I figured out how to post the video, go me!
Taylor Swift's "Love Story" is cute and fun, and so is the video. Here is a more real version. It just happens to be my life, although, I did get a shower today. They even drive a Honda Odyssey. Now who is going to keep the hooligans for a date night? And who is going to fill in my fabulous husband about this wonderful plan and help him make it happen?
Showing posts with label Ovservations of Life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ovservations of Life. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 04, 2010
The Real "Love Story"
Taylor Swift's "Love Story" is cute and fun. Here is the non-fairytale version. Enjoy a look into my life, complete with a Honda Odyssey mom mobile.
When I figure out how to post the video and not just the link I'll fix it.
When I figure out how to post the video and not just the link I'll fix it.
Monday, May 03, 2010
123456
I am definitely an easily amused person. On the way to pick up Thomas from school the other day the odometer on the mom mobile hit 123456. I called my fabulous husband to tell him. He humored me and said "Oh, how fun." I even took a picture, but it didn't turn out. Oh well.
What amuses you?
My baby is singing about who knows what, but it sure is cute.
What amuses you?
My baby is singing about who knows what, but it sure is cute.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
The Good Mom
In my head I have all these ideas of what makes a good mom. Some I learned from my mom, others I came up with from seeing other moms, some from what society says makes a good mom, and others from who knows where.
What makes a good mom, at least in my little head?
What have I learned from being a mom? We are all different and good moms in our own way. Those qualities that may seem to make us a good mom, don't necessarily make it so. We do the best we can with what we have. If I try to be everything I think makes me a good mom, I will never sleep and will not be a good mom. I can't do and be everything all the time. Doing things to say they are done isn't the point. My hooligans don't have a checklist for what makes me a good mom, only I do. The priority is not the stuff or great things, but the time and the quality.
I am far from perfect, but I love my hooligans and I do the best I can for them. Hopefully, in the end, they will think I was a pretty nifty mom. They will remember that I tried to be a good mom. There will be no doubt that they are loved. Wrestling on the floor and eating brownies for lunch are far more important that many of the "important" things in life. My house may not be perfect, but it is a home. And a loving home and family far outweigh being the good mom in my head.
I can now check playing with the hooligans, good dinner, somewhat clean and dressed for church, and blogging off that list, for today. Now to do the dishes. Oh, wait, my fabulous husband took care of that while I edited his paper. Life is good.
What makes a good mom, at least in my little head?
- feed the hooligans
- drive them to school
- help with homework
- provide clean clothes
- bake cookies
- do fun crafts and other exciting activities
- make Halloween costumes
- happily teach throughout life
- read scriptures together
- say family prayers
- hot breakfast on the table each day
- cute notes in your lunch box
- make pajamas for Christmas
- play games
- good nutritious dinner on the table
- calm in the face of disasters
- patient in all things
- puts everyone to bed on time with hugs and songs
- has endless ideas to teach and nurture
- makes sure teeth are all brushed and clean
- kids are neat and clean
- teach about the world
- attend all meetings and activities
- be on the PTA
- serve as room mom
- help with field trips
- posts on the blog regularly
- takes a shower each day
- has clean walls, with no sharks on them
- maintains a spotless house
What have I learned from being a mom? We are all different and good moms in our own way. Those qualities that may seem to make us a good mom, don't necessarily make it so. We do the best we can with what we have. If I try to be everything I think makes me a good mom, I will never sleep and will not be a good mom. I can't do and be everything all the time. Doing things to say they are done isn't the point. My hooligans don't have a checklist for what makes me a good mom, only I do. The priority is not the stuff or great things, but the time and the quality.
I am far from perfect, but I love my hooligans and I do the best I can for them. Hopefully, in the end, they will think I was a pretty nifty mom. They will remember that I tried to be a good mom. There will be no doubt that they are loved. Wrestling on the floor and eating brownies for lunch are far more important that many of the "important" things in life. My house may not be perfect, but it is a home. And a loving home and family far outweigh being the good mom in my head.
I can now check playing with the hooligans, good dinner, somewhat clean and dressed for church, and blogging off that list, for today. Now to do the dishes. Oh, wait, my fabulous husband took care of that while I edited his paper. Life is good.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
It Should Have Been Easy
This should have been easy.
Mission: Go to Wal-mart for leftover Sunday newspapers.
What actually happened:
I called ahead to verify that they had the papers. "Yes, we do. They are usually here all week." Perfect! After a shower and a disaster, more on that one to come, we headed out to the store. Me and all three hooligans. Easy is relative.
Park, head inside. No cart necessary, this will be quick. Kids, hold hands. Stay close.
Grab 2 papers, head to check out. Discover that the papers are today, not Sunday. Check out girl says go get the Sunday papers and we will exchange it. Great. No problem. Slight inconvenience, but easy fix.
No papers. Anywhere. I must be blind, they said they are here.
Go back to customer service, which is falsely called such. More like customer headache. Nope, papers have been gone since Sunday night.
Get refund.
Not quite.
I had left my change there with the papers and the clerk because I was coming right back. Clerk refunds me the price of the papers, but puts my previous change back in her drawer. I tell her I should have $3 returned, not $2.42 that she gave me. She tried for all she was worth to convince me that she was right and it all worked out. "My drawer will be short," she says. I try to recount what happened... I gave you $3, you set the change on the papers I was going to exchange, when I returned you put my change from on top of the papers (which I should have just put in my pocket, but was too set on getting the papers) into the drawer, then you refunded me the cost of the papers. I gave you $3, so I should leave with $3. She got irritated and called to have her drawer counted because she was so sure she was going to have her drawer be short.
As this entire saga goes on, the hooligans are losing it. Sitting still, not gonna happen. Sit on the bench, not gonna happen. Keep your hands to yourself, not gonna happen. Everyone around us getting irritated, so gonna happen.
Stress level, continually rising. Anxiety level, not far behind. Irritation level, on the rise. However, in spite of this, I was very nice and polite to the cashier. I was calm and patient and tried to be as kind and understanding and logical as possible.
Cashier grumbles about annoying people who won't let things go when there is a long line. Manager sends her to go work on another register so manager can count. Manager cuts me off when I try to explain to save time and headaches. Another clerk comes and asks if she can help. Manager says she can't run a register, but she can count this one. New clerk was happy to help. New clerk continues to count register and asks me what the amount is and what happened. "I would have just given you the change. Here you go."
Thank you. On my way out.
No time to run to Target. Wal-mart took 72.8 times longer than it should have. Now I have to find some other window of time to make that trip. And the CVS trip. Please, no kids this time. Wishful thinking.
Moral: Nothing is easy, especially with kids.
Secondary moral: Far too many people are lacking in common sense and simple math skills.
Other Secondary moral: Nobody likes to be wrong, even if it is painfully obvious.
