"Chinas"

A Conversation about Chinas

Me: Someone needs to improve their aim! There's pee on the back of the seat.
B: Wasn't me.
Me: Well, it was one of the boys in this house. It wasn't S.
Z: Why wasn't it S? Because she has a SHORT peeny?
B: No, because S doesn't have a PEENY. She has a china. Like the country.

Juice

Z: What is this, mom?
Me: It's an energy drink.
Z: (a few minutes later, after taking several sips), Maybe it should be called pee juice.
Me: What? Why?!
Z: This juice tastes TERRible!

We are All Still Home

I'm a home school mom now.

I haven't changed my wardrobe just yet, but you wait...

The next time I plan a shopping trip to the mall, I'm all over that long denim skirt.

And I'm growing out my hair. All one length. And long. Probably to my waist. Or if I get really motivated, I'll grow it until I can sit on it.

We really might have tried public education. We aren't against it at all.

It's just that the kids in this area are calling their teacher a "bitch" and a "slut" before they are even to the ripe old age of five. And they are already discussing who they will date next.

I know. Because I witnessed it in my kids' preschool last year.

And the teachers I talked to said that it would be lucky if the kids learn anything at all, because the teachers spend so much time just trying to keep order.

I still might have given the local school a chance if the principal didn't wreak of politician-ism. K said, "I know your reading program has not had a very good reputation. What have you done to improve that reputation?"

And the guy didn't answer. He just ripped on every other school within 100 miles, and said, (but didn't give any facts to prove it), "Our reading program far outweighs [insert any school name you can think of]."

So, here we are, on our third week of homeschooling.

To date, we are all still intact.

Pippi

I love Pippi. Have I said that before? I used to want to be Pippi. I remember dressing up like her on several Halloweens. And at a costume party at camp one summer.

My friend, Marsha, and I used to BEG my mom to rent the movie (the one with voice overs), and we would watch it every time we got together.

I recently started reading Pippi to our kids. And of course, they love her too. Because she is cool. And funny. And strong. And cocky. And rich. And nice. And red-headed. Everyone loves a red-head. Unless that red head is an ugly step child.

I rented the movie. And while the new one isn't as good as the originals, the kids still adored her. They are officially obsessed.

Today, (and yesterday and the day before) they pretended to be Pippi (or Pippi's dad, in the boys' case) in all sorts of precarious situations. Rescuing kids from an orphanage fire, drawing her horse (life-sized) on the classroom wall, climbing into a hollow tree...

This particular photo is of Pippi (S), "when she was a princess of the natives", Pippi's pirate/sea captain Papa (Z), and Pippi's monkey, Mr. Neilson (M). All floating away on the boat that would soon end up at Ville Villa Kula.




If you have no idea what I am talking about, you need to read the book. Even now, when you are in your late to mid, um, 30s? 40s? 80s?

Moving On Up

Z's First Lottery

Z is just impulsive. We're trying to rein that impulsiveness in these days.

Imagine this scene:

We are leaving the grocery store. I am pushing the full cart, passing an old lady, (blue hair, slippers), who is slipping wrinkled, dirty, one-dollar bills into the lottery vending machine.
Keith is carrying M, with B and S right behind him. Z is trailing somewhere behind(as usual).
Imagine you then hear K say, (quite sternly), "Z, NO!"

But he says it too late, because "Slam!"

And then, (old lady voice), "Oh no! I didn't want that one!"

"Slam!" again. (That is the sound the vending machine makes as Z hits the bright yellow button that must have been calling his name).

Then, "Oh, now you bought TWO!"

The boy chose, not one, but TWO, of the lady's lottery tickets for her.

All with such amazing speed that neither Keith or I could even think to stop him.

And of course, neither of us had any cash on us to be able to pay her back.

K told me later that after the look of rage and shock crossed the lady's face, she became calm (amazingly), and said something about how she had been a kid once. She understood.

Here's to hoping she wins with one of those "lucky?" tickets.

Once, when I was naive and dumb (is that the same word twice?), I thought that there had to be other involved parents, here, in Up North, Michigan. I just didn't know where to find them.

So, I enrolled my kids in preschool.

Only to sit at the parent-teacher meetings with the teachers and one other person.

That other person?

My husband.

And try as we might to get other parents involved, only one other mom ever showed up.

One time. Maybe twice.

And she wouldn't talk to me. At all. Mostly, she ignored me. Or glared at me.

So.

We tried t-ball. We were informed the DAY BEFORE that t-ball was to start "tomorrow". We were camping, so we didn't make it.

The next week, the kids were excited. We "went fast...like Lightning McQueen" to their 1st practice. We waited for the coach to show up.

And we waited.

And waited.

