Richmond, VA
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Thu, 03/11/2010 - 12:54
Tips from the Trenches: A Guide to Practical Parenting
A Guide to Practical Parenting (or things I'm learning the hard way)Helenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09712794014836783360noreply@blogger.comBlogger181125
URL: http://aguidetopracticalparenting.blogspot.com/2009/11/proud-as-sugar-free-straw-dispensed.html
Updated: 10 hours 19 min ago
What do you mean "a real tip"?
I can't remember the last time I actually attempted to offer up useful information, but let's give it a try. This one is about one of my favorite parenting topics....laundry.
Years ago, I read a tip in on of those "you would be organized if only you..." books. I liked it and immediately implemented it. It works great.
However, while I was overseas, I lost both my mind and my ability to get a grip on my laundry pile by temporarily forgetting to use this tip. I'm back on the wagon again and am soooooo glad I am.
After all the ramp up, it is actually really easy.
Step 1:
Buy three (optional 4) hampers for each person in the household who can manage to follow through. Small children's clothes can just be added to the adult hampers.
Step 2:
Label each hamper with the following labels in Sharpie:
1. White, Off-Whites, Pastels, Light Greys, Khaki
2. Darks, Navy, Green, Brown, Denim
3. Reds, Purples, Oranges, and Bright Yellows
4. (OPTIONAL) Bedding and towels
Now my husband, always asks about those colors in the "grey" area of the color spectrum. That is why you can't just label them white, dark, and brights. You have to specify each grey area or it will not work.
Step 3:
Then, all you have to do is explain to everyone who is going to use the system that they take off their clothes and place them in the correct hamper according to the color.
Step 4:
From here, how you do the laundry is optional, but I like to attack a color a day. So I can announce to everyone, "bring down your darks hamper and I will wash it today." Makes sorting easy going in to the washer and out of the dryer. And you will finally find you have enough hampers to handle all the clothes.
Hope this is helpful!
Years ago, I read a tip in on of those "you would be organized if only you..." books. I liked it and immediately implemented it. It works great.
However, while I was overseas, I lost both my mind and my ability to get a grip on my laundry pile by temporarily forgetting to use this tip. I'm back on the wagon again and am soooooo glad I am.
After all the ramp up, it is actually really easy.
Step 1:
Buy three (optional 4) hampers for each person in the household who can manage to follow through. Small children's clothes can just be added to the adult hampers.
Step 2:
Label each hamper with the following labels in Sharpie:
1. White, Off-Whites, Pastels, Light Greys, Khaki
2. Darks, Navy, Green, Brown, Denim
3. Reds, Purples, Oranges, and Bright Yellows
4. (OPTIONAL) Bedding and towels
Now my husband, always asks about those colors in the "grey" area of the color spectrum. That is why you can't just label them white, dark, and brights. You have to specify each grey area or it will not work.
Step 3:
Then, all you have to do is explain to everyone who is going to use the system that they take off their clothes and place them in the correct hamper according to the color.
Step 4:
From here, how you do the laundry is optional, but I like to attack a color a day. So I can announce to everyone, "bring down your darks hamper and I will wash it today." Makes sorting easy going in to the washer and out of the dryer. And you will finally find you have enough hampers to handle all the clothes.
Hope this is helpful!
Fairies, Guilt, and the Glass Ceiling
At first I thought I blew this one. Not a big surprise really when you consider my overall skill or lack thereof; then, upon reflection, I think I was just able to start an early lesson in feminist history. In the words of Monk, here's what happened...
I was rushing to get ready the other day when Emma came up to me and said, "When I grow-up, I'm going to be a fairy."
In a very atypical response, I said, "That would be fun, but you have to be born a fairy to be a fairy."
Emma burst into tears. I wanted to kick myself. Why would I disagree when I usually play along? Who knows?
Nice work, Mommy.
Then, as I always do when I devastate my children's dreams, I started thinking (read: "justifying") about my actions and I realized that it is important to know that everyone is different. Some people can fly around with disproportionately small wings, others can, well, not.
We can't all be fairies. Like it or not, there is a glass ceiling and it is never too soon to learn about how it works. At least half of the population will not break through this ceiling to become a real live fairy. And, if they do manage to break through, they will probably lose a lot of blood, get shoddy medical care, and die before their time. So really, I'm just saving my daughter from a fate worse than death and giving her a lesson in what it means to be a woman in this day and age. Go, me!
I was rushing to get ready the other day when Emma came up to me and said, "When I grow-up, I'm going to be a fairy."
In a very atypical response, I said, "That would be fun, but you have to be born a fairy to be a fairy."
Emma burst into tears. I wanted to kick myself. Why would I disagree when I usually play along? Who knows?
Nice work, Mommy.
Then, as I always do when I devastate my children's dreams, I started thinking (read: "justifying") about my actions and I realized that it is important to know that everyone is different. Some people can fly around with disproportionately small wings, others can, well, not.
