Where's the baby? Did I leave him at the school? WTF???" So in a semi-panic state, I instictively pulled the car off to the side of that super curvy, hilly damn road to nowhere. I jumped out and opened the back door. What do you think?
There, contentedly sitting on the floor of the car, staring innocently up at me, was the most adorable brown eyed escape artist you could ever imagine. Not content for long though as I hoisted him back into the carseat and secured the straps even tighter. Not happy for the rest of the 20 screaming minutes back home!
Kyle was about 2.5 years old. Kelsey was about 7 months old. We were living in Doylestown, PA at the time and Kyle was enrolled in a Montessori school. This meant a good 25 minute drive to get her there. The road we had to take was nicknamed the "Road to Nowhere." I guess that was because the Dept. of Transportation ran out of $$ and they never finished the road, therefore it just ended someplace and didn't go on.
Anyway, the point of this blog is a recollection I have about dropping Kyle off at the school one day and driving back home. Poor Kelsey, throughout his life he spent a good portion of his time being dragged from one place to another due to the involvement of his sister's activities. Anyway, he just downright hated his car seat. So after dropping Kyle off and heading back home, all of a sudden I realized it was very very very too too quiet in the back seat. I knew immediately that something was up. I glanced in the rear view mirror to catch of glimpse of the baby in the car seat. Much to my amazement when there were no merry eyes looking back at me. Nothing. Nobody. My mind went crazy for a minute "Where's the baby? Did I leave him at the school? WTF???" So in a semi-panic state, I instictively pulled the car off to the side of that super curvy, hilly damn road to nowhere. I jumped out and opened the back door. What do you think?
There, contentedly sitting on the floor of the car, staring innocently up at me, was the most adorable brown eyed escape artist you could ever imagine. Not content for long though as I hoisted him back into the carseat and secured the straps even tighter. Not happy for the rest of the 20 screaming minutes back home!
Do you ever trick yourself?
Again, back in the day of having to dress up for work, I found a pair of pumps that were relatively inexpensive and comfortable. I bought one pair in black and one pair in blue. In the dim morning light at the bottom of my closet it was hard to tell which pair was which and God forbid I would never want to make the mistake of wearing one blue and one black by accident. So I thought I would help myself out and code the shoes so I would know which was which at a glance in the morning. So I grabbed a permanent marker and on the inside each shoe of the black pair I inscribed a capital "B" for Black. Given that blue and black start with the same letter, I picked up the blue pair and wrote "N" for Navy Blue in each shoe.
Much to my dismay a week later when I went to grab a pair of shoes in the morning (I'm not even sure which color I was looking for) I stared completely dumb founded. For the life of me I could not figure out if "B" was for black or blue and what the heck did "Z" stand for?????
Much to my dismay a week later when I went to grab a pair of shoes in the morning (I'm not even sure which color I was looking for) I stared completely dumb founded. For the life of me I could not figure out if "B" was for black or blue and what the heck did "Z" stand for?????
Stylin' at work
Quite a few years ago when I was single parenting it, and always behind in everything, and always running and always late (o.k. single parenting is just an excuse because I'm still that way and single parenting no longer applies) I was dressing hurridly for work. It was the days when we still wore suits to work, none of this business casual stuff that we have today. I had a really nice tan and white light wool summer suit that put on that day. I threw on a pair of tan shoes to match.
It wasn't til I got to work and walked to my desk that I actually looked down at my feet and noticed I had on two completely different tan shoes. On the left foot was a plain tan pump, on the right foot was a real cool pump, two tone tan, with cute button adornments. Good thing the heel sizes must have been similar or it could have ended it disaster.
In true Rita form, wherever I went that day, I pointed out my different shoes to everyone. What a hoot.
Have any of you ever worn two completely different shoes to work? Did anyone notice?
It wasn't til I got to work and walked to my desk that I actually looked down at my feet and noticed I had on two completely different tan shoes. On the left foot was a plain tan pump, on the right foot was a real cool pump, two tone tan, with cute button adornments. Good thing the heel sizes must have been similar or it could have ended it disaster.
In true Rita form, wherever I went that day, I pointed out my different shoes to everyone. What a hoot.
Have any of you ever worn two completely different shoes to work? Did anyone notice?
Sunday, March 2, 2008
Callate, cuchara, cuidado
I sent Kyle to Chile one summer, I think it was inbetween her 8th and 9th grades. She was about 14. I wanted her to learn Spanish and experience another culture and she was open to it. About half way through the summer, Kelsey and I went to visit her for about a week. If I have the year correct, that would have made Kelsey about 12 years old.