And picked our noses and ate it. (Well, we didn't. But they did.) And "we" scuffed our shoes in the dirt. And threw sand. And whined a little.

And waited.

She never came.

We returned the next week.

And then once more. And that was it. We missed one week while we were on vacation, but FOUR practices (absolutely no games) total. The last practice was canceled, because the carnival was in town.

Huh.

So this week, we brought back our Reading Contest book list to the library. B handed it to the librarian, I explained that I read to all three kids every time I read, so I just listed them all on the same paper.

And the librarian (you know, the one that is supposed to ENCOURAGE reading) got visibly frazzled.

She said, "Oh great! What if they ALL win? You read to THREE kids instead of ONE!? I hope they like to share!"

(And then later, to another librarian, when she thought that we were out of ear-shot), "Some lady read to THREE kids instead of ONE!? And they are probably going to win! What do we do with THAT?! Great!"

And we did win. And the sad thing is, we started two weeks into the month-long program. With a total of 37 books. Not novels, friends. Just picture books. That's three picture books a day. That's not completely literary starvation or anything. But it certainly isn't excessive.

Not library-winning activity in any other part of the country.

And I'm still looking for that infamous involved adult. You know, the one that actually wants kids to excel in life. Apparently, it isn't in the school system. Or the rec department. Or the library.

Maybe the bars?

People

We like people.

For over one month, literally every day, we were either visiting someone, or someone was visiting us. Usually, I would be arriving home at the same time someone was coming to visit. Or someone was coming to visit a couple of hours after someone else had just gone home.

We just returned home from RI, and the last three days have been visitor-free.

I am bored.

And lonely.

Poop and Showers (and Thank You Cards)

Out of all the people in the universe whose home we could have stayed at, somehow we ended up at the future bride and groom's house.

In a camper.

In their backyard.

So while they had a wedding (and rehearsal dinner and after-wedding gift-opening party) to prepare for, they also had our huge family to contend with.

I think we were mostly annoying-free. We stayed outside. Except to (ahem, poop and) take a shower.

So I wrote a thank you card to the bride and groom.

S saw it sitting on the table, and she drew a card of her own. Is that not the cutest bride and groom you ever saw!?

Something Must Have Happened in RI

Dinner Guest Rule: Know What Kind of Meat You are Serving! :)

Z is a social kid. And sweet. And very curious. He loves people, and he loves people to love him. The problem is, he wants SO badly for people to like him that he sometimes gets carried away with his absurd statements and curious (obnoxious) questions.

He said, to a single (wishes he wasn't) bachelor, in a circle of a bunch of people, "You're nobody's dad." And the man, trying to ignore him, turned away from Z. Of course, Z, thinking the man didn't hear him, only began to restate the fact; "You are NOBODY'S dad!" If the man didn't annoy me so much with his own social ineptness, I might have more quickly pulled Z away.

I did pull him. Just not very fast. I am mean.
-----------------

We had a friend over for dinner. Z not only announced every. single. time he farted, he also burped (and excused himself), and asked, "R, what did you bring for dinner? What did you make? How come you didn't bring anything?" And while I told her not to bring anything, Z apparently thought she should have at least brought him some dessert! :)

(Our friend did, however, bring dinner for the next night, and Z was thankful the rest of the week, as we had leftover lasagna almost every day.)

-------------------------

Z has a habit, only when new people come over, of announcing his every move. "Hey, Scott! I am brushing my teeth lying down! Hey! I am walking across the kitchen floor. HEY! I just cleared my throat!" And so on. And while I continually try to teach Z the ethics of social annoyances, he doesn't understand why everyone wouldn't want to know that he "just peed in the hallway bathroom" or that he "just hit his elbow on the table".

I often pull him aside, and say, "Z, we can talk about farts with family and some friends, but not with just any ol' body." Or "Z, we usually don't talk about going pee with company". Or "Z, sometimes it is annoying for people to hear your every thought."

But then I remember, um, he probably gets his social talents from me:

I announce farts. And talk about how I almost peed my pants. And while I don't usually ask our guests why they didn't bring dessert, I have fed them meat without knowing exactly what kind of meat it was. Who does that!? And I might not announce my every move, but I do run my mouth ALOT, and I forget to listen to other people, and most of the time, the things I am saying are just not all that necessary. So, the boy really doesn't have a chance. Unless he starts learning from his dad.

Sorry boy. You're toast.

Blanket Party

We did it.

Sorry, Teresa. The kids loved their blankies so much they were driving us completely crazy. The kids couldn't sleep without them. They wanted to bring them to every place that required sleeping: to Grandma's, on vacation, camping, to their cousin's, and to Rhode Island to see East Coast Nana and Co.