We can't all be fairies. Like it or not, there is a glass ceiling and it is never too soon to learn about how it works. At least half of the population will not break through this ceiling to become a real live fairy. And, if they do manage to break through, they will probably lose a lot of blood, get shoddy medical care, and die before their time. So really, I'm just saving my daughter from a fate worse than death and giving her a lesson in what it means to be a woman in this day and age. Go, me!
But it's elementary school!
This morning on the way to school Jack, who is in first grade, announced that it was "black top day" today. Like a fool, I asked what that meant and he explained that black top day was when the first graders had to play on the playground black top so that the third graders could play on the playground equipment (slides, swings, etc.)
A little confused, I felt relief, at first. I was glad that someone had created a procedure to minimize bullying during recess. Then, upon reflection, I was just confused. Wait a second, I thought. We're talking about first and third graders here. What the....
When did elementary school become so risky and hard to manage that a few playground monitors can't keep up with the bad guys on the playground? What happened to hoping for the best and training them for the worst? (e.g Tell a teacher if someone does something you don't like.)
I don't want my child to be bullied or to bully someone else, but how are they ever going to learn to handle bullying if they don't have exposure to it while the bullying is on a first/third grade level. I don't want Jack's first encounter with a mean kids to be on the bus as the child pummels him to a pulp. I want him to get used to setting boundaries now!
Not only that, but isn't this also the time when children should be required to be together so that they can start taking care of each other? If we segregate them, aren't we giving the third graders more power? Aren't we just telling them, hey, look at how much we fear what you can do?
Come on, people! Let's be reasonable. Isn't there a better way to teach kids about life while also keeping them safe?
A little confused, I felt relief, at first. I was glad that someone had created a procedure to minimize bullying during recess. Then, upon reflection, I was just confused. Wait a second, I thought. We're talking about first and third graders here. What the....
When did elementary school become so risky and hard to manage that a few playground monitors can't keep up with the bad guys on the playground? What happened to hoping for the best and training them for the worst? (e.g Tell a teacher if someone does something you don't like.)
I don't want my child to be bullied or to bully someone else, but how are they ever going to learn to handle bullying if they don't have exposure to it while the bullying is on a first/third grade level. I don't want Jack's first encounter with a mean kids to be on the bus as the child pummels him to a pulp. I want him to get used to setting boundaries now!
Not only that, but isn't this also the time when children should be required to be together so that they can start taking care of each other? If we segregate them, aren't we giving the third graders more power? Aren't we just telling them, hey, look at how much we fear what you can do?
Come on, people! Let's be reasonable. Isn't there a better way to teach kids about life while also keeping them safe?
The Perks of Being a God
Emma adores her big brother and he knows it. Jack spends far too much of his time recently expertly taking advantage of his god-like status with Emma. Usually, it goes something like this:
JACK: Emma, let's see if Tom and Jerry is on Cartoon Network.
EMMA: Ok. Yeah!
JACK: Oh, look it's not Tom and Jerry, but it is Chowder! Yeah! We love this show!
This is followed by Jack excitedly jumping around until Emma catches the wave herself and forgets that she really wanted to see Tom and Jerry in the first place.
Note the expert use of the word "We" and the fact that he roped her in to changing the channel by luring her with her favorite show.
Another conversation I hear regularly usually starts with hushed discussion in a nearby room.
JACK: Emma, do you want a Twix?
EMMA: Ok. Yeah!
JACK: Me, too. Go ask Mommy if we can have some.
EMMA: Ok...Mommy....
Another variant of this discussion is:
JACK: Emma, do you want to go to Toys R Us?
EMMA: Ok. Yeah!
JACK: Me, too. Go ask Mommy if we can.
EMMA: Ok...Mommy....
Emma can also be used as a courier service.
JACK: Emma, do you want a paci?
EMMA: Yes.
JACK: There's one on the floor in my room.
EMMA: Ok.
JACK: When you are in there, can you bring me Marmalade (Jack's lovey)?
EMMA: Sure!
I feel really sorry for Emma some times as she is clearly being used to serve Jack's Greater Plan. However, I think I feel more sorry for Jack when Emma finally figures it all out. I think I'd better get my earplugs ready for that day.
JACK: Emma, let's see if Tom and Jerry is on Cartoon Network.
EMMA: Ok. Yeah!
JACK: Oh, look it's not Tom and Jerry, but it is Chowder! Yeah! We love this show!
This is followed by Jack excitedly jumping around until Emma catches the wave herself and forgets that she really wanted to see Tom and Jerry in the first place.
Note the expert use of the word "We" and the fact that he roped her in to changing the channel by luring her with her favorite show.
Another conversation I hear regularly usually starts with hushed discussion in a nearby room.
JACK: Emma, do you want a Twix?
EMMA: Ok. Yeah!
JACK: Me, too. Go ask Mommy if we can have some.
EMMA: Ok...Mommy....
Another variant of this discussion is:
JACK: Emma, do you want to go to Toys R Us?
