Yesterday the Cat Daddy took the boys out for donuts and errands, leaving me with nearly 3 hours of solitude (except for the dogs, but in this case they were having a lazy Saturday and didn't require anything of me). It wasn't exactly "free" time, as I had promised to do chores.
I know, I know. Call me crazy. "Three free hours and you chose to do chores? What are you smoking, Skerrib?!" Well, first off, if one asks the Cat Daddy (or most other spouses, I imagine) to take both kids for three hours just for the fun of it, he is likely to put up at least a little resistance. However, if one asks the Cat Daddy to take both kids so one can make the house look visibly nicer, the Cat Daddy cheerfully grabs the kids and the diaper bag and bounds out the door with a veritable spring in his step.
The Cat Daddy also calls home in an accusatory tone and ask if one "left any diapers in the diaper bag" for the Littler One, and one will feel constrained to remind the Cat Daddy that whoever travels with the Littler One really needs to be the one who makes sure there are diapers in the bag. Or at the very least, the Cat Daddy needs to ask one to check for him prior to departure. Because sadly, while one is awesomely-awesome and would never want to throw one's family members under the bus, one is not psychic when it comes to the availability and quantity of diapers in the bag. **End rant**
And also, the wood floors were gross and needed more than a Swiffing, to the point that goofing off the whole time wouldn't have been as fun. So after a lovely (quiet) breakfast and just a little bit of (quiet) goofing off time doing a crossword, I (quietly) set to work. I swiffed, mopped, and dried most of the upstairs. You're not supposed to use water on wood floors pretty much at all, so I went in small sections so I could dry along the way.
Sounds like eyeball-plucking work, yes? But I found it strangely relaxing. It made me think of the mini-series John Adams, where Abigail was up late at night worrying because John totally blew her off while he was over in France, and she would do crazy-tedious things like scrubbing floors, and cleaning each individual window square, and stuff like that. And that made me really grateful that cleaning my floors was so straightforward. It was a dedicated, uninterrupted time to complete the chore, but also to let my mind wander to whatever thoughts came meandering through.
When I was finished I said to myself, "Enjoy it now, because within 30 minutes they will start spilling stuff on it again." So I looked across the sunlit living room and enjoyed the clean for the moment that I had it. Then my crazies came barreling in through the door with treasures to show off and stories to tell, and we were off for the rest of the day.
The ending of the story is that the boys and I had a birthday party to attend, leaving the Cat Daddy with his own 2 hours of kid-free quiet time at home, which certainly helped matters when I was asking him to take the boys out for the morning.
And no, I won't clean your floors for you...
Oct 3, 2010
Sep 30, 2010
Bits & Pieces...
I wrote half an awesome post about making a chicken-liver mousse a week ago, but haven't had the chance to finish it (the post; not the mousse). I had a fabulous Glee viewing party for the season premiere, so I thought why not make an over-the-top dish for such an over-the-top show. I've always hated beef liver, but Alton Brown swears that chickens & ducks don't live long enough for their livers to get all "funky." Well guess what--Alton must have a pretty specific definition in mind for "funky," because there was a whole lotta funk going on in my liver mousse (I attempted to call it pate with a fancy mark over the 'e' before realizing the fancy name wouldn't compensate for the taste). I really, really wanted to like it, because I like the idea of using the whole animal--or at least more of it--and less waste and all that, and I was self-righteously wondering why we don't do that as much anymore. I know now--it's because some of the parts of the animal are so dang gross. I made my pregnant friend gag just by tasting the mousse in front of her. For the slightest moment in time I almost didn't hate it on a Ritz cracker. But then I did. No more liver of any type. Ever. LiverWORST, indeed...
...Last weekend they had Parents' Night Out at the Methodist church. This is where the Methodists provide childcare to the community for the evening on a (suggested--and more than reasonable) donation basis. It's an incredibly good deal, and even the Littler One is starting to do much better being left with people other than me, so we are trying to take advantage of these kid-free opportunities more often. And what did the Cat Daddy and I do? Grabbed a quick bite at Chipotle and went home to clean out the garage. Scoff if you must, but we had a great time and got a lot done ("We can get so much done without the kids!" we kept saying). So much so, in fact, that the Cat Daddy can park his car in there now. We were all proud of ourselves, and even swept the garage floor before treating ourselves to ice cream and picking up the kiddos. In that order.
His Highness was not impressed in the least. It disturbed him greatly for Mommy's car to now park on the other side of the driveway (in Daddy's spot), and for Daddy's car to be in the garage. He really wanted us to put the cars back where they belonged. We made a deal with him to let us try it for a week and see what he thought after that. He was very kind and agreed to this trial period, and I think it will work out. I think he actually likes it. He has more room in the driveway to draw with his chalk, and we can tell sooner when Daddy gets home because we hear the garage door open.
It made me think a lot about how grown-ups will see a kid deal with something like this, and we'll think, "Ah, it was so nice when I was a kid and my only problem was..." or "Oh I wish that was all I had to worry about," because our problems are so much bigger and more important. And the more I think about it, the more I think we, the grown-ups, have it wrong. I think a lot of our problems are really, really similar to those of a three-year-old, but they look a little different, and on our good days we have more maturity with which to handle them.
