Friday, June 27, 2008
Adventurin'
Stay tuned for an obscenely detailed chronicling of our summer adventures thus far. We're determined not to let the summer slip by while we sleep and couch and laze about. We're out and about and journaling and photographing and well, basically annoying everyone who doesn't join in on the adventure with our incessant recapturing. Audiences here are tiring of us, I'm afraid. So you're next. I'll get some of the highlights up in the next few days (I think. I hope. I dare not promise.)
A Recent Explosion
Yesterday was a long day. Just one of those really long days.
And if that wasn't enough. Then there was an explosion.
The kids were parked and pizza-ed at tiny tables in the living room while I readied my own plate in the kitchen. And then something exploded. It sounded like a gun went off in the living room.
I ran around the corner and screamed, because I'm calm and super-mom like that, "WHAT IS GOING ON IN HERE?!!!!!" (remember that part about it being a really long day?). But staring back at me were not the guilty eyes of my usually guilty children. They were terror stricken and I knew immediately that they had had nothing to do with whatever the mystery bomb was.
And then I saw the slime. Dripping down the living room wall. And as my eyes scanned the dripping, they came to rest on what can only be likened to brain matter and more slime on the floor (hey, I watch Grey's Anatomy, I might know what brain matter looks like).
Panic.
Confusion.
Drive-by?
South Central?
Aliens falling through the ceilings and bursting through the walls?
WHERE DID THIS STUFF COME FROM?!
I won't tell you how many baffled moments passed before I thought to look in a bin of donated items that was sitting in the living room. I should mention here that we've become a clearing house of sorts for items intended for those less fortunate. Which is really, a fabulous thing. People generously giving. Sadly, they are all giving to me to give to someone else who, without fail, disappears or is in transition or yet to be disclosed, and the stuff piles innocently around our house until it finds its way to those in need.
And so, I finally look inside the bin of donated household items, a few books, a pie plate, picture frames etc. . . . . .and discover the alien gang members who'd recently assaulted both living room and unsuspecting children. . . . . refrigerator cinnamon rolls.. . . .with frosting.
It was a lovely thought to donate such a yummy treat. I will, however, need to be informed in the future if there are any perishable or otherwise unstable items in the boxes, bags and bins that I collect seeing as they've been in my living room for 3 weeks.
So the slime turned frosting was scrubbed from carpet and walls and the children don't seem to be suffering from post-traumatic stress syndrome just yet, but we'll be sure to keep an eye on it.
Did I mention that it was a really long day?
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Drive-thru Challenged
Anyone familiar with my eating habits knows that I am no stranger to the drive-thru. However, in recent months drive-thrus have become more challenging than I ever dreamed they could be.
Not since the days of 2-3 year old Bayley (who would ever so insistently request, loudly, a biscuit. Her little mouth however did not form the word biScuit but rather BigTi - well you can figure the rest)have I suffered such confusion at the drive-thru window.
We discuss the order to placed as we wait to speak into the frustrating little speaker box and we are all agreed on the plan, confident that each will be provided for. But somehow the minute I start talking Sedona panics and is sure that her order will be forgotten! So she chimes in, loudly, repeating things I've already listed. The poor soul on the other end of the speaker box doesn't stand a chance at accurately entering the orders. So we add and subtract and clarify and subtract an item again and then put on back on with no pickles and around and around we go.
Only to then realize after we've pulled to the window and handed over our money that in all the hubbub we removed one too many child-sized drinks. Arg.
Now, I have experience in this field. Not only is my own order often obnoxious in its specifity, but I also deal with it much more frequently than Jeremy, who is already drive-thru averse. If it can't be ordered entirely with numbers, ("I'll take a #2, #4 and 2 #5's please. All with Dr. Pepper. Yes that's all.") then it is already more trouble than it is worth to him. But this recent added confusion might just be enough to send him over the edge. Stay tuned.
**** A special note: This post was actually written umm, yeah close to a year ago, and somehow never posted. But I am happy to report that all have survived and grown more accustomed to the ways of the drive-thru window. Little ones have calmed and learned to trust that they probably won't starve and probably won't be served sheep's head. Plus, in an effort to become better people we don't see the drive-thru nearly as often as some of us might like to. ******
Not since the days of 2-3 year old Bayley (who would ever so insistently request, loudly, a biscuit. Her little mouth however did not form the word biScuit but rather BigTi - well you can figure the rest)have I suffered such confusion at the drive-thru window.
We discuss the order to placed as we wait to speak into the frustrating little speaker box and we are all agreed on the plan, confident that each will be provided for. But somehow the minute I start talking Sedona panics and is sure that her order will be forgotten! So she chimes in, loudly, repeating things I've already listed. The poor soul on the other end of the speaker box doesn't stand a chance at accurately entering the orders. So we add and subtract and clarify and subtract an item again and then put on back on with no pickles and around and around we go.