EMMA: Ok. Yeah!
JACK: Me, too. Go ask Mommy if we can.
EMMA: Ok...Mommy....
Emma can also be used as a courier service.
JACK: Emma, do you want a paci?
EMMA: Yes.
JACK: There's one on the floor in my room.
EMMA: Ok.
JACK: When you are in there, can you bring me Marmalade (Jack's lovey)?
EMMA: Sure!
I feel really sorry for Emma some times as she is clearly being used to serve Jack's Greater Plan. However, I think I feel more sorry for Jack when Emma finally figures it all out. I think I'd better get my earplugs ready for that day.
I think my sitter joined the union.
Let me preface this by saying that I have (one of) the best babysitters. I've been quite lucky with sitters for my kids and my current one is not an exception. Thus far, she has never once been unavailable to sit. She is 18, has reliable transport, is CPR/First Aid trained and certified AND she also went through a background check prior to her name being referred to me. So all in all, I can't complain if she doesn't take the kids dinner plates to the sink after she puts them to bed.
Now, on to the real reason for this post.
Tonight I got invited out on a "girls night out" for dinner and drinks at a local pub. I was again lucky enough that it was Saturday and my sitter was available. She arrived promptly at 6:30 and the kids flocked to her sides. All was good.
I rushed off to get dressed and "put on my face" (I store it in formaldehyde in my bathroom medicine cabinet). I was ready to pop out the door, said an emotional "see ya" to the kids, and headed for my coat. Fifteen minutes later I was still looking for the damn thing and it isn't like I have many places to look. I knew that I had brought it in from the car with me earlier, but where the heck was it!?
Finally, I gave up, grabbed a non-coat alternative, and left. By this point, I was running late and dashed out in a hurry.
To make a short story even longer, I had a lovely parenting-free evening. Conversation flowed like conversation...of 4 tired mothers trying to make it until 9 o'clock. Breast feeding. Potty training. School. Husbands. All the great non-parenting-related stuff. I'd had a long day so I decided to call it a night and head home after a few hours.
I pulled up in the driveway only to find a homeless person asleep on my front lawn. In a big heap. A little surprised, I got out of the car and approached the homeless person...uh....heap of clothes....uh....my coat. On the ground for hours since I must have dropped it on the way in earlier.
In my defense, I did after all have 3 coats, one large mommy-sized handbag, 4 Target bags, 3 Chic-Fil-A bags, 4 empty juice boxes, and a bag of potting soil in my arms when I came in.So I can't possibly see how I didn't notice it falling by the wayside somewhere along the tromp up the hill to the front door. A normal person would never have let that happen, would they?
Anyway, I picked up the coat, dusted it off, and went inside to send the sitter home. When I came in I showed her the coat and said, "Guess where I found my coat!" She said, "Was it in the car?" I replied, "No. It was on the front lawn." "Oh," she said, "I saw that when I came in."
Now, on to the real reason for this post.
Tonight I got invited out on a "girls night out" for dinner and drinks at a local pub. I was again lucky enough that it was Saturday and my sitter was available. She arrived promptly at 6:30 and the kids flocked to her sides. All was good.
I rushed off to get dressed and "put on my face" (I store it in formaldehyde in my bathroom medicine cabinet). I was ready to pop out the door, said an emotional "see ya" to the kids, and headed for my coat. Fifteen minutes later I was still looking for the damn thing and it isn't like I have many places to look. I knew that I had brought it in from the car with me earlier, but where the heck was it!?
Finally, I gave up, grabbed a non-coat alternative, and left. By this point, I was running late and dashed out in a hurry.
To make a short story even longer, I had a lovely parenting-free evening. Conversation flowed like conversation...of 4 tired mothers trying to make it until 9 o'clock. Breast feeding. Potty training. School. Husbands. All the great non-parenting-related stuff. I'd had a long day so I decided to call it a night and head home after a few hours.
I pulled up in the driveway only to find a homeless person asleep on my front lawn. In a big heap. A little surprised, I got out of the car and approached the homeless person...uh....heap of clothes....uh....my coat. On the ground for hours since I must have dropped it on the way in earlier.
In my defense, I did after all have 3 coats, one large mommy-sized handbag, 4 Target bags, 3 Chic-Fil-A bags, 4 empty juice boxes, and a bag of potting soil in my arms when I came in.So I can't possibly see how I didn't notice it falling by the wayside somewhere along the tromp up the hill to the front door. A normal person would never have let that happen, would they?
Anyway, I picked up the coat, dusted it off, and went inside to send the sitter home. When I came in I showed her the coat and said, "Guess where I found my coat!" She said, "Was it in the car?" I replied, "No. It was on the front lawn." "Oh," she said, "I saw that when I came in."
Questionable
Oh, boy. I've been waiting nearly 7 years for this question. I've been reading, researching, and reflecting on this question so much that I could testify as an expert in any court in the country and today I was up to bat. Now, I bet I know to which question I am referring, but you would be wrong. Compared to this question, that question is a walk in the proverbial park.
