It's been a while since my birthday, but it was such a memorable day that it deserves a blog post.
The observation of my birthday began at about 12:15 a.m. with my poor little boy staggering into my bedroom and stuttering, "Mommy, I've been ill." He certainly had been. Steve and I peeled him out of his pajamas, then Steve sat with him in the bathroom while I assessed the damage.
We had to clean his top sheet, fitted sheet, pillow case, pillow, 2 blankets and a comforter, mattress pad, the carpeting on both sides of his bed, plus a couple of spots between his bed and the door, plus the throw rug in our bedroom doorway. By the time we had stripped the bed, cleaned the carpet and started the washing machine, Paul was feeling well enough to go back to bed.
Mercifully, Petra decided that she needed her middle of the night feed just as I was wrapping things up with Paul. It would have been rough if she had needed to eat in the middle of the cleanup effort or 10 minutes after I went to back bed.
Steve turned off the alarm clock and slept in a little bit to make up for the hole in his night's sleep. He checked his e-mail before he went in to work and discovered a note from Paul and Julia's school saying that if we wanted to give them the H1N1 vaccine, we had to take them to the junior high school that evening. Hmmm... Glad we hadn't planned on going out to dinner or anything.
Paul was feeling better in the morning. We're pretty sure he had just reacted to something bad he had eaten. By noon I decided to send him to his p.m. Kindergarten class. One problem, though, was that the bus would bring Paul and Julia home too late for us to make their vaccination appointment. We decided it would be much simpler if Steve picked Paul and Julia up at school. At least, we thought it would be simpler.
We had never driven them home from school before. I told Steve where I thought the pick-up line of cars should be. When Steve arrived at the school, he discovered that the kindergartners (Paul) and the preschoolers (Julia) had different pick-up locations. Not only that, but the fire alarm had triggered shortly before Steve got there. So Steve was not where he was supposed to be, Paul was not really where he was supposed to be (kindergartners are supposed to go wait with preschooler siblings), and half of the school was not where they were supposed to be because they had to perform an emergency exit. Steve saw Paul's teacher leading half her students across the lawn to get to their buses. He got Paul from the kindergartner pick-up location and was told to drive around the school to find Julia. Halfway around the building, he spotted Julia being led to the kindergartner pick-up spot by her teacher. I think Steve made it out of the parking lot before the fire engines showed up.
They all came home and we had a snack before going out again for the vaccinations. Petra stayed with Grandma K, who was also fixing my birthday supper. As we left grandma's house, Julia said something about today being my birthday. I answered, "That's right Julia. Today is my birthday. Every single, blessed minute of it."
The junior high school was something else. I explained to Paul and Julia why we were going, and they were understandably nervous about getting shots. The line of parents and small children stretched out the door and down the sidewalk. It was all preschoolers and kindergartners in the city whose parents wanted them to have the vaccine. It was like being in a herd of cattle. Cattle with dollies and sniffly noses.
We slowly made it through the first line and got our paperwork. The second line wound us through the halls of junior high, past scores of blue lockers and deserted classrooms to the cafeteria. The health department had made a blockade of upright lunch tables to divide those waiting in the line from the tables where the vaccines were being administered. As we got closer, the sound of scared and wailing children got louder and louder. Nervousness turned to fear as we listened to the waves of crying.
The nurses made quick work of the injections. Paul and Julia weren't happy about their shots, but they handled them well and each got a sticker for their troubles. Afterward Paul was telling everybody about how brave he had been. He's like me; adrenaline makes him chatty. For as many people as there were, the health department got us through remarkably quickly.
After that, my birthday was blessedly unremarkable. Dinner was good, the cake was great, and I got some nice presents to keep me toasty warm.
Later I called my mom and asked her what hour I had been born.
"Oh, about 6 in the evening. Why do you ask?"
I answered, "That's good. I can chalk today up to ending year 31 with a bang, rather than starting out on a doozy of a new year."