What I mean is, what His Highness was protesting was the change in his environment. We took something familiar to him, something he could count on within the structure of his day, and changed it up on him, and he freaked out a little bit. This is exactly how I tend to react when my world gets a little disturbance in it. I remember a few years back, when I'd been with my company just shy of a year, and my boss(es) called me in and told me I was being switched from one project to a completely different one, AND I would be moving from my office over to the base & everything. I very-nearly cried...I like to think I held it together pretty well, but I know I had the deer-in-the-headlights look because my boss asked if everything was alright. I mumbled something about having to process it all. Which actually was pretty dead-on. In the end it worked out beautifully and I was so glad things happened the way they did; I just had to get through my initial panic and give myself a chance to get used to the change.
And then, of course, I think a lot of times we are really no different than three-year-olds; we just hide our tantrums better. Maybe. A few previous lives ago (during college) I worked in a call center at Bank of America, and our department heads decided that everyone would have to start working Sundays. Oh boy, the uproar that caused. I was out the day of the official announcement, so I was reeling and ranting when I came back to this news. "But I'm really plugged in at my church--I have real commitments!" To which an older co-worker gently-but-firmly replied "You're not the only one, honey." Well, luckily one of the supervisors was kind enough to notice my concern and pull me aside and explain the whole picture. It turned out that most of us would work, like, one Sunday every two months, and we would know ahead of time so we could coordinate with church commitments, and all that. When he took the time to tell me how the management had arrived at this arrangement it seemed pretty dang reasonable to me. I always appreciated that he did that for me. I was able to avoid acting like a complete idiot at work by trying to make some kind of loud and grandiose ultimatum or something...which actually would have been pretty disingenuous of me, because in retrospect I think I was a lot less worried about working on a Sunday, and a lot more worried about having no control in the situation. I don't know if my supervisor recognized this about me, but he gave the control back to me. Empowerment, and all that.
Anyway. As any reasonable parent would, I think my kids are adorable, and sometimes I can't help but smile at their tragedies. But I hope I never get too patronizing to see the very real places where their pain comes from and remember that I have those same places, just with different triggers. Besides, the only reason I don't freak out anymore about things like changing parking arrangements is that I have the experience to know that it usually works out OK (and I still cried a little bit when I gave up my '90 Honda Accord, even though my new CRV was kicka$$)...
...I've been on this life-simplification kick, and my house is starting to stay a little cleaner. Not a lot cleaner, and not all the time. But I think it's fair to say that it's a complete disaster less often...
...My friend has been watching the boys several hours per week so I can get my nerd-work done a little less frantically. The Littler One loves her like a third parent, and he's getting much less anxious about being with people other than Mommy. Today I dropped him off, kissed him on the head, and said goodbye instead of sneaking out. He waved and happily went back to his chicken nuggets. Ms. Sitter told me later she was wondering if he would cry when he realized I was really leaving, but he didn't. He knew he was safe & secure with Ms. Sitter and did great (and was his ornery self) the whole afternoon. That made me happy.
We've also been transitioning him more to his own space at night. He starts out in the guest bed now, the way His Highness did before he got his bunk beds. And anytime he stirs before midnight the Cat Daddy soothes him back to sleep. It took about two tries before he realized he wasn't getting to nurse, so now he's staying asleep until after midnight pretty consistently. Next step is moving the no-nursing time back gradually, but I'll wait until the Cat Daddy's ready for that one...
...So all-told I am getting more routine back in my life, and inserting more into my boys' lives. It feels good, as I do thrive on routine and consistency, and I like to think I've got a decent balance about it. I could probably afford to be more structured even, but let's not get ahead of ourselves...
...Last weekend they had Parents' Night Out at the Methodist church. This is where the Methodists provide childcare to the community for the evening on a (suggested--and more than reasonable) donation basis. It's an incredibly good deal, and even the Littler One is starting to do much better being left with people other than me, so we are trying to take advantage of these kid-free opportunities more often. And what did the Cat Daddy and I do? Grabbed a quick bite at Chipotle and went home to clean out the garage. Scoff if you must, but we had a great time and got a lot done ("We can get so much done without the kids!" we kept saying). So much so, in fact, that the Cat Daddy can park his car in there now. We were all proud of ourselves, and even swept the garage floor before treating ourselves to ice cream and picking up the kiddos. In that order.
His Highness was not impressed in the least. It disturbed him greatly for Mommy's car to now park on the other side of the driveway (in Daddy's spot), and for Daddy's car to be in the garage. He really wanted us to put the cars back where they belonged. We made a deal with him to let us try it for a week and see what he thought after that. He was very kind and agreed to this trial period, and I think it will work out. I think he actually likes it. He has more room in the driveway to draw with his chalk, and we can tell sooner when Daddy gets home because we hear the garage door open.