"That is fine," we thought, "we will just make this a lesson in responsibility. If they want to take their blankets, they are responsible for making sure they have them when they leave."

And while the kids did take that responsibility, they always waited until the last second to start looking for their blankies.

And we always let them look.

For as long as they needed.

Because the truth is, we are as attached to the frickin' things as they are.

Those blankies, from their special neonatal nurse, (Z's "Jane" and our friend now), are a reminder of how much our family has been through together. Our friendship with nurse Teresa started because we were in a NICU room with her, watching our babies fight for their lives. And it hurt to be there every day. And it felt hopeless most of the time. And lonely. (Too bad I didn't have a blankie at the time.) And we had to let our tiny daughter go when she too tired to fight. And we had to wonder which one of our kids would be next...which one would require a phone call when we have finally gone home to get some (restless) sleep.

And then...progress, and less beeping on the monitors, and less bad news, and less "we need to let you know"s, and more smiles and growth and hope.
And finally, our kids were big enough to come home, and strong enough to give a blankie to, (knowing that they were in for the long haul and that they would be old enough to appreciate them some day).

(This wasn't the post I meant to write. Sheesh. Stupid blankies are making me all emotional!)

So, the blankies went into the time capsules (aka plastic box with lid). Partly because they were driving us crazy and partly because K and I were scared that, at some point, the kids might have lost or wrecked their blankies somehow, and that loss might be harder on us than it is on them.

After we had "The Talk", and made a big deal out of "The Placing of the Blankies in the Time Capsules", we had dessert, to celebrate being old enough ("five and a HALF") to say goodbye to their blankets.

As we were blowing out candles and eating our Oreo icecream, S said, "Can we have our blankets before we go to bed?"

She said it with a hopeful grin, knowing that the answer was a negative. It was a good, hearty try, and we told her she could have her flowery, holey, sleep-breath-scented thing again when she was eighteen. (We were secretly grateful that they have no concept of time, or this might have been just a little bit more traumatic.)

The kids are doing well. They all slept fine last night.

But I might have to take a quick peek at those darn blankies every so often, when the kids are fast asleep.

Patch

We took a trip to the ophthalmologist the other day.

Apparently, all three kids have the exact same issues. And the issues were explained in technical language that I didn't really understand.

Something about a blind spot. And not 20/20.

I listened to the parts I needed to listen to. Specifically, what my responsibility was in helping my kids.

My job in this eye thing is to patch.

All three kids have to wear a patch for one hour per day. On alternating eyes.

When I was little, I had to patch. But I had to wear the thing ALL DAY LONG. Every day.

To school, to church, to the store. I hated it. As I mentioned once before, my mom tried to make it better by drawing a realistic-looking eye on the flesh-covered cover.

It looked horrible. I probably scared little kids.

Maybe even big, burly men.

So, today, we started the patching process with our kids.

And their patches are much less frightening, I think.

Jogging

I have been running lately. I am running in a 5K on Saturday.

And I haven't run over 1 mile until about three days ago.

And then I ran two.

It was really hard for me. The kind of hard that made me think I would rather die than take one more step.

I remember before I had our kids I would run and feel all healthy and strong.

I smiled while I ran.

Now, when I run, I feel my saggy butt hanging down and hitting my leg. And my stomach muscles are all pulled apart (your fault, kids!), so my stomach is somewhat like jelly and is oh. so. distracting when it is not staying still like it should. And I must need a tighter bra, because those babies aren't behaving either.

Running just doesn't feel like it used to.

But, I just turned 34. Maybe that has something to do with it.

Puke and the Boy

S puked on her lemon custard cake (covered in thick, Crisco frosting) at church on Sunday morning.

As per my usual obsessive pattern, I covered her in antibacterial spray the rest of the afternoon.

Obsession paid off. No one else got sick.

Except maybe Bubs.

Bubs puked Cheerios once while he was crawling across the kitchen floor and Mac-n-cheese another time. I told mom that and she said, "He shouldn't be EATING macaroni and cheese!" Hahahahahahaha! I live to irritate my mom, it seems.

After those two small mishaps (is chunky baby puke a mishap?), he seemed fine. He is happy and healthy now. And busy and curious and FAST.

Did I mention that our baby got big over night? In one week, he got two teeth, started crawling, learned how to sit from laying down, and now pulls himself up to standing on whatever is in his reach (siblings' legs, toilets...)

Today, the boy opened the cupboard under my sink, turned over the garbage, and was trying to eat dental floss and grape vines/stems while I took a very quick trip to the bathroom. (Do I need to tie him down while I pee? Hold him on my lap?!) I think he gets into more stuff than my other kids did. Or else I forgot already. It seems like he just crawls from one thing to the other all day. I thought he was easy when he started crawling, because he could entertain himself more.

I was wrong.