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Scheduling my ineptitude
During my high school summer job as a fry cook at Faye's Whippy dip, my coworker and classmate, Allison, was fond of saying, "Boy, for a smart person, you sure don't have any commons sense."
blar.
I like to think of myself as a smart person, but Allison hit a nerve. There are a number of foolish acts, that I not only commit, but seem to commit at regular intervals. For example -
Lock my keys in the car - every 6 years.
Lock myself out of the house - average of once a year. Fortunately we have a spare key hidden...umm... under the chicken manure pile. yeah, sure. That's where it is. (Maybe I can trick any bad guys reading this blog into turning over the compost.)
Pour the dirty mop water on the walkway or porch steps in sub-freezing temperatures so that it coats the concrete with slippery ice - every 6 years.
Over commit myself - every 4 months.
Try to feed my husband vegetables he won't eat - every 17 months.
Forget my purse at church - every 2 years.
Lock my purse and church keys in the church on a freezing, windy, snowy night while I'm there alone and have to wait for somebody else to come so we can use their cell phone to ask the pastor's son to come over and open the door for us - Well, I don't have enough data points to let you know what interval to expect for this event, but I'll keep you posted.
blar.
I like to think of myself as a smart person, but Allison hit a nerve. There are a number of foolish acts, that I not only commit, but seem to commit at regular intervals. For example -
Lock my keys in the car - every 6 years.
Lock myself out of the house - average of once a year. Fortunately we have a spare key hidden...umm... under the chicken manure pile. yeah, sure. That's where it is. (Maybe I can trick any bad guys reading this blog into turning over the compost.)
Pour the dirty mop water on the walkway or porch steps in sub-freezing temperatures so that it coats the concrete with slippery ice - every 6 years.
Over commit myself - every 4 months.
Try to feed my husband vegetables he won't eat - every 17 months.
Forget my purse at church - every 2 years.
Lock my purse and church keys in the church on a freezing, windy, snowy night while I'm there alone and have to wait for somebody else to come so we can use their cell phone to ask the pastor's son to come over and open the door for us - Well, I don't have enough data points to let you know what interval to expect for this event, but I'll keep you posted.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
My Grandma Haggerty's Inheritance
I remember my Grandma Haggerty. She had soft, hazel-brown eyes and soft, wispy, white hair. Her wrinkles were soft and so were her hugs. But I know that under that softness, there was a whole lot of toughness.
Her given name was Mary Nesbit and she grew up on the family farm, Rain Rocks. She was older than her brother and sister so she was expected to help out quite a bit with the chores. The chores included killing the chickens they would eat. Grandma hated wringing the chickens necks so badly, that she became a good enough shot with a rifle to clip a chicken in the head. When I learned that story, I found a new level of respect for my little granny.
I know she was tough because I can sense it in the stories I have heard. Neither she nor my grandfather finished high school. Their marriage was delayed because Grandpa took a 4 year government paid "vacation" to Germany in the 1940s. When they did marry, he was 24 and she was 22. She told a story about trying to get a load of coal home on an icy road through the hills. Dad talks about how all the vegetables they ate came from a big garden they kept. Grandma canned them all. She raised my father and his siblings. She was widowed twice and survived a house fire.
Grandma was tough through determination, by which I guess I mean that she was stubborn. She made financial and health decisions that her children and grandchildren wished were otherwise, but she made them her own way and was her own person. She had "sugar," but would not be persuaded by my uncle to eat a more healthy diet. She lived in a ramshackle little house, but would not be persuaded by my father to move somewhere nicer. I can still picture Dad and Grandma sitting on the porch, facing each other, waiting to out stubborn each other. Grandma stayed in the ramshackle house. It was her way.
I remember the time she let me have a piece of apple pie after my mom said that I couldn't because I hadn't finished my sandwich for lunch. Grandma sneaked me a piece anyway.
I remember the evening I spent cuddling in her arms in the lamp light while she talked with my parents. It was past my bedtime but I couldn't sleep yet.
I remember the way she would tell morbid stories. "Do you want to hear something awfully sad?"