It made me think a lot about how grown-ups will see a kid deal with something like this, and we'll think, "Ah, it was so nice when I was a kid and my only problem was..." or "Oh I wish that was all I had to worry about," because our problems are so much bigger and more important. And the more I think about it, the more I think we, the grown-ups, have it wrong. I think a lot of our problems are really, really similar to those of a three-year-old, but they look a little different, and on our good days we have more maturity with which to handle them.
What I mean is, what His Highness was protesting was the change in his environment. We took something familiar to him, something he could count on within the structure of his day, and changed it up on him, and he freaked out a little bit. This is exactly how I tend to react when my world gets a little disturbance in it. I remember a few years back, when I'd been with my company just shy of a year, and my boss(es) called me in and told me I was being switched from one project to a completely different one, AND I would be moving from my office over to the base & everything. I very-nearly cried...I like to think I held it together pretty well, but I know I had the deer-in-the-headlights look because my boss asked if everything was alright. I mumbled something about having to process it all. Which actually was pretty dead-on. In the end it worked out beautifully and I was so glad things happened the way they did; I just had to get through my initial panic and give myself a chance to get used to the change.
And then, of course, I think a lot of times we are really no different than three-year-olds; we just hide our tantrums better. Maybe. A few previous lives ago (during college) I worked in a call center at Bank of America, and our department heads decided that everyone would have to start working Sundays. Oh boy, the uproar that caused. I was out the day of the official announcement, so I was reeling and ranting when I came back to this news. "But I'm really plugged in at my church--I have real commitments!" To which an older co-worker gently-but-firmly replied "You're not the only one, honey." Well, luckily one of the supervisors was kind enough to notice my concern and pull me aside and explain the whole picture. It turned out that most of us would work, like, one Sunday every two months, and we would know ahead of time so we could coordinate with church commitments, and all that. When he took the time to tell me how the management had arrived at this arrangement it seemed pretty dang reasonable to me. I always appreciated that he did that for me. I was able to avoid acting like a complete idiot at work by trying to make some kind of loud and grandiose ultimatum or something...which actually would have been pretty disingenuous of me, because in retrospect I think I was a lot less worried about working on a Sunday, and a lot more worried about having no control in the situation. I don't know if my supervisor recognized this about me, but he gave the control back to me. Empowerment, and all that.
Anyway. As any reasonable parent would, I think my kids are adorable, and sometimes I can't help but smile at their tragedies. But I hope I never get too patronizing to see the very real places where their pain comes from and remember that I have those same places, just with different triggers. Besides, the only reason I don't freak out anymore about things like changing parking arrangements is that I have the experience to know that it usually works out OK (and I still cried a little bit when I gave up my '90 Honda Accord, even though my new CRV was kicka$$)...
...I've been on this life-simplification kick, and my house is starting to stay a little cleaner. Not a lot cleaner, and not all the time. But I think it's fair to say that it's a complete disaster less often...
...My friend has been watching the boys several hours per week so I can get my nerd-work done a little less frantically. The Littler One loves her like a third parent, and he's getting much less anxious about being with people other than Mommy. Today I dropped him off, kissed him on the head, and said goodbye instead of sneaking out. He waved and happily went back to his chicken nuggets. Ms. Sitter told me later she was wondering if he would cry when he realized I was really leaving, but he didn't. He knew he was safe & secure with Ms. Sitter and did great (and was his ornery self) the whole afternoon. That made me happy.
We've also been transitioning him more to his own space at night. He starts out in the guest bed now, the way His Highness did before he got his bunk beds. And anytime he stirs before midnight the Cat Daddy soothes him back to sleep. It took about two tries before he realized he wasn't getting to nurse, so now he's staying asleep until after midnight pretty consistently. Next step is moving the no-nursing time back gradually, but I'll wait until the Cat Daddy's ready for that one...
...So all-told I am getting more routine back in my life, and inserting more into my boys' lives. It feels good, as I do thrive on routine and consistency, and I like to think I've got a decent balance about it. I could probably afford to be more structured even, but let's not get ahead of ourselves...
Sep 29, 2010
Much Improved...
This is actually one continuous spiral. It's like wearing a beaded Slinky that happens to coordinate with 5/8 of my wardrobe. I like it a lot. There's one fatal flaw with the wearing of bracelets: my children. Luckily, this particular bracelet has proven indestructible thus far. It's been stretched, shaken, tasted, and banged on the counter, and it still looks the same as when I bought it. Keep in mind I'm not "letting" the kids play with it, per se. But I'm also not going to encase it in glass out of reach so it can never be touched. So it's a good thing it's sturdy.
Now I just have to remember to put it on my wrist in the mornings...
Sep 20, 2010
Accessorize...
I have decided that I like bracelets.
Having just turned 33 you'd think that I'd have figured this out by now. But fashion has always been a little tough for me. I've made slow, crawling, progress through the years, and just recently I decided a couple of things.
