A post about nothing in particular

There’s not much to say.  I’ve been buried in school work.  My last 5-week class had a huge amount of reading and writing every week.  This class promised to be less.  Except I went away for four glorious days without the kids.  I figured I would enjoy myself more if I didn’t have to worry about work that needs to be done and finding the time to do it and borrowing someone else computer and pray that the internet connection would hold up.  So I pushed myself and got it all done early.  Then I saw last weeks pile of work.  The two largest chapters in the book, a 90 page booklet, a 30 minute web video, 2 papers, and of course the online discussion, which started Thursday, meaning all the reading was “suppose to be” done by then.

My father gave a rousing speech about how ridiculous it was to have assignments due on Thanksgiving weekend.  It was beautiful.  It was one of those moments where a huge American flag drops down behind them and “America the Beautiful” starts playing in the background.  I wanted to give him a standing ovation.  Instead I said, “That’s all well and good, Dad, but their excuse is that I could have done the work early if I didn’t want to do it over the weekend.  This is the price I pay for an accelerated program.”  God, I tried explaining to him about holiday day pay and temporary or part-time retail workers, and he just couldn’t wrap his head around the idea people have to put up with a lot of sh*t to get a job.  Ah, city employees, sometimes their jobs are pretty sweet.

My mom maintains that the reason I’m doing so well in school is because I’m older and taking it more seriously.  Mom, you have me confused with my brother.  You know your child that took 8 years to get his bachelors.  I’m the one who made Dean’s List all semesters but one, who graduated with almost a full year’s worth of credits over what I needed, who was invited to be on the English Honor Society, Sigma Tau Delta.  (To be young and an STD)  No, I’m doing well because I didn’t bite off more than I could chew in classes.  (I totally bit off more than I can chew in life, but you know, that’s life.)

This week I have ONE chapter to read and ONE paper and just ONE discussion question.  I’m thrilled by all that free time.  I can blog!  I can read blogs!  (Seriously, people are going to think I don’t like them any more.)  I can email my friends!  (See, last aside.)  I can call and text my friends!  (Um, again, the aside before the aside.)  I can study history!  I can start on next week’s project!  I can start on Christmas gifts!  I can shop online!  I can do chores!

I’m obviously getting a little overexcited about the “free” time and the exclamation points.  But those are a nickle a dozen.  In reality, I’ll catch up with what needs to be done and not feel like something is breathing down my neck.  If I was smart, I would be home finishing this up and starting the phone calls that HAVE TO BE DONE, and that I think I’m avoiding.  Instead, I’m at my parents’ house because Aidan was so damn cute asking to be with my mom and my mom invited me to lunch, which didn’t happen, but hell, at least I can blog.

 

Heads is . . . .

I think I’ve mentioned my sons’ obsession with “Zombies vs Plants” and their desperate need to watch their dad play the game.  So after dinner, the boys started begging their dad to play.

Evan: Let’s play zombies!

Sean: Come on!  It’ll be fun!

The Husband: Daddy has to work.

Sean: Peeeeeaaaaaasssssssssse!

Evan: Let’s play “Head’s and Memorials!”  Heads will be we will play Zombies.  Memorials will be you go to work.

The Husband: Ok.

Evan flipped a penny.  It came up tails.

Evan: That didn’t work.  Let’s do it again.

Evan flipped the coin again, and it landed on tails.L

Evan: Let me do it again.

This time Evan held the coin a foot above the floor, head side up.  Then he dropped it. I saw the tails.  Evan scooped it up.

Me: Evan what did it land on?

Evan: The floor!

Me: (laughing) No.  What side landed up?

Evan: Heads!  Let’s play Zombies!

The Husband: Let’s play then.

I laughed harder.

Me: Evan.

Evan: (sighed) Let’s switch.  Heads will be Daddy goes to work, and memorials will be Zombies. 

Evan dropped the coin.