I remember her playing the piano. She couldn't really read music, but she read enough to play carols and hymns that she more or less knew. She had a small organ in her house.
I remember she often bought us irregular or cheaply made gifts for Christmas. They still told us she loved us.
I remember her house full of stuff that she couldn't let go.
I remember rice cakes, heated in the microwave and spread with butter.
I remember her apple cake. She called the icing, "the dope."
I remember her bratty dogs.
I remember her beautiful African violets.
I remember her laugh.
I remember her in the hospital, but I'd rather not think about that.
I remember her arms. The tops of her arms were so densely freckled that the skin was a solid patch of brown. The undersides of her arms were very white, and betrayed how delicate her skin was. Her hands were strong and her finger nails were ridged and hard. She could hold an apple in her hands and split it in half. She could crack black walnut shells with an ordinary nutcracker. My grandma was soft and tough.
Her given name was Mary Nesbit and she grew up on the family farm, Rain Rocks. She was older than her brother and sister so she was expected to help out quite a bit with the chores. The chores included killing the chickens they would eat. Grandma hated wringing the chickens necks so badly, that she became a good enough shot with a rifle to clip a chicken in the head. When I learned that story, I found a new level of respect for my little granny.
I know she was tough because I can sense it in the stories I have heard. Neither she nor my grandfather finished high school. Their marriage was delayed because Grandpa took a 4 year government paid "vacation" to Germany in the 1940s. When they did marry, he was 24 and she was 22. She told a story about trying to get a load of coal home on an icy road through the hills. Dad talks about how all the vegetables they ate came from a big garden they kept. Grandma canned them all. She raised my father and his siblings. She was widowed twice and survived a house fire.
Grandma was tough through determination, by which I guess I mean that she was stubborn. She made financial and health decisions that her children and grandchildren wished were otherwise, but she made them her own way and was her own person. She had "sugar," but would not be persuaded by my uncle to eat a more healthy diet. She lived in a ramshackle little house, but would not be persuaded by my father to move somewhere nicer. I can still picture Dad and Grandma sitting on the porch, facing each other, waiting to out stubborn each other. Grandma stayed in the ramshackle house. It was her way.
I remember the time she let me have a piece of apple pie after my mom said that I couldn't because I hadn't finished my sandwich for lunch. Grandma sneaked me a piece anyway.
I remember the evening I spent cuddling in her arms in the lamp light while she talked with my parents. It was past my bedtime but I couldn't sleep yet.
I remember the way she would tell morbid stories. "Do you want to hear something awfully sad?"
I remember her playing the piano. She couldn't really read music, but she read enough to play carols and hymns that she more or less knew. She had a small organ in her house.
I remember she often bought us irregular or cheaply made gifts for Christmas. They still told us she loved us.
I remember her house full of stuff that she couldn't let go.
I remember rice cakes, heated in the microwave and spread with butter.
I remember her apple cake. She called the icing, "the dope."
I remember her bratty dogs.
I remember her beautiful African violets.
I remember her laugh.
I remember her in the hospital, but I'd rather not think about that.
I remember her arms. The tops of her arms were so densely freckled that the skin was a solid patch of brown. The undersides of her arms were very white, and betrayed how delicate her skin was. Her hands were strong and her finger nails were ridged and hard. She could hold an apple in her hands and split it in half. She could crack black walnut shells with an ordinary nutcracker. My grandma was soft and tough.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Thursday, January 21, 2010
little speech
Petra doesn't know that she cannot talk.
She looks at us and smiles.
As a newborn, she didn't really use her vocal cords voluntarily, but now she is deliberately vocalizing. She has started moving her tongue to produce different sounds. This is just amazing. She coos and burbles on so convincingly that I feel compelled to answer her and to ask questions like, "And then what happened?" and "Really? Are you sure?"
I wish I could transcribe her, but I can't. She's not using vowels and consonants common to the English language. It is like she is slurring between diphthongs and using foreign R's and L's.