At that time Kelsey only knew a few words of Spanish. His vocabulary consisted of "Gracias, gracias, gracias" said frequently and in response to any circumstance that warranted it or not. In the limited time he was in Chile he charmed many people with his smile and his delivery of those words of thanks.
He knew about three other words in Spanish, those being callate, cuchara and cuidado. So we were in the living room of the family that Kyle stayed with on the weekends, playing cards if I remember correctly. There was a little boy about 4 years old that we were playing with. He was a little rambuncious and suddenly tripped. Kelsey, being the bilingual traveler that he was and now thinking in Spanish and wanting to tell the little boy to be careful yelled out, "cuchara"!
Oh well, I guess thats better than yelling out cuchillo.
At that time Kelsey only knew a few words of Spanish. His vocabulary consisted of "Gracias, gracias, gracias" said frequently and in response to any circumstance that warranted it or not. In the limited time he was in Chile he charmed many people with his smile and his delivery of those words of thanks.
He knew about three other words in Spanish, those being callate, cuchara and cuidado. So we were in the living room of the family that Kyle stayed with on the weekends, playing cards if I remember correctly. There was a little boy about 4 years old that we were playing with. He was a little rambuncious and suddenly tripped. Kelsey, being the bilingual traveler that he was and now thinking in Spanish and wanting to tell the little boy to be careful yelled out, "cuchara"!
Oh well, I guess thats better than yelling out cuchillo.
Out pops a new Boo!
About three months after Kyle's brother Kelsey was born (Kyle would have been right around 3 years old) she got curious about how babies were born and asked me the dreaded but inevitable question about how babies are made. "Mom," she asked me, "How was Boo Bear made?" (Boo Bear was Kelsey's nick name.) I tried to answer her honestly but with information that was age appropriate, you know, answer the question but don't give details a 2 year old isn't ready to understand. I explained to Kyle that Mommy has an egg and Daddy has a sperm and when the sperm and egg come together, a baby is created.
Later on in the day I was in the kitchen whipping up something for dinner and Boo Bear was taking a nap. Kyle was merrily playing with the pots and pans and bowls and utensils from the lower cupboards along side of me. As I'm cooking away (yes, I used to cook on occasion) I heard her talking to herself as she is stirring an imaginary concoction in a mixing bowl "Put in a sperm, put in an egg. Out pops a new Boo!"
Aaah. From the mouths of babes!!
Later on in the day I was in the kitchen whipping up something for dinner and Boo Bear was taking a nap. Kyle was merrily playing with the pots and pans and bowls and utensils from the lower cupboards along side of me. As I'm cooking away (yes, I used to cook on occasion) I heard her talking to herself as she is stirring an imaginary concoction in a mixing bowl "Put in a sperm, put in an egg. Out pops a new Boo!"
Aaah. From the mouths of babes!!
Reflecting on reflections
Kyle and Kelsey were always intrigued by hearing stories about themselves when they were babies. So one day when they were persisting on the topic, I started making up things about how they were born; i.e. "Kelsey, the day you were born you came out on a skateboard." and "Kyle, the day you were born you came out with your nose in a book." From there we would let our imaginations go and embelish even further with outlandish ideas of how each came out doing cartwheels or playing soccer or whatever. But one thing is for sure, Kyle came out with a vocabulary far beyond her 1 second old being.
Really, does it surprise anyone who has read any of her blogs that the child had an innate sense of words? She did not necessarily begin talking at an earlier than average age but by the time she was about one and a half she was already speaking in complete sentences and using a very large vocabulary. When she was right around that age I remember I was driving somewhere and she was strapped in her car seat. She confidently announced to be "Mom, I can see my reflection in the mirror." I was flabbergasted to hear such a small person use such a big word. And later on during that same outing all of a sudden she called out "Mom, watch out. Don't hit that boulder!" I mean, at a year and a half, it wasn't just a rock, it was a "boulder." The funniest thing about that was that the boulder was way off on the side of the road and I wasn't even close to hitting it. I really think she just wanted to try out her new vocabulary.
Kyle's appetite for books was insatiable and her attention span was very long for a little person. I read to her from an early age. At any time of the day we would sit and read through piles of books. We went to the libarary on a weekly basis and took out 20 to 25 books at a time. By the time she was 4 years old she listened to me read the entire Laura Ingalls Wilder series and by the time she was 5 she read them all back to me.
Of course, I'm sure it helped that I made costumes for her and her brother to dress up in so they could play out the characters. Kyle was always Mary and Kelsey was always Laura. They loved to wear the bonnets and aprons. Kelsey was too little at that time (about 2 years old) to think anything about the fact that he was dressing up like a girl. So while Kyle was thriving on this I may have done Kelsey some severe physcological damage but I hope not. Hopefully they were both learning how to use their imaginations!