We just finished our pleasant Friday afternoon diversion to Emma's ballet class and a swim at the pool followed by a trip through the McD's drive thru. As we're heading home, there is contemplative silence interrupted only by the snuffling and slurping sounds associated with Happy Meals. Suddenly, Jack pipes up.
"Mommy? Where does chicken come from?"
"Uh, um, chicken."
"Well, how do chickens lay chicken?"
Shit. All that research for nothing. I gave it my all and now what? Am I really going to have to explain where we get chicken? That we eat? Perhaps I can turn it into a "chicken or the egg" discussison. No, that would be wrong. Better that he learn it now and from me than in some other more shocking way....
"Uh, um, well, I can tell you, but I don't think you would like it?" And, I don't think you'd ever eat again.
Pause. More contemplative silence.
"Um, no. Never mind. I don't want to know." Damn. I chickened out. Can't believe I chickened out. Oh, well, maybe next time.
"Are you sure?" Please, please, please.
"Yes, I don't want to know."
"OK, well, let me know if you change your mind."
Whew! Dodged that bullet. Please, God, don't ask me where beef comes from.
We just finished our pleasant Friday afternoon diversion to Emma's ballet class and a swim at the pool followed by a trip through the McD's drive thru. As we're heading home, there is contemplative silence interrupted only by the snuffling and slurping sounds associated with Happy Meals. Suddenly, Jack pipes up.
"Mommy? Where does chicken come from?"
"Uh, um, chicken."
"Well, how do chickens lay chicken?"
Shit. All that research for nothing. I gave it my all and now what? Am I really going to have to explain where we get chicken? That we eat? Perhaps I can turn it into a "chicken or the egg" discussison. No, that would be wrong. Better that he learn it now and from me than in some other more shocking way....
"Uh, um, well, I can tell you, but I don't think you would like it?" And, I don't think you'd ever eat again.
Pause. More contemplative silence.
"Um, no. Never mind. I don't want to know." Damn. I chickened out. Can't believe I chickened out. Oh, well, maybe next time.
"Are you sure?" Please, please, please.
"Yes, I don't want to know."
"OK, well, let me know if you change your mind."
Whew! Dodged that bullet. Please, God, don't ask me where beef comes from.
What happens if...
Conversations at my house right now are a bit like some new-fangled method of torture/resistance training. They go a little something like this....
JACK: Mommy, make sure you tell them I want a 6-piece nuggets Happy Meal, not a 4-piece.
ME: I will, Jack.
JACK: Mommy, what happens if they give me 8?
Or...
ME: Come on', guys, we're going to be late for school.
JACK: What happens if we are not late?
Or...the most common to be use in just about all situations where a parental demand is made, such as:
ME: Be careful not to get that Sharpie on the dining room table?
JACK: What happens if I do it by accident?
Or...
ME: Don't hit Emma on the head with that.
JACK: What happens if I do it by accident?
Or...
JACK: (sitting in the driver's seat of my car) Mommy, what does "D" mean?
ME: It means "Drive" and it you move the stick to "D" the car drives. Don't ever touch that stick.
JACK: What happens if I do it by accident?
You get the picture.
I've heard about these things, but until now have not really borne witness to the true "developmental phase" as advertised in the books. We've had the occasional annoying or weird phase, but they are not as complex or persistent. This one is like his brain turns off and the compulsion to ask the question wins out.
The frustrating thing is that there is no way to answer these questions because they just lead to more questions. Most of which begin with "what happens if". It is truly a vicious cycle. When I speak, I get this wrenching panic because I never know what will happen next. It's starting to wear me down. (And, I didn't have much further to go in the wearing down department really.)
The other thing is that I'm starting to become afraid that I'm not helping him develop whatever skill he is trying to develop because I'm so annoyed by it. What is I say the wrong thing and cripple his critical thinking skills forever? There goes college. There goes the high-paying job that will keep me in my retirement.
So now I'm wrecked with anxiety about the guilt of potential parental failure. Why does parenting have to be so damn complicated?
JACK: Mommy, make sure you tell them I want a 6-piece nuggets Happy Meal, not a 4-piece.
ME: I will, Jack.
JACK: Mommy, what happens if they give me 8?
Or...
ME: Come on', guys, we're going to be late for school.
JACK: What happens if we are not late?
Or...the most common to be use in just about all situations where a parental demand is made, such as:
ME: Be careful not to get that Sharpie on the dining room table?
JACK: What happens if I do it by accident?
Or...
ME: Don't hit Emma on the head with that.
JACK: What happens if I do it by accident?
Or...
JACK: (sitting in the driver's seat of my car) Mommy, what does "D" mean?
ME: It means "Drive" and it you move the stick to "D" the car drives. Don't ever touch that stick.
JACK: What happens if I do it by accident?
You get the picture.