Only to then realize after we've pulled to the window and handed over our money that in all the hubbub we removed one too many child-sized drinks. Arg.
Now, I have experience in this field. Not only is my own order often obnoxious in its specifity, but I also deal with it much more frequently than Jeremy, who is already drive-thru averse. If it can't be ordered entirely with numbers, ("I'll take a #2, #4 and 2 #5's please. All with Dr. Pepper. Yes that's all.") then it is already more trouble than it is worth to him. But this recent added confusion might just be enough to send him over the edge. Stay tuned.
**** A special note: This post was actually written umm, yeah close to a year ago, and somehow never posted. But I am happy to report that all have survived and grown more accustomed to the ways of the drive-thru window. Little ones have calmed and learned to trust that they probably won't starve and probably won't be served sheep's head. Plus, in an effort to become better people we don't see the drive-thru nearly as often as some of us might like to. ******
Imagining Invisible Friends
While the boy always had an affinity for tiny invisible friends, ones that would sit on the tip of your finger or be inadvertently (however routinely) squished by unsuspectig family members, Sedona's invisible world is not so invisible.
Sedona's imaginary friend looks remarkably like Sedona. Her name is "Sedona-seeka-lolla" which I imagine has some significance in Sedona-ese. A little blond girl wanders in and asks "Have you seen Sedona? I am her friend from school, Sedona-seeka-lolla." And I, of course, play along. Sedona-seeka-lolla and I talk for awhile about what kind of girl Sedona is, about tiny pink cats (a favorite in these parts of imaginaryland) and eventually she excuses herself to some other more important engagement. Moments later Sedona comes back into the room and says something like, "Hey, Mama. Have there been any girls here looking for me? What did they say? Where did they go?". There are also many many phone calls from long since disconnected and repurposed cellphones in which I am left to sort out whether it is Sedona calling me, her mother, or Sedona-seeka-lolla calling for Sedona. It is ever so confusing.
It is great fun and fortunately for me, not to the complete exclusion of tiny invisible creatures (with which I have some experience). She still carries a tiny pink cat in her hand every now and then. Not to mention the adventures of Sedona-ese.
She loves to draw and at the just-now 4 year mark, doesn't always capture the world in an easily recognizable fashion. So I say something encouraging and very nurturing like "That is lovely, Sedona (assuming it is, in fact, Sedona I am speaking with at that moment). I like all the different colors you used. What is it?"
The answer?
"smicka googa lolla seeka loo".
Ahh yes. How could I not have known?
Maybe we've been reading too much Dr. Suess. She always has enjoyed "On Beyond Zebra" which explores a few dozen invented letters and sounds that are used to describe much more interesting things than our sorry ol' 26 ever could.
Sedona's imaginary friend looks remarkably like Sedona. Her name is "Sedona-seeka-lolla" which I imagine has some significance in Sedona-ese. A little blond girl wanders in and asks "Have you seen Sedona? I am her friend from school, Sedona-seeka-lolla." And I, of course, play along. Sedona-seeka-lolla and I talk for awhile about what kind of girl Sedona is, about tiny pink cats (a favorite in these parts of imaginaryland) and eventually she excuses herself to some other more important engagement. Moments later Sedona comes back into the room and says something like, "Hey, Mama. Have there been any girls here looking for me? What did they say? Where did they go?". There are also many many phone calls from long since disconnected and repurposed cellphones in which I am left to sort out whether it is Sedona calling me, her mother, or Sedona-seeka-lolla calling for Sedona. It is ever so confusing.
It is great fun and fortunately for me, not to the complete exclusion of tiny invisible creatures (with which I have some experience). She still carries a tiny pink cat in her hand every now and then. Not to mention the adventures of Sedona-ese.
She loves to draw and at the just-now 4 year mark, doesn't always capture the world in an easily recognizable fashion. So I say something encouraging and very nurturing like "That is lovely, Sedona (assuming it is, in fact, Sedona I am speaking with at that moment). I like all the different colors you used. What is it?"
The answer?
"smicka googa lolla seeka loo".
Ahh yes. How could I not have known?
Maybe we've been reading too much Dr. Suess. She always has enjoyed "On Beyond Zebra" which explores a few dozen invented letters and sounds that are used to describe much more interesting things than our sorry ol' 26 ever could.
Monday, May 19, 2008
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Mama-mania
On the eve of Mother's Day I am presented with THE perfect Mother's Day present. Well, presents. Jeremy and the kids ventured to U City today and did some walking and some shopping and some eating of giant burritos. What their little adventure yielded though is a greater inspiration than they might have guessed.