Evan: MEMORIALS!  Let’s go!

Preview

This isn’t the real post, but for those of you that have been wondering if I dropped crafts, I did, but I think I had a great reason (you know, vomiting, fatigue also known as morning sickness).  But now that Christmas is coming and, well, the economy has hit us, we’re doing craft gifts this year.  Yea!  Plus I now have energy and only vomit after a serious round of coughing.  (Stupid cough!  I hate you!)  So I thought I would give you a heads up on the crafts this year.

Homemade hot chocolate mix

Chocolate dipped spoons with marshmallows

Chocolate dipped cookies

Apple sauce cinnamon ornaments (love these)

Artwork tiles by Evan and Sean

Now the last ornament I’m in a debate: Gingerbread men (made with cardboard and “decorated” by the boys) or Snowmen (made with styrofoam balls and beads) or maybe both.

So stay tune.  Or heck, give a vote or an idea.

He’s Two

Back when Evan was two and Sean was just a babe in arms, I met another woman with children the same ages.  She was a friend of a friend, who came over with her children for an impromptu play date.  They all stayed through naptime.  I went and put Evan to bed for his nap.   At that time, Sean actually nursed around the same time as Evan’s naptime and usually fell asleep for his afternoon nap.  It was beautiful.

I offered the mother the guest bed for her daughter.  The mother declined.  Because her daughter didn’t take naps any more.  As I watched the toddler stumble around the room in exhaustion, I asked why.

“Because she cried so much I just gave up.”

I pitied the child.  Not the mother.  I had been there with Evan.  In fact, I would sit just outside his room, placing him in his bed over and over for two hours before the kid finally gave in and fell asleep.  Two hours.  Yup, that was a fight worth fighting.

So when Sean started crying about being put to bed last week for his afternoon nap, I was shocked.  Here was the boy who loved his bed because he could just go to bed when he was tired.  What was wrong with this kid?

Then today as he cried for an hour and half, it dawned on me.  Sean was two.  He wanted to give up his nap.  Sorry, dude, your mommy is willing to take this to the mat.  Bring it on, little man.  Bring it on.

A quick, oh so quick, note

A quick morning post to say that I have no idea if I’ll actually write a real post later.  It’s going to be 102 today.  One hundred and two degrees, people!  And my baby brother has invited us to take shelter at my parents’ pool.  (He can do this because my parents are still out of town until this afternoon.)  So I’ll be over there.  But first it’s time to do a little birthday shopping for the pickiest person I know.  Is it wrong to give your spouse a gift certificate when you know he’ll never remember to use it?  What?  We’re out of bread already!  But I just bought some . . . . Oh, it has been a while.  I might as well get the pound cake for the petit fours for the bridal shower on Sunday while I’m at it.  Oh a text from the BFF.  What’s she doing us so early?  Right, that pesky job thing.  Apparently she’s ordering me to the doctor’s today with the threat she’ll catch the next plane here to drag me to one if I don’t go on my own.  She’s right.  Nine days with a sore throat is too long, but honestly, I thought it was due to allergies at first.  It also goes to prove that I haven’t gotten The Look down yet.  Does any one have pointers?  Ok, I’ve got to vacuum before the boys destroy the main room, which by the sounds of it, they are nicely on their way.  How cute is this?  Evan woke me up with the doctor kit, trying to make me feel better.  Boy, I love stream of conscious writing.

The Day After . . . the Illness

I think the day after an illness is the hardest.  When they’re sick, they want you.  They want juice.  They want crackers.  They want their blankets and stuff animals.  They just lay in front of the TV, watching with a dazed look as you worry about the fever, the vomit, their clothes, their hunger strike.  You worry you’ll get sick.  You get nothing done during the day, so you stay up late trying to finish the chores, scolding yourself over how you should be in bed in case you get sick.