What you should know about me: If I am right, I will fight to prove that I am right. I will not give up just to give up if I am absolutely certain I am right. You will not cheat me out of money when I know I am right. I do not like Wal-mart, but they have great deals that keep me coming back, in spite of my distaste for the store. Tight budget means cheap shopping. The store I went to is one of my least favorite locations, but it was the only one with a working phone number where someone answered. Newer locations tend to have people with more common sense, at least in my experience.
Anybody have Sunday ads they want to donate to my coupon binder? I could really use a couple more Tide coupons for the CVS sale this week.
Mission: Go to Wal-mart for leftover Sunday newspapers.
What actually happened:
I called ahead to verify that they had the papers. "Yes, we do. They are usually here all week." Perfect! After a shower and a disaster, more on that one to come, we headed out to the store. Me and all three hooligans. Easy is relative.
Park, head inside. No cart necessary, this will be quick. Kids, hold hands. Stay close.
Grab 2 papers, head to check out. Discover that the papers are today, not Sunday. Check out girl says go get the Sunday papers and we will exchange it. Great. No problem. Slight inconvenience, but easy fix.
No papers. Anywhere. I must be blind, they said they are here.
Go back to customer service, which is falsely called such. More like customer headache. Nope, papers have been gone since Sunday night.
Get refund.
Not quite.
I had left my change there with the papers and the clerk because I was coming right back. Clerk refunds me the price of the papers, but puts my previous change back in her drawer. I tell her I should have $3 returned, not $2.42 that she gave me. She tried for all she was worth to convince me that she was right and it all worked out. "My drawer will be short," she says. I try to recount what happened... I gave you $3, you set the change on the papers I was going to exchange, when I returned you put my change from on top of the papers (which I should have just put in my pocket, but was too set on getting the papers) into the drawer, then you refunded me the cost of the papers. I gave you $3, so I should leave with $3. She got irritated and called to have her drawer counted because she was so sure she was going to have her drawer be short.
As this entire saga goes on, the hooligans are losing it. Sitting still, not gonna happen. Sit on the bench, not gonna happen. Keep your hands to yourself, not gonna happen. Everyone around us getting irritated, so gonna happen.
Stress level, continually rising. Anxiety level, not far behind. Irritation level, on the rise. However, in spite of this, I was very nice and polite to the cashier. I was calm and patient and tried to be as kind and understanding and logical as possible.
Cashier grumbles about annoying people who won't let things go when there is a long line. Manager sends her to go work on another register so manager can count. Manager cuts me off when I try to explain to save time and headaches. Another clerk comes and asks if she can help. Manager says she can't run a register, but she can count this one. New clerk was happy to help. New clerk continues to count register and asks me what the amount is and what happened. "I would have just given you the change. Here you go."
Thank you. On my way out.
No time to run to Target. Wal-mart took 72.8 times longer than it should have. Now I have to find some other window of time to make that trip. And the CVS trip. Please, no kids this time. Wishful thinking.
Moral: Nothing is easy, especially with kids.
Secondary moral: Far too many people are lacking in common sense and simple math skills.
Other Secondary moral: Nobody likes to be wrong, even if it is painfully obvious.
What you should know about me: If I am right, I will fight to prove that I am right. I will not give up just to give up if I am absolutely certain I am right. You will not cheat me out of money when I know I am right. I do not like Wal-mart, but they have great deals that keep me coming back, in spite of my distaste for the store. Tight budget means cheap shopping. The store I went to is one of my least favorite locations, but it was the only one with a working phone number where someone answered. Newer locations tend to have people with more common sense, at least in my experience.
Anybody have Sunday ads they want to donate to my coupon binder? I could really use a couple more Tide coupons for the CVS sale this week.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Energetic or Hyperactive?
I am in charge of the children's music at church. For two hours each week, I am the master musician and I work alongside the person in charge of the lesson. I teach songs, gospel principles, and some general music. We have fun. At least we try to. On the months when there is a fifth Sunday we get to do ALL music. It is a fun day, but requires a lot of me and I am wiped by the time I am home.
In order to keep the kids involved and participating, I put on a show. Anyone who has ever been involved in theater knows that you have to do things over the top in order to engage your audience. Kids are not your average audience. My show is not your average show. Kids have the attention span of a gnat, especially if they are less than thrilled about singing.
So what happened August 30?
I had a Dr. Pepper at breakfast. It was there. It was a 2 liter bottle. If I didn't finish it off soon, it would go flat and be nasty. So I had a DP that morning.
I had my activity planned and all ready to go. The kids started coming in and it was time to let the fun begin.
We start with wiggle songs since the kids have been sitting with their parents for an hour already. If we get the wiggles out early, the rest of the time goes much easier. We did our favorite round of who can do Head Shoulders Knees and Toes the fastest, I won again, and finished other announcements and birthdays before it was my turn.
PARTY TIME
I try to make my time fun for the adults as well as the kids. I throw in little funny comments that generally only the adults will catch. I was having fun, playing with the kids, throwing jokes, and making fun of myself. All the normal things, at least as far as I can tell. I looked to the back and commented that the presidency, those fabulously wonderful women in charge, was laughing at me. One of them said they think I had an energy drink before I came in. Nope, no energy drink, just my usual fun and energetic and exciting self. I didn't see anything different.
As part of the activity I taught them how to conduct music. In 4/4 it works well as floor-door-window-ceiling. To make it easier for them, I exaggerate the movements. I realized I was moving my entire body as I did this and said "I could throw in some Happy Gilmore here and say it's all in the hips," to which one of the adults almost fell on the floor laughing. Glad I could entertain you.
Was I being excessively chatty? Was I more energetic than usual? Was I bouncing off the walls? I was just keeping the kids attention and making music fun for them.
The following week I mentioned to one of the adults that I am always energetic and having fun, see? She said that I am, but last week I was nuts. Maybe weeks without DP and then drinking one with breakfast did have an effect on me.
I think I should stay away from energy drinks. Just a thought. Although, that could be interesting, in a very controlled setting.
BTW, spell check will fix all my shortened alphabet issues for me. Problem solved. For now.
In order to keep the kids involved and participating, I put on a show. Anyone who has ever been involved in theater knows that you have to do things over the top in order to engage your audience. Kids are not your average audience. My show is not your average show. Kids have the attention span of a gnat, especially if they are less than thrilled about singing.
So what happened August 30?
I had a Dr. Pepper at breakfast. It was there. It was a 2 liter bottle. If I didn't finish it off soon, it would go flat and be nasty. So I had a DP that morning.
I had my activity planned and all ready to go. The kids started coming in and it was time to let the fun begin.
We start with wiggle songs since the kids have been sitting with their parents for an hour already. If we get the wiggles out early, the rest of the time goes much easier. We did our favorite round of who can do Head Shoulders Knees and Toes the fastest, I won again, and finished other announcements and birthdays before it was my turn.