Now he's tipping small couch-side tables over (the red one in the photo), getting stuck under kitchen chairs, tearing apart our books (the white one in the photo), eating magazines....

Every time I turn my back, the kid is on a mission to destroy. Sheesh.

Play

I am all shades of feeling bad tonight.

We were eating lunch (well, I was cutting up food for M, pouring milks, refilling plates), and Z asked, "When is Papa coming home?"

I thought maybe he wanted to work on the clubhouse with K and I wanted to let him know it'd have to be after his quiet time. "After your quiet time. Why?"

"Well, I just like him better." (Fork through heart)

Of course, that begs the question, "How come?", which was answered with a "He plays with us more."

And I just didn't respond. And I really don't think he was trying to make me feel bad. He said it all matter-of-fact. Like he was saying just any old fact; like the table was brown. Or B picks his nose and eats it. Or balls are round.

"I just like him better..."

And it kills me, because I feel like I do play with them. I just played Simon Says and read piles of books with them. But I also did the laundry, changed and fed M, cleaned up breakfast, made beds, and planned my menu for the week.

I know that I don't play with my kids as much as K does. He works at work.

I work at home.

I have way more stuff to do at home than he does. He has time to play with the kids when he is home, because he is actually DONE working. I still have laundry and dishes and bills and phone calls to make.

I know I shouldn't take it personally. That's dumb. But still..."I like him better?!" Sheesh. Punk.

"The Club House"

Last fall, I took the kids into the woods to make a fairy house. They loved it.

K always has to one-up me, doesn't he?

Naps

When the kids turned four, they switched from taking a nap to doing quiet time. Mostly because the kids appreciate having time away from their punk siblings for awhile. Time to not have to share. Or get along. Or talk nicely. Time to play with books and toys with no interruptions.

Yeah, I like the time out also. To update blogs and stalk people on Facebook. You caught me.

Of course, they can take a nap if they want to. And it seems like S and Z choose to nap at least 4 out of the 6 days that they do quiet time. S always fell asleep on her bed while "reading".
Recently though, the girl got kicked out of her room when M started taking naps in there.

This particular quiet time, she apparently was tired, because she made herself a bed and then promptly laid in it...not to awoken even by her yelling brothers and a picture-taking mom.

I think what finally woke her was the word "brownies" that came in the form of, "Hey mom, will the brownies be gone before S wakes up?"

Suddenly, she appeared on the top of the stairs. Ready for a brownie and some milk.

Genetics

Those three pictures are not all of Soren. Would you have even wondered? If I didn't scan them, and if the quality of the two of S weren't so crappy, I would do a poll and make you guess. I'd sing that song, "One of these three is not like the other...."
Every time I look at that boy, I have flashbacks of our girl. They do similar expressions. They have similar movements, even. Isn't that crazy? That I think they move the same? I didn't even know I noticed that S moved a certain way. Until I saw it repeated in the Bubs.

I don't know if S just has one of those universal looks, or if the Papa's side just has burly genetics...because S also looks alot like her cousin, G. I saw a picture on K's desktop the other day, and I said, "Hey. How'd you get that picture and I've never even seen it?", because I usually take and upload the pictures, you know...

And K said, "Oh. My sister just sent that to me."

And it was only then that I realized that the picture was not of S, but of her cousin, G.




Oh. Also, our boy officially sits now.

The Bullet Dodger

About a week ago, a friend asked, "So, what is M doing lately?", and I couldn't even think how to answer, because, "What do babies do exactly?" But I mentioned that he babbles some, he sleeps some, and he rolls (a little less than) some. He would roll maybe twice a day, and that was past his quota.

He was done.

No more rolling.

Way too much work.

But lately, the littlest boy is getting around more. He doesn't crawl yet, but do you remember how Jack Bauer rolls when he is dodging enemy bullets? Our boy can roll like that.

Not quite. But close.

I will lay him down in one spot, and I will come back to find him on the other side of the living room. Sometimes he has managed to wedge himself half-way under the couch or under the wicker chairs.

So I have been reminding the kids to pick up their little toys when the rolling boy is anywhere near them.

I laid M in an empty room, only to return, minutes later, to this:




And this:



I reminded the kids again to pick up their swallowable (my own vocabulary, yes?) things.

They did.

The rolling boy didn't care. He just started playing with the big things, experimenting to see which parts he could still successfully stuff in his mouth.

The problem with the big toys is that he usually ends up pulling them over on himself and getting hurt. These pictures were taken just minutes apart. He pulled the stroller over on himself, knocking himself in the forehead.

I took it away.

When I returned, the roller had made his way to the big pet shop and had turned it over onto himself as well.
He'll learn soon enough, I suppose.

And just for you, Rach...