I've heard about these things, but until now have not really borne witness to the true "developmental phase" as advertised in the books. We've had the occasional annoying or weird phase, but they are not as complex or persistent. This one is like his brain turns off and the compulsion to ask the question wins out.
The frustrating thing is that there is no way to answer these questions because they just lead to more questions. Most of which begin with "what happens if". It is truly a vicious cycle. When I speak, I get this wrenching panic because I never know what will happen next. It's starting to wear me down. (And, I didn't have much further to go in the wearing down department really.)
The other thing is that I'm starting to become afraid that I'm not helping him develop whatever skill he is trying to develop because I'm so annoyed by it. What is I say the wrong thing and cripple his critical thinking skills forever? There goes college. There goes the high-paying job that will keep me in my retirement.
So now I'm wrecked with anxiety about the guilt of potential parental failure. Why does parenting have to be so damn complicated?
Grandpa's Words of Wisdom
JACK: Mommeeee. I'm hungry.
ME: We're going home right now. We'll eat when we get there. (Note: Home is 1.5 miles away.)
JACK: But I can't wait!
ME: I don't have anything, Jack. You'll have to wait.
JACK: Do you have anything in you bag?
ME: Let me look.....yes! Pretzels.
JACK: Nuh-un.
ME: Oreos?
JACK: Noooooo-wuh.
ME: Goldfish?
JACK: I don't want Goldfish.
ME: Gum?
JACK: No.
ME: Fruit roll up?
JACK: No.
ME: Well, that's it.
JACK: But I'm hungry and I can't wait.
GRANDPA: Jack, Mommy is not a supermarket.
Boy, wish I'd heard that sooner. I just renewed my contracts with my suppliers.
ME: We're going home right now. We'll eat when we get there. (Note: Home is 1.5 miles away.)
JACK: But I can't wait!
ME: I don't have anything, Jack. You'll have to wait.
JACK: Do you have anything in you bag?
ME: Let me look.....yes! Pretzels.
JACK: Nuh-un.
ME: Oreos?
JACK: Noooooo-wuh.
ME: Goldfish?
JACK: I don't want Goldfish.
ME: Gum?
JACK: No.
ME: Fruit roll up?
JACK: No.
ME: Well, that's it.
JACK: But I'm hungry and I can't wait.
GRANDPA: Jack, Mommy is not a supermarket.
Boy, wish I'd heard that sooner. I just renewed my contracts with my suppliers.
An argument for child labor
ME: Jack, don't forget you have to finish your homework before you go to school this morning.
JACK: But I don't want to.
ME: Well, you have to.
JACK: But I'm tired.
ME: Well, after you take a nap, you can finish it. Would you like me to tuck you in?
JACK: No! I don't want to.
ME: Jack, homework is part of your job. Just be thankful you don't have to work in a factory.
JACK: But I don't want to.
ME: Well, you have to.
JACK: But I'm tired.
ME: Well, after you take a nap, you can finish it. Would you like me to tuck you in?
JACK: No! I don't want to.
ME: Jack, homework is part of your job. Just be thankful you don't have to work in a factory.
Candy. It's what's for breakfast.
Or it might as well be in my house. My son has recently discovered Pop Tarts. (Especially the S'mores flavored ones.) Yuck! I'm not exactly sure how he discovered them, but I have a sneaking suspicion that he saw a commerical on either Nick or Cartoon Network.
Since we moved back from the relative English-language television dead zone of Korea, the kids have been exposed to "Real American" TV for the first time in their lives. (My son was young enough before we left that we only let him see Disney and PBS.) The commericals are killing me. Pop Tarts are just one of the horrible by-products of commericalized life.
It's one thing to be exposed consistently from a young age so that, by the time it matters, commericals are ignored (for the most part), but my kids are sucking it up like SpongeBob Squarepants-shaped sponges because commericals are like mini-tv shows to them. If I have to hear "Mommy! Look Zhu Zhu Pets!" or "Mommy, look they make a kid-sized Snuggies!" or "Mommy, you could really use that when brushing your teeth" or "Mommy, can we make some brownies?" or "Mommy, can I have some Lucky Charms?"one more time, I might be forced to do something reckless and buy it. And I don't want to go there.
You can bet they are NOT going to watch the Super Bowl? The Super Bowl commercials will probably lead me down the road to bankruptcy. My heart is strong, but my will is fading fast. Help me!!!
Since we moved back from the relative English-language television dead zone of Korea, the kids have been exposed to "Real American" TV for the first time in their lives. (My son was young enough before we left that we only let him see Disney and PBS.) The commericals are killing me. Pop Tarts are just one of the horrible by-products of commericalized life.
It's one thing to be exposed consistently from a young age so that, by the time it matters, commericals are ignored (for the most part), but my kids are sucking it up like SpongeBob Squarepants-shaped sponges because commericals are like mini-tv shows to them. If I have to hear "Mommy! Look Zhu Zhu Pets!" or "Mommy, look they make a kid-sized Snuggies!" or "Mommy, you could really use that when brushing your teeth" or "Mommy, can we make some brownies?" or "Mommy, can I have some Lucky Charms?"one more time, I might be forced to do something reckless and buy it. And I don't want to go there.
