A few months ago the Bug and the Pea planted a garden. Initially, they placed sunflower seeds in plastic cups full of dirt. Those seeds burst through the soil, and were transplanted from the cups to the garden. They grew...and grew...and grew. The sunflower plants are enormous! They were taller than our fence and I enjoyed seeing them as I drove out of the driveway, away from the house each morning. They are now bending over and the flowers are full of sunflower seeds to be planted next year.
The Bug and the Pea make a sport of picking the seeds. They travel to the garden several times a day to harvest the seeds so that we'll have plenty for next year's garden. (And I'm fairly certain that the seven thousand seeds they have harvested will be PLENTY for next year's crop.) While picking the seeds, the kids have noticed inhabitants of the former sunflower plants. Caterpillars. EVERYWHERE. The caterpillars crawl up and down the stem and munch on the large green leaves.
The Bug and the Pea are mesmerized. Their little faces draw close to the caterpillars and eyes follow the fuzzy creatures up and down the stalk. When a caterpillar crawls under a leaf, the Bug squeals with delight, "He's going to EAT! He's going to EAT! QUICK! Come see!" Today, the children decided that seeing was not enough. They gently pulled caterpillars from the sunflowers and giggled as the caterpillars inched slowly up fingers and arms.
At one point, the Bug announced she was quite certain the caterpillars were (gasp) sick. All of them. Sick. Sick. Sick. The Pea sprang into action. Before I knew it, we had a miniature emergency room at our disposal. The kids fashioned teeny tiny hospital beds out of grass clumps. The Bug took an old sand pail and fastened on a jump rope. She threw one end of the jump rope over the beam on our playset and voila...a pulley system. The caterpillars were transported to the second floor of the hospital (i.e. the playset clubhouse) and medical supplies were lifted up via pulley from the ground level (i.e. the swing). The Pea would also send up ginormous sunflower leaves for the caterpillars to munch during their convalescence. Once the caterpillars were well, they were transported to the tray table attached to the grill. ("MOM! We're not GRILLING the caterpillars, they're just crawling ON the grill! Silly Mommy!)
Once the sun set, I told the girls it was time for "bath and bed!" They were hesitant to leave their posts. "Mom! We're nurses! They NEED us, even through the night!" I repeatedly assured the Bug and the Pea their patients would benefit from a good night's rest.
Finally, little Florence Nighten-Pea and Clara Bug-ton headed upstairs for a nice looooong soapy bath...
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Saturday, September 26, 2009
In Which The Bug and The Pea Concoct Bubbles...
Even as I type, the Bug and the Pea are making the most of a rainy afternoon. They plundered the laundry room in search of Bubble Soap and found nothing. (My children are mesmerized with blowing bubbles...to entertain themselves, and of course our next door neighbor's cat.) By the time I had reconstructed the laundry room, the girls had gone out to the garage to concoct their own bubbles.
On rainy days, we park our cars horizontally across the edge of the driveway. This provides a steel barrier between our children and the street. The Bug and the Pea have full run of the sheltered garage space, and may enjoy the rain in our yard and driveway. It would never occur to them to wear shoes or jackets. (Rain is something to be experienced, and how can you do that without bare feet?)
The house door is ajar, so I can keep an "ear out" for them, if not an eye out. The Pea has already warned me, "Mom, it would just be better if you stayed inside until everything is cleaned up. I mean it, no peeking!" (Not particularly comforting to hear from a first grader...) Every few minutes the Bug runs inside, and up the stairs, smuggling something back out to the garage. The Pea, likewise, runs inside to grab a roll of paper towels and some markers. I can see that the hand soap from our powder room is missing, so I'm sure the primary ingredient is actually soap. Which, I suppose, is a good thing. (You'd never want to find a child pouring radiator fluid into a container or anything of that sort...) Every now and then I hear an excited comment, "Look! We can make colored bubbles!" Wow. Just now I heard the hose being turned on from the side of our house.
The Pea just peeked in the door, "No worries Mommy! The garage is gonna be clean as a whistle!"
For some reason, I'm guessing this will NOT be the case...
On rainy days, we park our cars horizontally across the edge of the driveway. This provides a steel barrier between our children and the street. The Bug and the Pea have full run of the sheltered garage space, and may enjoy the rain in our yard and driveway. It would never occur to them to wear shoes or jackets. (Rain is something to be experienced, and how can you do that without bare feet?)
The house door is ajar, so I can keep an "ear out" for them, if not an eye out. The Pea has already warned me, "Mom, it would just be better if you stayed inside until everything is cleaned up. I mean it, no peeking!" (Not particularly comforting to hear from a first grader...) Every few minutes the Bug runs inside, and up the stairs, smuggling something back out to the garage. The Pea, likewise, runs inside to grab a roll of paper towels and some markers. I can see that the hand soap from our powder room is missing, so I'm sure the primary ingredient is actually soap. Which, I suppose, is a good thing. (You'd never want to find a child pouring radiator fluid into a container or anything of that sort...) Every now and then I hear an excited comment, "Look! We can make colored bubbles!" Wow. Just now I heard the hose being turned on from the side of our house.
The Pea just peeked in the door, "No worries Mommy! The garage is gonna be clean as a whistle!"
For some reason, I'm guessing this will NOT be the case...
Monday, September 21, 2009
In Which The Hand Me Downs Become Hand Me Ups...
