Shopping for the shaving stuff was easy enough. But oh boy, the thought of using a razor had Hannah apprehensive about the whole thing. I asked her if she wanted to shave my armpits.
So there we were, in her bathroom, mother and daughter, daughter learning about shaving armpits. I gave her some basic rules.
1. Use warm water. You want your pores to open, you'll get a closer shave.
2. Never use a dull blade. And since she doesn't know what that is, basically let Mom guide you in the process.
3. You don't need to use too much shave gel. Yes, it's cool to play with, but to shave with a little goes a long way.
4. No side to side. Shave down.
Of course, I did not have much for her to shave, compared to what she had. She was first afraid it would hurt, then afraid it would tickle. When she saw how easy it was to do on me, we then focused on her. And it was quite easy, too.
"Mom, what about my legs?" she asked.
"Well, how do you feel about it?" I asked in return.
"I am annoyed by the hair," she said.
"Remember, it's your body, your choice, but I think we should talk about this tomorrow." I replied, thankful to not deal with any more hair removal for the day.
The next morning came too quickly, I was greeted with a child I almost did not recognize. She was moody, and well, just plain bitchy. Sheesh, remove a little hair and all of a sudden, I get demon child.
(Okay, honestly, we've been dealing with moodiness here and there, but this was the first time I really blamed puberty.)
After she complied with Ted and I and started to work on her room, she came to the kitchen and asked about her legs.
"Can I shave your legs first?" she asked.
Sigh. "Yeah." I said.
We went into the bathroom again, I rolled my pant legs enough for her to shave my legs. She wet them, and felt how prickly they were.
"Mom! That's gross!" she exclaimed.
"Well, you start shaving your legs, and this is how your hair will grow back. Prickly and gross. Is that what you want to deal with from now on?" I was thankful for the way Hannah set this up herself.
She felt her legs, and said, "They're not hairy!" Then, her big grin disappeared and she asked, "Mom, do you think I need to shave them?"
I ran my hand down her legs and said, "No, I don't think you do. The hair is not as thick and dark on your legs as it was your armpits, and I don't think you will get teased about your legs like you could with your armpits."
I did tell her that her skin is dry, more important than shaving is the need to moisturize her skin.
And as for the swoopy bangs...I kind of hope she forgets about it for a while. This mom can handle only one thing at a time.
Sunday, March 17, 2013
It REALLY is Puberty
Towards the end of 2012, Hannah was in need of a bra. Not an everyday thing, just when she wore lightweight shirts. Keeping modest and all.
Now, another milestone. I officially record March 16, 2013 as the beginning of puberty for Hannah. Why? She is 2 out of 3 of the three big things to look for. "Buds"...check. Body hair ...check. I'm not looking forward to the third. In fact, I'm willing the clock backwards because I'm not ready for my baby to grow up.
We were at the store yesterday, I was looking at flat irons. Hannah was goofing around with pink headbands. A week ago, she hated all things pink. But here she was, on March 16, 2013, trying pink headbands. Already had a pink belt in the cart. Also had a bathing suit with a pink bottom. That shocked me. I had gone through great lengths to avoid anything with pink in her ski attire...had ended up buying boys clothes! She has boys ski boots! Now, it's, "well...pink is my least favorite color..."
She had come up to me, wearing a headband with a pink bow on top, made faces, then reached up to mess up my hair. My eyes went right to the tuft of hair on her armpit. My first thought was Whoa! When did that get there? I schooled myself and brought myself to a place of neutrality, leaned in close to her ear, and whispered, "It's time to shave your armpits."
She groaned, then giggled, then groaned again and said, "Mom! Everyone heard that!" I reassured her I had whispered, no one knew what was going on. I picked a blue razor (The Venus) and she picked a berry-scented shave gel. I texted my husband "I just discovered Hannah has hair under her armpits, I'm buying her her first razor and shave gel!" I'm sure he did not jump for joy over the fact that his baby girl, the one he held every night at around 10pm, feeding her and watching The Simpsons, was indeed at the start of puberty.
Now, buying the stuff was easy. Actually doing it...well, that's another story for another time. Hannah wants to blowdry her hair. She has not wanted her hair done in a long time. In fact, she asked for swoopy bangs. So off I go, to make my little girl pretty.
Now, another milestone. I officially record March 16, 2013 as the beginning of puberty for Hannah. Why? She is 2 out of 3 of the three big things to look for. "Buds"...check. Body hair ...check. I'm not looking forward to the third. In fact, I'm willing the clock backwards because I'm not ready for my baby to grow up.
We were at the store yesterday, I was looking at flat irons. Hannah was goofing around with pink headbands. A week ago, she hated all things pink. But here she was, on March 16, 2013, trying pink headbands. Already had a pink belt in the cart. Also had a bathing suit with a pink bottom. That shocked me. I had gone through great lengths to avoid anything with pink in her ski attire...had ended up buying boys clothes! She has boys ski boots! Now, it's, "well...pink is my least favorite color..."
She had come up to me, wearing a headband with a pink bow on top, made faces, then reached up to mess up my hair. My eyes went right to the tuft of hair on her armpit. My first thought was Whoa! When did that get there? I schooled myself and brought myself to a place of neutrality, leaned in close to her ear, and whispered, "It's time to shave your armpits."
She groaned, then giggled, then groaned again and said, "Mom! Everyone heard that!" I reassured her I had whispered, no one knew what was going on. I picked a blue razor (The Venus) and she picked a berry-scented shave gel. I texted my husband "I just discovered Hannah has hair under her armpits, I'm buying her her first razor and shave gel!" I'm sure he did not jump for joy over the fact that his baby girl, the one he held every night at around 10pm, feeding her and watching The Simpsons, was indeed at the start of puberty.
Now, buying the stuff was easy. Actually doing it...well, that's another story for another time. Hannah wants to blowdry her hair. She has not wanted her hair done in a long time. In fact, she asked for swoopy bangs. So off I go, to make my little girl pretty.
Saturday, February 2, 2013
2 Ravens Fans, One Store, and a 9 Year-Old
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We were at the second to the last stop, Walmart. Now, I know many of you will think "lady, you're asking for it" and in a sense, I agree. Yeah, I'm strutting my homer self in public, the day before the Super Bowl, wearing 49ers garb, carrying my 49ers purse, and holding my 9 year-old daughter's hand. As she and I walk down the aisle of the parking lot, tightly hugging one side to keep the middle clear, out comes an older man from between two cars, shouting at me "The 49ers are going to lose tomorrow!" He sneered.
"Really? You think?" I asked, his most striking feature was not his voice, not the fact that he's probably in his 60s, or maybe a 50-something who has thus far lived a hard life, but his really horrible teeth. It looked like he lost every other tooth, a testament to poor hygiene.
"They will lose!" he yelled.
I chuckled, kept walking, but turned around to toss over my shoulder "Kaepernick is going to run all over your Ravens!"
"When the 49ers lose, I'll be dancing and thinking of you," he again shouted while wagging his finger at me.