In addition to an incredible caricature sketch of the kids, some rockin cds, and a lovely new windchime (for the wind took my earlier chimes away, tearing the strings, leaving silver tubes scattered across the yard), I got a book. Mamaphonic.
It is a collection of essays that insist that creativity does not die with the onset of mothering, but rather can truly begin. They are essays (the 4 I've already devoured anyway) that tell tales of creativity and perseverance with little ones. Scatter brained toddler years that put some artistic pursuits on hold while often birthing new ones. All the while the mind and heart of a writer, poet, artist, critic, dancer, lives on and grows into a newer, usually better, writer, poet, artist, critic, dancer.
Anyone who has spent time caring for young children knows how quickly the mind seems to go soft. How quickly the possibility of intelligent, coherent conversations with adults become impossible. How quickly the ability to form witty, or even intelligible, sentences seems to leave you.
I know this place. I know the lurking, stinking suspicion that the artist/writer/dreamer/thinker that once filled this skin has been replaced by a somewhat poorly kept, slightly larger, slightly sleepier, slightly stupider version of her former self.
I know the silly girl dreaming of greatness, sure that she was marked for something grand - just never sure quite what. And sometimes too sure that it wasn't this.
And then I stumble on moments that fall into places I didn't know had been left empty, gaping and without purpose or sweetness. I find wonderment again. I find an imagination again. I find out that this greatness is so much more.
I find the time somehow just before bed to go rambling on here. I find that my scattered brain may have just straightened itself out a bit - or at least scattered itself into something more adventuresome. I find a beginning.
And with this one silly book, I find a dream I had long since abandonned. A dream I had threatened to loose. A dream of being a mom who thinks, a mom who is still a whole person and not the barren rind of a cantalope, all its juicy sweetness sucked out, a shriveled empty remnant of what was, for a moment, something wonderful. A dream of being a mom who creates or at least basks in, if nothing else, wonder and excitement.
Happy Mother's Day to all the moms who do just that in their very own ways. happy Mother's Day to one mom who believed I could too.
In addition to an incredible caricature sketch of the kids, some rockin cds, and a lovely new windchime (for the wind took my earlier chimes away, tearing the strings, leaving silver tubes scattered across the yard), I got a book. Mamaphonic.
It is a collection of essays that insist that creativity does not die with the onset of mothering, but rather can truly begin. They are essays (the 4 I've already devoured anyway) that tell tales of creativity and perseverance with little ones. Scatter brained toddler years that put some artistic pursuits on hold while often birthing new ones. All the while the mind and heart of a writer, poet, artist, critic, dancer, lives on and grows into a newer, usually better, writer, poet, artist, critic, dancer.
Anyone who has spent time caring for young children knows how quickly the mind seems to go soft. How quickly the possibility of intelligent, coherent conversations with adults become impossible. How quickly the ability to form witty, or even intelligible, sentences seems to leave you.
I know this place. I know the lurking, stinking suspicion that the artist/writer/dreamer/thinker that once filled this skin has been replaced by a somewhat poorly kept, slightly larger, slightly sleepier, slightly stupider version of her former self.
I know the silly girl dreaming of greatness, sure that she was marked for something grand - just never sure quite what. And sometimes too sure that it wasn't this.
And then I stumble on moments that fall into places I didn't know had been left empty, gaping and without purpose or sweetness. I find wonderment again. I find an imagination again. I find out that this greatness is so much more.
I find the time somehow just before bed to go rambling on here. I find that my scattered brain may have just straightened itself out a bit - or at least scattered itself into something more adventuresome. I find a beginning.
And with this one silly book, I find a dream I had long since abandonned. A dream I had threatened to loose. A dream of being a mom who thinks, a mom who is still a whole person and not the barren rind of a cantalope, all its juicy sweetness sucked out, a shriveled empty remnant of what was, for a moment, something wonderful. A dream of being a mom who creates or at least basks in, if nothing else, wonder and excitement.
Happy Mother's Day to all the moms who do just that in their very own ways. happy Mother's Day to one mom who believed I could too.
Thursday, May 08, 2008
I CAN be taught!
So I went back into the previous post and with patient guidance from dearest husband, I learned to embed links.
Here, have another one:
Our other blog, (while sporadically tended), can be found at Sentralized Nuliks.
It chronicles a bit of our spiritual adventures and the details of our work with/on SENTralized this past year. There will also be a new SENTralized blog up shortly that is a public forum for all those interested in or involved with SENTralized, giving equal voice to any who can find their way to the keyboard as opposed to my voice telling the stories all the time. Should be welcome addition to our bloghappy bunch.
Help yourself, too, to the SENTralized site.