The first thing has to do with properly-fitting bras and I really am not going to get much into it other than to say that I am in contact with a lady at my church who does what she has lovingly termed her "bra ministry." No, it is not a formal, funded item in the church budget. Still, I'm told countless ladies in our community have benefited from her wisdom, and I intend to count myself among those numbers. So I will say this: you really should do some research and make sure your bras fit right. Guys, I can't speak to the fit of your man-ssieres, but I would assume that a good fit can only help you, as well.
Secondly, I want to be more intentional about accessorizing. I have toyed with the idea of buying a scarf or two--progress in itself--but I'm really not all that into jewelry and such. And I really do prefer simplicity--I don't want to accumulate a ton of belts, or purses, or shoes, or really much of anything. I like a few basics that make me feel pretty, and then call it good.
I've kept my eye out for cute necklaces for a while now, but the thing about necklaces is that you have to remember to take them off & put them on. Which means I would likely wear them consistently for a few weeks and then be onto the next thing.
I don't know whether I'm any more optimistic about bracelets--after all, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't leave a single bracelet on all the time--but as I looked down at my wrist today it occurred to me I was still wearing the paper bracelet from our trip to the (semi-)local veggie-picking farm this weekend. I really should cut the silly thing off...I mean come on, Skerrib. While I had a great time picking veggies with friends, that's not why I've kept the bracelet on. There's nothing particularly cute or symbolic about the paper or anything. But it's still there. I'm pretty sure I simply like having something on my wrist.
So, having eavesdropped on a few conversations along the way, I have some ideas as to where I might be able to find something other than American flag paper to go on my wrist. I will be staking out local accessories bargains and, if everything goes well, I may post photos of my wrist in the not-so-distant future...
Having just turned 33 you'd think that I'd have figured this out by now. But fashion has always been a little tough for me. I've made slow, crawling, progress through the years, and just recently I decided a couple of things.
The first thing has to do with properly-fitting bras and I really am not going to get much into it other than to say that I am in contact with a lady at my church who does what she has lovingly termed her "bra ministry." No, it is not a formal, funded item in the church budget. Still, I'm told countless ladies in our community have benefited from her wisdom, and I intend to count myself among those numbers. So I will say this: you really should do some research and make sure your bras fit right. Guys, I can't speak to the fit of your man-ssieres, but I would assume that a good fit can only help you, as well.
Secondly, I want to be more intentional about accessorizing. I have toyed with the idea of buying a scarf or two--progress in itself--but I'm really not all that into jewelry and such. And I really do prefer simplicity--I don't want to accumulate a ton of belts, or purses, or shoes, or really much of anything. I like a few basics that make me feel pretty, and then call it good.
I've kept my eye out for cute necklaces for a while now, but the thing about necklaces is that you have to remember to take them off & put them on. Which means I would likely wear them consistently for a few weeks and then be onto the next thing.
I don't know whether I'm any more optimistic about bracelets--after all, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't leave a single bracelet on all the time--but as I looked down at my wrist today it occurred to me I was still wearing the paper bracelet from our trip to the (semi-)local veggie-picking farm this weekend. I really should cut the silly thing off...I mean come on, Skerrib. While I had a great time picking veggies with friends, that's not why I've kept the bracelet on. There's nothing particularly cute or symbolic about the paper or anything. But it's still there. I'm pretty sure I simply like having something on my wrist.
So, having eavesdropped on a few conversations along the way, I have some ideas as to where I might be able to find something other than American flag paper to go on my wrist. I will be staking out local accessories bargains and, if everything goes well, I may post photos of my wrist in the not-so-distant future...
Sep 13, 2010
Our Grasshopper Friend...
Yesterday the Littler One had a fever, so the boyz and I stayed home from church (the Cat Daddy was on music team, so he went). Everyone's been asking if the Littler One is teething, and yes he is, but at the same time I couldn't be sure that teething was the sole cause of the fever. And it is generally frowned upon to take a warm baby into mixed company and declare "He's fine!" unless one is absolutely sure and has a notarized medical affadavit--or something--to prove it. Which I didn't, so we stayed home.
While I was disappointed to miss out on all the fun & fellowship & God-stuff, it occurred to me that going for a jog might take the sting out of being quarantined. Dr. Sears is big on the healing properties of fresh air for sick babies in many circumstances, and I'm big on fresh air for the prevention of neurosis in mommy-shut-ins. His Highness is not huge on the jogging, but with a little persuasion--and the promise of a playground visit--he can usually be convinced. It so happened we had one of those "flying saucers," where you pull the string and the plastic frisbee-thingy flies high in the air, and you chase after it and have all sorts of fun, so we agreed that he could bring it along to launch at the park at the end of our jog.
I must have been feeling extremely charitable, because we also agreed that Max, who snuck out the door as we were heading out and refused to go back in the house, could come along on the jog, and we would swing by and grab Zoe on the way to the park, since she likes the park but hates jogging.
After much leash-grabbing, and double-checking and baby-buckling, we were on our way. My current favorite route is an out-&-back, combined with a loop around a nearby neighborhood. About 3 miles total. We live in what I feel is a perfect area of town--our neighborhood is just off the last stoplight in town, after which one heads off into the still-rural parts. This particular route includes a dirt road, paved "Greenway" (awesome walking path), and the aforementioned neighborhood. Sometimes we encounter horses, cows, and/or goats, and most days it has little traffic so you can hear yourself think.