The finger-wagging actually annoyed me for a short bit, but then I thought "What kind of fool would trash-talk and finger-wag at a complete stranger in a Walmart parking lot?" I then realized where I was. Walmart. Figures. The last time I was there, I saw a lady get hit by a car backing out of a parking lot and some young punk speeding through the parking lot without yielding to the right of way. Well, without yielding to anything. Good thing the lady that was hit did not cross the path of that young punk.
Onward my daughter and I went into the store, and shortly after we set foot in the store, a young man with Downs Syndrome approached me and showed me his Ravens hat.
"You a Raven's fan, eh?" I said.
"Yeah!" he proclaimed, wearing a proud grin.
"You watching the game tomorrow?" I asked.
"Yeah!" he answered and replaced the hat on his head.
"Well good luck to your team," I replied and continued on my way to the craft section with my daughter.
I looked at my daughter and told her "I'm glad your father wasn't here. He would not have taken kindly to the old man in the parking lot, mostly because you were right there." (My husband knows I can take care of myself for the most part) We talked a little about stranger danger. And after that, I thought about the young man with Downs and had to give his parenta kudos for teaching the boy some class. If the Ravens win tomorrow, I won't be happy for Ray Lewis, I'll be happy for that kid in Walmart.
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Death of a Pet
On August 1st we made the very tough decision to put down our beloved dog, Toby. He was 13, and my first pet I had owned from pup to old age. I enjoyed many years with him, and I still miss him. He was smart, he was loyal, and he was a protector of our family. It was really hard to see him age, and I admit I was not the most patient owner during his last few months. As he declined, it became more difficult for all of us, him included, but I could not find it in my heart to let him go. He would pass out if he ran, he started losing control of his bowels, but the final straw was his struggling to walk and being unable to shake water off of himself.
I cried all day that first of of August. Hannah had to comfort me. I was a complete wreck. I stayed in bed. I recounted every way I had failed him.
A few days later, a friend reminded me that I gave him 13 years of a great life, and that is a long life for a dog. I held on to that until it the pain in my chest did not feel so overwhelming. I made myself remember his greatness, how he loved me even when I was not the best owner.
On August 4th, unbeknownst to me, Amber was born. While she was solely reliant on her mother, I could not wrap my mind around owning another pet. Ever. As the weeks went by, my family's grief lessened and I adjusted to being petless, accepting that as my permanent state. Ironically, I combed puppies for sale, the exact same breed and color as Toby, as if simply looking eased the pain a little.
Lo and behold, both my husband and daughter started taking about getting another dog. I vetoed each request for a couple of weeks or so, but my resolve started weakening and I agreed to look at puppies, but I made no promises.
I met Amber on around September 20th. It was not love at first sight. In fact, I gravitated immediately to a puppy with a similar personality to Toby. But, that pup was not meant to be ours. Looking back, it is a good thing. Amber was the pup Ted liked? Hannah wanted a girl dog. I relented. Although I went into this with reluctance, it disappeared, and Amber snuggled up to me in the car on the way home.
That first night was hard. She was neither housebroken nor crate trained, so sleep was near impossible. At one point in the night, I looked into her puppy eyes and "saw" Toby. My grief returned briefly, a reminder that Amber will never replace Toby.
And she does not. She is the complete opposite of him. His bravery to her timidity. His high energy to her cuddling. His obedience to her stubborn streak. But, she is a great pet. She is her own being.
Someday I hope I can reflect on my years with Toby without tears (half this blog was written whilst I cried from missing him so much).
RIP Toby. I still love and miss you very much.
I cried all day that first of of August. Hannah had to comfort me. I was a complete wreck. I stayed in bed. I recounted every way I had failed him.
A few days later, a friend reminded me that I gave him 13 years of a great life, and that is a long life for a dog. I held on to that until it the pain in my chest did not feel so overwhelming. I made myself remember his greatness, how he loved me even when I was not the best owner.
On August 4th, unbeknownst to me, Amber was born. While she was solely reliant on her mother, I could not wrap my mind around owning another pet. Ever. As the weeks went by, my family's grief lessened and I adjusted to being petless, accepting that as my permanent state. Ironically, I combed puppies for sale, the exact same breed and color as Toby, as if simply looking eased the pain a little.
Lo and behold, both my husband and daughter started taking about getting another dog. I vetoed each request for a couple of weeks or so, but my resolve started weakening and I agreed to look at puppies, but I made no promises.
I met Amber on around September 20th. It was not love at first sight. In fact, I gravitated immediately to a puppy with a similar personality to Toby. But, that pup was not meant to be ours. Looking back, it is a good thing. Amber was the pup Ted liked? Hannah wanted a girl dog. I relented. Although I went into this with reluctance, it disappeared, and Amber snuggled up to me in the car on the way home.
That first night was hard. She was neither housebroken nor crate trained, so sleep was near impossible. At one point in the night, I looked into her puppy eyes and "saw" Toby. My grief returned briefly, a reminder that Amber will never replace Toby.
And she does not. She is the complete opposite of him. His bravery to her timidity. His high energy to her cuddling. His obedience to her stubborn streak. But, she is a great pet. She is her own being.
Someday I hope I can reflect on my years with Toby without tears (half this blog was written whilst I cried from missing him so much).
RIP Toby. I still love and miss you very much.
Saturday, March 17, 2012
15 Rules I Learned in an Elementary School Classroom.
7:15am came too quickly the morning before St. Patrick's Day. I got out of bed, showered, dressed, and hollared at Hannah to do the same. I threw together breakfast (a pop tart), brewed my caffeine, made our lunches, and realized I needed to run to the store for a green snack. We were ready in record time, I grabbed my pop tart, cooler with our lunches, the kid and headed out at 8:00am. We got pears and green grapes. Dashed to school, stopped at her locker, removed our shoes and replaced them with slippers, and scurried to class where I dropped our cooler off with the rest of the lunches and wandered in. A big sign saying "NO Pinching" greeted us, and the teacher's assistant who was subbing for the teacher said "Anyone caught pinching will be sent to Ms. Nancy's."
Rule 1. No pinching.
Then, we were turned around and sent back to Hannah's locker as we needed to put our shoes back on. PE was first. Upon arriving back to the class, we sat in circle time. "Uh uh, CJ, you two cannot sit together" the teacher's assistant told CJ and his friend.
Rule 2. CJ and friend cannot sit together.
We went over our schedule for the day. It seemed easy enough. PE was first. We lined up. "Hey Ms. Dore, are you going to be at the end of the line?" Um, yes?
Rule 3. Teacher or assistant must be at the back of the line.
To the back of the line I went, and we were off to the gym. The kids played a game called clean your room, and it is basically running lines. Anyone who has played basketball or tennis knows all about running lines. "Ms. Kathy, the other team cheated!" "Ms. Kathy, I did NOT cheat!" Ms. Kathy has the patience of a saint. Me? I checked my watch. "Dang, not even a half hour had passed," I thought.
The kids were then left in my care to run laps and have free play on the playground while Ms. Kathy prepped for the St. Patrick's celebration. I wanted to try out my surgically repaired ankle, so I decided to jog with the kids. Yeah, that went really well. Not only was I completely out of breath, my ankle was not happy about it.