In first grade Kyle was reading at a 6th grade level and in 6th grade at a twelth grade level and now she is a spead reader. Honestly, she reads about three times faster than I do. It is really amazing. And now I can only imagine that she has got to be a speed writer too to do all this blogging. If only I had the same talent!
Really, does it surprise anyone who has read any of her blogs that the child had an innate sense of words? She did not necessarily begin talking at an earlier than average age but by the time she was about one and a half she was already speaking in complete sentences and using a very large vocabulary. When she was right around that age I remember I was driving somewhere and she was strapped in her car seat. She confidently announced to be "Mom, I can see my reflection in the mirror." I was flabbergasted to hear such a small person use such a big word. And later on during that same outing all of a sudden she called out "Mom, watch out. Don't hit that boulder!" I mean, at a year and a half, it wasn't just a rock, it was a "boulder." The funniest thing about that was that the boulder was way off on the side of the road and I wasn't even close to hitting it. I really think she just wanted to try out her new vocabulary.
Kyle's appetite for books was insatiable and her attention span was very long for a little person. I read to her from an early age. At any time of the day we would sit and read through piles of books. We went to the libarary on a weekly basis and took out 20 to 25 books at a time. By the time she was 4 years old she listened to me read the entire Laura Ingalls Wilder series and by the time she was 5 she read them all back to me.
Of course, I'm sure it helped that I made costumes for her and her brother to dress up in so they could play out the characters. Kyle was always Mary and Kelsey was always Laura. They loved to wear the bonnets and aprons. Kelsey was too little at that time (about 2 years old) to think anything about the fact that he was dressing up like a girl. So while Kyle was thriving on this I may have done Kelsey some severe physcological damage but I hope not. Hopefully they were both learning how to use their imaginations!
In first grade Kyle was reading at a 6th grade level and in 6th grade at a twelth grade level and now she is a spead reader. Honestly, she reads about three times faster than I do. It is really amazing. And now I can only imagine that she has got to be a speed writer too to do all this blogging. If only I had the same talent!
Saturday, March 1, 2008
What do you want to be when you grow up?
One weekend the t.v. was on. I was in the same room as my son, Kelsey, who was watching it. I'm sure I was doing something else, like a crossword puzzle or something because I hardly ever just sit and watch t.v. Anyway, one of those ads came on with one of those strange, intriuging women, that look pretty yet somehow very cheap. The ad was encouraging people to call the 1-800 number to get their fortune read by one of these hot, sexy phychics. All of a sudden Kelsey declared "Mom, when I grow up, I want to be a side kick"!!!
I can't really remember how old he was at the time, maybe 7 or 8. What great aspirations! And now a toast . . may we all grow up to be side kicks!
I can't really remember how old he was at the time, maybe 7 or 8. What great aspirations! And now a toast . . may we all grow up to be side kicks!
How fast is fast?
One day when my son, Kelsey, was about 4 or 5 year old, he said "Look at me mom. I can run as fast as a cheetoh." Needless to say that conjured up quite the visual!
Chill Pills
One day at work (quite a long time ago) I was involved in a stressful project. I was invited to attend yet one more meeting about whatever the very controversial subject was. I really can't even remember what the topic was. I could feel a headache coming on so I thought I would take some aspirin before the meeting to ward it off.
As I reached in my drawer, I grabbed a bottle of some kind of vitamin supplements instead. That gave me an idea. I took two of the honkin' big white smooth pills out, took a fine black perma-marker and scrawled "chill" on one and "pill" on the other and stuck them in my pocket.
Then I gulped down two aspirin and headed off for the meeting. As predicted, the meeting grew long, people began to lose patience, tempers were beginning to flare. Just as the heated discussions were reaching their crescendo, I reached into my pocket and tossed the tablets to the middle of the table. "Anyone want a chill pill" I asked?
Tension broke and the room filled with laughter. It's the best medicine, you know. It releases endorphins or something into your system. It turned out to be another good day at work!
As I reached in my drawer, I grabbed a bottle of some kind of vitamin supplements instead. That gave me an idea. I took two of the honkin' big white smooth pills out, took a fine black perma-marker and scrawled "chill" on one and "pill" on the other and stuck them in my pocket.
Then I gulped down two aspirin and headed off for the meeting. As predicted, the meeting grew long, people began to lose patience, tempers were beginning to flare. Just as the heated discussions were reaching their crescendo, I reached into my pocket and tossed the tablets to the middle of the table. "Anyone want a chill pill" I asked?
Tension broke and the room filled with laughter. It's the best medicine, you know. It releases endorphins or something into your system. It turned out to be another good day at work!
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