So as we hit the dirt road, the boys were being extremely adorable and humming along with the bumpy-bumps, and I noticed the plethora of grasshoppers jumping all over the place, dodging obstacles real & imagined, and so on. Suddenly His Highness said, "Look, I have a grasshopper friend!" A good-sized grasshopper (2 inches?) had hopped onto the stroller frame, apparently hitching a ride on our adventure. We have talked a lot about grasshoppers lately, so this was very exciting. We didn't think much about it until we realized that the grasshopper hadn't hopped off, despite another little grasshopper friend that had come & gone. His Highness put his hand out, which I figured would spur the little bugger off the stroller, but I was surprised to see it drop down onto His Highness's knee and stay there, facing forward.
So we kept moving, hitchhiker in tow. His Highness declared that the grasshopper liked him, and I couldn't disagree, seeing as how it was taking in the sights while sitting on his knee. We discussed why it might have chosen to come along with us, and why it had such big eyes, why it had tickly legs, and how His Highness was so gentle and not-twitchy, both of which are qualities of a really good grasshopper friend. Now I don't know much about grasshopper behavior, so my worst-case-scenario mind had to rifle through the possiblity that it might be dying and that's why it wasn't hopping off, and the less-macabre-but-grosser possibility that it could be getting ready to lay eggs, or excrete something or other on His Highness's knee, but I played it cool and assumed that the little creature really was just on adventure, maybe out finding himself like a college student backpacking through Europe.
We continued--the two kids, Max, the grasshopper, and myself--all around the neighborhood and back onto the Greenway, toward the dirt road and so on. We discussed what we would do if the grasshopper never jumped off, and (I) decided that if it hadn't jumped off by the time we reached the traffic light to cross back into our neighborhood, we would gently put him in the tall grass along the dirt road. Having seen a few too many Disney movies in my life, I pictured him singing his way through the grass in search of his family, and I hoped that it would be close enough that they would find each other without having to set off on any major treks or sing sweet & wistful songs by moonlight before removing a teeny beret or scallycap, and bedding down for the night with a lump of dirt for a pillow and a few blades of grass for warmth.
As we were approaching the end of the dirt road we also decided that, since he was such a good grasshopper friend, His Highness could be the one to conduct the grasshopper placement. But guess what? Suddenly His Highness called out, "He hopped off! My grasshopper friend hopped off!" And it was true. The grasshopper had jumped off, as much as I can tell, in very nearly exactly the same location where he had joined us to begin with. He went on his merry way and we went home and grabbed Zoe and went to the park to launch the flying saucer-thingy. His Highness was beaming away, tickled to death about our little adventure with his grasshopper friend, and to be honest, so was I.
Like I said, I don't know much about grasshopper behavior. His Highness and I make guesses about them hanging out with their families, but I don't know if that's common grasshopper habit, to form family units and stay close to them. So it is with zero authority that I surmise that the grasshopper might have stayed with us, hoping that we wouldn't kill it and hoping that we would return to where it had hopped onto the stroller so it could reunite with its family.
As we were approaching the end of the dirt road we also decided that, since he was such a good grasshopper friend, His Highness could be the one to conduct the grasshopper placement. But guess what? Suddenly His Highness called out, "He hopped off! My grasshopper friend hopped off!" And it was true. The grasshopper had jumped off, as much as I can tell, in very nearly exactly the same location where he had joined us to begin with. He went on his merry way and we went home and grabbed Zoe and went to the park to launch the flying saucer-thingy. His Highness was beaming away, tickled to death about our little adventure with his grasshopper friend, and to be honest, so was I.
Like I said, I don't know much about grasshopper behavior. His Highness and I make guesses about them hanging out with their families, but I don't know if that's common grasshopper habit, to form family units and stay close to them. So it is with zero authority that I surmise that the grasshopper might have stayed with us, hoping that we wouldn't kill it and hoping that we would return to where it had hopped onto the stroller so it could reunite with its family.
And maybe, just maybe, it sang a little song along the way...
Aug 31, 2010
As Seen On (Late-Evening) TV...
The Cat Daddy will vouch for me on this one; we really saw it...
An infomercial for the NEW! 35mm Vivitar Film Camera! Why spend hundreds on digital cameras, when all that technology is so difficult, with the wires, and software, and stuff. Point-and-shoot, auto-focus, the whole shabang. For just $10 you get two film cameras and two whole rolls of film!!
And later I got to catch the tail-end of Star Trek: The Next Generation. I'm a bit of a dork, and a bit of a Trekkie, so it's always a treat for me to catch a little TNG.
The strangest thing happened, too. I tuned in for the last 10 minutes or so, then they showed the credits and all that, and then had a commercial break. And THEN, the show picked up again, exactly where I'd tuned in to begin with. So again I caught the last 10 minutes, followed by the credits and such. It was like my own little personal temporal rift, or time loop, or something. Which I thought extremely appropriate for TNG, since they had entire episodes on things like that.