PARTY TIME
I try to make my time fun for the adults as well as the kids. I throw in little funny comments that generally only the adults will catch. I was having fun, playing with the kids, throwing jokes, and making fun of myself. All the normal things, at least as far as I can tell. I looked to the back and commented that the presidency, those fabulously wonderful women in charge, was laughing at me. One of them said they think I had an energy drink before I came in. Nope, no energy drink, just my usual fun and energetic and exciting self. I didn't see anything different.
As part of the activity I taught them how to conduct music. In 4/4 it works well as floor-door-window-ceiling. To make it easier for them, I exaggerate the movements. I realized I was moving my entire body as I did this and said "I could throw in some Happy Gilmore here and say it's all in the hips," to which one of the adults almost fell on the floor laughing. Glad I could entertain you.
Was I being excessively chatty? Was I more energetic than usual? Was I bouncing off the walls? I was just keeping the kids attention and making music fun for them.
The following week I mentioned to one of the adults that I am always energetic and having fun, see? She said that I am, but last week I was nuts. Maybe weeks without DP and then drinking one with breakfast did have an effect on me.
I think I should stay away from energy drinks. Just a thought. Although, that could be interesting, in a very controlled setting.
BTW, spell check will fix all my shortened alphabet issues for me. Problem solved. For now.
Wednesday, September 09, 2009
Feet
I have no idea why this popped into my head. Okay, I do know, but I have no idea why I am posting about it. You would think I could write about something funny that my kids did, or the latest recipe I tried, or post about the birthday in March, school graduation, summer fun, school starting, funny things the kids say, or something relevant or enlightening in our lives. Instead, I sit and post about feet.
Go figure, I'm weird like that.
Last night at rehearsal I noticed a guy who had really big feet. They just caught my attention out of the corner of my eye. Why is it that some people have feet that are unusually large compared the rest of their body, and others have really small feet? Examples, you ask. I am 5' short and I wear a 39 European or 8-ish American. My mother is 5'5" and wears a 6 American and I think a 36 European. Correct me mom, please. My good friend and fellow shoe shopping buddy is 5'6" or so, correct me, and has feet just a touch bigger than my feet. This has recently worked out GREAT for me since I got the shoes she outgrew when her feet grew just enough that her shoes didn't fit. Pregnancy will do that to you. I had smaller feet three kids ago. Thanks for the kicks, I love them all, even if my husband thinks all but one pair are ugly. They are my feet, not his, so he can just get over it. He always does.
Some people are destined to have big feet. Maybe not destined, but you know early on that they will have flippers. Case in point, my shoe shopping buddy again. Love you, mean it. Her little boy is a few months younger than my oldest. As long as I have known that child, he has had flippers. He could put Michael Phelps to shame once he gets older, you know, in 14 years or so. We laugh about the kid's feet. It's his dad's fault. Dad had flippers too. Again, it works great for us since we get the hand-me-downs. Thanks guys, you saved our bacon again. Even her little baby girl had flippers in the ultrasound, but she seems to be growing into hers, so there is hope. Skinny feet look longer anyway.
Feet are weird too. Toes grow at odd angles. Maybe that is from all the pointy toe shoes. Cute shoes are worth it. At least until you try to wear cute sandals and then you are stuck with weird toes in cute shoes. Stick to the cute toe smashers or sandals, I guess. We need to find a solution to this problem. Really, this is a problem.
I can't stand naked toes. On girls, that is. This has made me nuts for as long as I can remember being aware of it. If you plan to wear sandals, please paint your toenails ladies. Please use a dark color, not a super light color that makes you look like you have a foot disease. Barely pastel pink does not work. Dark wine red, so totally works on toes. French pedicure, might as well be naked. Nice on fingers, not on toes. Even worse than naked toes is half-naked toes. When you are missing half or most of the polish, just take off what's left. I must admit that I prefer naked toes to half-naked toes. Sadly, I must admit guilt on both counts. I wore sandals the other day and scraped off what was left of a previous nail color on the toes that were visible. Yep, I cheated. I am ashamed. I must right my wrong. At least I admit my mistake. Please forgive me. It won't happen again. Until I forget on my way out the door and don't see the disaster on my feet until I am in the middle of the outside world. I prefer to not pick at my toes or nail polish when out in public. Don't you agree?
How else are feet weird, you ask? I shall enlighten you. They get super stinky. Did you know this? If you didn't, you must be living under a rock. Or you have no smell like my dad did. Really, he couldn't smell. My mom made him take care of all the stinky diapers. He used to walk in the house and say "Dinner smells good." Silly Daddy.
I have a horrible story about my brother's shoes when he was a kid. Long story short, his favorite dinosaur hi-top shoes had to live out on the deck. Cute shoes, really. The appendage that gets so stinky is also the one we love to have massaged and rubbed and pampered. Pedicure anyone? And yet, as much as we love that attention to our extremities, we laugh and jerk around when someone unexpectedly touches them. My grandfather used to run his finger from your heel to toe if you had your feet where he could reach. Fun memories. I miss him. I miss him making my jump out of my skin when he did that.
Summary: feet do not always match the person they are attached to; please keep your toes painted; feet are stinky; we love some foot love; all those nerve endings make for some super sensitive tootsies when it comes to tickles.
I am now going to prop up my disproportionately large feet, give myself a pedicure, and hide my feet from my husband how now likes to make me jump. And then I will put on some rockin' shoes to show off my fancy toes, even if my husband thinks the shoes are ugly.
That is all for now.
Go figure, I'm weird like that.
Last night at rehearsal I noticed a guy who had really big feet. They just caught my attention out of the corner of my eye. Why is it that some people have feet that are unusually large compared the rest of their body, and others have really small feet? Examples, you ask. I am 5' short and I wear a 39 European or 8-ish American. My mother is 5'5" and wears a 6 American and I think a 36 European. Correct me mom, please. My good friend and fellow shoe shopping buddy is 5'6" or so, correct me, and has feet just a touch bigger than my feet. This has recently worked out GREAT for me since I got the shoes she outgrew when her feet grew just enough that her shoes didn't fit. Pregnancy will do that to you. I had smaller feet three kids ago. Thanks for the kicks, I love them all, even if my husband thinks all but one pair are ugly. They are my feet, not his, so he can just get over it. He always does.
Some people are destined to have big feet. Maybe not destined, but you know early on that they will have flippers. Case in point, my shoe shopping buddy again. Love you, mean it. Her little boy is a few months younger than my oldest. As long as I have known that child, he has had flippers. He could put Michael Phelps to shame once he gets older, you know, in 14 years or so. We laugh about the kid's feet. It's his dad's fault. Dad had flippers too. Again, it works great for us since we get the hand-me-downs. Thanks guys, you saved our bacon again. Even her little baby girl had flippers in the ultrasound, but she seems to be growing into hers, so there is hope. Skinny feet look longer anyway.