It has happened. We knew it would. The Pea (my youngest) has surpassed The Bug (my oldest) in weight and height. Granted, we're only talking about part of an inch and a few pounds. Nevertheless, in their minds, this is SUBSTANTIAL. And it is, I suppose.
I buy pairs of everything. The girls have worn the same size for about a year now. This has made my life simpler in some ways -- I just grab two of said shirt, skirt or jeans when shopping at Wal-Mart, Target or TJMaxx (my favorite kiddo shopping grounds.) This has made my life more difficult in some ways -- what if the store doesn't HAVE two of the same item? (Like at TJMaxx, where a lot of times, there's only one item of that particular style or color in that particular size...) Last night I found some clearance uniforms for $4 bucks at Target. My children attend public school, however, in my mind - a khaki skort is a khaki skort. And two identical $4 khaki skorts belong in my shopping cart. As usual, I grabbed two of the same size.
After baths, the kids tried on their new clothes. The Pea's fit perfectly. The Bug's hung on her. I sewed darts on the Bug's (yeah, I got skills...) so that the skort would fit.
The Bug and I had a talk. My little brother was always "bigger" than me! She found some comfort in that...I tried to tell her it's all in the genes. I tried to tell her that someday, she'd appreciate being petite...maybe she'd even look younger than her younger sister. Unfortunately, these assurances were not extremely encouraging to a third grader.
Before bedtime we practiced the Bug's Bible Drill Team verses. Bible Drill is open to participants 8 years old and older. (A fact The Bug is pleased to announce daily). We went over a few passages, even did a few "mock" drills. She eventually drifted off to sleep, proud to be a part of something the "big kids" aspired to join....even if she was the littlest big kid member...
I buy pairs of everything. The girls have worn the same size for about a year now. This has made my life simpler in some ways -- I just grab two of said shirt, skirt or jeans when shopping at Wal-Mart, Target or TJMaxx (my favorite kiddo shopping grounds.) This has made my life more difficult in some ways -- what if the store doesn't HAVE two of the same item? (Like at TJMaxx, where a lot of times, there's only one item of that particular style or color in that particular size...) Last night I found some clearance uniforms for $4 bucks at Target. My children attend public school, however, in my mind - a khaki skort is a khaki skort. And two identical $4 khaki skorts belong in my shopping cart. As usual, I grabbed two of the same size.
After baths, the kids tried on their new clothes. The Pea's fit perfectly. The Bug's hung on her. I sewed darts on the Bug's (yeah, I got skills...) so that the skort would fit.
The Bug and I had a talk. My little brother was always "bigger" than me! She found some comfort in that...I tried to tell her it's all in the genes. I tried to tell her that someday, she'd appreciate being petite...maybe she'd even look younger than her younger sister. Unfortunately, these assurances were not extremely encouraging to a third grader.
Before bedtime we practiced the Bug's Bible Drill Team verses. Bible Drill is open to participants 8 years old and older. (A fact The Bug is pleased to announce daily). We went over a few passages, even did a few "mock" drills. She eventually drifted off to sleep, proud to be a part of something the "big kids" aspired to join....even if she was the littlest big kid member...
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Krazy Kiosks
Today I had a Grown Up Girls Day with my friend MKK! (Shout out to my sweet friend!) Each year, we travel to Nashville and do some early Christmas shopping. Every now and then we treat ourselves to gifts. We peruse the aisles for beautiful blouses, dresses, skirts. Unfortunately for me, my sweet friend is about 80 pounds (soaking wet) and wears a size negative 2 petite. So she heads to one side of the store, while I head to the other. Nevertheless, we always meet back by the check-out counter with our 'finds'.
The kiosks lining the walkways of the mall never cease to amaze us. We've perfected "walking with a purpose" straight past the vendors trying to catch our eye. If our gaze happens to stray toward the kiosk, it's too late. We are accosted. "Mizz...let me ask you the one question. Those your real nails? You have the beautiful hands. Yez. Try theese special lotion."
We try being nice, "No thank you." We try looking down. We try talking loudly to each other as if in the midst of an amazingly important conversation. But sometimes, ya just have to look at the kiosk. It's like a train wreck. You KNOW you should look away, but you can't help it.
Today, in the MIDDLE of the mall, we saw: 1.) a lady having her eyebrows plucked (I am NOT making this up)...2.) a man getting a back massage...3.) a woman trying on hair extensions...4.) a grown man who had strapped rollerskating wheels to his tennis shoes...wheels that lit up multi-colored while rolling along...5.) a lady getting her hair straightened...6.) a man in a see-through coffin-like contraption getting a water massage. And all of this was BEFORE we even passed by the Food Court area, with legendary kiosks that we are particularly careful to avoid - like the one where the high school kid throws a boomerang-y like helicopter through the air. (Mark my words, one of these days that stinkin' helicopter is going to bop me upside the head...)
Nevertheless, it was a very productive day, and certainly fun to catch up with my sweet friend as we wandered from store to store. Toward the end of our day, I managed to 'check off' several folks from my Christmas Shopping List. You see, as we were heading out of the mall, we ran into the cutest little kiosk...
The kiosks lining the walkways of the mall never cease to amaze us. We've perfected "walking with a purpose" straight past the vendors trying to catch our eye. If our gaze happens to stray toward the kiosk, it's too late. We are accosted. "Mizz...let me ask you the one question. Those your real nails? You have the beautiful hands. Yez. Try theese special lotion."