Enjoy!
Here, have another one:
Our other blog, (while sporadically tended), can be found at Sentralized Nuliks.
It chronicles a bit of our spiritual adventures and the details of our work with/on SENTralized this past year. There will also be a new SENTralized blog up shortly that is a public forum for all those interested in or involved with SENTralized, giving equal voice to any who can find their way to the keyboard as opposed to my voice telling the stories all the time. Should be welcome addition to our bloghappy bunch.
Help yourself, too, to the SENTralized site.
Enjoy!
Tuesday, May 06, 2008
Is my insanity showing?
For those of you who might have followed the afore mentioned directive from Mr. CEO* . . Here is a short list of favorite posts to keep you busy and give just a brief glimpse of what kinds of shenanigans we are typically up to around here. And yes, I am buying time to write something new. And no, I do not know how to embed links so you'll have to kick it old school on these.
Huge Butt
It isn't funny . . .
Who knew?
"Just kinda makes me, like, . ."
Ummm, well you see, I . . .
"I'll just, you know, protect the world from bad people."
Read on, brave ones!
More soon,
Jana
Huge Butt
It isn't funny . . .
Who knew?
"Just kinda makes me, like, . ."
Ummm, well you see, I . . .
"I'll just, you know, protect the world from bad people."
Read on, brave ones!
More soon,
Jana
Busted. . .
I've fallen away.
Terribly, embarassingly, away. . . .
from this blog anyway. Though life here has hurried on.
While I figured you all (careful there - not ya'll) had long since abandonned hope. Then just this morning I notice on Jeremy's new blog a directive sending folks here!
You can imagine not only my surprise but certainly the frenzied writing that must ensue.
Rather than substance though you are left here with me talking about talking. Ah such beautiful meta-narratives.
So what has been happening here?
In bullets with promises to elaborate in the near (yes NEAR) future:
-The boy scouts.
-The girl lip synchs and dares us to consider submission to America's Funniest Videos
-Jana sunburns then blisters then sunburns then blisters. . . .
-Jeremy writes and sends Jana into a frenzy.
But really, things are good - in that "goooood" with a sigh kind of way. Life marches on and the kids are bigger and the days seem busier but really, we are having fun.
At a wedding recently, we commented to the Father of the Bride that he looked like he was a really good dad after seeing the slieshows showing him being, well, what looked like a really good dad (attentive, silly, thrilled with said daughter. present. . .)to which he smiled and replied, "I had a lot of fun."
And we just keep thinking today and tomorrow - don't miss the fun. This is the fun stuff. Slow down or run faster - doesn't matter. Enjoy one another.
And so we do.
Terribly, embarassingly, away. . . .
from this blog anyway. Though life here has hurried on.
While I figured you all (careful there - not ya'll) had long since abandonned hope. Then just this morning I notice on Jeremy's new blog a directive sending folks here!
You can imagine not only my surprise but certainly the frenzied writing that must ensue.
Rather than substance though you are left here with me talking about talking. Ah such beautiful meta-narratives.
So what has been happening here?
In bullets with promises to elaborate in the near (yes NEAR) future:
-The boy scouts.
-The girl lip synchs and dares us to consider submission to America's Funniest Videos
-Jana sunburns then blisters then sunburns then blisters. . . .
-Jeremy writes and sends Jana into a frenzy.
But really, things are good - in that "goooood" with a sigh kind of way. Life marches on and the kids are bigger and the days seem busier but really, we are having fun.
At a wedding recently, we commented to the Father of the Bride that he looked like he was a really good dad after seeing the slieshows showing him being, well, what looked like a really good dad (attentive, silly, thrilled with said daughter. present. . .)to which he smiled and replied, "I had a lot of fun."
And we just keep thinking today and tomorrow - don't miss the fun. This is the fun stuff. Slow down or run faster - doesn't matter. Enjoy one another.
And so we do.
Sunday, September 09, 2007
The bathroom to date. . .
now, I don't mean you go a courtin' or anything. I mean here is a glimpse of the bathroom to this point. "This point" being a bit further from the finish line than I'd like.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/10827830@N03/sets/72157601941494591/
Did that work? Does it let you see the pictures? Yell at me if it didn't.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/10827830@N03/sets/72157601941494591/
Did that work? Does it let you see the pictures? Yell at me if it didn't.
Thursday, September 06, 2007
Except for this -
"Have you done anything particularly hilarious recently?" I dared to ask Jordan earlier this morning.
"No not really. . . . . .except for this."
Are you inside or outside?
Someone, I won't say who, had the brilliant idea that Labor Day weekend would be the perfect time to completely gut and redo our main bathroom. So we started on Friday ripping out everything that was there, down to the studs, only to find that the studs in the outside wall left oh so much to be desired. So out came the window, out came the carpenter ants, and in went new studs and a new window frame and eventually, after much sweating and cursing, a new window.
