Some people buy their children pull toys.
Those who don't discover a new use for their electric mixers.
*****What's the craziest household item that your child has befriended? Cortlen used to make out with the vacuum cleaner when he was three.
November 30, 2010
The Pull Toy
Some people buy their children pull toys.
Those who don't discover a new use for their electric mixers.
*****What's the craziest household item that your child has befriended? Cortlen used to make out with the vacuum cleaner when he was three.
November 27, 2010
Christmas Presents
The biggest problem with living in a small town home is the lack of storage space...especially when the holidays hit. When we lived in Philadelphia, I used to hide all of my kids' Christmas gifts in the basement. This year, the only place that I could think to put them was under a blanket in my closet.
"You've got to be kidding me," my husband said when he saw my good idea.
"They won't even notice it," I insisted.
Just to be safe, I declared my bedroom off limits for the next month to anyone under the age of thirty.
That was all the invitation that my kids needed to rifle through my personal belongings while I was making dinner.
Needless to say, they noticed the peculiar mound in the corner of my closet.
"I'm taking it all back!" I screeched. "Every last bit of it!"
In the middle of my tirade about respecting privacy and listening to parents and staying out of places where you aren't supposed to be and not being a lemming and having the confidence to tell your sister 'no' when she orders you to pull off the blanket, my husband made the fatal error of suggesting that I was partially responsible for the fiasco.
"I told you that that wasn't a good place to hide the presents," he said.
In a fit of rage, I ran upstairs. When I came down, I held up a pair of electric hair clippers that I bought at T.J. Maxx last week for $9.99.
"I'm taking your Christmas gifts back too!" I barked.
I wish that I could say that my husband was devastated by my announcement, but he was not.
I wonder why.
"You've got to be kidding me," my husband said when he saw my good idea.
"They won't even notice it," I insisted.
Just to be safe, I declared my bedroom off limits for the next month to anyone under the age of thirty.
That was all the invitation that my kids needed to rifle through my personal belongings while I was making dinner.
Needless to say, they noticed the peculiar mound in the corner of my closet.
"I'm taking it all back!" I screeched. "Every last bit of it!"
In the middle of my tirade about respecting privacy and listening to parents and staying out of places where you aren't supposed to be and not being a lemming and having the confidence to tell your sister 'no' when she orders you to pull off the blanket, my husband made the fatal error of suggesting that I was partially responsible for the fiasco.
"I told you that that wasn't a good place to hide the presents," he said.
In a fit of rage, I ran upstairs. When I came down, I held up a pair of electric hair clippers that I bought at T.J. Maxx last week for $9.99.
"I'm taking your Christmas gifts back too!" I barked.
I wish that I could say that my husband was devastated by my announcement, but he was not.
I wonder why.
November 25, 2010
November 24, 2010
Folding Clothes
"I'm bored."
Cortlen and Kellen said this to me this afternoon, five minutes after we got home from Blizzard Beach (one of Disney's water parks).
"Good," I replied. "Go fold some clothes." I directed them to the mountain of clean laundry piled on top of my bed.
"No thanks," they answered.
"That wasn't a question, but a request."
Several minutes later, they ran out the door. "We're all done!" they chirped.
I went upstairs to check on the progress. This is what I found:
Cortlen and Kellen said this to me this afternoon, five minutes after we got home from Blizzard Beach (one of Disney's water parks).
"Good," I replied. "Go fold some clothes." I directed them to the mountain of clean laundry piled on top of my bed.
"No thanks," they answered.
"That wasn't a question, but a request."
Several minutes later, they ran out the door. "We're all done!" they chirped.
I went upstairs to check on the progress. This is what I found:
November 22, 2010
The Book Club
Since ascending into adulthood, I have been a member of 17 book clubs. Or so it feels.
Unlike most other social events, I find book clubs to be thoroughly enjoyable. On all but two occasions, I have read the assigned book and then neglected to show up for the meeting to discuss it.