Free play consisted of the kids splitting into groups to do their own thing. The girls split off into 2 groups. One sat around and talked. The other wandered around, not playing at all. My child was in neither group. She was in one of the boys' two groups. One group of boys spent their time rolling down a small hill. The other enjoyed being chased by Hannah, being caught, and thrown in "jail." During the game, Hannah whispered to me "Mom, we're not supposed to climb up the slide." I noticed CJ doing just that. "CJ, don't climb up the slide," I told him.
Rule 4. No climbing up the slide.
The game of Hannah chasing boys continued, Hannah caught Bryson and put him in "jail." She stayed and visited with him for a bit, then they both climbed the walls of "jail" and stood on top. I thought it would make a cute pic, so I took one. "Ms. Dore, we're not supposed to climb up there." Addy Mae said.
Rule 5. No climbing up to the top of the "jail."
Ms. Kathy returned to help me, and we chatted a bit about rules 4 and 5 because I didn't know of them. She said "oh, there's probably 100 playground rules, the kids know them."
Rule 6. There are 100 playground rules.
Rule 7. The kids know them and must follow or be banned from the playground.
Poor CJ. He was banned from the playground for the duration of free play because he had climbed up the slide. I've known CJ since he was in Kindergarten (he's in 3rd grade now), he's such a boy.
Time to line up and head back to class. The kids were very good about getting in line, and then I heard "Hey! You can't get out of line. If you do, you have to go to the back!" This came from a boy to a girl.
Rule 8. Anyone getting out of line must go to the back of the line and hang with Ms. Dore.
Off to class we went, it was time for a work cycle. The kids were to 1. work on DWLs, 2. work on math, 3. work on language, 4. finish other works for the week that had not yet been completed.
"Ms. Dore, what is this?"
"Um...wait a second, okay?" I had to ask Ms. Kathy exactly how I was supposed to help. With DWLs, because it's an assessment, I cannot really help. But what if the kid didn't even know what the question was? Which I saw a couple of kids did not know.
Rule 9. No giving much help on DWLs.
"Ms. Dore, what does this mean?" Round to the nearest tens.
"Do you know how to count by 10?"
Kid nods.
"Great, let's do it....10, 20, 30, 40, 50, 60, 80, 90. Now, what is the closest of these to 88?
"90."
"Good!"
"But what about this one?" 62
"Let's count by 10s again. 10, 20, 30, 40, 50, 60, 70. Now what is the closest of these to 62?"
"70."
"Write that down for now." Hmmm, how to explain to a 2nd grader if the number is below 65 you round back and if it's 65 and above you round up? Oh wait, Rule 9.
I continued my walking around and assisting as much as allowed under Rule 9. Then my daughter came up to me and asked, "Mom, what is this?" Circle the subject and underline the complete predicate.
Oh God, how do I explain this to a third grader? And, Rule 9!!!
Needless to say, when the kids were able to move on to their other works and I actually could help, I felt much better...though it is still kind of hard to "dumb down" concepts to young children so they understand it. Teachers have that training, I don't.
I continued my perusal and came upon a few boys drawing in their notebooks. Now, considering I am more of an artsy person, I was intrigued to see what went on in these boys' minds. I stopped to look. "Ms. Dore, we're not supposed to be drawing right now," a little girl whispered to me.
Rule 10. Drawing is cultural studies. Not language or math. Therefore it should not be done during a work cycle.
"Hey there," I called softly to one of the little boys, not knowing his name, "we're supposed to be doing language and math." He paused. Looked up at me. Then resumed his drawing. I figured I'd give him a minute then I'd return to tell him to work on language or math.
"Hey CJ, no drawing." I told CJ with familiarity. At least CJ listened.
I returned to the other boy. "Remember, no drawing." He did not even acknowledge me this time. Ms. Kathy rang the bell and it was time to move on to the St. Patrick's Celebration.
While Ms. Kathy read a book to the children about St. Patrick's Day, I cut up the pears, washed grapes, cut up celery, and dumped some veggie crisps in to a green bowl. The combo was strange, but green snacks was what we were having. Before snacktime, though, the kids did a work that involved graphs and Lucky Charms. My ankle was aching by now, so I sat. And was grateful that three girls from Upper Elementary came in to help.
Then...it was snack time.
Rule 11. You may come up only once to the snack table, but you can put as much as you want on your plate.
Ugh. My ankle was really hurting, so I used my position as Temporary Teacher's Assistant to allow my daughter to break that rule and go up a second time to make me a plate of snacks.
The kids spent so much time at snack, that the craft started late, and when it was recess time, the kids voted on either staying in to do the craft or going out to play. Guess which won by a landslide? The kids had to clean up before leaving.
Lining up again, I was still in my spot with my foot up, but the kids weren't going anywhere. In fact, they were chattering about and appeared really ready to go out. I looked over at Ms. Kathy, wondering what was the holdup.
Rule 12. We do not go out to recess until EVERYTHING is put away.
There was a clipboard and pen still on a desk, and I so did not see it. The kids lost 15 minutes of recess time because they were too excited to bother with doing a thorough job.
Ms. Kathy knew I was aching, so she told me to stay in and relax. Which I did. I took in the Lucky Charms all over the floor, empty cereal boxes around the garbage can and not in it. I put my head down because I was so tired. And it was only 11:45. The SAHM in me wanted to clean up the Lucky Charms. I could not find one ounce of energy to get up and do it. I started thinking of ways to make the kids do it.
At 12:05 the kids trickled in. I was starving at this point. I finally got up, retrieved the cooler, set out lunch and began to eat.
"Ms. Dore, we're not supposed to eat yet."
Oops.
Rule 13. We give thanks first. To the animals and the vegetables that we are about to eat. And to Mother Earth.
I was a tired, ungrateful, and starving Pretend Teacher's Assistant.
It was a cute little thing that they do, I admit. But after having had a bite of my ham and cheese sandwich and a big swig of my fruit punch, I was dying for the energy I knew my lunch would provide. When we finally started to eat, I noticed Ms. Kathy wasn't eating, and I thought "I'm such a wimp." I was relieved, though, to see that she did eventually eat something.
"Ms. Dore, watch this!"
Morgan crossed her eyes. Aside from kids showing me their wiggly teeth, anything odd with eyeballs really grosses me out. Guess what happened when I shielded my eyes from it and said "Ew!" ?
"Ms. Dore, watch this!" "Look!" "I promise I won't cross my eyes!" a boy said which was followed with rolling his eyes back.
Rule 14. Never show them your weakness.
Another round of clean up commenced, and I couldn't believe that there were only 20 minutes left of the day. Lunches were put away, the class pet Lizzy (Bearded Dragon) was fed her diet of live crickets, tables were wiped down. Now I see why teachers like short days...and why parents sometimes loathe them.
The day ended with another bit in circle time, this time all eyes were on me to share my experience with traveling to Australia.
"CJ...you know you're not supposed to..." Rule 2! Rule 2!
Rule 15. Keep any and all presentation to kids short, sweet, and fun.
Yeah, they didn't care that Aussies drove on the wrong side of the road, they didn't care that Australia has different electrical outlets. But they sure got a kick out of how much I disliked vegemite.