While we were sans window, Sedona was standing outside while Jeremy and I were just inside the gaping hole. She just stared at us for a minute, very concerned. Then threw up her hands and yelled, "Are you inside or outside?!" "We both replied that we reallly weren't sure.
Here are a few pictures of our ongoing bathroom saga. I'd like to pretend that I will have a picture of the "after" in the near future, however, sadly I'm afraid that it might never happen. So hang in there.
While we were sans window, Sedona was standing outside while Jeremy and I were just inside the gaping hole. She just stared at us for a minute, very concerned. Then threw up her hands and yelled, "Are you inside or outside?!" "We both replied that we reallly weren't sure.
Here are a few pictures of our ongoing bathroom saga. I'd like to pretend that I will have a picture of the "after" in the near future, however, sadly I'm afraid that it might never happen. So hang in there.
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
My can't love you anymore, Mommy.
Man, this girl was just full of em today. ..
We had to drop off some Tupperware and make a few other quick stops this morning, after the huge butt incident. So we're in the car enjoying the day, Sedona is singing and laughing at funny looking trucks. Your basic pleasant car ride.
Well, before I go any further you should probably know about her obsession with poopy diapers. Somewhere along the way "poop" became frigging hilarious. She throws it into the lyrics of timeless classics like Twinkle Little Star (poop), she uses it as a joke, an insult, dinner conversation - you name it. Now don't get me wrong . . she has been reprimanded, reminded of the niceties of polite society versus bathroom humor (something a staggering number of adults are yet to master) and she'll back off of the poop talk for awhile but to no avail. It always comes back in the least likely of places.
So we're driving, talking, doing our thing and I asked what other songs she knows. "Ummm.... how bout . . . . . (she allows the suspense to build). . . . poopy diapers?" and giggles.
I expalined that I really didn't think we needed to talk about poopy diapers while we were driving in the car since there was obviously no baby within range who might actually have a poopy diaper in need of attention.
"Nope. My want talk about poop."
"Sedona, no. We are not talking about poop."
and so on. . you can imagine the ridiculously of this conversation without me going into graphic detail. And if you cannot, I'd be happy to loan you my child for an afternoon.
She is quiet for a couple of minutes. I assume the poop obsession has waned once again when suddenly I hear, "My can't love you anymore, Mommy."
Interesting.
"Really? That's sad but I still love you."
"Sometimes my love you and sometimes my have to hate you. but right now, my can't love you anymore."
Again with the quietness.
Until -
"My can't love you because you won't talk poop to me. So maybe my love you another time but I want to talk about poop and you won't do it."
Really?
Again, much like this morning, this scene played out over the next 5 or so minutes but much of it was even more repetitive than what I've already shared with you.
It has been a long day. An entertaining if very exhausting day and now I will call it done and try to rest up for the hatred tomorrow promises to bring. Oh - have I mentioned that she has also caught on to some of Jordan's particularly choice phrases?
Things he only likes to pull out in the middle of a full blown frustration/rage fit. Things like "YOU"VE RUINED MY LIFE" "I WISH I WAS NEVER EVEN BORN" "YOU DON"T EVEN LOVE ME ANYWAY!" "I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU!"
How old is he again? Because I really thought I had at least a few more years on some of those.
The thing is - Sedona hasn't quite mastered the timing and correct emotional fuel behind these statements. So when I put jelly on her bread when she really only wanted butter I get "You've ruined my life, Mom" with tears. Or when her shoes don't match quite as exactly as maybe she had hoped "You don't love me!" with a giggle. I'm sure it won't take her long to get good and furious and when she does, boy, you'll find me in the nearest scaredy-hole (<--a gem of a term, new to us and introduced by a much beloved grandfather when discussing options of tornado-proofing our slab home. He thought maybe we could "dig us a scaredy-hole right in the backyard").
must sleep. no more babbling tonight.
We had to drop off some Tupperware and make a few other quick stops this morning, after the huge butt incident. So we're in the car enjoying the day, Sedona is singing and laughing at funny looking trucks. Your basic pleasant car ride.
Well, before I go any further you should probably know about her obsession with poopy diapers. Somewhere along the way "poop" became frigging hilarious. She throws it into the lyrics of timeless classics like Twinkle Little Star (poop), she uses it as a joke, an insult, dinner conversation - you name it. Now don't get me wrong . . she has been reprimanded, reminded of the niceties of polite society versus bathroom humor (something a staggering number of adults are yet to master) and she'll back off of the poop talk for awhile but to no avail. It always comes back in the least likely of places.