Feet are weird too. Toes grow at odd angles. Maybe that is from all the pointy toe shoes. Cute shoes are worth it. At least until you try to wear cute sandals and then you are stuck with weird toes in cute shoes. Stick to the cute toe smashers or sandals, I guess. We need to find a solution to this problem. Really, this is a problem.
I can't stand naked toes. On girls, that is. This has made me nuts for as long as I can remember being aware of it. If you plan to wear sandals, please paint your toenails ladies. Please use a dark color, not a super light color that makes you look like you have a foot disease. Barely pastel pink does not work. Dark wine red, so totally works on toes. French pedicure, might as well be naked. Nice on fingers, not on toes. Even worse than naked toes is half-naked toes. When you are missing half or most of the polish, just take off what's left. I must admit that I prefer naked toes to half-naked toes. Sadly, I must admit guilt on both counts. I wore sandals the other day and scraped off what was left of a previous nail color on the toes that were visible. Yep, I cheated. I am ashamed. I must right my wrong. At least I admit my mistake. Please forgive me. It won't happen again. Until I forget on my way out the door and don't see the disaster on my feet until I am in the middle of the outside world. I prefer to not pick at my toes or nail polish when out in public. Don't you agree?
How else are feet weird, you ask? I shall enlighten you. They get super stinky. Did you know this? If you didn't, you must be living under a rock. Or you have no smell like my dad did. Really, he couldn't smell. My mom made him take care of all the stinky diapers. He used to walk in the house and say "Dinner smells good." Silly Daddy.
I have a horrible story about my brother's shoes when he was a kid. Long story short, his favorite dinosaur hi-top shoes had to live out on the deck. Cute shoes, really. The appendage that gets so stinky is also the one we love to have massaged and rubbed and pampered. Pedicure anyone? And yet, as much as we love that attention to our extremities, we laugh and jerk around when someone unexpectedly touches them. My grandfather used to run his finger from your heel to toe if you had your feet where he could reach. Fun memories. I miss him. I miss him making my jump out of my skin when he did that.
Summary: feet do not always match the person they are attached to; please keep your toes painted; feet are stinky; we love some foot love; all those nerve endings make for some super sensitive tootsies when it comes to tickles.
I am now going to prop up my disproportionately large feet, give myself a pedicure, and hide my feet from my husband how now likes to make me jump. And then I will put on some rockin' shoes to show off my fancy toes, even if my husband thinks the shoes are ugly.
That is all for now.
Monday, August 31, 2009
More Puppy Info
So my fabulous mother enlightened me on Critter Coach after reading my post. Again, I have no idea what the real story was with my encounter the other day. I don't know if the puppies jumped out the window, if the puppies figured out how to open the door of the van, or if Mr. Critter Coach was engaging in puppy saving heroics by running into the road to rescue the cute little four legged critters. I have no idea what happened, just an overactive imagination that keeps me quite entertained at times.
Anyway, here is what I have learned about Critter Coach. They take your pets to the vet or groomer or pet sitter or play date for you. Many people are quite busy and unable to take off work to care for their little friends. Enter the Coach that transports for you. It sounds like the animal equivalent of a motor home with padded crates and heating pads when you need them. Kudos to Mr. Critter Coach founder for seeing a need and taking initiative. The vets and animal hospitals and clients love you. They appreciate you helping them out in a tight spot.
Now, I repeat... I have no idea if the Yorkies escaped from the van. Don't go taking out my imaginative story on Critter Coach. They seem to be super nice and animal loving people.
And they don't transport people, so I need to find another benefactor and chauffeur to the spa.
Anyway, here is what I have learned about Critter Coach. They take your pets to the vet or groomer or pet sitter or play date for you. Many people are quite busy and unable to take off work to care for their little friends. Enter the Coach that transports for you. It sounds like the animal equivalent of a motor home with padded crates and heating pads when you need them. Kudos to Mr. Critter Coach founder for seeing a need and taking initiative. The vets and animal hospitals and clients love you. They appreciate you helping them out in a tight spot.
Now, I repeat... I have no idea if the Yorkies escaped from the van. Don't go taking out my imaginative story on Critter Coach. They seem to be super nice and animal loving people.
And they don't transport people, so I need to find another benefactor and chauffeur to the spa.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Puppies on the Loose
No, not my hooligans, or their fault. And NO, there are NO, I repeat NO PUPPIES in this house, nor are there any anywhere around it that have permission to be here.
Driving Thomas to school yesterday we saw something a bit odd. Traffic was slow, then stopped. Yeah, nothing new there. Then, however, I saw why were were slowing and stopping. There was a van pulled off to one side of the road, and in the middle of the other side and in the dirt on the side of the road were two cute little dogs. They were still alive and running around, hence stopped traffic. The back of the van said "Critter Coach" which I first thought to mean a coach for critters. Like a football coach or vocal coach for little critters. Perhaps even a soccer coach. A coach for your kids, or hooligans in my case, kind of critters, even.
Wait a minute, the guy from that van is running across the street into traffic and towards the dogs. Lucky for him, traffic wasn't going anywhere because people were looking at the dogs and had no clue where the little four-legged guys were headed next. All the drivers were very careful and concerned about the little dogs. I could see it on their faces and hear it in their thoughts. Body language screamed "I am being careful because I am concerned about these little dogs in the road."
The dogs looked like Yorkies. With my vast knowledge of dogs, I am 138% sure they were Yorkies. Yep, definitely Yorkies. Cute little Yorkies.
Then, I decided "Critter Coach" probably must mean a coach for critters in the stagecoach sense. A chauffer for your animal, non-kid, critters for those people with more money than sense who send their pets to the spa or other pet outings. I will volunteer to ride in the critter coach if that is how I can get a trip to the spa. Just give me enough advance notice so I can take some allergy meds to endure my travel companions.
Scratch that. Somehow, these little dogs escaped from a guy 9 times their size and 27 times their weight out of a moving vehicle. If you want to pay for me to go to the spa, I will just drive myself, thank you. I also don't want to see a guy 9 times my size and 27 times my weight. That is one big, make that enormous, dude. I accept cash and gift cards.
**Disclaimer: I have no idea who or what "Critter Coach" is or if this is the actual scenario that occurred. But it sure did make for an entertaining trip of my imagination. And don't tell me you didn't like my recounting of my version of the story. Sorry if I insulted you, Critter Coach and Critter Coach driver. Maybe you were so touched by the little dogs in the road that you just had to stop to rescue them. I feel a commercial coming on.... "We salute YOU, Mr. Critter-Coach-with-escaped-puppies-driii-iiii-ver!"
Driving Thomas to school yesterday we saw something a bit odd. Traffic was slow, then stopped. Yeah, nothing new there. Then, however, I saw why were were slowing and stopping. There was a van pulled off to one side of the road, and in the middle of the other side and in the dirt on the side of the road were two cute little dogs. They were still alive and running around, hence stopped traffic. The back of the van said "Critter Coach" which I first thought to mean a coach for critters. Like a football coach or vocal coach for little critters. Perhaps even a soccer coach. A coach for your kids, or hooligans in my case, kind of critters, even.