Hannah and I were the last to leave the room. With our cooler in hand and my other arm around my daughter, I walked out with a deep appreciation for Hannah's teacher. For the teacher's assistant. And for teachers everywhere who not only educate our children, but love them, too.
Rule 1. No pinching.
Then, we were turned around and sent back to Hannah's locker as we needed to put our shoes back on. PE was first. Upon arriving back to the class, we sat in circle time. "Uh uh, CJ, you two cannot sit together" the teacher's assistant told CJ and his friend.
Rule 2. CJ and friend cannot sit together.
We went over our schedule for the day. It seemed easy enough. PE was first. We lined up. "Hey Ms. Dore, are you going to be at the end of the line?" Um, yes?
Rule 3. Teacher or assistant must be at the back of the line.
To the back of the line I went, and we were off to the gym. The kids played a game called clean your room, and it is basically running lines. Anyone who has played basketball or tennis knows all about running lines. "Ms. Kathy, the other team cheated!" "Ms. Kathy, I did NOT cheat!" Ms. Kathy has the patience of a saint. Me? I checked my watch. "Dang, not even a half hour had passed," I thought.
The kids were then left in my care to run laps and have free play on the playground while Ms. Kathy prepped for the St. Patrick's celebration. I wanted to try out my surgically repaired ankle, so I decided to jog with the kids. Yeah, that went really well. Not only was I completely out of breath, my ankle was not happy about it.
Free play consisted of the kids splitting into groups to do their own thing. The girls split off into 2 groups. One sat around and talked. The other wandered around, not playing at all. My child was in neither group. She was in one of the boys' two groups. One group of boys spent their time rolling down a small hill. The other enjoyed being chased by Hannah, being caught, and thrown in "jail." During the game, Hannah whispered to me "Mom, we're not supposed to climb up the slide." I noticed CJ doing just that. "CJ, don't climb up the slide," I told him.
Rule 4. No climbing up the slide.
The game of Hannah chasing boys continued, Hannah caught Bryson and put him in "jail." She stayed and visited with him for a bit, then they both climbed the walls of "jail" and stood on top. I thought it would make a cute pic, so I took one. "Ms. Dore, we're not supposed to climb up there." Addy Mae said.
Rule 5. No climbing up to the top of the "jail."
Ms. Kathy returned to help me, and we chatted a bit about rules 4 and 5 because I didn't know of them. She said "oh, there's probably 100 playground rules, the kids know them."
Rule 6. There are 100 playground rules.
Rule 7. The kids know them and must follow or be banned from the playground.
Poor CJ. He was banned from the playground for the duration of free play because he had climbed up the slide. I've known CJ since he was in Kindergarten (he's in 3rd grade now), he's such a boy.
Time to line up and head back to class. The kids were very good about getting in line, and then I heard "Hey! You can't get out of line. If you do, you have to go to the back!" This came from a boy to a girl.
Rule 8. Anyone getting out of line must go to the back of the line and hang with Ms. Dore.
Off to class we went, it was time for a work cycle. The kids were to 1. work on DWLs, 2. work on math, 3. work on language, 4. finish other works for the week that had not yet been completed.
"Ms. Dore, what is this?"
"Um...wait a second, okay?" I had to ask Ms. Kathy exactly how I was supposed to help. With DWLs, because it's an assessment, I cannot really help. But what if the kid didn't even know what the question was? Which I saw a couple of kids did not know.
Rule 9. No giving much help on DWLs.
"Ms. Dore, what does this mean?" Round to the nearest tens.
"Do you know how to count by 10?"
Kid nods.
"Great, let's do it....10, 20, 30, 40, 50, 60, 80, 90. Now, what is the closest of these to 88?
"90."
"Good!"
"But what about this one?" 62
"Let's count by 10s again. 10, 20, 30, 40, 50, 60, 70. Now what is the closest of these to 62?"
"70."
"Write that down for now." Hmmm, how to explain to a 2nd grader if the number is below 65 you round back and if it's 65 and above you round up? Oh wait, Rule 9.
I continued my walking around and assisting as much as allowed under Rule 9. Then my daughter came up to me and asked, "Mom, what is this?" Circle the subject and underline the complete predicate.
Oh God, how do I explain this to a third grader? And, Rule 9!!!
Needless to say, when the kids were able to move on to their other works and I actually could help, I felt much better...though it is still kind of hard to "dumb down" concepts to young children so they understand it. Teachers have that training, I don't.
I continued my perusal and came upon a few boys drawing in their notebooks. Now, considering I am more of an artsy person, I was intrigued to see what went on in these boys' minds. I stopped to look. "Ms. Dore, we're not supposed to be drawing right now," a little girl whispered to me.
Rule 10. Drawing is cultural studies. Not language or math. Therefore it should not be done during a work cycle.
"Hey there," I called softly to one of the little boys, not knowing his name, "we're supposed to be doing language and math." He paused. Looked up at me. Then resumed his drawing. I figured I'd give him a minute then I'd return to tell him to work on language or math.
"Hey CJ, no drawing." I told CJ with familiarity. At least CJ listened.
I returned to the other boy. "Remember, no drawing." He did not even acknowledge me this time. Ms. Kathy rang the bell and it was time to move on to the St. Patrick's Celebration.
While Ms. Kathy read a book to the children about St. Patrick's Day, I cut up the pears, washed grapes, cut up celery, and dumped some veggie crisps in to a green bowl. The combo was strange, but green snacks was what we were having. Before snacktime, though, the kids did a work that involved graphs and Lucky Charms. My ankle was aching by now, so I sat. And was grateful that three girls from Upper Elementary came in to help.
Then...it was snack time.
Rule 11. You may come up only once to the snack table, but you can put as much as you want on your plate.
Ugh. My ankle was really hurting, so I used my position as Temporary Teacher's Assistant to allow my daughter to break that rule and go up a second time to make me a plate of snacks.
The kids spent so much time at snack, that the craft started late, and when it was recess time, the kids voted on either staying in to do the craft or going out to play. Guess which won by a landslide? The kids had to clean up before leaving.
Lining up again, I was still in my spot with my foot up, but the kids weren't going anywhere. In fact, they were chattering about and appeared really ready to go out. I looked over at Ms. Kathy, wondering what was the holdup.
Rule 12. We do not go out to recess until EVERYTHING is put away.
There was a clipboard and pen still on a desk, and I so did not see it. The kids lost 15 minutes of recess time because they were too excited to bother with doing a thorough job.
Ms. Kathy knew I was aching, so she told me to stay in and relax. Which I did. I took in the Lucky Charms all over the floor, empty cereal boxes around the garbage can and not in it. I put my head down because I was so tired. And it was only 11:45. The SAHM in me wanted to clean up the Lucky Charms. I could not find one ounce of energy to get up and do it. I started thinking of ways to make the kids do it.
At 12:05 the kids trickled in. I was starving at this point. I finally got up, retrieved the cooler, set out lunch and began to eat.
"Ms. Dore, we're not supposed to eat yet."
Oops.
Rule 13. We give thanks first. To the animals and the vegetables that we are about to eat. And to Mother Earth.
I was a tired, ungrateful, and starving Pretend Teacher's Assistant.