"You don't like book clubs," my husband corrected. "You like reading lists."
Last week, I joined my eighteenth book club. The first meeting was in a conference room at the public library. The book club leader began the meeting by asking each of us to make a list of things that we like to read about.
I didn't know what to write first, so I put down "infectious diseases."
"Like the Swine Flu?" the woman asked when she got to my paper.
"And HIV and Cholera and the Black Death," I added.
All of the other lists in the room included mythical creatures.
"Let me guess," my husband said when I got home. "You're not going back."
I don't know what gave him that idea. I think I finally found my home.
Unlike most other social events, I find book clubs to be thoroughly enjoyable. On all but two occasions, I have read the assigned book and then neglected to show up for the meeting to discuss it.
"You don't like book clubs," my husband corrected. "You like reading lists."
Last week, I joined my eighteenth book club. The first meeting was in a conference room at the public library. The book club leader began the meeting by asking each of us to make a list of things that we like to read about.
I didn't know what to write first, so I put down "infectious diseases."
"Like the Swine Flu?" the woman asked when she got to my paper.
"And HIV and Cholera and the Black Death," I added.
All of the other lists in the room included mythical creatures.
"Let me guess," my husband said when I got home. "You're not going back."
I don't know what gave him that idea. I think I finally found my home.
November 19, 2010
Christmas Lists
All this week, my kids have been making drafts of Christmas lists. On Sunday, the final lists are due. Today we held a peer review.
"Pass your list to the person sitting on your right," I ordered.
When Cortlen saw who was going to review his list, he started to cry. Camber cackled and rubbed her hands together in anticipation and excitement.
"Now I want you to circle three things on the list that you think the author would like the most," I told them.
I had no idea where this exercise was going or what purpose it served, but I figured that the same thing that once kept my freshman composition students busy for 50 minutes could keep my kids occupied for five. Ten if I was lucky.
Kellen was a good listener and circled everything on the list in front of him.
Camber wrote the word "butt" on Cortlen's list and had to be excused from the table.
Cortlen was so upset by what his sister did that he stabbed her paper with his pencil and had to be excused from the table as well.
Santa watched the whole spectacle through his magic telescope as he whispered "Merry Christmas" in my ear.
November 17, 2010
My Daughter's Dinner
I routinely cooked entire meals for my family when I was five years old. At least that is what I tell my children.
I also remember walking to school uphill both ways in the snow. In Los Angeles.
"Everyone is going to learn how to cook," I announced on Monday.
My seven year-old daughter was very interested in the idea of making a meal for our family. However, she was not at all interested in me helping or supervising her in any way, shape, or form.
"Just give me the recipe book and leave me alone!" she screamed.
I called my husband and told him to expect something delicious.
After much deliberation, she decided to make stir-fry using a bag of shrimp and pack of frozen vegetables that she found in the freezer.
I poked my head around the corner. "If you need any help, let me know," I said.
"If you come in here again, I'm not going to feed you," she hissed.
Based upon the looks of the things in the frying pan, I wasn't sure that was such a bad thing.
Five minutes later, dinner was served.
"Everything is still frozen!" Cortlen whined, gnawing a broccoli ice cube. I kicked him under the table.
Unable to find any stir-fry sauce in the pantry, my daughter substituted it for the next best thing: ketchup.
"It looks yummy!" I gagged. Camber sat down at the table and watched us expectantly.
I told her that I wanted to savor the meal as long as possible. I had big hopes that I could defer the actual eating process indefinitely.
"I can't eat this!" Kellen yelled and shoved his plate away. I sent him to his room for being rude. He seemed happy to go.
"That's too bad for Kellen," my daughter said, "But good for you." She dumped the contents of my son's plate onto mine.
I giggled nervously.
"You know who really likes stir-fry?" I said. "Your dad." In an act of selfless generosity, I offered my dinner to my husband when he came home from work.
My husband was very grateful.
I also remember walking to school uphill both ways in the snow. In Los Angeles.