Language is such an amazing gift from God! Have you ever stopped and allowed yourself to be astounded by how quickly words come to your mouth? They often come so quickly that we get ourselves in trouble. But really, we have a dictionary at our command and we pour it out without having to stop and flip through the pages of our memory. It's breathtaking. We convey complicated meanings with very little effort.
I think of how God is the creator of words, of speech, of meaning, of LOGOS. He gave it to us. We're to use it in service to him. We're to try to keep our words holy for him. We're not to pollute our speech or use rotten words. We're to use our words to praise him and to build up those around us.
Thank you, Lord, for the gift and responsibility of speech.
She looks at us and smiles.
As a newborn, she didn't really use her vocal cords voluntarily, but now she is deliberately vocalizing. She has started moving her tongue to produce different sounds. This is just amazing. She coos and burbles on so convincingly that I feel compelled to answer her and to ask questions like, "And then what happened?" and "Really? Are you sure?"
I wish I could transcribe her, but I can't. She's not using vowels and consonants common to the English language. It is like she is slurring between diphthongs and using foreign R's and L's.
Language is such an amazing gift from God! Have you ever stopped and allowed yourself to be astounded by how quickly words come to your mouth? They often come so quickly that we get ourselves in trouble. But really, we have a dictionary at our command and we pour it out without having to stop and flip through the pages of our memory. It's breathtaking. We convey complicated meanings with very little effort.
I think of how God is the creator of words, of speech, of meaning, of LOGOS. He gave it to us. We're to use it in service to him. We're to try to keep our words holy for him. We're not to pollute our speech or use rotten words. We're to use our words to praise him and to build up those around us.
Thank you, Lord, for the gift and responsibility of speech.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Say again?
I often find myself having trouble engaging with Julia in her imaginative play. I think I know why. After playing that we were pirates while I was feeding Petra, Julia announced that she was Micah (the little boy who lives down the street from us.) The conversation went something like this:
Mommy, I'm Micah. You're not my mommy. My mommy is away at my big sister's practice. My sister plays baseball.
Basketball.
Yeah, basketball. I'm Micah. You're not my mommy. Is this your baby? Hi baby, I'm Micah. My mommy is away at my big sister's practice. My sister plays baseball.
Basketball.
Look, I have a scarf. Do you like my scarf? My mommy is away at the big girl's practice. My sister plays baseball.
Basketball. Will you play basketball when you are bigger?
Yeah. Mommy, I'm Micah. I'm not Julia, I'm Micah. I brought this scarf for your baby. Do you like it? My mommy's not here. She's at basketball with my big sister. My big sister plays basketball. You have a cute baby.
Can you help me empty the dishwasher?
Yeah. I'm Micah. My mommy is away at my big sister's practice. My sister plays baseball.
Basketball. Do you know where the colander goes?
No. Can you help me? Hey, mommy look at this!
I look. She shows me a toy.
You're not my mommy. I'm Micah. My mommy is away at my big sister's practice.
This went on for about an hour and a half.
Mommy, I'm Micah. You're not my mommy. My mommy is away at my big sister's practice. My sister plays baseball.
Basketball.
Yeah, basketball. I'm Micah. You're not my mommy. Is this your baby? Hi baby, I'm Micah. My mommy is away at my big sister's practice. My sister plays baseball.
Basketball.
Look, I have a scarf. Do you like my scarf? My mommy is away at the big girl's practice. My sister plays baseball.
Basketball. Will you play basketball when you are bigger?
Yeah. Mommy, I'm Micah. I'm not Julia, I'm Micah. I brought this scarf for your baby. Do you like it? My mommy's not here. She's at basketball with my big sister. My big sister plays basketball. You have a cute baby.
Can you help me empty the dishwasher?
Yeah. I'm Micah. My mommy is away at my big sister's practice. My sister plays baseball.
Basketball. Do you know where the colander goes?
No. Can you help me? Hey, mommy look at this!
I look. She shows me a toy.
You're not my mommy. I'm Micah. My mommy is away at my big sister's practice.