Wait a minute, the guy from that van is running across the street into traffic and towards the dogs. Lucky for him, traffic wasn't going anywhere because people were looking at the dogs and had no clue where the little four-legged guys were headed next. All the drivers were very careful and concerned about the little dogs. I could see it on their faces and hear it in their thoughts. Body language screamed "I am being careful because I am concerned about these little dogs in the road."
The dogs looked like Yorkies. With my vast knowledge of dogs, I am 138% sure they were Yorkies. Yep, definitely Yorkies. Cute little Yorkies.
Then, I decided "Critter Coach" probably must mean a coach for critters in the stagecoach sense. A chauffer for your animal, non-kid, critters for those people with more money than sense who send their pets to the spa or other pet outings. I will volunteer to ride in the critter coach if that is how I can get a trip to the spa. Just give me enough advance notice so I can take some allergy meds to endure my travel companions.
Scratch that. Somehow, these little dogs escaped from a guy 9 times their size and 27 times their weight out of a moving vehicle. If you want to pay for me to go to the spa, I will just drive myself, thank you. I also don't want to see a guy 9 times my size and 27 times my weight. That is one big, make that enormous, dude. I accept cash and gift cards.
**Disclaimer: I have no idea who or what "Critter Coach" is or if this is the actual scenario that occurred. But it sure did make for an entertaining trip of my imagination. And don't tell me you didn't like my recounting of my version of the story. Sorry if I insulted you, Critter Coach and Critter Coach driver. Maybe you were so touched by the little dogs in the road that you just had to stop to rescue them. I feel a commercial coming on.... "We salute YOU, Mr. Critter-Coach-with-escaped-puppies-driii-iiii-ver!"
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Do I Know You?
Do you ever feel like you know people that you don't really know? Not the celebrities who have their lives plastered all over everywhere for us to live vicariously through. I'm talking about the random, every day people that we "know" in some way. For example...
I spend hours, literally HOURS, doing carpool each day. Seriously, I spend close to 3 hours a day for my kid to go to school, but that's another story. There are several people I know through carpool. There is the "Twingles" nice white Suburban (oh, I want her truck so bad) lady. Why do I call her Twingles, you ask. Well, I shall tell you. She has the cutest bumper sticker that says "Twingles/ Twins and Another/ I'm a lucky mother" and I just think it is the cutest thing. Her twin boys are in kindergarten. I wanted to wave to her and say hi when I saw her school supply shopping at Wal-mart, but she has no clue who I am.
There is the new red Suburban lady who works near the rock quarry in Knightdale, less than a block from Krispy Kreme (that doesn't make their donuts at the shop and trucks them over from the Raleigh store) and Chick-fil-a. There is the teal MPV lady who has a kid in 3rd grade. She used to have the same trainer as I did and she read books while on the bike at the gym. That is until the gym closed down.
Of course, there is also the gold Lexus SUV lady who cut in front of everybody who had been waiting 30 minutes in line because she happened to pull up just as the security dude let the cars onto campus, but we won't talk about that because my mom taught me "if you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all," and so I shall remain silent. Thumper taught me that too, BTW. I also get a kick out of the silver Odyssey. It just makes me giggle to see someone else driving a car just like mine, with the same little magnet on the back. I want to wave at her and say "nice car" one day.
I can't forget to mention the green Sienna dad who gets off the same exit I do, then turns the other way. I really want to follow him home one day to see where he lives and then offer to carpool. Then again, would you want your kid to carpool with some nutso lady who followed you home just to ask if you want to carpool. Scratch that. Need another plan.
How on earth do I know what grade these kids are in, you ask. Carpool hang tags, of course. The school is so smart, your grade is the first digit of your carpool number. Kindergarten is 0--, and first grade is 1--, and so on. Most I can tell if they have boys or girls because we sit in the same spot each afternoon as we wait to start the slow crawl through the line. Actually we get there 30 minutes before school gets out, sit on a side street with our cars off and sweating our brains out with little siblings screaming for fruit snacks from the back seat, and wait for the magical whistle to start your engines. I may sit for 30 minutes on a side street to get to the front of the line, but I don't have to pay attention to the line in front of me moving, or not moving. I sit and wait, then get to the front of the line and sit and wait again for the kids to come out. It's cheaper to sit with the car off than on and creeping along for 20 minutes, and when I drove almost 90 miles a day for school, every idling moment counts.
So who do you know? Do you know the bank teller that deposits your check each pay day? Do you have your favorite grocery store checker-outer? The librarian that keeps your kids entertained for a few precious minutes for you to shut your eyes?
Maybe this afternoon I will get out of the car and introduce myself to these people. Or maybe not, I kind of like the mystery about them. Or maybe I like the mystery about me... if I don't prove I'm a nut case, it is just what they think they know about me.
I spend hours, literally HOURS, doing carpool each day. Seriously, I spend close to 3 hours a day for my kid to go to school, but that's another story. There are several people I know through carpool. There is the "Twingles" nice white Suburban (oh, I want her truck so bad) lady. Why do I call her Twingles, you ask. Well, I shall tell you. She has the cutest bumper sticker that says "Twingles/ Twins and Another/ I'm a lucky mother" and I just think it is the cutest thing. Her twin boys are in kindergarten. I wanted to wave to her and say hi when I saw her school supply shopping at Wal-mart, but she has no clue who I am.
There is the new red Suburban lady who works near the rock quarry in Knightdale, less than a block from Krispy Kreme (that doesn't make their donuts at the shop and trucks them over from the Raleigh store) and Chick-fil-a. There is the teal MPV lady who has a kid in 3rd grade. She used to have the same trainer as I did and she read books while on the bike at the gym. That is until the gym closed down.
Of course, there is also the gold Lexus SUV lady who cut in front of everybody who had been waiting 30 minutes in line because she happened to pull up just as the security dude let the cars onto campus, but we won't talk about that because my mom taught me "if you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all," and so I shall remain silent. Thumper taught me that too, BTW. I also get a kick out of the silver Odyssey. It just makes me giggle to see someone else driving a car just like mine, with the same little magnet on the back. I want to wave at her and say "nice car" one day.
I can't forget to mention the green Sienna dad who gets off the same exit I do, then turns the other way. I really want to follow him home one day to see where he lives and then offer to carpool. Then again, would you want your kid to carpool with some nutso lady who followed you home just to ask if you want to carpool. Scratch that. Need another plan.
