We just finished up week 8, otherwise known as the half-way point and generally speaking FALL BREAK, though that means that I get 1 afternoon off next week. When you teach at 3 different places, you are dependent on competing breaks, but tra la la because right now, I feel like spinning in circles in a field of sunflowers on a bright, late summer afternoon with arms outstretched singing "I'm DOOOOIIIINNNNG it - really doing ITTTTTTT!!!!" for all the world to hear. The beginning of this semester had me scardier than I've ever been while juggling both primary care giving duties as well as a 1 1/2 full-time teaching load. Good friends of the internets, I'm raising my mug of coffee to me this morning and heaving a lusty sigh. Thanks be to sunshine, snacks and some good episodes of some favorite podcasts to power me through. It takes a village to keep me on the straight and narrow.
Oh, and I came across this article this morning. When we keep our noses to the grindstone, good things happen. Change happens. May it keep on a'keepin' on.
I was really getting on here to not only procrastinate on attending to some rough drafts (there's sunshine, and it's lovely to just sit here for a few moments) but also to talk about a new family activity that the boy and our girls in particular have gotten caught up in. They spend a lot of time together without me on weeknights, and it turns out that when the weather is decent, it's the perfect time to do a wee bit o' geocaching.
Good people, I know that this isn't a new trend, but it's not like we're ever the trend setters here. And it's still going on. So bring on the GPS because my girls think this is fan-tiddly-astic. I dig the widespread availability of it and how we can do this wherever we travel. Day trips. Vacations. Visiting family.
This fam has only just stumbled into this, but it's going to be a keeper around her. Unfortunately, there's only so many geocaching days ahead of us before the doom and gloom of winter descends (I've tried to think of it as the hearty people of the Denmark-Norway-Sweden people do as an optimistic opportunity to take part in delightful winter activites, but there are no delightful winter activities that I particularly enjoy...not-a-one.) This next week looks ripe for some adventure and outside-ness.
It's going to be a jammy-packed week of new furnace/AC installation (OY VEY), car bumper fixation (OY VEY), living room paint-ation (OY VEY), and Children's Museum Haunted House scare-ation (OH YAY). But I get an afternoon off, so cheers to that.
Let's ditch being adults and just go tromping through the woods, GPS style. That sounds much funner.
Friday, October 14, 2016
Thursday, September 29, 2016
A list of doodles
As does happen to me with some frequency, I had a purposeful, lighthearted, good natured, not so whiney post all put together in me noggin' when I went and forgot it in the 2 weeks since I've last posted. So I put together a list of mental doodles that will perhaps touch on some of the whimsy and caprice that I (theoretically) had planned.
1. The Younger has some hilarious 4-year old moments. A week or so ago, we were in the car, just the twosies of us, and we were singing our conversation to each other as we sometimes do in lighthearted moments. (It's also a surefire way to get my kids to listen to me when I need them to so long as I can keep my impatience in check.) At one point, the Younger sang her response (about whatever) and then followed up with "This is how I sing Twinkle, Twinkle in Spanish...[gibberish]...this is how I sing it in cursive [more gibberish]." She is a linguist and a scholar.
2. I am, again, working my way through The Office again because sometimes you need inane humor to counterbalance the run-ons and the fragments in your life.
3. I just finished a fantastically, purposefully, challenging book, Grit: The power of passion and perseverance by Angela Duckworth. Do jump on my bandwagon. I absolutely want to either a) figure out how to get the library to let me have it longer or b) buy it. I love her point about having a house rule that everyone has to do something hard. Sign me up.
4. We're $60 into fresh apples, and it's phenomenal. So many lovely apples. Why can't apple season come around twice a year?
5. I just now realized that I'm out of books to read.
6. A friend said "Fall weather is my jam" today. I agree. Especially if fall weather is my winter weather. Someone get me out of the tundra.
7. We are a muffin family. I made my usual double batch of pumpkin muffins with mini chocolate chips about a week ago, and I already had to make another batch yesterday.