We try being nice, "No thank you." We try looking down. We try talking loudly to each other as if in the midst of an amazingly important conversation. But sometimes, ya just have to look at the kiosk. It's like a train wreck. You KNOW you should look away, but you can't help it.
Today, in the MIDDLE of the mall, we saw: 1.) a lady having her eyebrows plucked (I am NOT making this up)...2.) a man getting a back massage...3.) a woman trying on hair extensions...4.) a grown man who had strapped rollerskating wheels to his tennis shoes...wheels that lit up multi-colored while rolling along...5.) a lady getting her hair straightened...6.) a man in a see-through coffin-like contraption getting a water massage. And all of this was BEFORE we even passed by the Food Court area, with legendary kiosks that we are particularly careful to avoid - like the one where the high school kid throws a boomerang-y like helicopter through the air. (Mark my words, one of these days that stinkin' helicopter is going to bop me upside the head...)
Nevertheless, it was a very productive day, and certainly fun to catch up with my sweet friend as we wandered from store to store. Toward the end of our day, I managed to 'check off' several folks from my Christmas Shopping List. You see, as we were heading out of the mall, we ran into the cutest little kiosk...
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Too Stinkin' Old For School Photos...
Just when ya think you've left those days of really BAD school pictures behind you... a new school portrait rears it's ugly head (or rather, your ugly head...)
So I was walking by the faculty mailboxes this morning, and I noticed the proofs were back from yearbook pictures. Butterflies filled my stomach, because I just KNEW this portrait was going to be THE ONE. And when I say The One, I mean - the only decent school picture I have ever taken in the history of me having school pictures taken. No more glasses or braces or awkward nervousness, I'm a grown up now, by golly! Confident, cool, collected.
I reached into my cubby mailbox and pulled out... a picture of the living dead. I'm not even sure how (or why) I let myself out of the house looking like that!? I couldn't have been paler. And what in the world was that look on my face? Shock? Surprise? It's not as if I was caught off guard. I stood behind a long line of children to have my portrait taken, I KNEW what was coming.
My new Driver's License picture is not much better. (My birthday was this past week, and I was required to renew my license). I drove down to the courthouse in the afternoon. After the lunch crowd, before the 'last minute, they're gonna close' crowd. It was a beautiful day, I was in a smiley mood. I was the ONLY one in line, the only one. I had my renewal notice ready, my check written out...could not have made the whole process easier for the clerk. And yet, she literally GROWLED at me. "Back against the blue wall!" she grumbled, all of a sudden. "Excuse me?" I asked politely, I honestly didn't know what she was talking about. "The blue wall!" she growled. I turned around, the entire office was blue, it wasn't as if only one small part was marked. It finally dawned on me that she was ready to take my picture, and I scooted over toward the camera. The clerk shot me a look as if I was the one who was completely insane. I smiled at the camera, and stood smiling...for awhile. She was typing something, then writing something, then she was walking around. I stopped smiling, clearly she wasn't ready to take the picture. FLASH. Seriously? What did she have? A remote to the camera? A sixth sense about when to snap the most awful picture possible?
Anyhoooo.... The Pea brought home her proofs too. God love her. The sweet thing looks like she's doing 'hard time' for a heinous crime. The Bug's proofs must be coming home tomorrow, heaven help us.
The moral of this story: There Is No Such Thing As A Good School Picture.
Nevertheless, hope springs eternal. And I will be first in line for "make up" pictures in two weeks...
So I was walking by the faculty mailboxes this morning, and I noticed the proofs were back from yearbook pictures. Butterflies filled my stomach, because I just KNEW this portrait was going to be THE ONE. And when I say The One, I mean - the only decent school picture I have ever taken in the history of me having school pictures taken. No more glasses or braces or awkward nervousness, I'm a grown up now, by golly! Confident, cool, collected.
I reached into my cubby mailbox and pulled out... a picture of the living dead. I'm not even sure how (or why) I let myself out of the house looking like that!? I couldn't have been paler. And what in the world was that look on my face? Shock? Surprise? It's not as if I was caught off guard. I stood behind a long line of children to have my portrait taken, I KNEW what was coming.
My new Driver's License picture is not much better. (My birthday was this past week, and I was required to renew my license). I drove down to the courthouse in the afternoon. After the lunch crowd, before the 'last minute, they're gonna close' crowd. It was a beautiful day, I was in a smiley mood. I was the ONLY one in line, the only one. I had my renewal notice ready, my check written out...could not have made the whole process easier for the clerk. And yet, she literally GROWLED at me. "Back against the blue wall!" she grumbled, all of a sudden. "Excuse me?" I asked politely, I honestly didn't know what she was talking about. "The blue wall!" she growled. I turned around, the entire office was blue, it wasn't as if only one small part was marked. It finally dawned on me that she was ready to take my picture, and I scooted over toward the camera. The clerk shot me a look as if I was the one who was completely insane. I smiled at the camera, and stood smiling...for awhile. She was typing something, then writing something, then she was walking around. I stopped smiling, clearly she wasn't ready to take the picture. FLASH. Seriously? What did she have? A remote to the camera? A sixth sense about when to snap the most awful picture possible?
