They're Doing It Wrong

So....I suck at playing toys with my kids. 
I know this sounds ridiculous. I mean, how can one "suck" at "playing?" 
Well, let me tell you how:
I am a little, shall we say controlling? And obsessive? 
Alright, after you read this you will see that I am much more than a little. But there has to be someone else out there like me. Right? Anyone?


Every time I watch my kids play I have to use all of my will-power to keep myself from correcting them. I just don't understand why they are trying to put a car in the picnic basket when clearly the picnic basket goes with all of the cute little food and cups and plates. The car does not belong there! I know it would be stifling their creativity and imagination if I tried to stop them, so I don't. But I really want to show them that the shovel goes with the sand toys and not with the tea pot.




I think the worst, and I mean absolute WORST time of day for me is when we go outside to play with the sand and water table. This is painful and I cringe just thinking about it. See this?

That's right. There is sand in the water side and water in the sand side. (GASP!)This hurts my feelings just looking at it. But my beautiful baby is enjoying herself so I know I need to let it go. So I will take a deep breath. Close my eyes....


....And wait until they go to bed so I can make my world right again by putting the correct toys in the picnic basket, clearing the sand out of the water side of the table, and placing the teapot in the play house on the stove where it all belongs.


Don't judge. I know there are more of me out there. They just won't admit it! :)

E.N.U.F Already

I will be brief although this is something that I feel quite strongly about....


Dear Advertisers,
Please stop misspelling words on purpose. You are confusing our society's youth and most of the adults. You are also making my job quite difficult when trying to teach my children and others' children how to spell commonly used words. 


                                Sincerely,
 3rd Grade Teacher/Mom/Lover of the English Language




Dear Consumers and Children,
Here is some clarification for you --


This is wrong:

 

An advertiser of graduation decorations did this clever spelling as a reference to graduates. The word is Congratulations therefore the appropriate abbreviation is:
Congrats!


This is also wrong:

Not sure what happened here but I am tired of correcting this word on spelling tests and in stories written by my students. I hope this is redundant, but the correct spelling is MUD with only one 'd.'


This is wrong and not very clever. It just looks ridiculous.

Just because very and berry rhyme does not mean that they need to be spelled the same. 


I hope these examples get my point across. Feel free to email me with any additional questions. Another great resource is Webster's Dictionary.
Have a luvly day. :) (LOL!)

Fantasy Bike Ride

First off, I should tell you that no, this post has nothing to do with Christian Grey. So if that is what you were expecting, stop reading now. (Heh, Heh, Heh)


This post is just a reminder to me that most things do not turn out the way that I had planned. Some things turn out better than what I had planned. Others, like my fantasy bike ride, go horribly, horribly wrong. 


I got a new bike for Mothers' Day. We just picked it out last weekend from Target. Since this summer is Operation Lose My Muffin Top, it was an appropriate purchase. Kate got a new bike helmet (which she never takes off) and a bike trailer for two to attach to my bike. This may seem like a lame gift for a 2 year old but every time I ask her what she wants she says, "Cake! Blue Dora cake!" So she is getting blue Dora cake and a bike trailer.


Anyway, my mind immediately went into fantasy mode...
Our little family was going to go on a family bike ride! My girls were going to ride happily in the bike trailer with their bike helmets. They would probably even have a 'spot of tea and crumpets' back there. Brent would be on his bike and Gilbert would be jogging nicely beside him. And we would all be happily riding off at a leisurely pace into the sunset.


Well, now I know that this is ridiculous and damn near impossible (at least with my little family). Daddy put the bike trailer together while we all waited in anticipation of our first bike ride. This was going to be our "test-ride" before our family bike ride in the evening. I put the girls in the trailer with some water and Gold-fish. I buckled on their helmets and harnessed them in. I strolled down the driveway and into the road. 


Immediately my legs started screaming at me. I know, I know, I was pulling about 50 pounds worth of kids in a trailer. But, I have a sneaking suspicion that my legs would be screaming even if I weren't pulling something...they may have waited until the end of the block though. I switched her down to first gear and slowly inched down the street. I had high hopes that we were going to make it to the CE trail and go for a nice ride. 