Poker game with Data, anyone???
An infomercial for the NEW! 35mm Vivitar Film Camera! Why spend hundreds on digital cameras, when all that technology is so difficult, with the wires, and software, and stuff. Point-and-shoot, auto-focus, the whole shabang. For just $10 you get two film cameras and two whole rolls of film!!
And later I got to catch the tail-end of Star Trek: The Next Generation. I'm a bit of a dork, and a bit of a Trekkie, so it's always a treat for me to catch a little TNG.
The strangest thing happened, too. I tuned in for the last 10 minutes or so, then they showed the credits and all that, and then had a commercial break. And THEN, the show picked up again, exactly where I'd tuned in to begin with. So again I caught the last 10 minutes, followed by the credits and such. It was like my own little personal temporal rift, or time loop, or something. Which I thought extremely appropriate for TNG, since they had entire episodes on things like that.
Poker game with Data, anyone???
Aug 30, 2010
And Then It Begins...
Most of the kids around here have started school. I'm pretty sure U-dub and L-Trip are in session, and FoCo (how the cool people say Fort Collins, I'm told) is again crowded with CU students.
His Highness starts preschool for real next week. He attended his school's summer drop-in program, but for purposes of photos and officiality and all that, I'm counting next Wednesday as his First Day of School Ever. He'll be going three mornings per week. At church he'll be moving up from the toddler room to Children's Church. And he's old enough to start Cubbies at our church's AWANA program. We've been contemplating doing a gymnastics class this fall as well, to foster his mad motor skillz and crazy energy, but not sure how much we want to take on as far as actual and real commitments go.
So suddenly he has begun the phase of life where he has stuff to do. I mean, it's true that preschool is "just" preschool--there's some leeway in there. We're not talking a loss of GPA and/or college scholarships if he's late too many times or we decide to take a couple weeks off to visit the fam or anything. But we are now back in the position of being up & out by a certain time most days, and likely starting to talk about going to school even when we don't necessarily feel like it, because that's the beginning of what commitment means, and stuff like that. And now I begin to take on the role of chauffer--running him to and from school, and AWANA, and maybe even the gymnastics.
I'm certainly looking forward to the routine of it. And His Highness LOVED doing the summer program at school, so it is likely that he will enjoy it yet again. I get nervous about starting to let him go--it seems so soon, and he seems so young. The reality though, I think, is that he is absolutely ready. I'm nervous only because it is new to me, this phase of life where my kid begins to have significant parts of his world that are outside of me. I'm taking a little time out to see it for what it is, and to recognize yet another of the tiny griefs one encounters as a mom.
Not a lot of time, though--I don't want to miss out on the fun of it...
His Highness starts preschool for real next week. He attended his school's summer drop-in program, but for purposes of photos and officiality and all that, I'm counting next Wednesday as his First Day of School Ever. He'll be going three mornings per week. At church he'll be moving up from the toddler room to Children's Church. And he's old enough to start Cubbies at our church's AWANA program. We've been contemplating doing a gymnastics class this fall as well, to foster his mad motor skillz and crazy energy, but not sure how much we want to take on as far as actual and real commitments go.
So suddenly he has begun the phase of life where he has stuff to do. I mean, it's true that preschool is "just" preschool--there's some leeway in there. We're not talking a loss of GPA and/or college scholarships if he's late too many times or we decide to take a couple weeks off to visit the fam or anything. But we are now back in the position of being up & out by a certain time most days, and likely starting to talk about going to school even when we don't necessarily feel like it, because that's the beginning of what commitment means, and stuff like that. And now I begin to take on the role of chauffer--running him to and from school, and AWANA, and maybe even the gymnastics.
I'm certainly looking forward to the routine of it. And His Highness LOVED doing the summer program at school, so it is likely that he will enjoy it yet again. I get nervous about starting to let him go--it seems so soon, and he seems so young. The reality though, I think, is that he is absolutely ready. I'm nervous only because it is new to me, this phase of life where my kid begins to have significant parts of his world that are outside of me. I'm taking a little time out to see it for what it is, and to recognize yet another of the tiny griefs one encounters as a mom.
Not a lot of time, though--I don't want to miss out on the fun of it...
Aug 26, 2010
Fashion Choices...
I've been amazed with both kiddos, as I've watched their preferences develop. I'm not against their having preferences; it's just that they're always a little earlier than I expect. Today I put sandals on the Littler One, but then he found his new tennies and very clearly (and yet completely non-verbally) let me know that he wanted those instead. I gently told him no, since we were rushing out the door, and that we can do tennies tomorrow. And I was yet again amazed that my 16 month old cares about what is on his feet. It made me happy to see him developing more and more into who God made him to be.
This week's theme is shoes. Since it's summertime, we've been putting both boys in sandals most days. There have been days, however, that His Highness says, "I want socks and shoes!!" Loudly. Sometimes we convince him that sandals are a better idea, sometimes we outright force the issue for convenience (on the way to the pool, for example), and other times we say, "OK, go get your socks and tennies." I am very much in favor of letting him choose that sort of thing for the most part. This week has been interesting though. Yesterday he said, "I want socks & sandals." Not just regular socks, though. Awesomely-awesome red, white, & blue striped socks. With sandals.