You can bet they are NOT going to watch the Super Bowl? The Super Bowl commercials will probably lead me down the road to bankruptcy. My heart is strong, but my will is fading fast. Help me!!!
Nothing to see here.
Somewhere, somehow, sometime in the past couple of months, I've completely lost my voice. My blogging voice, that is. Sadly for those who have to live with me, the actual voice is in rare form.
Part of the problem is that my beloved laptop was murdered (involuntary homicide) at the hands of my three-year old back in November and you would not believe how hard it is to get a new one these days.
My tech-savvy, genius brother helped me get one for an unbelievable deal. Then the mouse button (essential to computing these days) broke. Just the left one, not the right one. So I sent it back and dug out my VERY old Dell Insiprion 700m from 2005. Slow as the drip through my leaky roof, but it worked and I thought that it would work until my computer made it back to the company for the exchange. And it might have, except it took nearly two weeks to make it from Richmond to California; then, the transaction was placed in digital purgatory because they were sold out and were waiting for more to fill the order. Three weeks later, no computer and an unexplained refund. No advanced notice whatsoever.
That very same day, my old Dell spoke its last words ("Fatal Error; Dumping hard drive." on the blue screen of death) and breathed its last breath. Which is a good thing because after I heard its last words, all I wanted to do was haul it firmly across the room.
So, there I was, no computer, but I did have an iPhone. Do you have any idea how hard it is to buy a computer using the internet on an iPhone? It wasn't easy. At all. And I'm still not sure I've ordered the right thing. (Probably an Apple conspiracy. I bet if I were buying a Mac it would be easy-peasy.) But, that's ok, I said to myself. It'll be here in a couple of weeks and I have my iPhone to check my e-mail and maintain a healthy dose of Facebook.
Oh, I'm so naive. My computer was due to arrive in my humble abode by February 1st. On February 1st, I got an e-mail saying my shipment would be delayed. The new expected arrival date is the 8th. Now I'm just going to believe it when I see it.
By now you are probably wondering how I am blogging with no computer? Well, in a sheer act of desperation and a certain level of panic about what will happen if my children touch my new computer after what will be about three months of down-time, we bought a netbook that I can use until the new laptop arrives and the kids can fight over after that. Yeah, me! I'm online again.
The problem, you ask? Well, it turns out that I have nothing to say.
Part of the problem is that my beloved laptop was murdered (involuntary homicide) at the hands of my three-year old back in November and you would not believe how hard it is to get a new one these days.
My tech-savvy, genius brother helped me get one for an unbelievable deal. Then the mouse button (essential to computing these days) broke. Just the left one, not the right one. So I sent it back and dug out my VERY old Dell Insiprion 700m from 2005. Slow as the drip through my leaky roof, but it worked and I thought that it would work until my computer made it back to the company for the exchange. And it might have, except it took nearly two weeks to make it from Richmond to California; then, the transaction was placed in digital purgatory because they were sold out and were waiting for more to fill the order. Three weeks later, no computer and an unexplained refund. No advanced notice whatsoever.
That very same day, my old Dell spoke its last words ("Fatal Error; Dumping hard drive." on the blue screen of death) and breathed its last breath. Which is a good thing because after I heard its last words, all I wanted to do was haul it firmly across the room.
So, there I was, no computer, but I did have an iPhone. Do you have any idea how hard it is to buy a computer using the internet on an iPhone? It wasn't easy. At all. And I'm still not sure I've ordered the right thing. (Probably an Apple conspiracy. I bet if I were buying a Mac it would be easy-peasy.) But, that's ok, I said to myself. It'll be here in a couple of weeks and I have my iPhone to check my e-mail and maintain a healthy dose of Facebook.
Oh, I'm so naive. My computer was due to arrive in my humble abode by February 1st. On February 1st, I got an e-mail saying my shipment would be delayed. The new expected arrival date is the 8th. Now I'm just going to believe it when I see it.
By now you are probably wondering how I am blogging with no computer? Well, in a sheer act of desperation and a certain level of panic about what will happen if my children touch my new computer after what will be about three months of down-time, we bought a netbook that I can use until the new laptop arrives and the kids can fight over after that. Yeah, me! I'm online again.
The problem, you ask? Well, it turns out that I have nothing to say.
Resolution
I just realized that I have not updated the blog since the new year! 2010 is here and I've not welcomed it officially. So, I shall do so now with some reflections on resolution.
Please be kind enough to excuse me for a rare moment of waxing (and probably wanning) philosophic. (I know you mostly stop by this channel to make yourself feel better about your own parenting and to give thanks that you are not my children. But, bear with me.)
Resolution is an interesting word. With the beginning of each new year, we make promises to ourselves (or others) that we will do something to improve ourselves and our lives, but I think that we also forget that resolution also brings closure. Also appropriate for year-end philosophizing.