Anyhoooo.... The Pea brought home her proofs too. God love her. The sweet thing looks like she's doing 'hard time' for a heinous crime. The Bug's proofs must be coming home tomorrow, heaven help us.
The moral of this story: There Is No Such Thing As A Good School Picture.
Nevertheless, hope springs eternal. And I will be first in line for "make up" pictures in two weeks...
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Public Potty World
Why go to an amusement park when it is, apparently, JUST as much fun to visit the nearest public restroom? This is a quandary I've often pondered. I keep telling myself, 'It will pass..., it's just a phase.' And then I realize I've been telling myself that year after year.
The Bug and the Pea are drawn to public toilets like moths to a flame. Before we leave the house, we always ALWAYS go potty. Nevertheless, by the time we arrive at our destination, "Mommy, I promise I went at home, but I gotta go potty again...BAD." (Oy.) So we all traipse off to the potty and the fun begins.
Today was my birthday. It was an absolutely lovely day and after church we went out to eat. I picked the place...my favorite restaurant. What a treat!
We had barely darkened the doors, when the announcement was made that we HAD to go to the potty.
"Why," I ask, "Must we touch absolutely everything in our path?"
"What do you mean, Mommy?" says the Pea as her finger traces along the gritty tiled wall until she reaches the stall door and thoroughly examines the lock.
"Stop touching everything! You'll get germs!"
The Bug replies, "Mommy, I can't get this foot trash can thing to work, so I'll just use my hand to push this pedal thing down here..."
"What in the world do you have that needs to be thrown away?"
"Well, nothing..." As she reaches out to manually close the foot operated trash can with both hands.
"Let's just all use the potty, wash our hands and be on our way."
I won't go into depth about the many parts of the toilet that both the Bug and the Pea touched during the actual process. Sufficed to say, that I was glad when everyone had properly relieved themselves and we headed to the sink.
"Wash your hands!" was my proclamation. "Lots of soap and water!" I say as I turn the faucet with my elbow.
The girls reach for the soap dispenser. They manage to touch all over the container, the wall beside the container, and finally the lever that releases the soap...
At which point we discovered, sadly, that the dispenser was completely,
empty...
The Bug and the Pea are drawn to public toilets like moths to a flame. Before we leave the house, we always ALWAYS go potty. Nevertheless, by the time we arrive at our destination, "Mommy, I promise I went at home, but I gotta go potty again...BAD." (Oy.) So we all traipse off to the potty and the fun begins.
Today was my birthday. It was an absolutely lovely day and after church we went out to eat. I picked the place...my favorite restaurant. What a treat!
We had barely darkened the doors, when the announcement was made that we HAD to go to the potty.
"Why," I ask, "Must we touch absolutely everything in our path?"
"What do you mean, Mommy?" says the Pea as her finger traces along the gritty tiled wall until she reaches the stall door and thoroughly examines the lock.
"Stop touching everything! You'll get germs!"
The Bug replies, "Mommy, I can't get this foot trash can thing to work, so I'll just use my hand to push this pedal thing down here..."
"What in the world do you have that needs to be thrown away?"
"Well, nothing..." As she reaches out to manually close the foot operated trash can with both hands.
"Let's just all use the potty, wash our hands and be on our way."
I won't go into depth about the many parts of the toilet that both the Bug and the Pea touched during the actual process. Sufficed to say, that I was glad when everyone had properly relieved themselves and we headed to the sink.
"Wash your hands!" was my proclamation. "Lots of soap and water!" I say as I turn the faucet with my elbow.
The girls reach for the soap dispenser. They manage to touch all over the container, the wall beside the container, and finally the lever that releases the soap...
At which point we discovered, sadly, that the dispenser was completely,
empty...
Friday, September 11, 2009
Splinters and DRAMA...
Tonight, the Pea zoomed through the front door, traveling at the speed of light. "Moooooooooommmm! I need you, I NEED you!" My heart skipped a beat, worrying that someone was hurt. It was getting close to dark outside, and a handful of kids from the neighborhood were playing in the yard. "I wasn't doing anything wrong!" (Oy.) "Look! The biggest splinter in the world!" The Pea shoved her palm in my direction. Splinter? Is THAT all?! I thought to myself. Come to Mama!
Needles don't frighten me, in fact, I have quite an odd fascination with splinter removal. Surprisingly enough, I would have made an amazing surgeon. Except for the whole "blood coming out of the body" thing that leaves me in a weepy, well...unconscious...state on the gurney. (note: see previous blog regarding poor phlebotomist matched up with me for lab work) It's true! My freshman year of high school, my biology teacher watched me dissect seven specific (read into this: teeny tiny) parts of a cricket. He swore I was a surgeon in the making. (Of course, I imagine his mind quickly changed the following week when I fainted during the opening credits of a childbirth documentary...) Anyhoooooo...
Splinter removal is the perfect opportunity to use my non-blood-surgical skills. I assembled my tools like a professional. Cotton balls, peroxide, needle. Primarily for dramatic effect, I sterilized the needle by holding it over a flame. The Pea wasn't so sure this whole process was a good idea. However, her opinion changed significantly once I allowed her to hop up on the vanity counter top in preparation for the surgery.