8. I often ask my kids to help me out (sometimes just to divert attention from an escalating situation) about what they want to eat for breakfast/lunch/dinner. The Elder always (always, without fail, always) yells with stupendous enthusiasm "Macaroni and cheese!" That kid is my jam.
9. I love podcasts. I can listen to about 1 1/2 on a good Tuesday/Thursday driving session. (I also came up with a female-to-female cord jack line device - I'm told this is a thing...maybe not in so many words - from the boy's car, which enables me to put my podcast ears on.)
10. I tried to make it to #10, but "The Cover-Up" is distracting me, and I'm about ready to peace-out-home-skillets 'cause it's late.
Word out.
1. The Younger has some hilarious 4-year old moments. A week or so ago, we were in the car, just the twosies of us, and we were singing our conversation to each other as we sometimes do in lighthearted moments. (It's also a surefire way to get my kids to listen to me when I need them to so long as I can keep my impatience in check.) At one point, the Younger sang her response (about whatever) and then followed up with "This is how I sing Twinkle, Twinkle in Spanish...[gibberish]...this is how I sing it in cursive [more gibberish]." She is a linguist and a scholar.
2. I am, again, working my way through The Office again because sometimes you need inane humor to counterbalance the run-ons and the fragments in your life.
3. I just finished a fantastically, purposefully, challenging book, Grit: The power of passion and perseverance by Angela Duckworth. Do jump on my bandwagon. I absolutely want to either a) figure out how to get the library to let me have it longer or b) buy it. I love her point about having a house rule that everyone has to do something hard. Sign me up.
4. We're $60 into fresh apples, and it's phenomenal. So many lovely apples. Why can't apple season come around twice a year?
5. I just now realized that I'm out of books to read.
6. A friend said "Fall weather is my jam" today. I agree. Especially if fall weather is my winter weather. Someone get me out of the tundra.
7. We are a muffin family. I made my usual double batch of pumpkin muffins with mini chocolate chips about a week ago, and I already had to make another batch yesterday.
8. I often ask my kids to help me out (sometimes just to divert attention from an escalating situation) about what they want to eat for breakfast/lunch/dinner. The Elder always (always, without fail, always) yells with stupendous enthusiasm "Macaroni and cheese!" That kid is my jam.
9. I love podcasts. I can listen to about 1 1/2 on a good Tuesday/Thursday driving session. (I also came up with a female-to-female cord jack line device - I'm told this is a thing...maybe not in so many words - from the boy's car, which enables me to put my podcast ears on.)
10. I tried to make it to #10, but "The Cover-Up" is distracting me, and I'm about ready to peace-out-home-skillets 'cause it's late.
Word out.
Saturday, September 17, 2016
Here's my day, and now I'm done.
The Elder enjoys some me time on my computer during those 3.75 minutes a day when I'm not otherwise using it. She's taken to periodically writing letters to Daddy on those afternoons when she just can't wait until he gets home and I'm puttzing around the kitchen doing normal the daily diswasher-sink-stove-fridge dance. I showed her where to find the "delete" and "enter" keys and let her have at it. This week, she came up with this:
Daddy obviously walked in the door because I'M ALL DONE NOW. She's obviously like a chicken pecking at the keyboard, so it takes her a while and her spelling gets a bit funky, but she spelled her teacher's name right, which is something that I will struggle with on occasion.
It's delightful getting a glimpse of those important moments of her days, even though we are still in that honeymoon stage of our relationship whereupon her mouth does not stop talking when she is with us. (Once in a while, a grandparent or a teacher will confide in me with that deer-in-a-headlights look that the Younger did not stop talking and I couldn't believe it and She's usually so quiet. I feel compelled to pat them gently on the shoulder and say I KNOW. You know that our children are comfortable with you when they talk with you; and once you're in with them...you're in.)
There's some amount of panache that a 7-year old has with her words. It's not that what she says is all that special or unique, but I dig her moxy.