It was a cute little thing that they do, I admit. But after having had a bite of my ham and cheese sandwich and a big swig of my fruit punch, I was dying for the energy I knew my lunch would provide. When we finally started to eat, I noticed Ms. Kathy wasn't eating, and I thought "I'm such a wimp." I was relieved, though, to see that she did eventually eat something.
"Ms. Dore, watch this!"
Morgan crossed her eyes. Aside from kids showing me their wiggly teeth, anything odd with eyeballs really grosses me out. Guess what happened when I shielded my eyes from it and said "Ew!" ?
"Ms. Dore, watch this!" "Look!" "I promise I won't cross my eyes!" a boy said which was followed with rolling his eyes back.
Rule 14. Never show them your weakness.
Another round of clean up commenced, and I couldn't believe that there were only 20 minutes left of the day. Lunches were put away, the class pet Lizzy (Bearded Dragon) was fed her diet of live crickets, tables were wiped down. Now I see why teachers like short days...and why parents sometimes loathe them.
The day ended with another bit in circle time, this time all eyes were on me to share my experience with traveling to Australia.
"CJ...you know you're not supposed to..." Rule 2! Rule 2!
Rule 15. Keep any and all presentation to kids short, sweet, and fun.
Yeah, they didn't care that Aussies drove on the wrong side of the road, they didn't care that Australia has different electrical outlets. But they sure got a kick out of how much I disliked vegemite.
Hannah and I were the last to leave the room. With our cooler in hand and my other arm around my daughter, I walked out with a deep appreciation for Hannah's teacher. For the teacher's assistant. And for teachers everywhere who not only educate our children, but love them, too.
Friday, December 2, 2011
Parents and Our Education System
Yesterday we had a big wind storm. Big enough to knock out our power for several hours (some places, I read, are still without power). Big enough to close schools (this is monumental because feet of snow won't shut down our schools). As I was reading the comment board on an article posted on ksl.com, I could not believe that parents were complaining about how the school closures were being handled, about how it's such a pain. I kept thinking, "Really? Aren't you the parent here? Can't you just make up your own mind about whether or not you feel safe in taking your kid to school today instead of letting the city dictate that for you?"
That is not all.
Educators encourage parent involvement at school and in the home re: academics. I support it. I'm engaged. But here's what gets me. I had listened off and on to talk radio on my way to pick up Hannah from a school activity, and the talk was about holding kids back a grade. A parent came on and gave his opinion, that he thinks it is the school that makes the decisions. In my experience, I found that to be true. Then, a teacher came on and agreed with the parent. She said they do not hold children back because studies show it hurts them socially, and they tend to drop out of high school if they are held back. And, she disagreed with the "policy" of advancing children even if they are struggling.
Okay, studies do not represent my kid. In fact, you researchers do not know my kid. Her father and I know her much better than a researcher. What happens to our child if she's advanced when we feel she's really not ready?
1. She's at the bottom tier in her class. Why is this a big deal? Because she believes she is "stupid" because all the other "stupid" kids are in that group. No, don't tell me that it isn't like that. I was a kid, I remember. No amount of politically correctness is going to convince her that she is not stupid.
2. She develops a distaste for school. She struggles to understand what is being taught. Then she is sent home with the very thing that she doesn't understand. Enter Mom and Dad into the picture to help her with the homework and it becomes a daily battle of the wills. A young child should be out playing with her friends, not stuck with homework for hours at a time.
3. If we feel she's "young" for her age, and we feel it will not harm her socially, then why can't we, her parents, make the decision? Why is it up to the school?
Yes, I do believe at a certain age, it probably isn't wise to hold a child back, but ultimately, it is MY decision. It is HER FATHER'S decision. It is not the decision of the almighty schools.
Educators, you want us involved? Gladly. But let us do our job as parents, too. I have nothing against Hannah's former teachers. In fact, they are pretty awesome. But, it is not them specifically with whom I have my beef. It's the system.
As a result, I pulled my daughter out of mainstream public education and put her in our local charter school. It is a Montessori school, and it has been really good for all of us. The educators do their job, they teach. They let the kids be kids (within reason of course). They teach to the child, not to the test. It is amazing what Hannah has come home and taught us about. And, they let the parents be what we are supposed to be. The parents.
That is not all.
Educators encourage parent involvement at school and in the home re: academics. I support it. I'm engaged. But here's what gets me. I had listened off and on to talk radio on my way to pick up Hannah from a school activity, and the talk was about holding kids back a grade. A parent came on and gave his opinion, that he thinks it is the school that makes the decisions. In my experience, I found that to be true. Then, a teacher came on and agreed with the parent. She said they do not hold children back because studies show it hurts them socially, and they tend to drop out of high school if they are held back. And, she disagreed with the "policy" of advancing children even if they are struggling.
Okay, studies do not represent my kid. In fact, you researchers do not know my kid. Her father and I know her much better than a researcher. What happens to our child if she's advanced when we feel she's really not ready?
1. She's at the bottom tier in her class. Why is this a big deal? Because she believes she is "stupid" because all the other "stupid" kids are in that group. No, don't tell me that it isn't like that. I was a kid, I remember. No amount of politically correctness is going to convince her that she is not stupid.
2. She develops a distaste for school. She struggles to understand what is being taught. Then she is sent home with the very thing that she doesn't understand. Enter Mom and Dad into the picture to help her with the homework and it becomes a daily battle of the wills. A young child should be out playing with her friends, not stuck with homework for hours at a time.
3. If we feel she's "young" for her age, and we feel it will not harm her socially, then why can't we, her parents, make the decision? Why is it up to the school?
Yes, I do believe at a certain age, it probably isn't wise to hold a child back, but ultimately, it is MY decision. It is HER FATHER'S decision. It is not the decision of the almighty schools.
Educators, you want us involved? Gladly. But let us do our job as parents, too. I have nothing against Hannah's former teachers. In fact, they are pretty awesome. But, it is not them specifically with whom I have my beef. It's the system.
As a result, I pulled my daughter out of mainstream public education and put her in our local charter school. It is a Montessori school, and it has been really good for all of us. The educators do their job, they teach. They let the kids be kids (within reason of course). They teach to the child, not to the test. It is amazing what Hannah has come home and taught us about. And, they let the parents be what we are supposed to be. The parents.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
...the time will be...
Do you remember when we could call on the telephone for the time? "At the tone, the time will be 10:54 and 23 seconds." I used to call it, and sadly, I no longer remember the phone number. There's no way for me to check if it still exists (and maybe it was a Hawaii only thing?).
So tonight, as one of the 1,256 sedentary things I can do after surgery, I browsed my friends list on Facebook to find people overseas. So I can figure out what time it is there.
So tonight, as one of the 1,256 sedentary things I can do after surgery, I browsed my friends list on Facebook to find people overseas. So I can figure out what time it is there.
Hilary is just waking up. Kaoru has kids at school. Erika is getting her kids down for a nap. Kalei wishes she was in Aotearoa with Sweet.
It's cool to think that while I'm in my jammies getting ready for bed my niece is starting her day. Or while Erika is getting her kids down for a nap, Kalei (if she were in New Zealand right this second) would be thinking about an early dinner. Every second of every day, someone is doing something that you have never done or never thought to do.