Now I will admit right now that this sort of taste (or lack thereof) comes from me. Up until the past year or so it was one of my most comfortable footwear choices to wear socks and Birks. I haven't done it in a while, but I'm not guaranteeing that I never will again, either.
The Cat Daddy and I both really try to tread that line of grace. We're very much in favor of rules and boundaries, but it has to make sense, you know? We don't want to spend all this time pounding down rules that, 20 years down the road, will have us wondering why we cared what color shirt he wore or what sort of product he wanted to stick in his hair for 6 months, or whatever. So, as long as he's settling down and going to sleep in a reasonable amount of time, we allow him to take his cars to bed with him, and we let him run naked around the house (when there are no guests over), and choose his clothes most days, if he wants to. As long as he's aware of the consequences. When he puts his shoes on the wrong feet I say, "Hey, those are on the wrong feet," and His Highness says, "I like them that way," and I say, "OK, as long as you're aware of it. If they start hurting your feet, just switch them back." If he wants ME to put them on the wrong feet, though, I won't do it. I say, "No, if you want them on the wrong feet, you'll have to do that yourself." And sometimes he does.
So, regarding the socks and sandals thing, I said, "Are you aware that socks and sandals aren't very stylish? People might laugh a little 'cuz it looks a little funny." And he replied, "That's OK, I like to wear socks & sandals." And I figured with an attitude like that, he could handle it.
So I helped him with his socks and sandals...
This week's theme is shoes. Since it's summertime, we've been putting both boys in sandals most days. There have been days, however, that His Highness says, "I want socks and shoes!!" Loudly. Sometimes we convince him that sandals are a better idea, sometimes we outright force the issue for convenience (on the way to the pool, for example), and other times we say, "OK, go get your socks and tennies." I am very much in favor of letting him choose that sort of thing for the most part. This week has been interesting though. Yesterday he said, "I want socks & sandals." Not just regular socks, though. Awesomely-awesome red, white, & blue striped socks. With sandals.
Now I will admit right now that this sort of taste (or lack thereof) comes from me. Up until the past year or so it was one of my most comfortable footwear choices to wear socks and Birks. I haven't done it in a while, but I'm not guaranteeing that I never will again, either.
The Cat Daddy and I both really try to tread that line of grace. We're very much in favor of rules and boundaries, but it has to make sense, you know? We don't want to spend all this time pounding down rules that, 20 years down the road, will have us wondering why we cared what color shirt he wore or what sort of product he wanted to stick in his hair for 6 months, or whatever. So, as long as he's settling down and going to sleep in a reasonable amount of time, we allow him to take his cars to bed with him, and we let him run naked around the house (when there are no guests over), and choose his clothes most days, if he wants to. As long as he's aware of the consequences. When he puts his shoes on the wrong feet I say, "Hey, those are on the wrong feet," and His Highness says, "I like them that way," and I say, "OK, as long as you're aware of it. If they start hurting your feet, just switch them back." If he wants ME to put them on the wrong feet, though, I won't do it. I say, "No, if you want them on the wrong feet, you'll have to do that yourself." And sometimes he does.
So, regarding the socks and sandals thing, I said, "Are you aware that socks and sandals aren't very stylish? People might laugh a little 'cuz it looks a little funny." And he replied, "That's OK, I like to wear socks & sandals." And I figured with an attitude like that, he could handle it.
So I helped him with his socks and sandals...
Aug 23, 2010
Murmurs and Musings for the End of the Month...
Semi-lazy home day today. Summer's winding down. Still chipping away against clutter, schedule crowding, and other little things that intrude on the pursuit of a simpler life. I cleaned out the junk drawer and got rid of random extra stuff. Up next is bathroom cleaning, followed by an evening jog...
Had a grand time with the Fabulous Z's last week. Mr. Z. is deployed to the desert, so the Mrs. and their kids came to see us for a week. Made trips to the jumpy place, the library, and of course Sam's...sat around & talked a whole lot...hung out with some of my moms' group peeps (I decided Mrs. Z. would be a fantastic addition to the club if she lived here)...finished off the week with the carnival-esque Frontiercade on base and a surprise birthday dinner for the Cat Daddy. Awesome people, mediocre food: the Chili's in our town has gone down a bit in the way of quality. Not terrible, just not great.
Anyway, what was great was catching up with our friends. Mr. Z. and the Cat Daddy are BFF's from way back, and we always enjoy their company. The Cat Daddy took their youngest, age 7, for a haircut. His reaction to his new do? Giddy relief that he still had his ears (the Cat Daddy and Barber Glenn have a way with the youngers). Their last night, after the kids were in bed, we three grownups stayed up late making dumb jokes, talking about music, and testing my new erasable pens & hi-liters.