At schooh I went to
Libery.
And I got two books and the books where wizards don’t need
computers.
And gremlins don’t chew bubble gum. And I got a boxcar
children book from Miss.gaier.
I brought whiskers to recess . And I chased Conner.
I sat by
Daddy obviously walked in the door because I'M ALL DONE NOW. She's obviously like a chicken pecking at the keyboard, so it takes her a while and her spelling gets a bit funky, but she spelled her teacher's name right, which is something that I will struggle with on occasion.
It's delightful getting a glimpse of those important moments of her days, even though we are still in that honeymoon stage of our relationship whereupon her mouth does not stop talking when she is with us. (Once in a while, a grandparent or a teacher will confide in me with that deer-in-a-headlights look that the Younger did not stop talking and I couldn't believe it and She's usually so quiet. I feel compelled to pat them gently on the shoulder and say I KNOW. You know that our children are comfortable with you when they talk with you; and once you're in with them...you're in.)
There's some amount of panache that a 7-year old has with her words. It's not that what she says is all that special or unique, but I dig her moxy.
Friday, September 2, 2016
Call me later...I'm in jail
I'm not in jail. But the boy thought that I was.
SO. My spouse thought I was in jail. At least kinda sorta thought I was.
We've been running through a string of crummy luck, not the crummiest ever or even the crummiest locally (It's been rough driving around town, and I think I was detoured 4 times yesterday various places and times. Lot's of tough times for people here right now.) Still, it's been kinda lousy timing, and the old pocketbook has had many a hit.
Like I whined about before, we just shelled out $2000 a few weeks ago to repaint various cars and panels on both of our cars. Last week bit the big one, and I now I realized that I spoke too fast. While I was driving in torrential, hydroplaning rain to pick up a whole bunch of cow (which is a whole bunch of money, and one that I chose to spend, but still a whole bunch of mooooo-la, if you will...which I don't particularly want to spend at the moment), I got a call from the boy which began "Everyone is alright, but I need you to call me back right now. I got rear-ended." Well, I'm glad that the car was nice and re-painted for this little adventure. Ergo, another car issue. More money gone, alas, gone.
And then yesterday, I got boxed in while driving by the large parking lot where the city is collecting the mountains of trees that were blown down in the storms. I got stuck driving over a small-ish, 1-inch-ish in diameter, 5 feet-ish long tree limb, which went all ka-chunky on me. And that made this panel-thing on the underside of my car go all draggy-draggy on me. Money fleeing from my very balled-up-fisty hands.
One more before this story gets better: my kid needs to start allergy shtuff, which requires having an epi-pen on hand. Have you also been shaking your head at what you've been hearing about the cost of epi-pens? Yep. Can't wait to get my hands on one of those for hundreds of single dollars. There's nothing I want to do more than run some cost analysis on these things with various local pharmacies.
But here's where the birds started singing and the heavens rejoiced. I feel that the tides, they are a'turnin'. Epi-pen: FREE. My car: fixed & FREE. Combine this with g-o-r-g-e-o-u-s, temperate weather and no grading actively waiting on my attention and that's a recipe for a downright GOOD day. There's a bounce in my step and spring in my toes.
Oh wait, there's still the part where the boy thought I was in jail. He called to ask if I was the woman who was (supposedly) calling from the jail and who left a message on his phone presumably asking for some bail assistance. So naturally, naturally, he thought that it was me. And then called to confirm that it was not. Bless his incredulous heart.
The fates have not been particularly blessful lately, but they sent me a pleasant chuckle today. Sunshine and flower petals for all. I'm going to enjoy the day and not being in jail, at least for a few hours.
SO. My spouse thought I was in jail. At least kinda sorta thought I was.
We've been running through a string of crummy luck, not the crummiest ever or even the crummiest locally (It's been rough driving around town, and I think I was detoured 4 times yesterday various places and times. Lot's of tough times for people here right now.) Still, it's been kinda lousy timing, and the old pocketbook has had many a hit.