To me, this year has been more about resolution in the latter sense than about resolution in the former. To start, this year has been one of the most difficult years I've had to live and I hope to never have to do it again, but despite that I have also found a huge amount of resolution as well. I've found that finding resolution is so important in finding peace in our lives and the ability to resolve to move on.
So, resolution to me, especially this year, is proving to be both an end and a beginning. And I resolve not to resolve anything yet.
Please be kind enough to excuse me for a rare moment of waxing (and probably wanning) philosophic. (I know you mostly stop by this channel to make yourself feel better about your own parenting and to give thanks that you are not my children. But, bear with me.)
Resolution is an interesting word. With the beginning of each new year, we make promises to ourselves (or others) that we will do something to improve ourselves and our lives, but I think that we also forget that resolution also brings closure. Also appropriate for year-end philosophizing.
To me, this year has been more about resolution in the latter sense than about resolution in the former. To start, this year has been one of the most difficult years I've had to live and I hope to never have to do it again, but despite that I have also found a huge amount of resolution as well. I've found that finding resolution is so important in finding peace in our lives and the ability to resolve to move on.
So, resolution to me, especially this year, is proving to be both an end and a beginning. And I resolve not to resolve anything yet.
Mission Complete
After more than 6 years and $10,000, potty training is complete. Am I sad that my kids are growing up? NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Grace
There are times in my life when I reach in my bag to find a pen and I pull out five juice boxes, cookie crumbs, scratched sunglasses, and some receipts. Then, there are the times when I pull out the pen.
Dangerous and disrespectful. Fa-lalalala, lalalala.
So, I was talking to my son's first grade room mother (no, it's not a legally binding relationship) about the upcoming class' Holiday-Mas party on the last day of school before the Winter-Mas Break (tomorrow at the time of this writing).
I was volunteering to do my part and in a flight of whimsy about classroom parties of my youth said, "it should be fun. At least, I hope they have more fun than the Halloween Fall party. Party days were so fun at school!"
To which she replied, "what do you mean?"
And I said, "well, they all just sat in their chairs and had to be quiet." (They had a sub that day, so I thought that was the reason why it was dull.)
To which she said, "They have to sit down or they will get in trouble."
Me: "Huh?"
She: "It would be dangerous and disrespectful for them to be out of their chairs. Someone would come and tell them to sit down."
Me: "Huh!? That's ridiculous. They should play some games. They are old enough to be told that they have to play at an appropriate level."
She: "Oh, no. They can't take that risk."
(A photo from the Falloween Party.)
Not only that, but there is nary a speck of sugar on the list of food items being brought in for the party!!!!!!
I was volunteering to do my part and in a flight of whimsy about classroom parties of my youth said, "it should be fun. At least, I hope they have more fun than the Halloween Fall party. Party days were so fun at school!"
To which she replied, "what do you mean?"
And I said, "well, they all just sat in their chairs and had to be quiet." (They had a sub that day, so I thought that was the reason why it was dull.)
To which she said, "They have to sit down or they will get in trouble."
Me: "Huh?"
She: "It would be dangerous and disrespectful for them to be out of their chairs. Someone would come and tell them to sit down."
Me: "Huh!? That's ridiculous. They should play some games. They are old enough to be told that they have to play at an appropriate level."
She: "Oh, no. They can't take that risk."
(A photo from the Falloween Party.)
Not only that, but there is nary a speck of sugar on the list of food items being brought in for the party!!!!!!
Getting Trashed
Ah, I bet that word conjures up many a happy memory for most of my readers. And even if getting trashed didn't end up exactly like you planned one night, I bet it didn't end up like this (unless you are REALLY unlucky, that is):
Now this is not my first "messy house" post (see here, here, and here for some other examples) and it is unlikely to be my last (after all, it is fertile ground, you know); but you really have to appreciate the totality with which the distruction occurred in a mere 25 minutes.
How do I know you ask? I know because I finished tidying up and vaccuming, and then immediately ordered pizza. Then, I went in the kitchen to work on some Christmas cooking. Twenty-five minutes later (I checked my watch upon arrival) when the door bell rang for the delivery guy, I came out to this.
(Blogger is not showing this image the right way up, but sideways is nice, too.)
So, next time you get trashed, I really hope it is the good kind and not the bad kind. Overall, the moral of the story is to drink a lot more and it will all be all right.
Now this is not my first "messy house" post (see here, here, and here for some other examples) and it is unlikely to be my last (after all, it is fertile ground, you know); but you really have to appreciate the totality with which the distruction occurred in a mere 25 minutes.
How do I know you ask? I know because I finished tidying up and vaccuming, and then immediately ordered pizza. Then, I went in the kitchen to work on some Christmas cooking. Twenty-five minutes later (I checked my watch upon arrival) when the door bell rang for the delivery guy, I came out to this.
(Blogger is not showing this image the right way up, but sideways is nice, too.)