"Everyone is going to learn how to cook," I announced on Monday.
My seven year-old daughter was very interested in the idea of making a meal for our family. However, she was not at all interested in me helping or supervising her in any way, shape, or form.
"Just give me the recipe book and leave me alone!" she screamed.
I called my husband and told him to expect something delicious.
After much deliberation, she decided to make stir-fry using a bag of shrimp and pack of frozen vegetables that she found in the freezer.
I poked my head around the corner. "If you need any help, let me know," I said.
"If you come in here again, I'm not going to feed you," she hissed.
Based upon the looks of the things in the frying pan, I wasn't sure that was such a bad thing.
Five minutes later, dinner was served.
"Everything is still frozen!" Cortlen whined, gnawing a broccoli ice cube. I kicked him under the table.
Unable to find any stir-fry sauce in the pantry, my daughter substituted it for the next best thing: ketchup.
"It looks yummy!" I gagged. Camber sat down at the table and watched us expectantly.
I told her that I wanted to savor the meal as long as possible. I had big hopes that I could defer the actual eating process indefinitely.
"I can't eat this!" Kellen yelled and shoved his plate away. I sent him to his room for being rude. He seemed happy to go.
"That's too bad for Kellen," my daughter said, "But good for you." She dumped the contents of my son's plate onto mine.
I giggled nervously.
"You know who really likes stir-fry?" I said. "Your dad." In an act of selfless generosity, I offered my dinner to my husband when he came home from work.
My husband was very grateful.
November 16, 2010
Other People's Toilets
Other people's toilets are like cocaine for my kids: they crave them.
Before we even come close to stepping foot into any house that is for sale, we take all of our kids to the bathroom.
Prospective buyers used to use our toilets when we were selling our house in Philadelphia. I thought about duct taping the lids down, but my realtor told me that if I was serious about selling my house, that I should learn to live with certain things, even if those things made me want to vomit.
Despite this precaution, at least one of my children always has a bathroom emergency.
Today it was Kellen. He spent the entire time we were inside the house staring longingly at the powder room commode.
"Nope," my husband said, shaking his head. "You're going to have to hold it."
"We'll stop at a gas station on the way home," I told him.
My son looked at me like I was depriving him of one of life's basic necessities.
"Needs and wants are two different things," I explained.
"One time won't hurt," he begged.
My husband pointed out that that's the same thing that people say about drugs.
Shockingly, when we got to the gas station, my son's urge to urinate was gone.
November 15, 2010
The Dentist
This afternoon, I took my kids to the dentist.
In Philadephia, my kids liked going to the dentist because the office had bubblegum flavored toothpaste and a prize box filled with fake tattoos.
My insurance company told me that the new dentist specialized in pediatrics, but when we showed up at the office, everyone in the waiting room was over the age of 60.
"We see patients ages five and up," the receptionist clarified.
"Where's the aquarium?" asked Kellen. He looked around for the requisite waiting room fish tank but all he found was a stack of brochures for gum disease.
After a 45 minute wait (which was brutal), all of my kids were brought back and placed in separate chairs in separate rooms. I volunteered to stick around and offer moral support to anyone who needed it, but everyone told me to get lost so I wandered back to the waiting room with Cameron and learned a lot about crowns and bridges. Cameron was super wiggly and started catapulting himself off my lap for fun. Fortunately, I had a lollipop leftover from Halloween in my purse.
A few minutes later, a hygienist poked her head into the room.
"Can I see you for a minute?" she asked.
Kellen was curled into a ball in his dentist chair. His head was in his hands and he was crying hysterically.
"What's the deal?" I asked.
"That lady is attacking my teeth!" he sobbed.
The hygienist explained that the enemy was not her, but plaque.
"Kellen really needs to do a better job of brushing his teeth," the woman lectured.
At that very moment, Cameron pulled the lollipop out of his mouth and stuck it in my face.
"He's trying to share it with me," I said proudly.