Like I whined about before, we just shelled out $2000 a few weeks ago to repaint various cars and panels on both of our cars. Last week bit the big one, and I now I realized that I spoke too fast. While I was driving in torrential, hydroplaning rain to pick up a whole bunch of cow (which is a whole bunch of money, and one that I chose to spend, but still a whole bunch of mooooo-la, if you will...which I don't particularly want to spend at the moment), I got a call from the boy which began "Everyone is alright, but I need you to call me back right now. I got rear-ended." Well, I'm glad that the car was nice and re-painted for this little adventure. Ergo, another car issue. More money gone, alas, gone.
And then yesterday, I got boxed in while driving by the large parking lot where the city is collecting the mountains of trees that were blown down in the storms. I got stuck driving over a small-ish, 1-inch-ish in diameter, 5 feet-ish long tree limb, which went all ka-chunky on me. And that made this panel-thing on the underside of my car go all draggy-draggy on me. Money fleeing from my very balled-up-fisty hands.
One more before this story gets better: my kid needs to start allergy shtuff, which requires having an epi-pen on hand. Have you also been shaking your head at what you've been hearing about the cost of epi-pens? Yep. Can't wait to get my hands on one of those for hundreds of single dollars. There's nothing I want to do more than run some cost analysis on these things with various local pharmacies.
But here's where the birds started singing and the heavens rejoiced. I feel that the tides, they are a'turnin'. Epi-pen: FREE. My car: fixed & FREE. Combine this with g-o-r-g-e-o-u-s, temperate weather and no grading actively waiting on my attention and that's a recipe for a downright GOOD day. There's a bounce in my step and spring in my toes.
Oh wait, there's still the part where the boy thought I was in jail. He called to ask if I was the woman who was (supposedly) calling from the jail and who left a message on his phone presumably asking for some bail assistance. So naturally, naturally, he thought that it was me. And then called to confirm that it was not. Bless his incredulous heart.
The fates have not been particularly blessful lately, but they sent me a pleasant chuckle today. Sunshine and flower petals for all. I'm going to enjoy the day and not being in jail, at least for a few hours.
Friday, August 26, 2016
A week of weeks
Folks, it sure seems like this has been a week of weeks - long and gut wrenching, full of everything and a mental trudge. For that matter, it's been a month to expedite the grey hair and wrinkles. In a few decades, I'm very certain that I'll think back of my thirties as a time of heightened anxiety. Weeks like this, they are why.
Easy enough tasks take a sweet forever.
Overlooked responsibilities have to be completed 30 minutes ago.
Momentum is elusive; distractions are rife.
What works for everyone else just doesn't work for me.
Unexpected situations have to be attended to. Right now. Fast. Hurry. Quick.
Repercussions are headaches...working ahead yields wasted time and effort.
For many colleges/universities in the state, this is the week when classes resume for the fall. I've been working and working and planning and working on prepping for the adjusted schedule and new material for classes I've not taught before and dinners that I won't always have time to dither with. I'm good at planning, a necessary type-A kind of talent. And I've been listing and shopping and prepping and saving for 3 solid weeks now as I looked ahead to when I would take on 5 more classes. So I'm up to 6 right now, and friends, that's a full teaching load for a full-time faculty member.
And it's entirely feasible, but there are going to be moments when all of the stoplights need to be green, when I can't afford to waste time on peeling a carrot, and when I will be logging 2 hours in the car while staying entirely in town as I drop off-drop off-go to school-pick up-drop off-go to school-come home-pick up-drop off-go to school-come home.
A very definite part of me, the dominant driving influence, thrives on this - loves the busy, loves the planning, loves the shared effort. However, a loudish, snarly part of me won't let go of the burdensome anxiety that this produces. This week has been something of a perfect clash of forces, and it is wearisome.
I was supposed to have taught 8 classes this week - my normal load for right now. I taught 3.