Then the screaming started, "NO! MINE! DEEEEE! MINE!" They were fighting over water bottles. Then Neddy got ticked and started bucking in her seat harness. She decided she didn't like being restrained. I looked back and tried to speak in a soothing voice but all that came out was, "YOU BE NICE!" Kate of course responded with, "No Mama!" and "Oh my God!" She knows that this phrase is prohibited but she also knew I couldn't reach her so she sat grinning at me and repeated the phrase. Neddy kept bucking and getting angrier and angrier until she was all red-faced, sweaty, boogery, and of course choking on her booger/Gold-fish combo. I believe the correct term is, "She was a hot mess."


I pulled over the bike and got them situated, pulled out the mushed up crackers and boogers from Neddy's mouth and did what I was threatening in my mind. I will turn this bike around and head home if you two keep this up!


We went home, had lunch, and a nice long nap before trying our actual fantasy bike ride which I was sure would go much better than the first. Because, after all, they were probably just tired. 


Well, no. They weren't just tired. Our second ride, with Daddy and Gilbert went much the same as the first. There was even some biting taking place. And Gilbert, he didn't quite know how to handle being out for a family outing so he went nuts, tried to run ahead of us then wrapped himself around Brent's bike until the chain fell off. Brent swore, kicked his bike in a tantrum and muttered something about, "Go on without me. I am going home." So we continued until I heard the ear piercing screams of, "NO DEEEE! OH MY GOD!!!! MINEEEEE!" And then the choking started again. I looked back and Kate had pulled Neddy's bike helmet over her face and Neddy was MAD! 


As I turned around, my legs cheered because they knew I was going to stop making them exercise. The congratulated my children on a job well done.


Kate keeps trying to get back in that bike trailer but I am not quite ready to tackle that again this week. 


Maybe it all went wrong because I was missing the 'spot of tea and crumpets'?

Caged Animals

We had Neddy's twelve month check-up this week. I am pretty sure that our sitter gave our kids naughty pills or extreme amounts of sugar before I picked them up and hauled them to the doctor's office by myself. Let's just say things didn't go well.

I, of course, was running late and out of gas. Kate, of course, didn't want to go to the doctor. She wanted to "play 'side." Neddy was quietly chilling in the backseat, or so I thought until I heard a loud splash and turned to see that she had ripped the nipple off of her bottle and was happily pouring its milky contents into my school bag where my report cards were now floating.

This isn't even the bad part. We flew into the doctor's office. Only three minutes late! Of course, hubby later pointed out that this was not a victory because we were still, of course, late. And in his mind, late is late. There are no shades of late.

Kate ran for the sick child part of the waiting room. Why is that the only place that they put an enormous fish tank? When my kids are sick, the last thing they want to do is sit quietly and stare at some fish. 

Now, I am pretty sure I know what happens when we show up for our doctor's appointments. I can see the telling faces of the nurses when they call our name. I know when they look at the schedule for the day and see our last name on the list, they groan loudly. When we arrive, late, they peek around the corner to see if I have both red-headed beasts in tow or just the one. When they see that I have both, they groan even louder, crack open a bottle of hard liquor, take a swig and a deep breath, put on a gorgeous smile before walking around the corner and stating our name through clenched jaws. 

Honestly, I don't blame them. Our children at the doctor's office are like little caged animals. We walked into the room and Kate proceeded to open all of the drawers and empty their contents. I tried to stop her but I needed to strip Neddy down to her diaper so that she could get checked out. Next we walked, Kate ran clumsily with her pigeon-toe feet, down the hall to the scale. As Neddy was was weighed and measured, Kate ripped the big paper giraffe off the wall. 


When we returned to the room, Kate immediately grabbed the paper cover and started to unroll it. I asked her to stop. She said, "No mama. Kate do dat." And I placed her in time-out. When I turned back around, Neddy was shredding the paper and eating it. I dug it all out but the doctor was concerned that there was still some in there. Once I proved to her that it was all out, I turned to look at Kate who had ripped the rubber stoppers off of the bottom of the chair and was chewing on them. I took those and then removed her from time-out to clean up the mess. 