How on earth do I know what grade these kids are in, you ask. Carpool hang tags, of course. The school is so smart, your grade is the first digit of your carpool number. Kindergarten is 0--, and first grade is 1--, and so on. Most I can tell if they have boys or girls because we sit in the same spot each afternoon as we wait to start the slow crawl through the line. Actually we get there 30 minutes before school gets out, sit on a side street with our cars off and sweating our brains out with little siblings screaming for fruit snacks from the back seat, and wait for the magical whistle to start your engines. I may sit for 30 minutes on a side street to get to the front of the line, but I don't have to pay attention to the line in front of me moving, or not moving. I sit and wait, then get to the front of the line and sit and wait again for the kids to come out. It's cheaper to sit with the car off than on and creeping along for 20 minutes, and when I drove almost 90 miles a day for school, every idling moment counts.
So who do you know? Do you know the bank teller that deposits your check each pay day? Do you have your favorite grocery store checker-outer? The librarian that keeps your kids entertained for a few precious minutes for you to shut your eyes?
Maybe this afternoon I will get out of the car and introduce myself to these people. Or maybe not, I kind of like the mystery about them. Or maybe I like the mystery about me... if I don't prove I'm a nut case, it is just what they think they know about me.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Random Kindness
We went to Wal-mart today. I will give you a moment to compose yourself after that statement. It was there, they had great prices on the school supplies for Thomas, and I was already out with 3 kids, so why not. If you have now recovered from your shock of me shopping at Wal-mart instead of Target, we will now continue our story.
After getting most of Thomas's school supplies for first grade, we finally made it to the check out line. Of course, there were not enough open, so there were long lines at all of them. And, of course, the person working at the check out was slow. I was very nice and patient and the kids were very good. Not once did they ask for treats, and I only had to take one thing out of Jerry's little sticky fingers. There were two older ladies in front of us, at least seventy years old. They finished and were getting situated to head out the door as I was starting to get my stuff checked out. One of the ladies turned and asked Thomas if he had a piggy bank. He said he did. She then took one dollar from her change after her purchase and handed it to him and told him to put it in his piggy bank. Then, she asked Jerry and gave him one dollar. She did the same for Michael. The boys were all so good and polite and thanked her without prompting. Well, Michael needed some encouraging to sign thank you. I also thanked her profusely and told her that was so sweet and the boys will be so excited to put it in their banks or get a special treat.
It was all such a simple thing, but so sweet and kind and thoughtful. It made the boys' day and renewed to those who witnessed what took place that there are so many good people out in the world who do countless random kindnesses. You never know when your seemingly little effort can brighten a person's day or restore lost hope. Thank you, sweet ladies in the Wal-mart check out line. You reminded me to go and find something nice to do for a stranger and someone close to me.
After getting most of Thomas's school supplies for first grade, we finally made it to the check out line. Of course, there were not enough open, so there were long lines at all of them. And, of course, the person working at the check out was slow. I was very nice and patient and the kids were very good. Not once did they ask for treats, and I only had to take one thing out of Jerry's little sticky fingers. There were two older ladies in front of us, at least seventy years old. They finished and were getting situated to head out the door as I was starting to get my stuff checked out. One of the ladies turned and asked Thomas if he had a piggy bank. He said he did. She then took one dollar from her change after her purchase and handed it to him and told him to put it in his piggy bank. Then, she asked Jerry and gave him one dollar. She did the same for Michael. The boys were all so good and polite and thanked her without prompting. Well, Michael needed some encouraging to sign thank you. I also thanked her profusely and told her that was so sweet and the boys will be so excited to put it in their banks or get a special treat.
It was all such a simple thing, but so sweet and kind and thoughtful. It made the boys' day and renewed to those who witnessed what took place that there are so many good people out in the world who do countless random kindnesses. You never know when your seemingly little effort can brighten a person's day or restore lost hope. Thank you, sweet ladies in the Wal-mart check out line. You reminded me to go and find something nice to do for a stranger and someone close to me.
Thursday, June 04, 2009
Stalker
I have a confession.
I am a blog stalker.
Yes, I stalk blogs. Not only do I stalk them, but I hunt through all your links to find other people I know and want to stalk. We have so many friends all over the place, this is such a great way to keep up with everybody. It is also quite difficult to find out the blogs for all the people we love to keep up with, so sorting through others' links is my new activity.
So, how on earth do I keep up with all of you? Yeah, that is a lot of sites to visit every day, just to check and see if you posted. Enter Google Reader. You haven't heard of the reader?!?! This was news to me until I stumbled on it mentioned in another blog. How cool is this.... you click the follow this blog link at the top of the page and it attaches it to your google or yahoo or other pages. Then, everybody is listed in one place and it shows you when they post. Then, all you have to do is scroll through your reader page to see what your friends are posting. No more clicking through all my favorites. AND, I can check up on everybody anywhere I am, so long as I can access google.
There, I feel better now that I admit I have a problem. Now send me links for you if I'm not one of your "followers" yet. I need more people to keep up with, because we love you.
I am a blog stalker.
Yes, I stalk blogs. Not only do I stalk them, but I hunt through all your links to find other people I know and want to stalk. We have so many friends all over the place, this is such a great way to keep up with everybody. It is also quite difficult to find out the blogs for all the people we love to keep up with, so sorting through others' links is my new activity.
So, how on earth do I keep up with all of you? Yeah, that is a lot of sites to visit every day, just to check and see if you posted. Enter Google Reader. You haven't heard of the reader?!?! This was news to me until I stumbled on it mentioned in another blog. How cool is this.... you click the follow this blog link at the top of the page and it attaches it to your google or yahoo or other pages. Then, everybody is listed in one place and it shows you when they post. Then, all you have to do is scroll through your reader page to see what your friends are posting. No more clicking through all my favorites. AND, I can check up on everybody anywhere I am, so long as I can access google.
There, I feel better now that I admit I have a problem. Now send me links for you if I'm not one of your "followers" yet. I need more people to keep up with, because we love you.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Will you be my Valentine?
Valentine's Day is not a popular holiday around our house. Don't get me wrong, the concept is nice. Who wouldn't appreciate a day to focus on your love and mushy feelings for your special someone? However, what makes it such a ridiculous holiday is what it has become. Since when does the amount of money you spend justify your love. "The more you spend, the more you care" is disgusting. It has become a holiday that only exists for merchants (Christmas is falling into the same category, but that is a different post for a different season). Flowers only sent on Valentine's Day and Mother's Day... don't even bother with the effort. If you need a holiday to do something nice, at least pick our anniversary or something. Don't even waste your time and frustration to elbow your way through all the last minute shoppers to pick out the first card that sounds nice and then slap your name on it. Fine, pick a card, but at least write something meaningful inside. Do you really need Hallmark to tell you what to say? Really, flowers, cards, candies, jewelry, fine dining reservations appear in mass quantities for February 14. May Day is for flowers, cards are for sympathy or thinking of you, and candy is for Halloween.