First, Tuesday fell apart. Medication A has not been working for quite some time now. After waiting to talk with my doctor, we agree to switch to medication B. Both are fantastic, reliable, safe choices that work for "everyone." But medication A ran its course and medication B left me lying prone on the sidewalk in front of the boy's school, unable to move my face and my hands for a few minutes (though it felt like an eerie forever). Unable to move my face and my hands. It's still the scariest, most bizarre situation that I can't wrap my mind around. The subsequent vomiting was expected; the partial and temporary paralysis was not. And my kids saw it all, and it was scary for them. That whole episode went down as I was dropping them off with the boy. Thanks be that he was there. Thanks be that I drove safely enough. This happened when I should have been walking into my 4th class of the week to meet a new batch of fresh-faced child-adults.
Then Wednesday happened. Wednesday was a day of catching up and trying to get back to normal. It was a day when the boy called during his lunch break because he was still shaken up from seeing me frozen the day before and day when I was trying to manipulate and maneuver through a new learning system while also trying to interact with students whom I don't know and who don't know me, making up for my absence and quelling their confusion. But Wednesday spawned tornadoes, and I had exactly 2 minutes of notice that there was severe weather in the area before the day fell apart and we were clustered together trying to find service to exchange frantic texts. The first tornado, the brutal one, came through right around 3 o'clock, right at school dismissal time. I had a window of opportunity of a few minutes to seek shelter immediately or to try to get to the Elder. I chose the latter, which was absolutely the better decision. We drove through what would be the path of an EF-3 tornado. We sheltered and held hands before driving home through an unfathomably different landscape. But then another one came, and another, and...another. I'm particularly aware of 4 significant tornadoes, 3 of which were within 3 miles of my house. The weather people say 8-9 confirmed tornadoes in the county. The first one, the dooziest of them, tore through the exact same path as a frighteningly bizarre and horrific tornado that touched down in November 2013. The same neighborhoods and apartments were decimated again. I can't fathom this. I've lived in this area for 11 years now, and there have been a small handful of touchdowns in all that time. The only two significant ones during that time took the exact same path through the city, about 1 mile north of my house. No class Wednesday night. No classes Thursday.
At supper tonight, the boy remarked that "everyone looks tired." True enough. Give us a couple of days off, and then let's get at it, week #2.
Easy enough tasks take a sweet forever.
Overlooked responsibilities have to be completed 30 minutes ago.
Momentum is elusive; distractions are rife.
What works for everyone else just doesn't work for me.
Unexpected situations have to be attended to. Right now. Fast. Hurry. Quick.
Repercussions are headaches...working ahead yields wasted time and effort.
For many colleges/universities in the state, this is the week when classes resume for the fall. I've been working and working and planning and working on prepping for the adjusted schedule and new material for classes I've not taught before and dinners that I won't always have time to dither with. I'm good at planning, a necessary type-A kind of talent. And I've been listing and shopping and prepping and saving for 3 solid weeks now as I looked ahead to when I would take on 5 more classes. So I'm up to 6 right now, and friends, that's a full teaching load for a full-time faculty member.
And it's entirely feasible, but there are going to be moments when all of the stoplights need to be green, when I can't afford to waste time on peeling a carrot, and when I will be logging 2 hours in the car while staying entirely in town as I drop off-drop off-go to school-pick up-drop off-go to school-come home-pick up-drop off-go to school-come home.
A very definite part of me, the dominant driving influence, thrives on this - loves the busy, loves the planning, loves the shared effort. However, a loudish, snarly part of me won't let go of the burdensome anxiety that this produces. This week has been something of a perfect clash of forces, and it is wearisome.
I was supposed to have taught 8 classes this week - my normal load for right now. I taught 3.