I suppose I have way too much time on my hands these past few days while recovering from an ankle arthrosocpy/arthrotomy. I'm not known for sitting around and doing nothing for days in a row, and I admit I'm going a little bonkers. I even watched a youtube tutorial on how to crochet, and thought about calling Ted while he was bringing Hannah home from Lori's today to ask him if he could pick me up a crochet needle. It was fleeting of course, as I had already presented the honey do list (which included steak and the fully leaded and highly sweet Coke) and if I added crochet needle to it, he might get a little annoyed by it, after asking me "what is that?"
Note to self: Be grafetul that I don't live somewhere in the world where I don't have the luxury to sit around and do nothing for days in a row.
Next up: Hannah and the garden. It's that time of year when the garden needs to be cleared out and the soil turned. Since I'm out of commission, and Hannah wants sooooooo badly to get The Lion King on DVD, I'm thinking I may be able to strike a deal.
Saturday, October 1, 2011
You Just Ovulated
Bruch with my MOMS friends was really nice. Hashbrown casserole, mini doughnuts, mini muffins, zucchini bread, breakfast cookies, chilled juices, and one cute baby girl. Pretty eyes, chunky cheeks that make her hard to resist, and an affection for me. One of the MOMS tends this nine month old 1-2 times a week, and this is the first time I saw her. I had ideas flitting through my mind about how cute it would be to have a baby around. Well, a baby as sweet as her. She was just so good, entertaining herself, sitting on the picnic blanket just being. Yeah, that's the kind of baby I want.
She started to fuss a little bit, my MOMS friend that tends her was dealing with her son, so I reached down and grabbed her. She was complaining about being in the sun, so with her in my arms, we headed to the shade. She started to settle down, I rubbed her back and told her "it is so much better in the shade, isn't it?" She calmed right down.
When it came time for me to leave, my MOMS friend came over to grab her, but this sweetheart would not go to her. She turned away from her and clutched my neck. Talk about sweetness! Well, not so for my friend, but yeah, the roots of wanting another baby just planted deeper into my mind. I want this.
I decided to indulge her for another minute, I'd just speed on my way to Hannah's school to drive for their field trip. I continued rubbing her back and talking nonsense to her. But when I really had to go, I had to return her to my friend. And I made that baby cry. That was heart-wrenching, big tears running out of her blue eyes and down her pink chubby cheeks.
"Sweetheart, it's okay. I'm sorry." I rubbed her back as my friend held her. My friend thought this to be pretty amusing, I think, because while I rubbed that cute baby's back, she cheered "You just ovulated!"
I thought about having another baby, I mean really thought. This is something I've gone back and forth over in the last couple years. How sweet babies are, how loving they are. But, they grow up. And it's not as sweet. They don't need you as much. In fact, they defy you sometimes.
There will be no more babies for me. I'll just have to love on everyone elses sweet babies and let them deal with the not-so-sweet.
She started to fuss a little bit, my MOMS friend that tends her was dealing with her son, so I reached down and grabbed her. She was complaining about being in the sun, so with her in my arms, we headed to the shade. She started to settle down, I rubbed her back and told her "it is so much better in the shade, isn't it?" She calmed right down.
When it came time for me to leave, my MOMS friend came over to grab her, but this sweetheart would not go to her. She turned away from her and clutched my neck. Talk about sweetness! Well, not so for my friend, but yeah, the roots of wanting another baby just planted deeper into my mind. I want this.
I decided to indulge her for another minute, I'd just speed on my way to Hannah's school to drive for their field trip. I continued rubbing her back and talking nonsense to her. But when I really had to go, I had to return her to my friend. And I made that baby cry. That was heart-wrenching, big tears running out of her blue eyes and down her pink chubby cheeks.
"Sweetheart, it's okay. I'm sorry." I rubbed her back as my friend held her. My friend thought this to be pretty amusing, I think, because while I rubbed that cute baby's back, she cheered "You just ovulated!"
I thought about having another baby, I mean really thought. This is something I've gone back and forth over in the last couple years. How sweet babies are, how loving they are. But, they grow up. And it's not as sweet. They don't need you as much. In fact, they defy you sometimes.
There will be no more babies for me. I'll just have to love on everyone elses sweet babies and let them deal with the not-so-sweet.
Thursday, September 15, 2011
I'm too old!
I was sitting on the recliner, my aching foot up as is the usual around the end of the day. Hannah walked over and handed me a picture hanging nail and hook, saying "Here Mom, I got this for you."
Huh? I thought.
She headed back down the hall towards her room, I had guessed. Not even a minute passed when she handed over three framed pictures.
"Here Mom," she said as I took them from her.
"Hannah, these are your ducks." I said, wondering what was up.
"I'm too old for ducks in my bathroom."
Wow.
Really?
Sigh.
Yes, really.
She got a Littlest Pet Shop room for her 8th birthday, her daddy and I worked hard on it. Why? Because she informed me she's "too old for finding Nemo."
At least she's not too old for cuddles while being told the various stories of when she was a baby.
"Mom, when I was a baby, what did I like to eat?"
"You ate baby food. You liked to play with it, too, because everytime I fed you, you sprayed the food out of your mouth."
She laughed.
"What else Mom?"
"Well, you liked to cuddle and be rocked to sleep."
"Like this?"
"Yes, but you were a lot smaller. You rested your head on my chest and you laid on my tummy. Sometimes, I fell asleep while rocking you. We both would be asleep on the rocker, and Daddy would find us. He used to worry that I'd drop you."
"But you never dropped me, right?"
"No, never."
Huh? I thought.
She headed back down the hall towards her room, I had guessed. Not even a minute passed when she handed over three framed pictures.
"Here Mom," she said as I took them from her.
"Hannah, these are your ducks." I said, wondering what was up.
"I'm too old for ducks in my bathroom."
Wow.
Really?
Sigh.
Yes, really.
She got a Littlest Pet Shop room for her 8th birthday, her daddy and I worked hard on it. Why? Because she informed me she's "too old for finding Nemo."
"Mom, when I was a baby, what did I like to eat?"
"You ate baby food. You liked to play with it, too, because everytime I fed you, you sprayed the food out of your mouth."
She laughed.
"What else Mom?"
"Well, you liked to cuddle and be rocked to sleep."
"Like this?"
"Yes, but you were a lot smaller. You rested your head on my chest and you laid on my tummy. Sometimes, I fell asleep while rocking you. We both would be asleep on the rocker, and Daddy would find us. He used to worry that I'd drop you."
"But you never dropped me, right?"
"No, never."
Saturday, September 10, 2011
I'm your lady, and you are my man
Very little is more amusing to me than walking out to the garage and seeing Ted work on the van with love songs blaring on the stereo. Really? My manly man listening to Celine Dion?
"You missed 'The Power of Love'," he said as I looked at him in amusement, some other sappy love song filled the garage.
"You actually remember that from our wedding?" I asked.
"Yeah."
Ladies, don't be fooled. They DO remember!
It didn't take long, though, for him to turn the station.
"Gee, hon, this isn't much better," I said as some girly song took over.
"Hey, it's Jack FM."
"Yeah."