This went on for about an hour and a half.
Play date with my girls
Julia and I had some fun together today. Petra was with us, but Paul was at Grandma's house and Kindergarten. We went to play group at the mall, followed by lunch at the food court and a swing by the toy store to get a sled.
After our shopping spree (socks for Paul & a plastic sled), I thought I would get a treat for us. I told Julia we would have a treat on the way home. I was thinking to get a dessert from a fast food drive through.
"Oh boy. I'm hungry! Can I have a granola bar?"
-"Nope, I'm out of granola bars. I thought we'd buy a treat."
"Can I have carrots? Carrots are my favorite food."
Bless you, Julia.
-"Um... I wasn't planning on carrots. I was planning to get something from a place with a drive through." (Please don't make me unstrap the baby from the car seat again.)
"We can go to the grocery and get carrots. Or strawberries. Can I have strawberries for a treat?"
So I was driving along, still planning to get a couple of child size shakes, but thinking that I really shouldn't ruin her belief that carrots or strawberries count as a special treat.
After our shopping spree (socks for Paul & a plastic sled), I thought I would get a treat for us. I told Julia we would have a treat on the way home. I was thinking to get a dessert from a fast food drive through.
"Oh boy. I'm hungry! Can I have a granola bar?"
-"Nope, I'm out of granola bars. I thought we'd buy a treat."
"Can I have carrots? Carrots are my favorite food."
Bless you, Julia.
-"Um... I wasn't planning on carrots. I was planning to get something from a place with a drive through." (Please don't make me unstrap the baby from the car seat again.)
"We can go to the grocery and get carrots. Or strawberries. Can I have strawberries for a treat?"
So I was driving along, still planning to get a couple of child size shakes, but thinking that I really shouldn't ruin her belief that carrots or strawberries count as a special treat.
Petra Grace - Super Baby!
Okay, so not only is Petra developmentally on target, I am now convinced that she is a prodigy, a genius! While reading a magazine for Paul and Julia, I asked, "Do you see anything else that is red?" Petra, who was sitting in my lap, reached up and slapped a picture of a red block.
The other night she was vocalizing about her feelings on being plopped in the baby swing. Steve and I are both certain we heard her call, "Help!" as I was walking away.
She is also supporting herself on her legs some. We balance her and she stands and smiles, looking proud. She is starting to demonstrate her walk reflex. Maybe I better call it her stagger reflex.
The other night she was vocalizing about her feelings on being plopped in the baby swing. Steve and I are both certain we heard her call, "Help!" as I was walking away.
She is also supporting herself on her legs some. We balance her and she stands and smiles, looking proud. She is starting to demonstrate her walk reflex. Maybe I better call it her stagger reflex.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Petra, Julia, Paul in January '10
We were a little delayed at getting Petra's 2 month checkup.
She weighed in at 13.5 pounds.
She is cooing and laughing a little. Her smiles and eye contact are charming. She is sleeping through the night, more or less. She is holding her head up and looking around.
I think she's perfect.
-----------------------------
Julia was star of the week at preschool. We interviewed her for a little display board at school. She wants to be a superhero when she grows up. Her favorite animal is a frog. (really?) And her favorite toy is a little pink dolphin.
She is memorizing Paul's star words along with him.
Yesterday she started repeating words from one of Steve's Fannigan's Isle CDs. uh-oh
At least it wasn't the Irish song about the "ficklesome maid selling her wares at the bar."
-----------------------------
Paul has started learning the long O and long A sounds at school. Toad, hole, rain, day.
Yesterday at breakfast he started telling me, "At school we learned about a king who lived a long time ago. Black people weren't allowed to go to the same schools and restaurants, and the king said that was wrong."
It took me a minute.
"You mean Martin Luther King Jr?"
"Yeah. They put him in jail. Why did they put him in jail?"
"Because he was standing up for what was right, and they loved what was wrong. He was very brave."
Don't forget Martin Luther King Jr, my children. Those who forget their history are doomed to repeat it.