The woman looked at me with complete and utter disgust.
In Philadephia, my kids liked going to the dentist because the office had bubblegum flavored toothpaste and a prize box filled with fake tattoos.
My insurance company told me that the new dentist specialized in pediatrics, but when we showed up at the office, everyone in the waiting room was over the age of 60.
"We see patients ages five and up," the receptionist clarified.
"Where's the aquarium?" asked Kellen. He looked around for the requisite waiting room fish tank but all he found was a stack of brochures for gum disease.
After a 45 minute wait (which was brutal), all of my kids were brought back and placed in separate chairs in separate rooms. I volunteered to stick around and offer moral support to anyone who needed it, but everyone told me to get lost so I wandered back to the waiting room with Cameron and learned a lot about crowns and bridges. Cameron was super wiggly and started catapulting himself off my lap for fun. Fortunately, I had a lollipop leftover from Halloween in my purse.
A few minutes later, a hygienist poked her head into the room.
"Can I see you for a minute?" she asked.
Kellen was curled into a ball in his dentist chair. His head was in his hands and he was crying hysterically.
"What's the deal?" I asked.
"That lady is attacking my teeth!" he sobbed.
The hygienist explained that the enemy was not her, but plaque.
"Kellen really needs to do a better job of brushing his teeth," the woman lectured.
At that very moment, Cameron pulled the lollipop out of his mouth and stuck it in my face.
"He's trying to share it with me," I said proudly.
The woman looked at me with complete and utter disgust.
November 11, 2010
Boots
Earlier this week, I bought a pair of winter boots at a store that is an hour away from my house.
I was in a hurry and had my toddler with me and didn't feel like taking off both of my shoes so I only tried on one boot. I left the other one wrapped up in the box.
There are lots of reasons why you should try on both shoes before you make a purchase. This is one of them:
The alarm didn't go off when I left the store.
I just did a "store locator" search online.
The closest store to me is the one where I bought the boots.
Awesome.
I was in a hurry and had my toddler with me and didn't feel like taking off both of my shoes so I only tried on one boot. I left the other one wrapped up in the box.
There are lots of reasons why you should try on both shoes before you make a purchase. This is one of them:
The alarm didn't go off when I left the store.I just did a "store locator" search online.
The closest store to me is the one where I bought the boots.
Awesome.
November 10, 2010
The Discount Veterinarian
Last week, our cat got outside and ate something that gave her the runs.
If I had to bet, I'd put my money on the decapitated lizard that was left on our doorstep.
My neighbor gave me the phone number of her veterinarian. When I called the clinic, the receptionist asked if my cat would like an acupuncture treatment or a full body massage along with her antibiotic. I told the woman that I would need some time to wrap my mind around the concept of a pet spa and would have to call her back.
Veterinarian # 2 wasn't taking new patients.
"Really?" I asked the receptionist. "Really?"
I booked an appointment with Veterinarian # 3 but then canceled it after I learned that the office visit fee alone would set me back $90.
"I only paid $15 for the cat in the first place," I grumbled to the receptionist. "I could buy six new cats for that much."
I hung up the phone before the receptionist could trace my call.
"I think that Millie [our cat] might like a massage," said my husband when he got home from work. He told me to take the cat to the expensive vet.
Instead I took her to a low-cost pet clinic located next to a pawn shop and visible from the freeway off-ramp.
The first thing that the veterinarian wanted to do was to weigh our cat. This wasn't for health purposes, he told us, but for billing.
Like a produce vendor, the discount vet charged by the pound.
Before putting the cat on the scale, the man showed me his fee chart. He explained that the amount charged for the office visit isn't determined by the kind of animal on his examining table, but rather, how much that animal weighs.
I glared at my cat. She is the size of a small horse.
"I'm not sure that I'm comfortable with this," I told him.
He shrugged his shoulders and asked me how much I liked the smell of cat diarrhea.
Suddenly, I felt very comfortable.