I left him to his manly work, the only remnant of estrogen coming from Jack FM. Maybe the radio station ought to be called Jill FM? Or maybe it really is a "Jack" Jack FM, kind of like a Jack Mormon?
In other news, the tent that has been occupying my family room is now where it belongs. In the backyard. Hannah has been begging her daddy for a backyard camp out. He hasn't been enthused about it, when you have a TemperCloud mattress you get really spoiled. I think she may finally sucker him in to it tonight. She tried to sucker us into having her "barfy" friend sleepover in the tent. This friend throws up if she eats too much junk. Yeah, like I am going to be that accommodating.
I did acquiesce and allow sleepovers when Ted goes elk hunting. One friend from Friday to Saturday. Another friend from Saturday to Sunday. If one night is barfy friend, I will be the Junk Food Nazi and make the kid sleep with the barf bowl.
Wait...is that mean of me?
"You missed 'The Power of Love'," he said as I looked at him in amusement, some other sappy love song filled the garage.
"You actually remember that from our wedding?" I asked.
"Yeah."
Ladies, don't be fooled. They DO remember!
It didn't take long, though, for him to turn the station.
"Gee, hon, this isn't much better," I said as some girly song took over.
"Hey, it's Jack FM."
"Yeah."
I left him to his manly work, the only remnant of estrogen coming from Jack FM. Maybe the radio station ought to be called Jill FM? Or maybe it really is a "Jack" Jack FM, kind of like a Jack Mormon?
In other news, the tent that has been occupying my family room is now where it belongs. In the backyard. Hannah has been begging her daddy for a backyard camp out. He hasn't been enthused about it, when you have a TemperCloud mattress you get really spoiled. I think she may finally sucker him in to it tonight. She tried to sucker us into having her "barfy" friend sleepover in the tent. This friend throws up if she eats too much junk. Yeah, like I am going to be that accommodating.
I did acquiesce and allow sleepovers when Ted goes elk hunting. One friend from Friday to Saturday. Another friend from Saturday to Sunday. If one night is barfy friend, I will be the Junk Food Nazi and make the kid sleep with the barf bowl.
Wait...is that mean of me?
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Chop Chop!
Is it possible to sweat from using a paper cutter?
'
If you have a lot to cut, it is a warm summer evening, and you forgot to put your hair up, yes.
Will you have perfect cuts from using a paper cutter?
Only if you actually line your paper up using the grid on the paper cutter. Otherwise, while your cut will have a straight edge, chances are it will not be at a 90 degree angle.
Can a paper cutter cut through lamination?
Yes. Provided there is paper within the lamination. It will not cut through just the lamination, but you will get a pretty good crease.
Can you sit and cut?
Not a good idea. While your back may beg of you to please quit stopping over, sitting is not going to make the job any easier.
Is it safe for my child to use?
If you have to ask this question, then you should not own a paper cutter. Kid scissors for you!
P.S. If you are fortunate enough to own this kind of equipment, give your child's teacher a hand. Chop chop! In fact, even if you don't, there is always a need for you parents to lend a hand.
'
If you have a lot to cut, it is a warm summer evening, and you forgot to put your hair up, yes.
Will you have perfect cuts from using a paper cutter?
Only if you actually line your paper up using the grid on the paper cutter. Otherwise, while your cut will have a straight edge, chances are it will not be at a 90 degree angle.
Can a paper cutter cut through lamination?
Yes. Provided there is paper within the lamination. It will not cut through just the lamination, but you will get a pretty good crease.
Can you sit and cut?
Not a good idea. While your back may beg of you to please quit stopping over, sitting is not going to make the job any easier.
Is it safe for my child to use?
If you have to ask this question, then you should not own a paper cutter. Kid scissors for you!
P.S. If you are fortunate enough to own this kind of equipment, give your child's teacher a hand. Chop chop! In fact, even if you don't, there is always a need for you parents to lend a hand.
Friday, September 2, 2011
Toby's Book by Hannah and Mom
I love how Hannah's mind operates. The simplicity of her story-telling in "Toby's Book" that she wrote on Tuesday night. The ability to remember the details which really makes her not so simple. Watching this, listening to her, it's fascinating.
Her book arrived from walmart.com four days early. Talk about exceeding my expectations! The quality was pretty good, too. We excitedly thumbed through the pages, everything looking just as she had hoped.
I am so amazed at how far she has come. A year ago, she completely shut down regarding school. It was too overwhelming. She refused to read, she refused to talk about school work, and now...she's writing stories.
If you like to write, read. If you like to escape reality for a bit, read. If you want to learn something new, read. I can't imagine what life is like to be unable to read.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Organza: The Curly Hair of Fabric
Organza is a sheer fabric often used in dress. It has a very natural flow, and does so beautifully. Those who know what organza is may think "it does not look curly!" Those who have worked with organza may have an idea as to why I think it is the curly hair of fabric.
I've worked with stretchy fabrics, such as jersey knit, lycra types, polyester blends. I've worked with fabrics that fray with the slightest touch. Think shiny Halloween costume fabric. The name of that fabric escapes me.
The stretchy fabrics curl and shift. The fabric that frays...once you cut it you need to either set it down and leave it alone, serge the raw edges, or get to work because the very second you lay your fingers on it, it will fray. While these fabrics are akin to a child with a slight stubborn streak, organza, in all it's airy beauty, is the high-maintenance not-going-to-do what you say child.
How is that like curly hair? I have curly hair. When it's at the perfect length, the lose curls fall just right. It doesn't take much, just some gel, scrunching, and I'm good to go. Back when perms were in, people paid big bucks to have hair like mine. Much like I paid $7 a yard for the organza.
Organza is pretty on the bolt. You look at it and get all kinds of ideas as to how you can use it to give just the right airy touch just by capitalizing on its natural flow. Let it pool at your feet, and it does so with grace.
But try to get it to behave against the grain? Curly hair.
As I've said, people used to pay bucks, now they spend time with their gels, balms, and curling irons to achieve curly hair. But when you have it naturally and you want it to perform against the grain? Organza.
I'm making curtains out of pink organza for Hannah's room. I thought it would add something a little different to what she has, a nice contrast. Pressing the cuffs for hems going along the grain is like doing so with any other fabric. Doing this against the grain was like getting a clump of my curly hair to curl the opposite direction.
Using higher heat on the organza will burn the fabric, using stiffen it and likely have it stick to the iron, maybe also burn it. Each time I pressed, the cuff sprang back open as if it was spring-loaded.
As some point, you have to give up, take the fabric to the sewing machine, and stich inch by painful inch...curling and tucking a cuff as you go. And no, for me, hand-stitching is NOT an option.
Hours have passed, I have one more side of against the grain hemming to go. I was supposed to have it finished today, along with assembling a bookshelf, before Ted comes home from Atlanta tomorrow.
And I will wear my hair curly.
I've worked with stretchy fabrics, such as jersey knit, lycra types, polyester blends. I've worked with fabrics that fray with the slightest touch. Think shiny Halloween costume fabric. The name of that fabric escapes me.