When we were finally cleaned up, Kate decided that she was "Baby Tate" and needed to be carried. I tried to hold both children, but "Baby Tate" was angry and tried to push Neddy out of my arms. I set Neddy down and then we had the kicker....
Kate, with amazing speed, pulled my shirt down and said, "Mama boobies." I yanked my shirt up with my free arm, turned crimson and started sweating at the thought of what had just happened. I looked at the nurse, who had a thin smile, and said, "I am so sorry. She has never done that before..."


As she walked out to get Neddy's shots prepared, I stood there dumbfounded at all of the events that had taken place in the last 15 minutes. How did things go so completely wrong? 
We finished the shots and packed everything up. Just when the nurse thought she was done with us for a few months, I said sweetly, "See you next month for Kate's check-up!" (That's right, my kids are 11 months apart....heh heh heh!) I am sure she will buy a bigger bottle of liquor next time. Maybe she will share with me.

Fortress of Solitude?

I used to think that women get hemorrhoids from giving birth to kids. After recent events at our house, I have a new theory. I believe that women (and probably men) get hemorrhoids from just having kids in the house. I have yet to get one but I am pretty sure if this type of toileting experience continues, they are in my near future. 


Currently, using the bathroom is not a solo experience at our home, nor is it a leisure activity. In fact, the bathroom door is usually wide open and there are at least three humans and one dog in there at any given time. 


(If you fear this visual, please stop here. I am pretty sure hubby will be embarrassed by me sharing this but...well, you're all family and friends!)
Let me explain the events that led to this theory....


I had to go to the bathroom. I went in and attempted to lock the door but apparently didn't shut it tightly. After a few seconds of "Mama....are you?" and sobs and pounding on the door, Kate figured out how to open it. "Mee mum!" (Here we come!) 


So in she comes, followed by Gilbert and of course Neddy. Gilbert immediately begins licking my knee. I am not sure what was on my knee. I just knew that his licks and oddly smelling just-ate-a-dead-animal breath were making me uncomfortable so I tried to shove him away. He eventually left but not before he knocked Neddy over, stepped on her, and hit Kate in the face with his tail. This led to tears for everyone and my attempt to make it all better while sitting on the toilet.


Oh, it's not done here. It should be stated that Kate has a recent infatuation with the toilet and more specifically, poop. Every time I change her diaper she wants to "see dat?" and she tries to convince me that her poop is white. She moseyed between the wall and the toilet and tried to push against my back side and began yelling "See dat, Mama? See dat?" on repeat. 


As I was trying to tell Kate no and move her, Neddy b-lined it for the tub -- the bar of soap on the edge of the tub. She likes to bite into the soap. I had to try to reach forward to grab Neddy with my T-Rex arms while Kate was shoving me from the side so she could "see dat poop." I slid her to her bottom and shoved her toward the door but she is like a Weeble. She popped right back up and was at the soap again. As I reached forward again I heard, to my horror, Kate say, "EEEwww. Tinky mama." 


Seriously! Nobody told you to come in here! This is supposed to be a person's one place to get away! It is supposed to be like Superman's Fortress of Solitude! Instead, it is like.....I don't know? A family reunion going horribly, horribly wrong?


In writing, it seems like this all took about 30 minutes (and in real life it felt that way as I was sweating it out trying to take care of business quickly so we could all wash our hands and move on) in reality this was only about 2 minutes in the bathroom total.

Witness Pawns

Over the last year I have gained some Jehovah visitors. The first time they came to our house, they were so nice and I feel like it is rude to tell someone no they can't pray with you or for you. So, I invited them in and accepted their literature (to be placed in the reading material bin by our toilet -- right by Time magazine). They asked if they could come back and pray with us again and I thought, well....again, how do you say no to that? So I said sure.


