I have managed to avoid "the sickness" for the last few months, mostly due to the absence of my prime enablers, Dustin and Cortney, and to the fact that I get embarrassed when my kids start tearing apart Dustin's mom's house while I'm playing a video game.
But now the source of the virus itself is in my home. Oh, yes. RockBand2 arrived at our house Friday evening and has infected both of the "responsible" adults.
The good news: It does not appear to wake up/keep up the children.
The bad news: Belting out "Livin' on a Prayer" is doing nothing to help my sore throat from my real sickness.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Saturday, February 14, 2009
No better Valentine's Day
Well, it would have been better if I hadn't been woken up by the children screaming at each other. But so far:
- We had heart shaped cherry pancakes for breakfast. (I had to make them from scratch, but still.)
- There were fabulous homemade valentines from my 3 guys, including a pop-up one and a flip-o-rama one.
- There was a box of See's chocolates, which are the absolute best chocolates in the whole wide world.
- I was serenaded by my guys who sang 3 of my favorite songs.
- Dorian named his bumblebee "Honeyhive" at Sebastian's suggestion.
- Sebastian said he "couldn't imagine anything better" than the mittens I knit for him. (and he's got quite an imagination, that kid.)
- And Jeremy liked his gift which I painted for him. (It's a tropical stinkbug. Tres romantique, non?)
- Add to that the gift that keeps on giving, RockBand 2, and it has been an awesome day.
Now for some grocery shopping before Quinn comes to babysit so Jeremy and I can gorge ourselves on Indian food.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Maybe VT is a little too white
And I'm not talking about the snow. Both of these conversations occurred in the past week:
At the dinner table:
Sebastian: (apropos of nothing) You know what? People can be mutts, too.
Me: (Dreading what is surely coming next) Hmm?
S: You know... like if they have one white parent and one parent with black skin.
M: You are never allowed to call a person a mutt!
An overreaction, perhaps. A lengthy discussion followed regarding the fact that he also would be a "mutt" due to his French-Canadian, Irish, British, Eastern European, etc. heritage, but that it was an unpleasant term to use about a person.
******************
Tuesday, picking Sebastian up from his after school program:
Me: (Noticing a fancy sequined scarf a girl is holding) Wow! That is very sparkly!
Girl: (Who happens to be black) It's just a scarf. A Hannah Montana scarf.
M: Well, it's very cool.
Dorian: (Gleefully) Mama, my skin is white!
******************
Seriously?!
The rational part of me recognizes that they are just making observations no different than "my shirt is red" or "the sky is blue" or that they are just trying to make sense of a new word and how it could be applied to something other than, say, dogs. (Wait until they learn that Daddy has also been "neutered".)
The irrational part of me, however, wants to scream "We're not racist!" and run from the room, dragging my blond-haired, blue-eyed boy behind me.
At the dinner table:
Sebastian: (apropos of nothing) You know what? People can be mutts, too.
Me: (Dreading what is surely coming next) Hmm?
S: You know... like if they have one white parent and one parent with black skin.
M: You are never allowed to call a person a mutt!
An overreaction, perhaps. A lengthy discussion followed regarding the fact that he also would be a "mutt" due to his French-Canadian, Irish, British, Eastern European, etc. heritage, but that it was an unpleasant term to use about a person.
******************
Tuesday, picking Sebastian up from his after school program:
Me: (Noticing a fancy sequined scarf a girl is holding) Wow! That is very sparkly!
Girl: (Who happens to be black) It's just a scarf. A Hannah Montana scarf.
M: Well, it's very cool.
Dorian: (Gleefully) Mama, my skin is white!
******************
Seriously?!
The rational part of me recognizes that they are just making observations no different than "my shirt is red" or "the sky is blue" or that they are just trying to make sense of a new word and how it could be applied to something other than, say, dogs. (Wait until they learn that Daddy has also been "neutered".)
The irrational part of me, however, wants to scream "We're not racist!" and run from the room, dragging my blond-haired, blue-eyed boy behind me.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Valentine for my littler little love
I finished this little cutie last night. After several tries with the wings-- knitted lace, crochet-- I went with these tiny garter stitch ones. Then I added the eyes and smile et voila! a bumblebee. It was actually Jeremy's idea after he saw their color choices for the pixie hats, and I decided to run with it. This is now the second bee-related project for Dorian in 3 months. I'm not sure what that means exactly. He is busy, but the comparisons end there.Coming soon: Jeremy's Valentine. But we don't want to spoil the surprise, now do we?
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
UPDATED: Why do I join the PTA?
Really? Why?
I don't know if it is something about this area, or if it is a problem across this country and the world, but both parent groups I have belonged to have been totally lame.