From the howling, gasping, sighing, and wiggling...you would have thought I was beating the poor child. (And all that was BEFORE I even used the needle...while I was sterilizing stuff...geez.) When it was time to get down to business, I was the Master. Gentle, precise, compassionate. The perfect combination of bedside manner with surgical skill. Quick and accurate. I removed the ginormous splinter and held it for the Pea to examine. Success. I began to pat myself on the back, wipe the sweat from my brow, prepare a few modest words of self-congratulation.
By the time I turned around, the Pea had hopped off the vanity and fled back out the door to play in the last moments before darkness fell.
And all was right with the world....
Needles don't frighten me, in fact, I have quite an odd fascination with splinter removal. Surprisingly enough, I would have made an amazing surgeon. Except for the whole "blood coming out of the body" thing that leaves me in a weepy, well...unconscious...state on the gurney. (note: see previous blog regarding poor phlebotomist matched up with me for lab work) It's true! My freshman year of high school, my biology teacher watched me dissect seven specific (read into this: teeny tiny) parts of a cricket. He swore I was a surgeon in the making. (Of course, I imagine his mind quickly changed the following week when I fainted during the opening credits of a childbirth documentary...) Anyhoooooo...
Splinter removal is the perfect opportunity to use my non-blood-surgical skills. I assembled my tools like a professional. Cotton balls, peroxide, needle. Primarily for dramatic effect, I sterilized the needle by holding it over a flame. The Pea wasn't so sure this whole process was a good idea. However, her opinion changed significantly once I allowed her to hop up on the vanity counter top in preparation for the surgery.
From the howling, gasping, sighing, and wiggling...you would have thought I was beating the poor child. (And all that was BEFORE I even used the needle...while I was sterilizing stuff...geez.) When it was time to get down to business, I was the Master. Gentle, precise, compassionate. The perfect combination of bedside manner with surgical skill. Quick and accurate. I removed the ginormous splinter and held it for the Pea to examine. Success. I began to pat myself on the back, wipe the sweat from my brow, prepare a few modest words of self-congratulation.
By the time I turned around, the Pea had hopped off the vanity and fled back out the door to play in the last moments before darkness fell.
And all was right with the world....
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Sugar Plum or...What's The Big Deal About Last Names Anyway?
Remember a kazillion years ago when each library book had a tiny manila envelope taped to the inside of the back cover? There was a vertical index card placed inside said envelope, and the librarian would use a dated ink stamp to mark when the library book was due back. Nowadays, we have all kinds of new fangled tech-y stuff.
For example, each book has it's very own bar code (how clever is that?) When a child wants to "check out" a book, I search my computer for the student's name (last name first...), use a bright red (way cool) laser to scan the book's bar code and beep-beep... the information is recorded electronically. In this Star Trek-esque manner, I'm able to track which of my 800 sweet babies have which of the 14,000+ books from the elementary school library. (For a gal who still uses her college jam-box and VCR...this high tech stuff is pretty sweet).
Sadly, my computer was "down" today. I'm not casting any blame, mind you. We just had a 3 day weekend, it was hard for me to wake up this morning, too. Hence Plan B: the good ol' fashioned method of writing everything down on paper. The students would come in, choose their books, and tell me their names. I would write down said names, said bar code numbers, and send said students on their way for a little bit of quiet reading...("Level Zero Boys and Girls! Yes, sweetie, I see you have a boo-boo on your knee. No, sweetie, we do not balance books on our heads. Let's read to ourselves. No, no, quietly...'read in your head', baby doll, not out loud. Level Zero!")
For the older students, this wasn't a big deal. But for the younger kiddos, the whole "check out process" was a calamity. Now, don't get me wrong... they were able to choose their books, and they were able to line up fairly quietly. It was the whole NAME thing that threw them off kilter. When my computer is awake and functioning, I can scroll through class rosters...if I can understand at least one syllable of what the child claims is his/her name, I'm in good shape.
Me: What's your name sweetie?
Kiddo: Choley Bee
Me: Who's your teacher, baby doll?
Kiddo: (Looks to classmate, bewildered...classmate confers...they decide on an answer) Foyd
Me: (Scrolling down class roster of Mrs. Ford's kindergarteners) Charlie?
Kiddo: No, Chooollleeeyyyy
Me: (Scroll to next guess...) Gary?
Kiddo: No, Choley
Me: Oh! Joey Bryant!
Kiddo: (smiles, takes book and scoots out of the way for the next child in line...)
Having NO computer to work with, this process became quite comical...and lengthy. Grasping at straws...yet fearing it would lead to disaster... I began to ask for Last Names. (Gasp.) One child into the process, I realized this was a mistake. And yet, such a pleasant mistake it was...
The sweet, sweet, baby doll next in line swore up and down her last name was Sugar Plum.
Me: Whats your name sweetie pie?
Kiddo: Emily
Me: Do you know your whole name?
Kiddo: Emily Sugar Plum
Me: Do you know your Last name, sweetie?
Kiddo: Sugar Plum
Me: (Admitting defeat, I scribbled down 'Emily'...smiling...hoping I'll be able to figure her last name out... at some point... through the process of elimination.)
I mean, seriously, how many 'Emilys' can there be out there?
Guess I'll find out tomorrow,
if the computer is back up and running...
For example, each book has it's very own bar code (how clever is that?) When a child wants to "check out" a book, I search my computer for the student's name (last name first...), use a bright red (way cool) laser to scan the book's bar code and beep-beep... the information is recorded electronically. In this Star Trek-esque manner, I'm able to track which of my 800 sweet babies have which of the 14,000+ books from the elementary school library. (For a gal who still uses her college jam-box and VCR...this high tech stuff is pretty sweet).