 

 

Then the morning comes, and the children are awake and well, healthy and happy energetic and robust.  The techno-colored birds are singing.  Big-eyed squirrels run, gathering nuts.  The sun shines in the windows and waves at the healthy family.  Everything is right.  Until they realize you are not going to cater to their every whim like you did yesterday. 

 

No, you can’t have a sucker for breakfast.  No, the muffins are not in the box.  No, the muffins are not ready; I just put them in.  No, you may not have a Popsicle, even if you had one for breakfast yesterday.

 

Then they whine and cry.  They fight and bicker.  They scream and yell.  They make ridiculous claims and ridiculous requests.  They throw temper tantrums when they don’t get their way.  They whine “mom” with every sentence.  They hang on you like lead weights in your arms or a ball and chain around your ankle.  They are whining, whining, whining.

 

No, don’t push your brother.  No, you can’t have juice; drink your milk.  No, that’s hot.  No, you can’t play with the dish sponge.  No, don’t hit your brother.  No, don’t drop your plate because you don’t want to eat.

 

Today you have to go to the grocery store because you didn’t yesterday.  You didn’t want your children to be sicker, and you didn’t want to make other people sick.  But now you’re out of milk, bread, cheese, eggs, and ohdeargod juice.  If you want to make any kind of dinner, you have to take your whining, crying children to the store, where you will be judged for breeding such brats.

 

No, we don’t touch that.  No, we don’t run in the parking lot.  So help me God-  No, we don’t hit our brother.  No, we don’t kick our brother.  No, we don’t touch the fruit.  No, we don’t touch the GLASS JARS.  No, we don’t touch the candy.

 

Because today is today, you have to go to the bank.  You need to do a few deposits.  You need to visit the coin machine.  You need to go to Target because you have a baby shower to go to next weekend.  You wonder if you can wait another day on buying more laundry detergent because you don’t think you can handle another store, another parking lot, another check out line.  You look on the list and wonder if the library books need to go back today.  Why the hell don’t they stamp them any more? 

 

No, we don’t take his toy.  Please share.  No, you’re not watching any more cartoons.  No, it’s time to get dressed.  No, don’t hide.  Brush your teeth.  No more TV!  Don’t dump all the toys out.  Don’t dump all the Legoes out.

 

The family room is a mess from the blankets and the stuff animals.  When did we last eat popcorn?  There is a load in the dryer waiting in a wrinkled mess to be folded.  At least the kitchen is clean.  But you have to empty out the dishwasher.  Dishes, welcome to your new home, the dishwasher.  Can I take a shower now?  So you take a quick shower to become human and to have five minutes alone without whining, but you hear them whining outside the door. 

 

No, no TV.  Go outside and play.  Get some fresh air.  Remember fresh air.  Oh, wait.  It’s raining.  How about play dough?  Don’t eat the play dough.  Don’t take his play-dough.  Share.  No running off with play dough; that’s why we only have two colors left.  Is it naptime yet?

 

Then you run into the office and shut the door behind you.  You lean your body against the door, blocking any entry, taking deep breaths.  The boys are whining and crying and fighting.  Your husband is on a business call, selling his product, making sure you have electricity and car for another month.  You grab a pen and a sheet of paper.  You write in big bold letters:

 

Let’s Trade Jobs for Today!

 

The whining has stopped, only to resume at a louder pitch.  Some one has drawn blood.  You take a deep breath and duck out of the room. 

 

Ok.  Let’s put this away.  Here.  Let’s get out the trikes.  Evan, here’s yours.  Seanny, here’s yours.  Yes, you may have Viper.  Good job, Seanny.  Good sharing, Evan.  Look at my boys!  You guys are good at this.  Evan, try to pedal.  You can do it!

 

You sit and watch the living room biking.  You are showered and dressed, thinking about that wonderful new invention of caffeinated hot chocolate and the Hershey bars your evil best friend “accidently” left behind.  No one is crying or whining or fighting or yelling.  They’re actually laughing, having a good time and being nice to each other.