My children's education is important to me, and most of you know that I intended to homeschool Sebastian this year until he made other plans. Rather than tell him he couldn't go to school, I signed him up and have dedicated myself to making sure it is a good place for him to be. I cut up countless carrot sticks for healthy snack, I perform puppet shows involving talking snowflakes, I bake goodies I wish I could eat instead of donating to the never-ending bake sales, and I attend some of the most pointless meetings on earth.
Other than the officers of the group and the principal and assistant principal, how many parents do you think attended last night's meeting? Bear in mind that there are over 400 students at this school. I don't know how many different families they come from, but I would have thought (back before I had any real experience with these things, you know, when I was living in fantasy land) that a quarter of the families would be interested in bettering the school through dialogue and planning. Let's imagine, factoring in siblings and such, that there would be about 75 people. Ha!
Last night, there were 3.5 parents, including me. The half is for the man who arrived at the beginning with a child playing a noisy hand held game, but left before it was over. So, to recap, out of well over 300 families and numerous staff, they managed to attract 4 people... but couldn't even hold their entire audience.
Their theory? That 7pm is poor timing for a meeting. Contrarian that I am, I pointed out that they said they get a great turn out for their movie nights that start at what time? 7pm. I told them that it wasn't the timing keeping people away. The entire goddamn agenda was a list of upcoming opportunities for us to harass everyone we know, and some we don't, for money. People make time for the things they want to do. And no one wants to sit and listen to a laundry list of poorly planned events that will require even more of your time in the near future.
What I imagine a PTA should be is a group of caring parents and devoted teachers getting together on a semi-regular basis to discuss topics of substance that actually affect the students. Topics like bullying, homework, standardized testing, nutrition, self-esteem, physical fitness... Not bullshit like, "We need 5 more volunteers for Friday's movie night which I haven't even bothered to email people about." (Not a direct quote)
The only reason I really attend anymore (because at this point you are probably wondering why I don't just stop going, and believe me, I ask myself this question all the time) is to hear what the principal has to say. I think he has a lot of interesting information, and it is clear that he really cares about the kids and the school, and I think it is a real shame that his forum is so shoddily run and poorly attended.
Update: I do not mean to imply with this post that the hundreds of other parents at the school do not care as much as I do about their children's educations, only that they are so much smarter than I am since they obviously can see that this is NOT the way to show you care.
I don't know if it is something about this area, or if it is a problem across this country and the world, but both parent groups I have belonged to have been totally lame.
My children's education is important to me, and most of you know that I intended to homeschool Sebastian this year until he made other plans. Rather than tell him he couldn't go to school, I signed him up and have dedicated myself to making sure it is a good place for him to be. I cut up countless carrot sticks for healthy snack, I perform puppet shows involving talking snowflakes, I bake goodies I wish I could eat instead of donating to the never-ending bake sales, and I attend some of the most pointless meetings on earth.
Other than the officers of the group and the principal and assistant principal, how many parents do you think attended last night's meeting? Bear in mind that there are over 400 students at this school. I don't know how many different families they come from, but I would have thought (back before I had any real experience with these things, you know, when I was living in fantasy land) that a quarter of the families would be interested in bettering the school through dialogue and planning. Let's imagine, factoring in siblings and such, that there would be about 75 people. Ha!
Last night, there were 3.5 parents, including me. The half is for the man who arrived at the beginning with a child playing a noisy hand held game, but left before it was over. So, to recap, out of well over 300 families and numerous staff, they managed to attract 4 people... but couldn't even hold their entire audience.
Their theory? That 7pm is poor timing for a meeting. Contrarian that I am, I pointed out that they said they get a great turn out for their movie nights that start at what time? 7pm. I told them that it wasn't the timing keeping people away. The entire goddamn agenda was a list of upcoming opportunities for us to harass everyone we know, and some we don't, for money. People make time for the things they want to do. And no one wants to sit and listen to a laundry list of poorly planned events that will require even more of your time in the near future.
What I imagine a PTA should be is a group of caring parents and devoted teachers getting together on a semi-regular basis to discuss topics of substance that actually affect the students. Topics like bullying, homework, standardized testing, nutrition, self-esteem, physical fitness... Not bullshit like, "We need 5 more volunteers for Friday's movie night which I haven't even bothered to email people about." (Not a direct quote)
The only reason I really attend anymore (because at this point you are probably wondering why I don't just stop going, and believe me, I ask myself this question all the time) is to hear what the principal has to say. I think he has a lot of interesting information, and it is clear that he really cares about the kids and the school, and I think it is a real shame that his forum is so shoddily run and poorly attended.
Update: I do not mean to imply with this post that the hundreds of other parents at the school do not care as much as I do about their children's educations, only that they are so much smarter than I am since they obviously can see that this is NOT the way to show you care.