She weighed in at 13.5 pounds.
She is cooing and laughing a little. Her smiles and eye contact are charming. She is sleeping through the night, more or less. She is holding her head up and looking around.
I think she's perfect.
-----------------------------
Julia was star of the week at preschool. We interviewed her for a little display board at school. She wants to be a superhero when she grows up. Her favorite animal is a frog. (really?) And her favorite toy is a little pink dolphin.
She is memorizing Paul's star words along with him.
Yesterday she started repeating words from one of Steve's Fannigan's Isle CDs. uh-oh
At least it wasn't the Irish song about the "ficklesome maid selling her wares at the bar."
-----------------------------
Paul has started learning the long O and long A sounds at school. Toad, hole, rain, day.
Yesterday at breakfast he started telling me, "At school we learned about a king who lived a long time ago. Black people weren't allowed to go to the same schools and restaurants, and the king said that was wrong."
It took me a minute.
"You mean Martin Luther King Jr?"
"Yeah. They put him in jail. Why did they put him in jail?"
"Because he was standing up for what was right, and they loved what was wrong. He was very brave."
Don't forget Martin Luther King Jr, my children. Those who forget their history are doomed to repeat it.
Mid January Prayer
It's coming. The winter slump. The waves of feeling incompetent. The assurance that my inner fears (nobody likes me) must be right. The hateful levels of being judgmental of others and myself. I find myself wanting to be the best at something. If I can't out compete the people I'm supposed to be friends with, then I won't even try a task. If I can't execute my dreams perfectly, then I will simply give up.
Okay just writing that down, helps me put those thoughts in perspective. Ridiculous. But in 10 minutes I'll be moping again. Back and forth I go.
Lord, be my rock.
Again, I'll ask it - Give me your eternal perspective.
Give me peace, but not as the world gives it.
The world's peace is conditional. It is not enduring.
Give me peace that transcends my circumstances.
I don't want the Buddhist resignation for my peace.
I don't want the appearance that everything is okay.
I want peace that holds me in place while I am passionately on fire.
Lord, I have dreams but lack focus. You must give me direction. Be my North Star.
Those feelings of incompetence come from running in circles after too many different good deeds. Show me your way, Oh God.
Okay just writing that down, helps me put those thoughts in perspective. Ridiculous. But in 10 minutes I'll be moping again. Back and forth I go.
Lord, be my rock.
Again, I'll ask it - Give me your eternal perspective.
Give me peace, but not as the world gives it.
The world's peace is conditional. It is not enduring.
Give me peace that transcends my circumstances.
I don't want the Buddhist resignation for my peace.
I don't want the appearance that everything is okay.
I want peace that holds me in place while I am passionately on fire.
Lord, I have dreams but lack focus. You must give me direction. Be my North Star.
Those feelings of incompetence come from running in circles after too many different good deeds. Show me your way, Oh God.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Home schooling under duress
We had a couple of snow days last week.
Paul and Julia's first official act as free people was to declare it a pajama day. Very well.
Thursday we had our friends from down the road come over. I photocopied 2 of Paul's homework worksheets. After some loud chaotic fun, the children all got to do homework together. It was light weight stuff, so it was pretty fun. Then they got to run and be chaotic some more, so that's cool.
At lunch time on Thursday I realized that I was going to go crazy if we didn't have a plan, so I decided to write down a "curriculum" on some note paper. I asked the children what we should have in our school day. Recess and snack time topped the list.
We did our morning moves.
We had a counting exercise. (We counted socks from the laundry basket. 40 socks. Then we counted pairs. 17 pairs. 5 leftover unmatched socks. Ummm... you do the math.)
We did the whole alphabet of the Phonics Dance.
We reviewed our Star Words.
We ate a snack and had a recess. Recess involved racing in circles around the upstairs.
We had a writing exercise.
I was declared bossy.
Friday was another snow day.