First, Tuesday fell apart. Medication A has not been working for quite some time now. After waiting to talk with my doctor, we agree to switch to medication B. Both are fantastic, reliable, safe choices that work for "everyone." But medication A ran its course and medication B left me lying prone on the sidewalk in front of the boy's school, unable to move my face and my hands for a few minutes (though it felt like an eerie forever). Unable to move my face and my hands. It's still the scariest, most bizarre situation that I can't wrap my mind around. The subsequent vomiting was expected; the partial and temporary paralysis was not. And my kids saw it all, and it was scary for them. That whole episode went down as I was dropping them off with the boy. Thanks be that he was there. Thanks be that I drove safely enough. This happened when I should have been walking into my 4th class of the week to meet a new batch of fresh-faced child-adults.
Then Wednesday happened. Wednesday was a day of catching up and trying to get back to normal. It was a day when the boy called during his lunch break because he was still shaken up from seeing me frozen the day before and day when I was trying to manipulate and maneuver through a new learning system while also trying to interact with students whom I don't know and who don't know me, making up for my absence and quelling their confusion. But Wednesday spawned tornadoes, and I had exactly 2 minutes of notice that there was severe weather in the area before the day fell apart and we were clustered together trying to find service to exchange frantic texts. The first tornado, the brutal one, came through right around 3 o'clock, right at school dismissal time. I had a window of opportunity of a few minutes to seek shelter immediately or to try to get to the Elder. I chose the latter, which was absolutely the better decision. We drove through what would be the path of an EF-3 tornado. We sheltered and held hands before driving home through an unfathomably different landscape. But then another one came, and another, and...another. I'm particularly aware of 4 significant tornadoes, 3 of which were within 3 miles of my house. The weather people say 8-9 confirmed tornadoes in the county. The first one, the dooziest of them, tore through the exact same path as a frighteningly bizarre and horrific tornado that touched down in November 2013. The same neighborhoods and apartments were decimated again. I can't fathom this. I've lived in this area for 11 years now, and there have been a small handful of touchdowns in all that time. The only two significant ones during that time took the exact same path through the city, about 1 mile north of my house. No class Wednesday night. No classes Thursday.
At supper tonight, the boy remarked that "everyone looks tired." True enough. Give us a couple of days off, and then let's get at it, week #2.
Monday, August 1, 2016
Surprise, surprise, surprise
This seems like it might be a short post (which is not evidenced by this lengthy intro quote to say that it's going to be shorter) 'cause it's been another full-to-the-brim day and I have a night with no grading on the docket. So why spend it on here when I have 2 magazines calling mi nombre? But it's been a while, and I have a "this can only happen when you have a couple of young kids" kind of a story that I've been saving for just the right moment.
But first, I had a quick check-in about a spot on my collarbone that magically appeared sometime during the last fall/winter. And then a few months later when that spot was still there and I read a magazine story about a woman who found out she had cancer after getting a mystery spot checked out, I put "call the dermatologist" at the top of my list. I'm always good for a solid bout of worrying-spurring-me-to-action. When your office visit lasts a grand total of 2 minutes because the doctor walks in, calmly shakes your hand, says "Yep, that's a mole" shakes your hand again, and leaves, then it's a good day. A mole, my people...a mole. I just paid $30 to have a kind, motherly sort of doctor woman tell me that yes, moles can still magically materialize when you're in your 30s. As I was walking out and noticed that HGTV was still on in the lobby and noted that I did not have my children with me, I thought "Hmm...this isn't such a bad deal. Watch 15 minutes of TV, have a pleasant conversation, read a few pages of your magazine. If I were smart enough, I might figure out how to make this happen more often." It was a pleasant way to spend 30 minutes this afternoon (at about $1/minute, mind you).
That's not really my "Seriously...?!?" story, though. (How's that for some terrible hype?) A couple of weeks ago, I left the girls and boy for the day to go visit with a college friend at her new house. It meant that the boy and daughters were out the door before I was because they had cross country camp to go be present at and I had about 15 minutes to start a load of laundry and grab a bottle of water and a snack. I was digging around in the Younger's laundry basket, and there was something weird happening there. At the bottom of it, completely buried by clothing (i.e. WHO KNOWS HOW LONG THIS HAS BEEN HERE???) was a small blue bag, tied at the top. It had something in it. But if you don't know anything else as a parent, you know that you should not just go willy-nilly opening up tied bags in your kid's clothes basket with a good reason to do so.