So we're driving, talking, doing our thing and I asked what other songs she knows. "Ummm.... how bout . . . . . (she allows the suspense to build). . . . poopy diapers?" and giggles.
I expalined that I really didn't think we needed to talk about poopy diapers while we were driving in the car since there was obviously no baby within range who might actually have a poopy diaper in need of attention.
"Nope. My want talk about poop."
"Sedona, no. We are not talking about poop."
and so on. . you can imagine the ridiculously of this conversation without me going into graphic detail. And if you cannot, I'd be happy to loan you my child for an afternoon.
She is quiet for a couple of minutes. I assume the poop obsession has waned once again when suddenly I hear, "My can't love you anymore, Mommy."
Interesting.
"Really? That's sad but I still love you."
"Sometimes my love you and sometimes my have to hate you. but right now, my can't love you anymore."
Again with the quietness.
Until -
"My can't love you because you won't talk poop to me. So maybe my love you another time but I want to talk about poop and you won't do it."
Really?
Again, much like this morning, this scene played out over the next 5 or so minutes but much of it was even more repetitive than what I've already shared with you.
It has been a long day. An entertaining if very exhausting day and now I will call it done and try to rest up for the hatred tomorrow promises to bring. Oh - have I mentioned that she has also caught on to some of Jordan's particularly choice phrases?
Things he only likes to pull out in the middle of a full blown frustration/rage fit. Things like "YOU"VE RUINED MY LIFE" "I WISH I WAS NEVER EVEN BORN" "YOU DON"T EVEN LOVE ME ANYWAY!" "I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU!"
How old is he again? Because I really thought I had at least a few more years on some of those.
The thing is - Sedona hasn't quite mastered the timing and correct emotional fuel behind these statements. So when I put jelly on her bread when she really only wanted butter I get "You've ruined my life, Mom" with tears. Or when her shoes don't match quite as exactly as maybe she had hoped "You don't love me!" with a giggle. I'm sure it won't take her long to get good and furious and when she does, boy, you'll find me in the nearest scaredy-hole (<--a gem of a term, new to us and introduced by a much beloved grandfather when discussing options of tornado-proofing our slab home. He thought maybe we could "dig us a scaredy-hole right in the backyard").
must sleep. no more babbling tonight.
Huge Butt
We got Jordan on the bus this morning and, after a particularly crazy last 5 days without showers and toilets and sanity (ask me if i love home improvement and I will gladly discuss Tim Allen's illustrious career, I will not however have pleasant things to say about out bathroom project just now).
Sedona and I flopped onto the couch and set into a game of kicking monsters, singing silly songs and alternating baby and mommy roles. About 15 minutes into this precious time Sedona grabbed the drawstrings of my pj pants (yes i am the mom at the bus stop in pjs today) and said "You better tie this up tight so your huge butt doesn't fall out."
Wow.
I said, "Excuse me? My huge butt?"
She calmly responded with, "Yeah see? Says huge butt" pointing carefully at a freckle on my stomach as if she was translating an ancient foreign text.
There was more after that but frankly, I was too amused to make careful notes beyond what I've shared already. I'll have to leave you wondering how our little scenario played out, resolved and eventually decided on the and comparative hugeness of my butt.
Enjoy what appears to be a sticky, cloudy end of summer day.
Sedona and I flopped onto the couch and set into a game of kicking monsters, singing silly songs and alternating baby and mommy roles. About 15 minutes into this precious time Sedona grabbed the drawstrings of my pj pants (yes i am the mom at the bus stop in pjs today) and said "You better tie this up tight so your huge butt doesn't fall out."
Wow.
I said, "Excuse me? My huge butt?"
She calmly responded with, "Yeah see? Says huge butt" pointing carefully at a freckle on my stomach as if she was translating an ancient foreign text.
There was more after that but frankly, I was too amused to make careful notes beyond what I've shared already. I'll have to leave you wondering how our little scenario played out, resolved and eventually decided on the and comparative hugeness of my butt.
Enjoy what appears to be a sticky, cloudy end of summer day.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Oh feminism where is your sting?!
Calling Betty Friedan. . . . ..
look what I found in the kitchen a few weeks ago. Those of you even the least bit familiar with my gender politics might imagine my dismay. For those of you unfamiliar - I'm completely dismayed. Though she does look rather darling. . . . .
(sorry so big. I'll get the hang of this blogging thing yet)
look what I found in the kitchen a few weeks ago. Those of you even the least bit familiar with my gender politics might imagine my dismay. For those of you unfamiliar - I'm completely dismayed. Though she does look rather darling. . . . .