In the end, the office visit cost me $55 (or 3 1/3 animal shelter cats) plus the cost of two medications.
Not bad, considering.
On our way out of the office, one of my sons snatched a paper pamphlet about heart worms from a display in the lobby. "I had no idea that worms could live inside you," he said admiringly.
The receptionist called after us. "Each pamphlet costs 5 cents!" she cried.
Evidently, everything in the discount vet's office is priced by the pound.
If I had to bet, I'd put my money on the decapitated lizard that was left on our doorstep.
My neighbor gave me the phone number of her veterinarian. When I called the clinic, the receptionist asked if my cat would like an acupuncture treatment or a full body massage along with her antibiotic. I told the woman that I would need some time to wrap my mind around the concept of a pet spa and would have to call her back.
Veterinarian # 2 wasn't taking new patients.
"Really?" I asked the receptionist. "Really?"
I booked an appointment with Veterinarian # 3 but then canceled it after I learned that the office visit fee alone would set me back $90.
"I only paid $15 for the cat in the first place," I grumbled to the receptionist. "I could buy six new cats for that much."
I hung up the phone before the receptionist could trace my call.
"I think that Millie [our cat] might like a massage," said my husband when he got home from work. He told me to take the cat to the expensive vet.
Instead I took her to a low-cost pet clinic located next to a pawn shop and visible from the freeway off-ramp.
The first thing that the veterinarian wanted to do was to weigh our cat. This wasn't for health purposes, he told us, but for billing.
Like a produce vendor, the discount vet charged by the pound.
Before putting the cat on the scale, the man showed me his fee chart. He explained that the amount charged for the office visit isn't determined by the kind of animal on his examining table, but rather, how much that animal weighs.
I glared at my cat. She is the size of a small horse.
"I'm not sure that I'm comfortable with this," I told him.
He shrugged his shoulders and asked me how much I liked the smell of cat diarrhea.
Suddenly, I felt very comfortable.
In the end, the office visit cost me $55 (or 3 1/3 animal shelter cats) plus the cost of two medications.
Not bad, considering.
On our way out of the office, one of my sons snatched a paper pamphlet about heart worms from a display in the lobby. "I had no idea that worms could live inside you," he said admiringly.
The receptionist called after us. "Each pamphlet costs 5 cents!" she cried.
Evidently, everything in the discount vet's office is priced by the pound.
November 9, 2010
November 5, 2010
The Human Tissue
My children are very affectionate when they are sick.
Everyone in my house has the sniffles, except for our cat, who got outside earlier this week and ate something unsavory. Since Wednesday, she has had explosive diarrhea (my trip to the discount vet is a whole other story).
"I love you so much!" gushed my son yesterday morning.
Tears came to my eyes until I looked down and saw the swath of snot on my blouse. Then I felt like crying for a different reason.
My two year-old, of course, sees me as a large Kleenex. By dinner time, the slime on my shoulders had calcified into sheets of ice.
"There's something on your shirt," my husband pointed out when I sat down.
I smiled as I watched Cameron crawl into his lap.
Two seconds later, my husband was asking for a sponge or a paper towel or a piece of toilet paper or AnYtHiNg!!!! It was pure panic.
The same thing that was on my shirt was now on his :)
Everyone in my house has the sniffles, except for our cat, who got outside earlier this week and ate something unsavory. Since Wednesday, she has had explosive diarrhea (my trip to the discount vet is a whole other story).
"I love you so much!" gushed my son yesterday morning.
Tears came to my eyes until I looked down and saw the swath of snot on my blouse. Then I felt like crying for a different reason.
My two year-old, of course, sees me as a large Kleenex. By dinner time, the slime on my shoulders had calcified into sheets of ice.
"There's something on your shirt," my husband pointed out when I sat down.
I smiled as I watched Cameron crawl into his lap.
Two seconds later, my husband was asking for a sponge or a paper towel or a piece of toilet paper or AnYtHiNg!!!! It was pure panic.