So I called the boy.
Me: "What's in this blue bag?"
Boy: "I have no idea. Girls...what's in this blue bag?"
[pause]
Boy: "They shrugged. Oh, wait, [the Elder] says that they found something on the sidewalk in front of our house the other day."
Me: "Oh, GROSS" (immediately recognizing it for what it is).
See, wise mother that I am, did not unwittingly open up a tied bag of dog poo that someone had (kindly) left for my children to find and graciously deposit as a gift to all in the bottom of the Younger's laundry basket.
WHY IN THE WORLD? WHY? IN? THE? WORLD?
Who would possibly think "Oh, hmm...tied up blue baggie with something in it. I think that I'll take it inside about bury it where no one will find it underneath dirty clothes."
My kids are weird hoarders or something.
(I think that this story will be one of those family stories that will be re-told for years to come.)
But first, I had a quick check-in about a spot on my collarbone that magically appeared sometime during the last fall/winter. And then a few months later when that spot was still there and I read a magazine story about a woman who found out she had cancer after getting a mystery spot checked out, I put "call the dermatologist" at the top of my list. I'm always good for a solid bout of worrying-spurring-me-to-action. When your office visit lasts a grand total of 2 minutes because the doctor walks in, calmly shakes your hand, says "Yep, that's a mole" shakes your hand again, and leaves, then it's a good day. A mole, my people...a mole. I just paid $30 to have a kind, motherly sort of doctor woman tell me that yes, moles can still magically materialize when you're in your 30s. As I was walking out and noticed that HGTV was still on in the lobby and noted that I did not have my children with me, I thought "Hmm...this isn't such a bad deal. Watch 15 minutes of TV, have a pleasant conversation, read a few pages of your magazine. If I were smart enough, I might figure out how to make this happen more often." It was a pleasant way to spend 30 minutes this afternoon (at about $1/minute, mind you).
That's not really my "Seriously...?!?" story, though. (How's that for some terrible hype?) A couple of weeks ago, I left the girls and boy for the day to go visit with a college friend at her new house. It meant that the boy and daughters were out the door before I was because they had cross country camp to go be present at and I had about 15 minutes to start a load of laundry and grab a bottle of water and a snack. I was digging around in the Younger's laundry basket, and there was something weird happening there. At the bottom of it, completely buried by clothing (i.e. WHO KNOWS HOW LONG THIS HAS BEEN HERE???) was a small blue bag, tied at the top. It had something in it. But if you don't know anything else as a parent, you know that you should not just go willy-nilly opening up tied bags in your kid's clothes basket with a good reason to do so.
So I called the boy.
Me: "What's in this blue bag?"
Boy: "I have no idea. Girls...what's in this blue bag?"
[pause]
Boy: "They shrugged. Oh, wait, [the Elder] says that they found something on the sidewalk in front of our house the other day."
Me: "Oh, GROSS" (immediately recognizing it for what it is).
See, wise mother that I am, did not unwittingly open up a tied bag of dog poo that someone had (kindly) left for my children to find and graciously deposit as a gift to all in the bottom of the Younger's laundry basket.
WHY IN THE WORLD? WHY? IN? THE? WORLD?
Who would possibly think "Oh, hmm...tied up blue baggie with something in it. I think that I'll take it inside about bury it where no one will find it underneath dirty clothes."
My kids are weird hoarders or something.
(I think that this story will be one of those family stories that will be re-told for years to come.)
Saturday, July 23, 2016
Roadies
Earlier this summer, we went camping with family over a 100-degree weather weekend. Right now, we're spending time in the Ozarks with the same family and my car has registered 104, 107 and 109 degrees at various points when we have gotten in it to please find a bit of relief. The air conditioner has been maxed out for a few days now, and my gas mileage has relatively plummeted between that and the up-and-down-and-up-and-down-ness. We've got the timing for finding those 100-degree days down to an art, it seems.