I'm very pleased to hear where kids' music has come lately. I found the kid-station on XM (116). My kids really like it, but I'm pretty sure I like it even better. I was working in the nursery at church recently, watching an old VHS of a very well-meaning lady who dressed up weird and sang cutesy songs. Certainly adequate for the kiddos, but pretty lame as far as I'm concerned. And what does that say about how we view our kiddos, that we are willing to let them listen to lame stuff? Maybe it says more about us that we are willing to tolerate it for our kids who go nuts for it. Who knows.
Meanwhile, in the car we jam with the likes of Jack Johnson (from the Curious George soundtrack), Amy Adams (Enchanted), and Averil Lavigne who did an awesome cover of the Spongebob theme song. Mrs. Z. told me about Dog Train, which I guess is a collection of mainstream artists doing songs written for kids. I've only heard a couple, but what I have heard is great. Catchy for the kids, but also cool enough that I don't mind getting them stuck in my head.
Go find the penguin song by John Ondrasik (of Five for Fighting) and see if you don't agree...
Had a grand time with the Fabulous Z's last week. Mr. Z. is deployed to the desert, so the Mrs. and their kids came to see us for a week. Made trips to the jumpy place, the library, and of course Sam's...sat around & talked a whole lot...hung out with some of my moms' group peeps (I decided Mrs. Z. would be a fantastic addition to the club if she lived here)...finished off the week with the carnival-esque Frontiercade on base and a surprise birthday dinner for the Cat Daddy. Awesome people, mediocre food: the Chili's in our town has gone down a bit in the way of quality. Not terrible, just not great.
Anyway, what was great was catching up with our friends. Mr. Z. and the Cat Daddy are BFF's from way back, and we always enjoy their company. The Cat Daddy took their youngest, age 7, for a haircut. His reaction to his new do? Giddy relief that he still had his ears (the Cat Daddy and Barber Glenn have a way with the youngers). Their last night, after the kids were in bed, we three grownups stayed up late making dumb jokes, talking about music, and testing my new erasable pens & hi-liters.
I'm very pleased to hear where kids' music has come lately. I found the kid-station on XM (116). My kids really like it, but I'm pretty sure I like it even better. I was working in the nursery at church recently, watching an old VHS of a very well-meaning lady who dressed up weird and sang cutesy songs. Certainly adequate for the kiddos, but pretty lame as far as I'm concerned. And what does that say about how we view our kiddos, that we are willing to let them listen to lame stuff? Maybe it says more about us that we are willing to tolerate it for our kids who go nuts for it. Who knows.
Meanwhile, in the car we jam with the likes of Jack Johnson (from the Curious George soundtrack), Amy Adams (Enchanted), and Averil Lavigne who did an awesome cover of the Spongebob theme song. Mrs. Z. told me about Dog Train, which I guess is a collection of mainstream artists doing songs written for kids. I've only heard a couple, but what I have heard is great. Catchy for the kids, but also cool enough that I don't mind getting them stuck in my head.
Go find the penguin song by John Ondrasik (of Five for Fighting) and see if you don't agree...
Aug 13, 2010
The Pull of Neurosis...
Challenging week this week. Between kid-stuff, and home-stuff, and nerd-work stuff, it adds up to worlds colliding. I am really feeling the pull between family and work...I've been working on a project and was hoping to finish up a big part of it this week. Until it went all hinky on me. I panicked a little, and then called in for help, and more or less determined that I need to start over, and it will be slow work, and I won't finish this week like I was hoping.
At first I was freaking out because I felt like I was letting everyone down. But they've been able to work the problem from their end, from a completely different approach than I've been using, and will have what they need in time for next week. A big part of me is way relieved. My insecure parts come out, though, and I think "Geez, they don't even need me," and I get all neurotic.
The thing about engineering is that it's all about solving problems. All of us are always learning and figuring out new things. The bigger picture is that, with several people working together, problems get solved, but at the same time it can be easy to feel sad & small when you are doing your best and it still isn't as good as someone else's solution.
Plus I am an expert in guilt, so I manage to paint myself into a little guilt-box, where I feel guilty no matter what. While I am working I feel guilty about not being with my kids. While I'm with my kids I feel guilty about not working. When I call for (and receive) help I feel guilty about not being able to solve my problems on my own.
I'm really pretty neurotic at the moment, I guess...
At first I was freaking out because I felt like I was letting everyone down. But they've been able to work the problem from their end, from a completely different approach than I've been using, and will have what they need in time for next week. A big part of me is way relieved. My insecure parts come out, though, and I think "Geez, they don't even need me," and I get all neurotic.
The thing about engineering is that it's all about solving problems. All of us are always learning and figuring out new things. The bigger picture is that, with several people working together, problems get solved, but at the same time it can be easy to feel sad & small when you are doing your best and it still isn't as good as someone else's solution.
Plus I am an expert in guilt, so I manage to paint myself into a little guilt-box, where I feel guilty no matter what. While I am working I feel guilty about not being with my kids. While I'm with my kids I feel guilty about not working. When I call for (and receive) help I feel guilty about not being able to solve my problems on my own.
I'm really pretty neurotic at the moment, I guess...
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