Sadly, my computer was "down" today. I'm not casting any blame, mind you. We just had a 3 day weekend, it was hard for me to wake up this morning, too. Hence Plan B: the good ol' fashioned method of writing everything down on paper. The students would come in, choose their books, and tell me their names. I would write down said names, said bar code numbers, and send said students on their way for a little bit of quiet reading...("Level Zero Boys and Girls! Yes, sweetie, I see you have a boo-boo on your knee. No, sweetie, we do not balance books on our heads. Let's read to ourselves. No, no, quietly...'read in your head', baby doll, not out loud. Level Zero!")
For the older students, this wasn't a big deal. But for the younger kiddos, the whole "check out process" was a calamity. Now, don't get me wrong... they were able to choose their books, and they were able to line up fairly quietly. It was the whole NAME thing that threw them off kilter. When my computer is awake and functioning, I can scroll through class rosters...if I can understand at least one syllable of what the child claims is his/her name, I'm in good shape.
Me: What's your name sweetie?
Kiddo: Choley Bee
Me: Who's your teacher, baby doll?
Kiddo: (Looks to classmate, bewildered...classmate confers...they decide on an answer) Foyd
Me: (Scrolling down class roster of Mrs. Ford's kindergarteners) Charlie?
Kiddo: No, Chooollleeeyyyy
Me: (Scroll to next guess...) Gary?
Kiddo: No, Choley
Me: Oh! Joey Bryant!
Kiddo: (smiles, takes book and scoots out of the way for the next child in line...)
Having NO computer to work with, this process became quite comical...and lengthy. Grasping at straws...yet fearing it would lead to disaster... I began to ask for Last Names. (Gasp.) One child into the process, I realized this was a mistake. And yet, such a pleasant mistake it was...
The sweet, sweet, baby doll next in line swore up and down her last name was Sugar Plum.
Me: Whats your name sweetie pie?
Kiddo: Emily
Me: Do you know your whole name?
Kiddo: Emily Sugar Plum
Me: Do you know your Last name, sweetie?
Kiddo: Sugar Plum
Me: (Admitting defeat, I scribbled down 'Emily'...smiling...hoping I'll be able to figure her last name out... at some point... through the process of elimination.)
I mean, seriously, how many 'Emilys' can there be out there?
Guess I'll find out tomorrow,
if the computer is back up and running...
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Dusting Off Album Covers...
Grandma and Granddad set up a table and some chairs in a corner of their basement. Paints, brushes, and sketch pads are stacked on the table. The girls make a beeline for their "art gallery," especially when cousins are also visiting.
This morning-- the morning after my cousin's wedding -- we were all gathered in Grandma and Granddad's basement. My nieces dug through the "dress-up" box and donned Police Woman and Cowgirl costumes. The Bug and The Pea were painting masterpieces. Mom and I were dusting off album covers and laughing as the memories rushed back...
Olivia Newton John - Let's Get Physical - exercising, age 6, in my black ballet leotard beside Mom
Bye Bye Birdie - Kids! What's The Matter With Kids These Days? - Mom and I still pretty much have that song down pat!
Grease- We Go Together, Like Shu-bop-shu-wanna-wanna-hippety-boom-dee-boom! (Shout out to the DCHS Spring '89 production of Grease in which I portrayed Patty "Don't you just LOVE the first day of school!" Simcox.)
Annie - How many times did I sing "It's a Hard Knock Life For Us!" in front of my dresser, hairbrush microphone in hand?
We sorted through Beatles albums - a moment of silence for the greatness...enough said.
Next, we stumbled upon the creme de la creme of albums (considering current events...) Michael Jackson's Thriller.
I put the album on the turntable and propped the album cover on the storage shelf.
The girls turned my direction for a moment, and then went back to playing.
I cranked up the volume and pointed to The Pea in a Quiz Show MC fashion--Singer? I asked.
"Michael Jackson" (Good girl! Raising her right!)
"Song?"
"Beat It" she replied, and then went back to her painting.
"Come dance with me!" I spun around.
"Uh, what are you doing Aunt Leigh?"
"This here, this is called Break Dancing!" I shouted as I did my own rendition of The Wave. Oh, I was on FIRE!
"Beat It! Beat It! No one wants to BE Defeated!" I was crackin' and poppin'.
The Pea got up, dragged out the Karaoke microphone and handed it to me.
"It doesn't matter who's wrong or right! Just Beat It!"
My policewoman-clad niece started jotting something down on a pad of paper.
"You better watch out, Aunt Leigh. Next thing you know, you're gonna need to get a hip replaced. It happened to Barry Mannilow!"
The song ended, and my full attention turned to my niece.
"Here you go!" She chirped happily, handing me the piece of paper.
I looked down...my policewoman niece had just written me out a ticket for -
Bad Break Dancing...
This morning-- the morning after my cousin's wedding -- we were all gathered in Grandma and Granddad's basement. My nieces dug through the "dress-up" box and donned Police Woman and Cowgirl costumes. The Bug and The Pea were painting masterpieces. Mom and I were dusting off album covers and laughing as the memories rushed back...