(sorry so big. I'll get the hang of this blogging thing yet)
THE gardening find of the year
I am completely taken with this here plant. Yes, I know that plants, unless being sniffed by children (see ancient post of Sedona, nose in mums) have very little to do with children. However, as this is my blog, I hereby hijack all child and cuteness related posts to bring you this incredible feat of nature.
I got a little pot of this oxalis at a master gardener sale early this year for a measely $10. It is perennial, a real treat, and I was able to divide it into 5 pots and still, this fabulous. It even closes up at night and in extreme sun. What's not to love?
Again with the bigness!
I got a little pot of this oxalis at a master gardener sale early this year for a measely $10. It is perennial, a real treat, and I was able to divide it into 5 pots and still, this fabulous. It even closes up at night and in extreme sun. What's not to love?
Again with the bigness!
In the interim-
While I was away, doing all kinds of things except blogging, the girl turned 3. Now, ask her and she'll tell you time and time again that she is, in fact, 5. Liar, she may be, but consistency is the thing and that she is. Consistent.
Here is the princess on her birthday. You might have to REALLY crank that volume to catch it, though, oh and you might have to speak a bit of Sedona-ese.
Here is the princess on her birthday. You might have to REALLY crank that volume to catch it, though, oh and you might have to speak a bit of Sedona-ese.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
"My eye wants to watch a movie"
Quickly as Jordan and friend seem to be making popcorn and without supervision, there is likely to be not only an excess of salt but popcorn kernels galore on my living room floor.
So. I'll make this quick.
Sedona has taken to personifying her body parts as they have very specific needs and requests. She came to me the other day and said calmy and in a regular voice, "Mommy, my eye want watch movie." I said, "Oh really?"
And she replied, with small squeaky comedic voice and fingers plucking and pinching eyelid, "my want watch movie"
regular voice - "see?"
Here apparent eye's voice - "my want watch movie"
This happened again the following day when her knee wasn't sleepy. She couldn't possibly take a nap when her knee wouldn't stop shouting things like (again in the weird squeking, not Sedona talking voice), "MY NOT TIRED! MY NOT SLEEP RIGHT NOW!"
regular voice - "See? My can't go sleep. My knee not tired. My just sleep all day smorning"
Remind to follow up on the "all day smorning" trend in my next post.
Is anyone still reading? If so - please leave a comment or a threat or something. I fear I've let you all down taking absurd leaves of absence here. Months without a post makes for restless and eventually absent readers.
So. I'll make this quick.
Sedona has taken to personifying her body parts as they have very specific needs and requests. She came to me the other day and said calmy and in a regular voice, "Mommy, my eye want watch movie." I said, "Oh really?"
And she replied, with small squeaky comedic voice and fingers plucking and pinching eyelid, "my want watch movie"
regular voice - "see?"
Here apparent eye's voice - "my want watch movie"
This happened again the following day when her knee wasn't sleepy. She couldn't possibly take a nap when her knee wouldn't stop shouting things like (again in the weird squeking, not Sedona talking voice), "MY NOT TIRED! MY NOT SLEEP RIGHT NOW!"
regular voice - "See? My can't go sleep. My knee not tired. My just sleep all day smorning"
Remind to follow up on the "all day smorning" trend in my next post.
Is anyone still reading? If so - please leave a comment or a threat or something. I fear I've let you all down taking absurd leaves of absence here. Months without a post makes for restless and eventually absent readers.
Says ABC POOP!
We've always tried to encourage our children to read. We keep books by beds, in kitchen, and always in the car, hoping that if easily accessible, books will be a first choice of leisurely activity. Sedona has a particular affection for books with flaps that she can open and close to discover all kind of things beneath. On such book is Little People Farm book that she enjoys reading in the car.
A few weeks ago (yes I am a bit delayed in this posting) you were carefully examining the pig on a page about opposites. The pig is standing near the clothesline where freshly washed white sheets are hanging. The pig is very clean. You open the flap and suddenly the pig has made a mess of himself and the laundry by wallowing happily in a mud puddle. The pig is dirty.
Well, Sedona insisted that the pig had pooped. "Oh, Mommy! Look! That pig poop."
I gently corrected, with a smile, "That isn't poop, Sedona. That is mud. The pig is dirty playing in the mud. See? Clean and dirty."
She wouldn't hear of it.
Arguing persistently for close to 2 minutes (which, as some of you may know is a VERY long time in 3yr old land) she kept laughing and saying "Noooo . . . him poop. poopy pig" and the like.
Finally, exasperated by unwillingness to agree, she pointed one little finger close to the page, and moved her face in close to examine it all more closely.
I thought, perhaps, you about to concede.
Wrong.
"See? Says A-B-C-POOP(and this last little bit was yelled)"
and again.