 

The husband comes out of the office to say he’s ready to trade.  There’s no shoe to throw at him.

 

 

 

The Crappiest Version of The First Christmas for Toddlers

For Evan’s first Christmas, I bought a little board book to read to him the story of the first Christmas.  I’m very big on keeping religious holidays religious as I often, as a child, sat with our dog explaining the story of Easter and Christmas.  So I picked up a cute little board book somewhere, and I guess I should have read it first or at least bought it at a Christian story because this is probably the worse story I have ever read.

 

The book is The Christmas Story (the name says it all) by Patricia A. Pingry.  First off, there are several grammatical errors.  I hate BS like that.  Sure, I’ll let one or two errors slide in an 800 page book (that’s a lot of words to read and edit), but we’re talking about 200 words.  Honestly, who didn’t read this book out loud to catch it? (Note: for those that don’t know, the best way to check grammar errors is to read it out loud because most often your ears can hear that something isn’t right.)  So I’m expected to read my child, in his most sponge-soaking years, a badly written story, so that he learns the incorrect way to speak.

 

Second there are some flaws in the story like waiting until halfway through the book and say “During the night, Mary’s baby was born.”  It comes out of left field.  Foreshadow, Patty (can I call you Patty or Ms. Pingry?), it’s a valuable tool for writers and helpful for readers.  I get that they wanted to keep it short and sweet.  But you could have nixed the whole “This is the Christmas story” page at the end of the book because you said it in the beginning (very repetitive and boring), and you could have inserted “Mary was going to have a baby” on page three when you talk about Mary riding a donkey and Joseph walking.  Not that that had anything to do with the story either.  Oh, and would it have killed you to mention the town Bethlehem a little earlier?  Because when you get to it, it sounds like oh and they just happened to hit Bethlehem.  It’s a little like saying they happened to brake down in Roanoke, Virginia on their way to Williamsburg.  Bethlehem was the destination, not an occurrence, and kids will never understand why we sing about it if it wasn’t important.  The story doesn’t flow well, and the whole “surprise: Mary’s having a baby” thing just really bothers me.

 

So after two days of reading this stupid book and the only book I could find that year talking about the actual meaning of Christmas, I took out the Sharpie and made a few adjustments to the book.  I’ve contemplated writing to the publisher and asking for a change in the writing.  But then I read their version of the Easter story which includes a whole five pages on the actual story and the rest about how we all go to church on Easter.  I really don’t think the publisher is up to creating high standards.  At least I found another children’s Christmas book this year, but I really ought to shop at a religious store for these things.  But then I find it ironic . . . you know with the Christmas tree, the holly, and the mistletoe and all.

Little Bo Evan Has Lost his Sheep

Evan: I’m a shepherd!  Where’s my sheep?

 

Evan was carrying a long plastic tube with Styrofoam covering.  It was meant to build a fort.  He is obviously using it as a shepherd’s crook as he looks for his sheep in the front yard.

 

Me: Where is your sheep?

 

Evan: I don’t know!

 

Me: Well, let’s look for them.  Are they out here?

 

Evan: (With his hand above his eyes scanning the horizon) No!  I don’t see them anywhere!

 

Me: (It’s freakin’ cold out here) Maybe they’re inside the house!

 

Evan: No!  That’s silly!

 

Me: (idea!) I bet there’s one in the nursery!

 

Evan: No!  Not in there!

 

Me: I’ll show you.  If it’s not there, I’ll give you a piece of candy!

 

Evan: (considers) Ok!

 

Me: Come on, Seanny.  To the nursery!

 

Evan: Come on, Seanny!  To the nursery!

 

I ran up the stairs and into the sky-painted nursery.  I dug through the stuff animals that I can’t give away because every single one is Sean’s very favorite cuddle animal.  I pulled out a lamb given to Sean for his baptism.  Ah-ha!  I ran back down the stairs, jumping over Sean on the second stair.