The stretchy fabrics curl and shift. The fabric that frays...once you cut it you need to either set it down and leave it alone, serge the raw edges, or get to work because the very second you lay your fingers on it, it will fray. While these fabrics are akin to a child with a slight stubborn streak, organza, in all it's airy beauty, is the high-maintenance not-going-to-do what you say child.
How is that like curly hair? I have curly hair. When it's at the perfect length, the lose curls fall just right. It doesn't take much, just some gel, scrunching, and I'm good to go. Back when perms were in, people paid big bucks to have hair like mine. Much like I paid $7 a yard for the organza.
Organza is pretty on the bolt. You look at it and get all kinds of ideas as to how you can use it to give just the right airy touch just by capitalizing on its natural flow. Let it pool at your feet, and it does so with grace.
But try to get it to behave against the grain? Curly hair.
As I've said, people used to pay bucks, now they spend time with their gels, balms, and curling irons to achieve curly hair. But when you have it naturally and you want it to perform against the grain? Organza.
I'm making curtains out of pink organza for Hannah's room. I thought it would add something a little different to what she has, a nice contrast. Pressing the cuffs for hems going along the grain is like doing so with any other fabric. Doing this against the grain was like getting a clump of my curly hair to curl the opposite direction.
Using higher heat on the organza will burn the fabric, using stiffen it and likely have it stick to the iron, maybe also burn it. Each time I pressed, the cuff sprang back open as if it was spring-loaded.
As some point, you have to give up, take the fabric to the sewing machine, and stich inch by painful inch...curling and tucking a cuff as you go. And no, for me, hand-stitching is NOT an option.
Hours have passed, I have one more side of against the grain hemming to go. I was supposed to have it finished today, along with assembling a bookshelf, before Ted comes home from Atlanta tomorrow.
And I will wear my hair curly.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Is This my Baby?
In my lovesick desire to surprise my husband with a whole new set of pics for his digital picture frame, I found a ton of pictures of Hannah when she was a baby. Pictures I remember taking, but I looked at one particular photo (not the one I chose for my blog) and thought "Is this my baby?"Time has a funny way of sneaking up on you. And it cackles when you look back and wonder where it went. A cruel, cruel joke.
I chose this particular picture because Hannah wrote a children's story last night, and it was about Toby. How I wish I had consulted the flash drive in the digital picture frame before putting the picture book together last night on walmart.com. How precious are the memories of a baby and her best friend! It touches me deep down, but I already know what Hannah would have said if I had actually put her baby pics in the book. "Mom! You're embarrassing me!"
Time will sneak up on me again, and ten years from now I'll be looking at that book of the story she wrote. And have the same feelings as I do tonight.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Treasure Maps and the Vacuum
Yesterday, Hannah came home from school and told me all about the airplanes she made. Okay, cool, I'm not going to panic about my kid making paper airplanes in school. (Tomorrow, I'm going to meet the class pet and ask her teacher about the paper airplanes) Anyway, she made an instructional video on "How to Make Paper Airplanes with Wheels" but begged for me to now show anyone, but Daddy, as it's for him.
After recording the video, she decided to send Daddy on a tresure hunt when he gets back from Atlanta. Cute, right? The map...it's so adorable. Complete with drawings of the furniture in the house, where to walk, little footsteps, and the big red "X" at the end. She really thought it out. Then she hid the planes that were part of her instructional video, placed a big red "X" in front of the hiding spot, rolled up the map and placed it on Daddy's chair. Mind you he's not going to be home until Friday, and this was all done on Monday afternoon!
So if any of you friends of mine in the local area come over this week, just ignore the big red "X" and please do not sit on Ted's chair.
I remember when Toby was young, he would play with the vacuum in typical dog fashion. Crouch done, growl, bark. Run side to side in front of it. Bark some more. Run down the hall, come back, crouch, bark.
Now? Stand there and watch it, his head swinging back and forth, back and forth. When I move on to another spot, he relocates. Back and forth, back and forth. I think it's mostly the light he's watching because of his vision.
He lost the fiesty, he mostly spends his time trying to get out of our way. :( But, he is still curious as ever. Maybe he's really part cat?
Sunday, August 28, 2011
It Begins
That is, my blog. Well, I should say my family's blog. Wherein I shall share our news, which may include some tidbits of our everyday life, some hilarious Hannah moments that have me trying very hard not to laugh (as it embarrasses her), maybe some pictures, and any and all news that we want to share. I have the following accounts: Facebook, Google+, LinkedIn, and now, a blog. How often I will update? With all the networking sites available, I cannot say. I'll forget where I posted what, and may end up repeating myself thnking that I've not said something on Facebook when in fact, I've already shared it but could not remember if it was really at Google+.
It's a hot Sunday afternoon, my family went to church, I stayed home to try and nurse a headache while getting laundry done, the kitchen cleaned, and dinner and dessert going. Thank you cards from Hannah's birthday need to go out. Ted's clothes to be set aside for an upcoming work trip.
He's going to Atlanta. Again. He is not a fan of business travel, being so tall and squished in coach class on the plane, having crappy hotel beds, and well, being away from us, of course. Since he took his current position, he's traveled a lot. I'm a little jealous in that he gets to go to places that I've never been. He's been to Atlanta a few times, I'd love to go there. He'd rather stay home where the bed is comfy and all is quiet. Basically. He's been to DC, Florida, Oakland CA. We used to live in the Bay Area, CA, so I am also jealous of that trip.
Hannah starts week two of school. A new school. A school that I must say, "I love you!!" As does she. Saturday morning, she woke up at 8:30am, shouting, "Mom! Where are you?" She located me, all comfy in bed, and asked, "Shouldn't I be at school?" That, folks, is history in the making. Aside from the fact that she tells us all about school now, whereas before, it was like trying to brush though her matted hair on a Monday morning. With the new school comes a dress code much like my days at Kamehameha. It's both good and bad, the good far outweighing the bad. Good in that she looks so put together, it breeds a more academic environment, and well, I enjoyed picking out smart-looking attire. Bad in that it is more expensive (sorry, honey, the American Express bill is going to be kinda big). Tomorrow, we start carpool. She gets to ride with another family, and well, I don't really need to leave the house, which means I can stay in my jammies all day long.
Speaking of me...
The things I like about being at home all day, no kid or hubs.
- No TV. I relish in the absolute quiet of my home.
- I can turn down the thermostat to 65 degrees and no one will complain if it's cold.
- The dog pretty much stays out of my way, except for when he wants something, at which point he follows me everywhere until I comply.
- No interruptions! Except for the above re: Toby.
My Toby boy is getting old. He's 13 years old, going blind and deaf. I read The Art of Racing in the Rain this weekend and bawled. I had to try and be quiet about it because I finished at 1:27am early Saturday morning, I did not want to wake Ted from his slumber. It was like I was already mourning the loss of my dog. I have book club on Tuesday morning, and I doubt I'll be able to contribute anything, other than tears. And no, the thrust of this book is not about a dog dying. If it was just that I would not have read it. It's a pretty fantastic book about a dog's life, the struggles his owner faces, lots of metaphors of course, and it is written completely in the dog's point of view. While the ending is supposed to be a happy one, it made me cry even harder.
The dryer has dinged and its contents must be handled. Blog time over.
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