But the laughs have been abundant. We're all scattering back to our various parts of the country in just a few hours, so there's something to look forward to: hours upon hours of Boxcar Children audiobooks, numerous stops, and the inevitable "I have to go...it's an 'mergency." I don't enjoy a road trip on a good day, and then when you throw in some traffic jams for no reason and 10 cops in a 7-mile stretch of road (curses, Illinois), it gets tiresome. It seems like the rest of the family either loves a 14-hour car trip or else had a magical experience whereupon their children were quiet for 8 hours.
Friends, that was not our experience. We stopped 8 times, and our 8-hour trip took closer to 10 hours. Interminable. I quite literally forced myself to only check how many more miles were left on the GPS once we reached another exit rather than every 15 seconds.
But for the return, we feel like we have some things on our side - namely knowing which rest stop is inexplicably closed and which one has a playset, where the coffee stops can be and where we'll probably switch drivers.
I didn't grow up with a family that road tripped it regularly. the 3 1/2-hour trip to my grandparents' house felt like A BIG DEAL the 3 times a year we headed that way. I like the idea of a road trip, but I'm having a hard time buying in on the boy's sincere desire to just pack the kids up and take off for 2 weeks, wending our way across a handful of states while camping along the way. I feel like the romance of that just won't take me very far, maybe past the state line.
It's hard for me to suck it up to get past the never-endingness of the Midwest to get to the good stuff. The girls don't know it, but this trip is something of a test to see if we can handle a longer (in terms of driving hours) trip together next year. Perhaps it's just a way to ease me into the idea of getting over myself for the sake of adventuring with my family.
Then again, my daughter started moo-ing at me this afternoon when I was putting sunscreen on her in preparation of heading to the bathtub-warm pool. I asked her why, and she told me that I looked like a cow because "You have spots" (moles). There's nothing better than a kid to keep your vanity in check.
But the laughs have been abundant. We're all scattering back to our various parts of the country in just a few hours, so there's something to look forward to: hours upon hours of Boxcar Children audiobooks, numerous stops, and the inevitable "I have to go...it's an 'mergency." I don't enjoy a road trip on a good day, and then when you throw in some traffic jams for no reason and 10 cops in a 7-mile stretch of road (curses, Illinois), it gets tiresome. It seems like the rest of the family either loves a 14-hour car trip or else had a magical experience whereupon their children were quiet for 8 hours.
Friends, that was not our experience. We stopped 8 times, and our 8-hour trip took closer to 10 hours. Interminable. I quite literally forced myself to only check how many more miles were left on the GPS once we reached another exit rather than every 15 seconds.
But for the return, we feel like we have some things on our side - namely knowing which rest stop is inexplicably closed and which one has a playset, where the coffee stops can be and where we'll probably switch drivers.
I didn't grow up with a family that road tripped it regularly. the 3 1/2-hour trip to my grandparents' house felt like A BIG DEAL the 3 times a year we headed that way. I like the idea of a road trip, but I'm having a hard time buying in on the boy's sincere desire to just pack the kids up and take off for 2 weeks, wending our way across a handful of states while camping along the way. I feel like the romance of that just won't take me very far, maybe past the state line.
It's hard for me to suck it up to get past the never-endingness of the Midwest to get to the good stuff. The girls don't know it, but this trip is something of a test to see if we can handle a longer (in terms of driving hours) trip together next year. Perhaps it's just a way to ease me into the idea of getting over myself for the sake of adventuring with my family.
Then again, my daughter started moo-ing at me this afternoon when I was putting sunscreen on her in preparation of heading to the bathtub-warm pool. I asked her why, and she told me that I looked like a cow because "You have spots" (moles). There's nothing better than a kid to keep your vanity in check.
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