Monday, February 9, 2009
2 Post Offices too many
This morning I decided to drag Mr. Chap Mustache (aka Dorian) to Open Gym, the scene of the crime that left him with this horrible cough and chapped face, and also to the post office right across the street. I hate that post office, but it is more convenient than the one near the steak house 2 miles away. But I did need to mail off the baby jacket to my cousin, so I braced myself for the worst, or so I thought.
My first mistake was asking Dorian if we should go there first or the gym first. (Stupid question.) We go into the gym only to find that no one we know is there, so we may as well have gone to the post office first. Instead I am forced to suffer through the bizarre spectacle of a mother feeling the need to show off her belly (I'm assuming she was proud of how skinny she is) by running along one of the walls while wearing low rise jeans and a half shirt and having her husband throw a ball at her so she could jump and dodge it. She might as well have been screaming "Look at me!" like all the other children there.
We prepare to leave and I use "the facilities" but Dorian claims not to need to pee, so we head across the street. Of course there is a line and of course the person at the head of the line has no less than 10 padded envelopes to be weighed. This was Dorian's cue to announce how much he wanted to go home. Impeccable timing that kid has. I tell him how patient he needs to be while I am impatiently scouting the potential postage needs of the other 4 people ahead of me and trying to remember how much time is left on my parking meter. (None.) Therefore, Dorian must announce now that he needs to pee. I drag him around the building and ask one of the guys if there is a restroom. "Across the street at the rec center," he replies. Oh, what a card! I tell Dorian he will just have to wait, wondering if this will cause me more stress than leaving and coming back would, and then I see that yet another person would be ahead of me and the line has not moved.
After letting Dorian pee in the parking lot in front of the car because I didn't want to carry my box back up another flight of stairs and because he deserved to have to pee in the cold, we set off for the other post office. Usually there is a super nice guy named Pete who is quick and friendly and makes me wonder where the term "go postal" ever came from. Not today. Today there was a woman who, while friendly, was not so quick and who saw fit to answer the phone twice even though she had 3 people in line. The woman ahead of me finally gets to hand over her box, which is not taped closed, and right before she pays she yells, "Wait!" For chrissakes, people. Can't we get through one simple transaction? She reaches into the box, shuffles the contents around and pulls out... her car keys.
Two minutes later, little Lincoln's sweater and all the other most miniature clothing I had left were on their way to him 2 hours north. It probably would have been much less traumatic to have delivered them myself.
My first mistake was asking Dorian if we should go there first or the gym first. (Stupid question.) We go into the gym only to find that no one we know is there, so we may as well have gone to the post office first. Instead I am forced to suffer through the bizarre spectacle of a mother feeling the need to show off her belly (I'm assuming she was proud of how skinny she is) by running along one of the walls while wearing low rise jeans and a half shirt and having her husband throw a ball at her so she could jump and dodge it. She might as well have been screaming "Look at me!" like all the other children there.
We prepare to leave and I use "the facilities" but Dorian claims not to need to pee, so we head across the street. Of course there is a line and of course the person at the head of the line has no less than 10 padded envelopes to be weighed. This was Dorian's cue to announce how much he wanted to go home. Impeccable timing that kid has. I tell him how patient he needs to be while I am impatiently scouting the potential postage needs of the other 4 people ahead of me and trying to remember how much time is left on my parking meter. (None.) Therefore, Dorian must announce now that he needs to pee. I drag him around the building and ask one of the guys if there is a restroom. "Across the street at the rec center," he replies. Oh, what a card! I tell Dorian he will just have to wait, wondering if this will cause me more stress than leaving and coming back would, and then I see that yet another person would be ahead of me and the line has not moved.
After letting Dorian pee in the parking lot in front of the car because I didn't want to carry my box back up another flight of stairs and because he deserved to have to pee in the cold, we set off for the other post office. Usually there is a super nice guy named Pete who is quick and friendly and makes me wonder where the term "go postal" ever came from. Not today. Today there was a woman who, while friendly, was not so quick and who saw fit to answer the phone twice even though she had 3 people in line. The woman ahead of me finally gets to hand over her box, which is not taped closed, and right before she pays she yells, "Wait!" For chrissakes, people. Can't we get through one simple transaction? She reaches into the box, shuffles the contents around and pulls out... her car keys.
Two minutes later, little Lincoln's sweater and all the other most miniature clothing I had left were on their way to him 2 hours north. It probably would have been much less traumatic to have delivered them myself.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Still plugging away
After a bit of a break from the picnic quilt, I got back to it today, but not for very long. A sundae at Friendly's was calling my name. I did sew that strip of squares and rectangles together, but more importantly, I figured out a better way to cut straight.Before, I would cut while hunched over the cutting mat on the floor, or stand at the table, also relatively hunched. It should come as no surprise that my cuts were not straight, but were pretty hunched themselves. So today I had the genius idea to stand at the kitchen counter instead. It's the right height, and while it didn't solve all my problems, it did make a big difference.
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