After our morning moves, Paul announced, "Actually mom, we always have show and tell after our morning moves." Really? This was the first I'd heard about show and tell at Kindergarten. So Paul and Julia needed to "Show and Tell" about some of their toys.
Friday's lesson plan included recess outside, writing out our memory verse, and some time on PBSkids.com
Friday also included 2 science lessons. (Hey, I'm an engineer.) I let Paul and Julia wander around the house with magnets to learn about what was magnetic and what was not. During our outside recess, we filled a plastic dish with snow. Later we looked to see how much less volume the melted snow was.
We've had a lot of togetherness the last few days. Teacher mommy is ready for a snow day.
Paul and Julia's first official act as free people was to declare it a pajama day. Very well.
Thursday we had our friends from down the road come over. I photocopied 2 of Paul's homework worksheets. After some loud chaotic fun, the children all got to do homework together. It was light weight stuff, so it was pretty fun. Then they got to run and be chaotic some more, so that's cool.
At lunch time on Thursday I realized that I was going to go crazy if we didn't have a plan, so I decided to write down a "curriculum" on some note paper. I asked the children what we should have in our school day. Recess and snack time topped the list.
We did our morning moves.
We had a counting exercise. (We counted socks from the laundry basket. 40 socks. Then we counted pairs. 17 pairs. 5 leftover unmatched socks. Ummm... you do the math.)
We did the whole alphabet of the Phonics Dance.
We reviewed our Star Words.
We ate a snack and had a recess. Recess involved racing in circles around the upstairs.
We had a writing exercise.
I was declared bossy.
Friday was another snow day.
After our morning moves, Paul announced, "Actually mom, we always have show and tell after our morning moves." Really? This was the first I'd heard about show and tell at Kindergarten. So Paul and Julia needed to "Show and Tell" about some of their toys.
Friday's lesson plan included recess outside, writing out our memory verse, and some time on PBSkids.com
Friday also included 2 science lessons. (Hey, I'm an engineer.) I let Paul and Julia wander around the house with magnets to learn about what was magnetic and what was not. During our outside recess, we filled a plastic dish with snow. Later we looked to see how much less volume the melted snow was.
We've had a lot of togetherness the last few days. Teacher mommy is ready for a snow day.
Unrepeatable
Paul is the only boy in his Sunday school class. Today while the children were waiting for their teacher to come, Paul sat in the teacher's chair. They played teacher for a while. Paul decided to change professions. So he asked the girls, "Who wants to play doctor?"
--------------------
The other day Steve and I were trying to reign the children in at the dinner table. Tired of telling them all the things they could not do, I tried asking what they could do at table. I was hoping for answers like, "Sit on our bottoms, or kneel." "Talk about what happened today." "Eat our yummy food."
What I got from Paul was, "We can smash the bugs on the table."
WHAT?
"Yeah, we can hit any cockroaches that are on the table."
--------------------
Julia: Mom, your bottom is really big.
--------------------
Paul: How old are you?
Vojta: 24 years old.
Paul: Wow! That's really old!
---------------------
And now just a couple of personal observations.
1. Saffron: I just don't get it. Why would you pay $8 for 0.06 ounces of a spice, whose ONLY purpose is to turn your food the color of baby poop?
2. I have been cleaning out way too many soiled onesies.
--------------------
The other day Steve and I were trying to reign the children in at the dinner table. Tired of telling them all the things they could not do, I tried asking what they could do at table. I was hoping for answers like, "Sit on our bottoms, or kneel." "Talk about what happened today." "Eat our yummy food."
What I got from Paul was, "We can smash the bugs on the table."
WHAT?
"Yeah, we can hit any cockroaches that are on the table."
--------------------
Julia: Mom, your bottom is really big.
--------------------
Paul: How old are you?
Vojta: 24 years old.
Paul: Wow! That's really old!
---------------------
And now just a couple of personal observations.
1. Saffron: I just don't get it. Why would you pay $8 for 0.06 ounces of a spice, whose ONLY purpose is to turn your food the color of baby poop?
2. I have been cleaning out way too many soiled onesies.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)