Now, all these ill feelings for Valentine's Day do not mean the holiday is non-existent in our house. We have both been known to write sweet notes to each other. OK, I have been known to pick out a nice card and write a nice note inside. Once, long ago, I woke up to a huge "Happy Valentine's Day" written on the white board before Tyler left for work. We do nice things for each other, our kids, and other special people. No flowers here. Again, another story for another post (careful what you say when you are dating).
So, what was Valentine's Day like around the nut house today, you might ask? Well, for the past two days I was working on my special Valentine's treat for everybody. Time is worth more than money for things like this. Unfortunately, my super sleuth husband kept finding the pieces of the project. He wasn't out looking for them, just kept finding them. Finally last night I gave him the coolest idea ever. Too bad it didn't turn out right. It may not look right, but it sure tasted good! This morning, the kids woke up to the same super fun treat at their plates. We made french toast and bacon for the family for breakfast and ate together. For dinner we were going to order heart shaped pizzas from Papa John's (our favorite take out pizza that we never order because DiGiorno is so yummy and so much cheaper). Plans changed when I found bigger pizzas for less, so the idea remained, but the appearance changed.
Our Valentine's Day was perfect for us. So in the future, try and put a little more thought and a lot less commercialization into your holiday. We need to show our love every day, not just on Valentine's Day. A day to make an extra special effort is nice, so long as it isn't the only day. And celebrate your dinner out on a random day, trust me. The food is better and the service is better. Take that from a former restaurant employee that hated Valentine's Day from a whole other perspective.
HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY TO YOU ALL!!!!
Now, all these ill feelings for Valentine's Day do not mean the holiday is non-existent in our house. We have both been known to write sweet notes to each other. OK, I have been known to pick out a nice card and write a nice note inside. Once, long ago, I woke up to a huge "Happy Valentine's Day" written on the white board before Tyler left for work. We do nice things for each other, our kids, and other special people. No flowers here. Again, another story for another post (careful what you say when you are dating).
So, what was Valentine's Day like around the nut house today, you might ask? Well, for the past two days I was working on my special Valentine's treat for everybody. Time is worth more than money for things like this. Unfortunately, my super sleuth husband kept finding the pieces of the project. He wasn't out looking for them, just kept finding them. Finally last night I gave him the coolest idea ever. Too bad it didn't turn out right. It may not look right, but it sure tasted good! This morning, the kids woke up to the same super fun treat at their plates. We made french toast and bacon for the family for breakfast and ate together. For dinner we were going to order heart shaped pizzas from Papa John's (our favorite take out pizza that we never order because DiGiorno is so yummy and so much cheaper). Plans changed when I found bigger pizzas for less, so the idea remained, but the appearance changed.
Our Valentine's Day was perfect for us. So in the future, try and put a little more thought and a lot less commercialization into your holiday. We need to show our love every day, not just on Valentine's Day. A day to make an extra special effort is nice, so long as it isn't the only day. And celebrate your dinner out on a random day, trust me. The food is better and the service is better. Take that from a former restaurant employee that hated Valentine's Day from a whole other perspective.
HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY TO YOU ALL!!!!
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
I Looked Out the Window
You will not believe this! I looked out the window, and what did I see? No, not my children dangling from the rooftops. Even more incredible! I just looked out ans it was SNOWING! Snow, in NC, in Raleigh, in November. Forget White Christmas, we really might end up with that white Thanksgiving the forecast is hinting at. The world must be coming to an end if this is happening.
Saturday, November 01, 2008
A Matter of Cost
This is the year for our trip to AZ for Christmas. We have finally reached the point of being cheaper to drive than to fly, so guess what we are doing. With gas prices being such a bugger lately, we have had the trip in the back of our minds each time we fill up the mom mobile. I just found a cool feature on the website gas buddy that predicts the cost of your trip, depending on gas prices along your trip route. What did we find out? Exactly what we already knew. To fly, we would have to shell out about $3000 for air fare and a rental once we get there, plus figuring in "stuff" while we are out there. To drive, $212.76, each way, for a total of $425.52 plus the possible hotel stop along the way. Gee, which one is better. Even with taking extra time off work, driving is by far the more practical choice. So, now we can go to Pete's for every meal instead of just one. Monster Burgers, here we come. Oh yeah, and we'll see the family too.
Friday, August 29, 2008
Fun Video
These are some of our favorite characters singing that fabulous song that gets stuck in your head. At least for all you Discovery Channel fanatics. Can you spot the former opera singer? The answer might surprise you. Too bad it's missing all the pretty pictures they show when it plays on Discovery. Check out the Discovery Channel website for the "official" video with the pics and more characters, but minus the kids.
Sing with me now... "Boom de ah dah Boom de ah dah..."
Sing with me now... "Boom de ah dah Boom de ah dah..."
Thursday, August 21, 2008
What Parents Think
My mom sent this article to me this morning. It made me think and look back on some of my choices. It also made me think about me as a parent. News and Observer says you can't publish the article, but I can give you the link. So, with that in mind, for your reading pleasure, what parents think of their kids. Enjoy, and add any of your thoughts about what parents think of their kids.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Consider Myself Warned
Lately I have been getting lots of laughs and warnings when people hear of the trouble of Jerry. The most common is something along the lines of "Well, you named him Jerry. What did you expect?" This is usually followed by some sort of story about my dad causing trouble or some sort of wild misadventure. Often these tales include my dad smiling, charming, and laughing. Yes, my Jerry is named after my dad. From all the stories I hear and from what I remember, my dad was a character. I love to hear the stories of my dad. I especially love to run into his old, and you can interpret old to whichever meaning you choose ;) friends. My Jerry is often compared to my dad, Jerry. This is fine, it is an honor. After all, we named him Jerry for a reason. So now, a request. If you have any stories of my dad that stories of my Jerry trigger, share away. At least I know my dad survived childhood without being strangled or taped to a tree. And he turned out to be a pretty decent guy too. Some days that is all I have to hold on to. "My dad was crazy, but was a great man. My dad was crazy, but was a great man. My dad was crazy, but was a great man....."
(note: if you think your stories are too long or too personal to post, feel free to email them. I would still love to hear any and all of them)
(note: if you think your stories are too long or too personal to post, feel free to email them. I would still love to hear any and all of them)
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Jesus is Magic
Thomas is so sweet. Tonight he told me that Jesus is magic.
When I asked him how he knows Jesus is magic, he gladly told me "because he disappears."
"How do you know that?" I asked.
His reply touched me. "He comes in my room. I see him in my room. Then, I get out of my bed and see him. When I open my eyes, he disappears."
Yes, Jesus is in our house. He comes here often. It just took my child telling me about it to remind me of what I already know. My home is a haven from the world, and Jesus is always welcome here. Especially in my kids' room.
I hope your kids know that Jesus is magic too.
When I asked him how he knows Jesus is magic, he gladly told me "because he disappears."
"How do you know that?" I asked.
His reply touched me. "He comes in my room. I see him in my room. Then, I get out of my bed and see him. When I open my eyes, he disappears."