The same thing that was on my shirt was now on his :)
November 4, 2010
The Port-o-Potty
Last week, my landlord sent out an email announcing that the community of town homes in which my family currently lives is going to be painted.
This morning, the painters arrived. They brought with them three large trucks, a cherry picker, and a port-o-potty, all of which they parked next to the mail boxes.
"Don't even ask," I told my kids the minute they laid eyes on the portable toilet.
Here's a question for you:
Less than twenty minutes after I told my kids that they couldn't use the port-o-potty, two out of the three bathrooms in our house mysteriously got locked from the inside. What's doubly strange is that the tool used to pick the locks from the outside also went missing.
Coincidence or divine intervention?
November 3, 2010
Candy Coma
Much to my husband's horror, I let my kids eat as much Halloween candy as they wanted on Monday.
For dinner, my husband and I ate chicken. My older children put chocolate bars on their plates and ate them with forks and knives.
"I can't watch this," my husband said, excusing himself from the table.
Yesterday, I set a timer for five minutes and told my kids that they could eat candy until the buzzer went off.
The spectacle that ensued bordered on the grotesque.
The carcasses:
This morning, everyone asked if they could play the timer game again. Always happy to oblige, I made a big pot of oatmeal and set the timer on the table.
The contestants' enthusiasm for the game waned considerably after that.
For dinner, my husband and I ate chicken. My older children put chocolate bars on their plates and ate them with forks and knives.
"I can't watch this," my husband said, excusing himself from the table.
Yesterday, I set a timer for five minutes and told my kids that they could eat candy until the buzzer went off.
The spectacle that ensued bordered on the grotesque.
The carcasses:
This morning, everyone asked if they could play the timer game again. Always happy to oblige, I made a big pot of oatmeal and set the timer on the table.
The contestants' enthusiasm for the game waned considerably after that.
November 1, 2010
Trick-or-Treat Part II
My favorite part of Halloween is when my kids go to bed after trick-or-treating.
That's when my husband and I go through their candy.
Last night, we had something extra to fight over besides the solitary king-sized Snickers bar.
At one house in our neighborhood, our kids were greeted at the door by a man holding a large wicker basket filled with special treasures.
"Trick-or-Treat!" they yelled.
The man smiled and dropped into each of their plastic pumpkins a ratty stuffed animal. Camber got a teddy bear wearing a red shirt with the words "Merry Christmas" printed across the front; Kellen got a duck with matted fur that quacked when you squeezed its stomach.
Cortlen said "Trick-or-Treat" twice and was rewarded with two gifts: a white bear wearing a purple sweater and a stuffed sheep circa 1970.
"I can't believe that just happened," I told my husband after the man closed the door.
"Someone cleaned out their basement this weekend," my husband replied.
"This is totally awesome!!!!" yelled Cortlen, holding up the white bear.
I wrinkled my nose.
Today, while my kids were at school, the bear and his friends mysteriously disappeared.
That's when my husband and I go through their candy.
Last night, we had something extra to fight over besides the solitary king-sized Snickers bar.
At one house in our neighborhood, our kids were greeted at the door by a man holding a large wicker basket filled with special treasures.
"Trick-or-Treat!" they yelled.
The man smiled and dropped into each of their plastic pumpkins a ratty stuffed animal. Camber got a teddy bear wearing a red shirt with the words "Merry Christmas" printed across the front; Kellen got a duck with matted fur that quacked when you squeezed its stomach.
Cortlen said "Trick-or-Treat" twice and was rewarded with two gifts: a white bear wearing a purple sweater and a stuffed sheep circa 1970.
"I can't believe that just happened," I told my husband after the man closed the door.
"Someone cleaned out their basement this weekend," my husband replied.
"This is totally awesome!!!!" yelled Cortlen, holding up the white bear.
I wrinkled my nose.
Today, while my kids were at school, the bear and his friends mysteriously disappeared.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