 

Me: I found it!  I found it!

 

Evan: That’s not my sheep!  That’s a toy sheep!

 

Damn

 

Evan: (looking into the family room where my best friend was taking a nap on the couch) Look, Mommy!  A sleeping tiger!  Shh!  Let’s go outside and look for my sheep!

 

Oh no, not the cold again!  Anything but the cold.

 

Me: Look, Evan, a sheep!

 

I bounce past Evan and landed in the family room on all fours “ba”ing. 

 

Evan: Mommy, you’re silly!  You’re not a sheep!  You’re Mommy!

 

Me: Ba!  Let’s play hide-and-go-seek!

 

Evan: Ok!  You count, Mommy!  I’ll hide upstairs in your bed!

 

Two sets of little feet pound up the stairs.

 

Ba!

 

 

The Perfect Present: Or how important is this stupid toy?

Our agents are currently busy helping other customers.  Please hold on because we are answering calls in the order we receive them.

 

A week ago we received my husband’s Christmas bonus, and I was dying to spend it.  For a month I had been checking on various Lego products searching for the perfect gift Sean.  Sean enjoys playing with our one Duplo boy, putting and taking him in and out of Evan’s police vehicles.  He’ll sit playing with the little boy for a half an hour which is like two hours in toddler time.  He needs more of these characters.

 

For weeks I debated which ones to buy him.  There was the awesome zoo vehicle set with two cars, two people and several animals, but it turns out that hadn’t been made for a while because people were charging twice the amount.  There was the police station with a car, a policeman, and a bad guy, but something about giving an 18 month a bad guy just didn’t sit well with me.  I finally decided to buy the police boat kit with two boats and four policemen.  Perfect.

 

But first I wanted to check the stores so that I could get around the shipping and handling fees.  Wal-Mart?  No.  Target?  No.  Toys ‘r’ us?  Nope.  The Lego Store?  Surprisingly no, though they had several police stations.  But the boat was cheaper with more men.

 

So last week, the morning after my husband placed the money in my hands, I went online to order the police boat.  When I went to click on the “add” button, instead there was a little note asking me to call for availability.

 

WHAT?!

 

Call who?  What number?  WHAT?

 

Is worth it?  Is it worth tracking down a toy that I don’t know if he’ll even want it?  As I debated I watched Sean put the little man back into the police car.  Yes.

 

I scrolled down the page, looking for any sign of a 1-800 number, finding one in tiny print at the bottom of the page.

 

Our agents are currently busy helping other customers.  Please hold on because we are answering calls in the order we receive them.

 

Looking at the clock, I wondered how long this would take as I was wasting valuable shower time.  We had to go to Wal-Mart that day, and as you know, every minute is precious to get there before the crowds.  I mean we really needed to go because we needed Kleenex for running noses, art supplies for presents, and toys for Santa.  Damn.  How long will I have to be on hold?

 

Our agents are currently busy helping other customers.  Please hold on because we are answering calls in the order we receive them.

 

Hmm, I can’t place that song.

 

Ring.  Ring. Click.

 

No!  No!  They didn’t just hang up on me.  You didn’t just hang up on me!  I looked at the phone.  5 minutes and 40 seconds.  No!

 

Is it worth it?  Is this toy worth it?  I imagine Sean’s face on Christmas morning.

 

Where’s that number again?

 

Our agents are currently busy helping other customers.  Please hold on because we are answering calls in the order we receive them.

 

Look, we need Tootles.  Oh, Tootles!

 

It’s “The Girl from Ipanema.”  Good song.  I dance around the house.  Thank God this isn’t a health emergency and that I don’t have a baby crying demanding something.  It could be worse. 

 

Our agents are currently busy helping other customers.  Please hold on because we are answering calls in the order we receive them.