"My read it to you Mommy. Says A-B-C- POOP!" and again, emphasizing the "POOP" as if to make certain I understood once and for all. I mean, who can argue with what is committed to print? If the book says it is poop, clearly, it is.
A few weeks ago (yes I am a bit delayed in this posting) you were carefully examining the pig on a page about opposites. The pig is standing near the clothesline where freshly washed white sheets are hanging. The pig is very clean. You open the flap and suddenly the pig has made a mess of himself and the laundry by wallowing happily in a mud puddle. The pig is dirty.
Well, Sedona insisted that the pig had pooped. "Oh, Mommy! Look! That pig poop."
I gently corrected, with a smile, "That isn't poop, Sedona. That is mud. The pig is dirty playing in the mud. See? Clean and dirty."
She wouldn't hear of it.
Arguing persistently for close to 2 minutes (which, as some of you may know is a VERY long time in 3yr old land) she kept laughing and saying "Noooo . . . him poop. poopy pig" and the like.
Finally, exasperated by unwillingness to agree, she pointed one little finger close to the page, and moved her face in close to examine it all more closely.
I thought, perhaps, you about to concede.
Wrong.
"See? Says A-B-C-POOP(and this last little bit was yelled)"
and again.
"My read it to you Mommy. Says A-B-C- POOP!" and again, emphasizing the "POOP" as if to make certain I understood once and for all. I mean, who can argue with what is committed to print? If the book says it is poop, clearly, it is.
Monday, June 11, 2007
Drive-Thru Challenged
Anyone familiar with my eating habits knows that I am no stranger to the drive-thru. However, in recent months drive-thrus have become more challenging than I ever dreamed they could be.
Not since the days of 2-3 year old Bayley (who would ever so insistently request, loudly, a biscuit. Her little mouth however did not form the word biScuit but rather BigTi - well you can figure the rest)have I suffered such confusion at the drive-thru window.
We discuss the order to placed as we wait to speak into the frustrating little speaker box and we are all agreed on the plan, confident that each will be provided for. But somehow the minute I start talking Sedona panics and is sure that her order will be forgotten! So she chimes in, loudly, repeating things I've already listed. The poor soul on the other end of the speaker box doesn't stand a chance at accurately entering the orders. So we add and subtract and clarify and subtract an item again and then put on back on with no pickles and around and around we go.
Only to then realize after we've pulled to the window and handed over our money that in all the hubbub we removed one too many child-sized drinks. Arg.
Now, I have experience in this field. Not only is my own order often obnoxious in its specifity, but I also deal with it much more frequently than Jeremy, who is already drive-thru averse. If it can't be ordered entirely with numbers, ("I'll take a #2, #4 and 2 #5's please. All with Dr. Pepper. Yes that's all.") then it is already more trouble than it is worth to him. But this recent added confusion might just be enough to send him over the edge. Stay tuned.
**** A special note: This post was actually written umm, yeah months ago, and somehow never posted. But I am happy to report that all have survived and grown more accustomed to the ways of the drive-thru window. Little ones have calmed and learned to trust that they probably won't starve and probably won't be served sheep's head. Plus, in an effort to become better people we don't see the drive-thru nearly as often as some of us might like to. ******
Not since the days of 2-3 year old Bayley (who would ever so insistently request, loudly, a biscuit. Her little mouth however did not form the word biScuit but rather BigTi - well you can figure the rest)have I suffered such confusion at the drive-thru window.
We discuss the order to placed as we wait to speak into the frustrating little speaker box and we are all agreed on the plan, confident that each will be provided for. But somehow the minute I start talking Sedona panics and is sure that her order will be forgotten! So she chimes in, loudly, repeating things I've already listed. The poor soul on the other end of the speaker box doesn't stand a chance at accurately entering the orders. So we add and subtract and clarify and subtract an item again and then put on back on with no pickles and around and around we go.
Only to then realize after we've pulled to the window and handed over our money that in all the hubbub we removed one too many child-sized drinks. Arg.
Now, I have experience in this field. Not only is my own order often obnoxious in its specifity, but I also deal with it much more frequently than Jeremy, who is already drive-thru averse. If it can't be ordered entirely with numbers, ("I'll take a #2, #4 and 2 #5's please. All with Dr. Pepper. Yes that's all.") then it is already more trouble than it is worth to him. But this recent added confusion might just be enough to send him over the edge. Stay tuned.
**** A special note: This post was actually written umm, yeah months ago, and somehow never posted. But I am happy to report that all have survived and grown more accustomed to the ways of the drive-thru window. Little ones have calmed and learned to trust that they probably won't starve and probably won't be served sheep's head. Plus, in an effort to become better people we don't see the drive-thru nearly as often as some of us might like to. ******
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