Olivia Newton John - Let's Get Physical - exercising, age 6, in my black ballet leotard beside Mom
Bye Bye Birdie - Kids! What's The Matter With Kids These Days? - Mom and I still pretty much have that song down pat!
Grease- We Go Together, Like Shu-bop-shu-wanna-wanna-hippety-boom-dee-boom! (Shout out to the DCHS Spring '89 production of Grease in which I portrayed Patty "Don't you just LOVE the first day of school!" Simcox.)
Annie - How many times did I sing "It's a Hard Knock Life For Us!" in front of my dresser, hairbrush microphone in hand?
We sorted through Beatles albums - a moment of silence for the greatness...enough said.
Next, we stumbled upon the creme de la creme of albums (considering current events...) Michael Jackson's Thriller.
I put the album on the turntable and propped the album cover on the storage shelf.
The girls turned my direction for a moment, and then went back to playing.
I cranked up the volume and pointed to The Pea in a Quiz Show MC fashion--Singer? I asked.
"Michael Jackson" (Good girl! Raising her right!)
"Song?"
"Beat It" she replied, and then went back to her painting.
"Come dance with me!" I spun around.
"Uh, what are you doing Aunt Leigh?"
"This here, this is called Break Dancing!" I shouted as I did my own rendition of The Wave. Oh, I was on FIRE!
"Beat It! Beat It! No one wants to BE Defeated!" I was crackin' and poppin'.
The Pea got up, dragged out the Karaoke microphone and handed it to me.
"It doesn't matter who's wrong or right! Just Beat It!"
My policewoman-clad niece started jotting something down on a pad of paper.
"You better watch out, Aunt Leigh. Next thing you know, you're gonna need to get a hip replaced. It happened to Barry Mannilow!"
The song ended, and my full attention turned to my niece.
"Here you go!" She chirped happily, handing me the piece of paper.
I looked down...my policewoman niece had just written me out a ticket for -
Bad Break Dancing...
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Conundrumzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.....
Conundrum: Why must the cherubs wake up BEFORE the roosters even think about waking up on weekENDS ...when they struggle to leave for school at 7 a.m. each weekDAY morning?
Oh, they know NOT to come into Mommy and Daddy's room early. Saturday mornings are sacred "sleep in and stay in your jammies while you eat your pancakes" mornings. But perhaps that is opposite of what we should be enforcing?
Because they do NOT pounce on us early on Saturday, we are forced to mentally guess what is going on in the den. "What was that CRASH?" "Is that an elephant I hear jumping off the couch?" "Tell me that was NOT the entire gallon of milk spilling on the carpet!?"
Or even worse...complete quiet. "What are they UP TO out there?" "Why did they just peek in and CLOSE our bedroom door?" "Do I hear a kitchen chair being dragged across the floor to the pantry?"
I love that my kids have crazy wonderful imaginations. But is it necessary to concoct chemistry experiments using a combination of cooking oils, dish detergents, markers, paint and bubble bath?
I thought kids were supposed to sleep in on Saturday mornings and then snuggle up on the couch and watch Disney cartoons?
I love sleep. I love, love, love sleep. Mom tells me she used to have to wake me up from my nap just in time to tuck me in bed for the night. My point: I have always been this way.
The Bug and The Pea? Not so much.
I can count on one finger the times the two took a simultaneous nap when they were toddlers. (And this was only because they were exhausted with a stomach bug....and of course, I wasn't able to accomplish anything during said simultaneous nap, as I too was plagued with sickness....)
The good thing about this whole "NO resting at any point during the day" situation, is that we've fairly consistently maintained a 7:30 - 8:00 p.m. -ish bedtime. And nothing is more sweet than tip-toeing down the stairs after tucking in the little cherubs. Because beginning at 8:01...that is Mommy and Daddy time...time to discuss the events of the day, to grab a book and a cup of hot tea and read...to...to...to...
SLEEP....
Oh, they know NOT to come into Mommy and Daddy's room early. Saturday mornings are sacred "sleep in and stay in your jammies while you eat your pancakes" mornings. But perhaps that is opposite of what we should be enforcing?
Because they do NOT pounce on us early on Saturday, we are forced to mentally guess what is going on in the den. "What was that CRASH?" "Is that an elephant I hear jumping off the couch?" "Tell me that was NOT the entire gallon of milk spilling on the carpet!?"
Or even worse...complete quiet. "What are they UP TO out there?" "Why did they just peek in and CLOSE our bedroom door?" "Do I hear a kitchen chair being dragged across the floor to the pantry?"
I love that my kids have crazy wonderful imaginations. But is it necessary to concoct chemistry experiments using a combination of cooking oils, dish detergents, markers, paint and bubble bath?
I thought kids were supposed to sleep in on Saturday mornings and then snuggle up on the couch and watch Disney cartoons?
I love sleep. I love, love, love sleep. Mom tells me she used to have to wake me up from my nap just in time to tuck me in bed for the night. My point: I have always been this way.
The Bug and The Pea? Not so much.
I can count on one finger the times the two took a simultaneous nap when they were toddlers. (And this was only because they were exhausted with a stomach bug....and of course, I wasn't able to accomplish anything during said simultaneous nap, as I too was plagued with sickness....)
The good thing about this whole "NO resting at any point during the day" situation, is that we've fairly consistently maintained a 7:30 - 8:00 p.m. -ish bedtime. And nothing is more sweet than tip-toeing down the stairs after tucking in the little cherubs. Because beginning at 8:01...that is Mommy and Daddy time...time to discuss the events of the day, to grab a book and a cup of hot tea and read...to...to...to...