 

Sean will be so excited about this toy.  He’ll push the boats around the family room as the skid on the carpet.  He’ll play with the police men.  I wonder if I should get him some police cars like Evan’s or if Evan is still content to share.  We could always use more cars in the house.  What else do I need to get at Wal-Mart?  I look over the shopping list as well as the day’s to-do list.

 

Here, Sean.  Do you want some juice?  No, Evan, that’s Sean’s jui-

 

Ring.  Ring.

 

Hello, this is Steve.  Can I assist you in a purchase?

 

Me: Only if you have it.

 

Steve: All right.  Do you have the product number?

 

Me: 12345

 

Steve: 12345?  The Police Boat?

 

Me: Yup.

 

Steve: It says “Call for availability.”  (Duh)  You’ll have to call our customer service department.  (What?)  Would you like that number?

 

Me: Sure, why not?

 

Steve: It’s 1-800-*********.  Is there anything else I can do for you?

 

Me: Nope.

 

Steve: Thank you for choosing Lego.

My pleasure.  Click.

 

Is it worth it?  Thirteen minutes, nearly half my “me” time.  I could just go get the police station.  It’s not like Sean knows about the boat or the car.  I scanned the website again, clicking on the customer service button.  But the boat actually has better reviews.  It has more police men.  What’s one more phone call?

 

Our agents are currently busy helping other customers.  Please hold on because we are answering calls in the order we receive them.

 

Ring.  Ring.

 

Lego Customer Service Department.  This is Carol.  How can I help you?

 

Me: Well, I’m checking on availability of a product.

 

Carol: I can assist you with that.  May I have the product number?

 

Me: 12345.

 

Carol: 12345?  The Police Boat?

 

Me: Yes.

 

Carol: It says there are two left.  (Pause for a cheer.)

 

Me: (Too stunned to cheer) How can I buy it?  Who can I call?

 

Carol: I can assist you with that. 

 

Me: Really?  That’s awesome.  Thank you.

 

Carol: No problem.  Have you shopped with us before?

 

Me: No.  (a few minutes to take the information)

 

Carol: Now it is possible that this item may have been sold out in the last hour, and the computer may not have updated the inventory.

 

Me: (Damn.  I forgot what I learned in my years of retail.  Computers lie.)  When will I find that out?

 

Carol: Two days.  We won’t charge you unless it’s shipped.

 

Me: And how long will it take to ship?

 

Carol: To California?  Five to seven business days.

 

Me: Well, ok, thank you.

 

Carol: Thank you.

 

Click.

 

So for the last four days I have waited for the dreaded email of apology, debating how I can slip away to the Lego Store to buy a police station and a box of Duplos for Evan.  I obsessively checked my email all weekend, knowing that that they didn’t work on weekend.  I debated the whole idea of the police boat kit, checking my bank account to see if I’ve been charged. 

 

Today this was in the inbox:

 

 

Your LEGO Order has Shipped

 

Let’s just hope we get it before Saturday as I didn’t have the heart to tell Carol that I needed it shipped to my parents’ house where Santa is going.

 

 

There’s Something about Sean

Sean’s learning to sing.  He’s following Evan’s example.  But instead of singing words, he sings notes, in loud Ah’s.  He runs from one side of the room to the other shouting “ah!”  When he is done, he starts to clap, encouraging us to clap with him.  Just like Evan.

 

 

This morning Sean waved goodbye to his Daddy, saying his usual ‘bye with a somewhat Southern accent.  (Yeah, don’t know where he got that.)  But today he said, “ ‘bye, Dad, ‘bye” as he waved the cute little fist wave.  Shocked, I smiled at my husband pointing at Sean.

 

 

As we rolled into the Target parking lot, I realized it was the Christmas season as there were double the amount of cars that are usually there at that time on a weekday morning.  Never a true shopper, I began to sing, “Tis the season to be shopping, falalala lalalala.”  From the back seat, Sean piped out, “falalalala lalalala.”