Yes, Jesus is in our house. He comes here often. It just took my child telling me about it to remind me of what I already know. My home is a haven from the world, and Jesus is always welcome here. Especially in my kids' room.
I hope your kids know that Jesus is magic too.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
First ER trip (I am sure there are more to come)
I was playing with Jerry while fixing dinner. I was holding his hands and "jumping" him as I cooked. We had been running around and playing and just having fun. In my brain I know this was not a good idea, but forgot in the moment. Next thing we know he is crying and holding his arm. When we tried to touch it he would wail. Tyler asked him what hurt and he kept pointing at his elbow. We tried to get him to eat dinner, but he wouldn't pick up his fork. Instead, he used his right hand for everything (he seems to be left-handed). Call the pediatrician. She says go to urgent care or the ER, it sound like nurse maid's elbow. I have now earned the Brittney Spears mommy award, again.
We found an urgent care that took his insurance and headed out. Jerry, Michael, and Mommy made our way inside, only to find out they need prior authorization to see us. Great, off to the hospital. After parking across the street, the ER lot was full, I managed to lug a car seat with a baby and push a stroller across the street and up the hill and into the ER. Of course, the place was hopping. Usually Wednesday nights are slow, but since we were there this was not the case.
Eventually Jerry started playing around and acting like nothing was wrong. Could it just be the motrin kicking in? After a forever wait to get registered, then another wait to see the nurse, another to get back to see the doctor, and of course waiting to see the doctor, we figured things out. A couple of the nurses said he must have popped his own arm back into place. The doctor could see nothing wrong. Jerry had full rang of motion in his wrist, elbow, and shoulder. He asked if Jerry had taken any falls during the day. I just sort of laughed. He doesn't know my kid. I told him no falls other than climbing on a box trying to get cake and then falling down and cutting his tongue with his teeth. He obviously has no clue what kind of child this is (thank goodness). As we were getting ready to go, Jerry tripped and smashed his head on Michael's car seat. The doctor said he wanted to check him to make sure we didn't have any busted lips or heads, before we walked out the door.Finally, after 5 hours, we headed home.
As I was trying to get back out the door and down the hill and across the street to the car, a security officer stopped and asked if we needed help. We all piled in his car and he drove us over to the car. Not only did he give us a ride, he didn't leave until all were safely buckled and I had started the car. A little thing, yes, but a big deal to me.
Although the entire ordeal was a headache and long and tiring, I was still able to see my blessings. My child hadn't stuck a plastic toy in his ear and refused to say what it was. I didn't have to press charges against the dad/boyfriend that brought my kid in with a shattered jaw. My child wasn't screaming or throwing up. My kids behaved and were quiet and flirted with anyone they could. My kids have insurance to pay for things like this. I can speak English, and I am married to my kids father, and all my kids have the same father. We have a pediatric hospital close to the house. I had a home to go to, with a warm bed and heat.
Once we got home Jerry easily went to bed. Michael, on the other hand, did not. He wanted to play since he woke up as I was taking him out of his car seat. I think it was around 2 before I really got to sleep, then Michael was up again at 4:30. Tyler thought I was just getting home, so thank goodness he got some sleep and didn't hear all the racket when we came in.
You think I would start having good luck now. After a long night like that, I deserve something easy. Of course not. When I went to slice the cheese for Tyler's sandwich, I discovered that the brand new brick I just cut open was moldy. Yippie skippie, I get to go return it today. I did get to go back to sleep for a while. Thomas got up to watch TV and I crashed again until Tyler called. Then I buried myself back in the blankets for another couple hours when Jerry and Michael woke me up. As I was getting ready to make breakfast, bowls of cereal, I rinsed dishes to load the dishwasher and run it. I reached to turn on the disposal, no go. Great, now my garbage disposal is broken. The day has to get better from here, right?
Great, now Jerry is wrapping computer chords around his neck. Why do my kids do this?
We found an urgent care that took his insurance and headed out. Jerry, Michael, and Mommy made our way inside, only to find out they need prior authorization to see us. Great, off to the hospital. After parking across the street, the ER lot was full, I managed to lug a car seat with a baby and push a stroller across the street and up the hill and into the ER. Of course, the place was hopping. Usually Wednesday nights are slow, but since we were there this was not the case.
Eventually Jerry started playing around and acting like nothing was wrong. Could it just be the motrin kicking in? After a forever wait to get registered, then another wait to see the nurse, another to get back to see the doctor, and of course waiting to see the doctor, we figured things out. A couple of the nurses said he must have popped his own arm back into place. The doctor could see nothing wrong. Jerry had full rang of motion in his wrist, elbow, and shoulder. He asked if Jerry had taken any falls during the day. I just sort of laughed. He doesn't know my kid. I told him no falls other than climbing on a box trying to get cake and then falling down and cutting his tongue with his teeth. He obviously has no clue what kind of child this is (thank goodness). As we were getting ready to go, Jerry tripped and smashed his head on Michael's car seat. The doctor said he wanted to check him to make sure we didn't have any busted lips or heads, before we walked out the door.Finally, after 5 hours, we headed home.
As I was trying to get back out the door and down the hill and across the street to the car, a security officer stopped and asked if we needed help. We all piled in his car and he drove us over to the car. Not only did he give us a ride, he didn't leave until all were safely buckled and I had started the car. A little thing, yes, but a big deal to me.
Although the entire ordeal was a headache and long and tiring, I was still able to see my blessings. My child hadn't stuck a plastic toy in his ear and refused to say what it was. I didn't have to press charges against the dad/boyfriend that brought my kid in with a shattered jaw. My child wasn't screaming or throwing up. My kids behaved and were quiet and flirted with anyone they could. My kids have insurance to pay for things like this. I can speak English, and I am married to my kids father, and all my kids have the same father. We have a pediatric hospital close to the house. I had a home to go to, with a warm bed and heat.
Once we got home Jerry easily went to bed. Michael, on the other hand, did not. He wanted to play since he woke up as I was taking him out of his car seat. I think it was around 2 before I really got to sleep, then Michael was up again at 4:30. Tyler thought I was just getting home, so thank goodness he got some sleep and didn't hear all the racket when we came in.
You think I would start having good luck now. After a long night like that, I deserve something easy. Of course not. When I went to slice the cheese for Tyler's sandwich, I discovered that the brand new brick I just cut open was moldy. Yippie skippie, I get to go return it today. I did get to go back to sleep for a while. Thomas got up to watch TV and I crashed again until Tyler called. Then I buried myself back in the blankets for another couple hours when Jerry and Michael woke me up. As I was getting ready to make breakfast, bowls of cereal, I rinsed dishes to load the dishwasher and run it. I reached to turn on the disposal, no go. Great, now my garbage disposal is broken. The day has to get better from here, right?
Great, now Jerry is wrapping computer chords around his neck. Why do my kids do this?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