SLEEP....
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Always, Always, Always Clarify...
Many important conversations occur between the Bug and the Pea from the backseat of our car. They climb in, buckle up, and often...if my prayer for a moment of peace and quiet has been answered by the Almighty...they forget I'm even there.
Yesterday, on a drive home, they were contemplating what "kind" of girls they were - when given three options. Would they describe themselves as Tomboys? Girly Girls? or Foxy Girls?
Silently, I kept driving.
The Bug piped up: I'm probably a Tomboy. I like sports and to run. In the olden days girls couldn't play sports like they do now, so they were Tomboys.
The Pea: And girls couldn't vote, and in the long time ago times, only boys could be in plays. Because of Elizabeth the First, she was a queen, ya know.
The Bug: So are you a Tomboy too?
The Pea: No
The Bug: A Girly Girl?
The Pea: No
The Bug: Then what are you?
The Pea: I'm a Foxy Girl!
Me: Oh, really? What IS a Foxy Girl?
The Pea: A girl who can run faster than a boy, vote and act in plays on stage!
(Moral of this story: Before you panic... always, always, always clarify!)
A few weeks ago, The Bug and The Pea were accompanying me to the grocery store. I told them to get on their flip-flops and load up in the car. I overhead the two conversing.
The Pea: I know how to get boys to like you!
The Bug: Be mean to them?
(A brief side note...I had earlier informed the girls that sometimes when a boy teases a girl, he does so because he likes her...)
The Pea: nope
Me: (Sweet merciful heavens, what is going to come out of her mouth?) How DO you get a boy to like you?
The Pea: BOOTS. Ya gotta wear boots.
And she proceeds to zip up her black knee length boots in the middle of July...
(Moral of the story: before you panic ... always, always, always clarify!)
Yesterday, on a drive home, they were contemplating what "kind" of girls they were - when given three options. Would they describe themselves as Tomboys? Girly Girls? or Foxy Girls?
Silently, I kept driving.
The Bug piped up: I'm probably a Tomboy. I like sports and to run. In the olden days girls couldn't play sports like they do now, so they were Tomboys.
The Pea: And girls couldn't vote, and in the long time ago times, only boys could be in plays. Because of Elizabeth the First, she was a queen, ya know.
The Bug: So are you a Tomboy too?
The Pea: No
The Bug: A Girly Girl?
The Pea: No
The Bug: Then what are you?
The Pea: I'm a Foxy Girl!
Me: Oh, really? What IS a Foxy Girl?
The Pea: A girl who can run faster than a boy, vote and act in plays on stage!
(Moral of this story: Before you panic... always, always, always clarify!)
A few weeks ago, The Bug and The Pea were accompanying me to the grocery store. I told them to get on their flip-flops and load up in the car. I overhead the two conversing.
The Pea: I know how to get boys to like you!
The Bug: Be mean to them?
(A brief side note...I had earlier informed the girls that sometimes when a boy teases a girl, he does so because he likes her...)
The Pea: nope
Me: (Sweet merciful heavens, what is going to come out of her mouth?) How DO you get a boy to like you?
The Pea: BOOTS. Ya gotta wear boots.
And she proceeds to zip up her black knee length boots in the middle of July...
(Moral of the story: before you panic ... always, always, always clarify!)
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Code Blue In The Library ICU
I'm settling in to my home away from home, sacred place o' books. And not just ANY books, children's books. Thousands upon thousands of children's books line the shelves of our friendly elementary school library. The books are rapidly becoming a part of my family, under my watch and care. My responsibility to keep track of, to protect.
As each class descends upon the library, the books leave their shelves and travel home with children on an adventure....so that the children, themselves, may travel on a virtual adventure. I gather books back on the shelf, only to see other books leave on new journeys.
Today I learned how to repair worn, torn book covers. Gingerly, I worked with the covers to mend them. My work table became a Book Hospital as I performed surgery on the well loved books. I tended them slowly and gently, replacing ripped plastic with shiny clear covers. Securing the covers with special tape, and reinforcing each "call letter" ensuring the book would be returned to it's proper home.
I recognized, fondly, one of the books in the Library ICU. The Horse And His Boy, by C.S. Lewis from the Chronicles of Narnia. The Chronicles were the first books I ever read...ever. I smiled thinking I might be preserving this copy for another little girl or boy. So that they, too, may fall head over heels in love with reading...
As each class descends upon the library, the books leave their shelves and travel home with children on an adventure....so that the children, themselves, may travel on a virtual adventure. I gather books back on the shelf, only to see other books leave on new journeys.
Today I learned how to repair worn, torn book covers. Gingerly, I worked with the covers to mend them. My work table became a Book Hospital as I performed surgery on the well loved books. I tended them slowly and gently, replacing ripped plastic with shiny clear covers. Securing the covers with special tape, and reinforcing each "call letter" ensuring the book would be returned to it's proper home.
I recognized, fondly, one of the books in the Library ICU. The Horse And His Boy, by C.S. Lewis from the Chronicles of Narnia. The Chronicles were the first books I ever read...ever. I smiled thinking I might be preserving this copy for another little girl or boy. So that they, too, may fall head over heels in love with reading...
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