So, next time you get trashed, I really hope it is the good kind and not the bad kind. Overall, the moral of the story is to drink a lot more and it will all be all right.
New Blog Layout
Just for you Anna. Hope this doesn't offend your aging eyes too much. Don't say I never gave you anything.
Tips for the Diabolical School Lunch
School lunch is an interesting topic. I doubt too many people would agree that the nutritional value of school lunch is, at least at times, pretty questionable, but it is convenient and cheap. (Isn't that what the fast food giants say, too? Interesting.)
My son and I used to have daily debates about lunch that involved me checking the published menu and negotiating whether or not he would take lunch. By the time we brokered a deal, I'd spent more time on talking about lunch than I would have spent making it.
So, I started making it everyday only to find him coming home with the healthiest parts leftover in his lunch bag. Then, I would spend each day pointing out what he should be eating instead of what he was eating since they don't bother to teach nutrition in schools while it matters the most. (Hmmm, obesity problem? Why not educate them early and often? But that's another soap box.)
After two years of honing my methods, I realized that my lunch strategy was simple AND effective! Basically, my lunch tips come down to two issues outlined below with my suggested solutions. So here goes:
Problem 1: Child doesn't want to eat school lunch.
Solution A: Progressively make home made lunches less palatable.
Solution B: Hide the food so that every once in a while you can say "I don't have anything to give you. You'll have to eat at school today."
Problem 2: Child doesn't eat the most nutritional parts of the home made lunch. (Why do those pieces of fruit or the carrots always come home?)
Solution: Slightly underfeed the child so that he/she is hungry enough to eat everything. Works every time!
Be sure to offer a nutritional snack at pick-up or as soon as he/she gets home. See here for tips on providing healthy snacks.
Happy eating!
My son and I used to have daily debates about lunch that involved me checking the published menu and negotiating whether or not he would take lunch. By the time we brokered a deal, I'd spent more time on talking about lunch than I would have spent making it.
So, I started making it everyday only to find him coming home with the healthiest parts leftover in his lunch bag. Then, I would spend each day pointing out what he should be eating instead of what he was eating since they don't bother to teach nutrition in schools while it matters the most. (Hmmm, obesity problem? Why not educate them early and often? But that's another soap box.)
After two years of honing my methods, I realized that my lunch strategy was simple AND effective! Basically, my lunch tips come down to two issues outlined below with my suggested solutions. So here goes:
Problem 1: Child doesn't want to eat school lunch.
Solution A: Progressively make home made lunches less palatable.
Solution B: Hide the food so that every once in a while you can say "I don't have anything to give you. You'll have to eat at school today."
Problem 2: Child doesn't eat the most nutritional parts of the home made lunch. (Why do those pieces of fruit or the carrots always come home?)
Solution: Slightly underfeed the child so that he/she is hungry enough to eat everything. Works every time!
Be sure to offer a nutritional snack at pick-up or as soon as he/she gets home. See here for tips on providing healthy snacks.
Happy eating!
Dogs and Kids: Are they from the same gene pool?
OK, I'm feeling a little peeved today. I've been saying this for years, but now that some "researchers" in TWO STUDIES have announced their "findings", everyone is taking it seriously. (I'll give you a minute to hop over to the article and get back to me......lalalalalalala....ho hum....oh, good, you're back.)
In 2005, when I said, "the way I see it, two year olds and dogs are operating on the same level" after observing my then-nearly-two-year-old son lying in a mud puddle next to his black lab pal, Tater, I got shock and awe. It was like I spit on the Bible or something.
Just the thought of likening a dog to a child was apparently inappropriate or something. Maybe it's the whole "Evolution? Pa-shaw" movement that's been hitting the news over the past few years. Unfortunately, my son wasn't lying in a mud puddle next to a chimp because, if he was, the proverbial poop may have hit the proverbial fan at record breaking velocity.
Anyway, I've been saying it ever since, including recently when I stood watching my three-year old daughter chasing her own "tail" next to a dog chasing his own tail. In fact, I say it so often that when I saw these studies, I had to look up the names of the authors to make sure they didn't overhear me say it! So far it all looks legit, but I have my suspicions.
In 2005, when I said, "the way I see it, two year olds and dogs are operating on the same level" after observing my then-nearly-two-year-old son lying in a mud puddle next to his black lab pal, Tater, I got shock and awe. It was like I spit on the Bible or something.
Just the thought of likening a dog to a child was apparently inappropriate or something. Maybe it's the whole "Evolution? Pa-shaw" movement that's been hitting the news over the past few years. Unfortunately, my son wasn't lying in a mud puddle next to a chimp because, if he was, the proverbial poop may have hit the proverbial fan at record breaking velocity.
Anyway, I've been saying it ever since, including recently when I stood watching my three-year old daughter chasing her own "tail" next to a dog chasing his own tail. In fact, I say it so often that when I saw these studies, I had to look up the names of the authors to make sure they didn't overhear me say it! So far it all looks legit, but I have my suspicions.