I told hubs about it and he laughed and we had a good time making jokes about me becoming a Witness. They came back a couple more times and brought literature. I started to notice that they were making special trips to our house. They were not visiting anyone else in the neighborhood. Uh-oh! They might think I am interested instead of just polite (yeah, I can do this sometimes).


The next time I saw them walking to our house, I decided to do what the rest of you do...I hid. Yes, I grabbed the girls and played in the back room. Fortunately, the windows were open and I was able to hear hubby talking with them, "...yes, Tanya is home. Of course she would like to pray with you. Go right in..." WHAT!? 


I needed to be more sneaky the next month. Luckily, they came at nap time at our house. I was sooo "sleepy" that I "didn't even hear the doorbell ring." It was payback time! I laid on the couch and I giggled as I heard hubs respond, "Oh! That's interesting!" and "I didn't know that!" to their information on Jehovah and the end of the world. After they left, he walked back in and said, "I know you are awake. That was a dirty trick!" (Heh! Heh!Hehhhh!)


They came a few more times after that and it did actually come up in conversation that I am a practicing Catholic (that will stop them...I thought).


Well, I thought I was successful at politely telling them that they didn't have to drive all this way to our house to pray with a Catholic. I even got cocky on Saturday morning when I said to hubby, "Hey! I haven't seen my Witness friends in awhile. Maybe they got the hint!"


Not even kidding, 20 minutes later hubs shouted, "I HAVE TO GO TO THE BATHROOM!" I thought it was weird that he was telling me such a strange thing. Like I would care that he had to go to the bathroom. In fact, like I would WANT to know that he had to go to the bathroom. Who does that? Who announces their need to go to the bathroom other than a three year old still working on the whole potty-training thing? Then there was the polite knock on the door. I peeked out the window. Crap!


I went to the door and listened to her verses and accepted literature while I had both children hanging from my legs, the dog sniffing them up and down, and of course hubby was in the bathroom. Then I did a dorky thing and wished her Happy Mothers Day. She looked at me oddly and stammered, "Well....yes...um..." Stupid me. I don't think Jehovah allows Hallmark holidays!


I said good bye, thanked them for inviting me to their convention at the end of the month,  and stalked to the bathroom. I threw open the door and to my horror, hubs was sitting on the toilet with the seat down, PANTS UP, reading Time magazine, and grinning. I had been fooled again! 


Now I can shake my fist and say in my evil villain voice, "You may have gotten me this time! But this isn't the last you will see of me! Until we meet again"

Sarcasm and Drama Queens

We usually have a couple of runs of bad luck throughout the year. And like everyone says, they come in threes. Our most recent bout happened last Friday: our dehumidifier went kaput, there were lay-offs and pay-cuts at Brent's job effective immediately, and our tax return has been delayed while they "investigate" before making a decision as to whether we are worthy of our return or not.  I was unaware that the IRS had Sherlock Holmes at the ready for when suspicious citizens such as ourselves filed for an adoption tax credit two years in a row. Now I know! 


The tax return was most upsetting of the three because for the last 6 months we have been responding to every dream with "...when our tax return comes we can take care of that." This makes it seem like we were getting back millions and in my dreams we were.


Hubby and I have very different ways of dealing with the bad luck threes that come our way. I get a little bitter and sarcastic. The hubs gets VERY dramatic. It's adorable, what can I say...


MINUTES after we received the letter regarding our delayed return...
       "I just got back from Piggly Wiggly. I was buying milk. I decided to pick up an application for bagger because I thought maybe I could pick up a couple of hours here and there to make up for our delayed tax return."


(I feel that this was a bit of an extreme response. But then again, my response wasn't much better.)


       "Good idea. You should also ride your bike to the Piggly Wiggly so we can save on gas, and we should attach a basket to the front so you can pick up any aluminum cans you see on the way so we can change them in for coins."


As his application is being processed (no, I didn't let him turn it in!) and we are attaching a basket to the front of his bike (no, there is no basket!), we will just delay some of the fun stuff until Sherlock is done. But, like I told the hubs, it will be okay.