Why I Don't Take More Showers

I used to be the "can't live without a shower each and every morning" kind of girl.  Now, I'm lucky if it's every other day.  (Except in the summer time when it's all hot and I sweat.  Then I take lots of showers. Don't hate.)  There's a good reason.

The house can be SILENT -- husband w/headphones on, doing work, kids in rooms reading or whatnot, dogs sleeping.  I think, "This is it.  The moment when I can hop in for my 4-minute shower and get in and out and clean and then get on with my day."

Then. I hear "Mama?" and the door opens.  Then I hear the flapping of little boy feet on the bathroom tile.  Then I hear dog toenails clacking. Then pretty soon, I hear my daughter asking, "What's going on? Why are you in the bathroom, Simon?" Then I start telling everybody to please leave me alone for the 3.7 seconds it takes me to rinse my hair.
Then HUSBAND senses a disturbance in the Force, and comes to see what's up.  And now, in our tiny bathroom, we have two elementary school kids, two confused dogs, and my husband.  And now I can't even get OUT of the shower because there's no damned room.

Finally, I shoo them all out with the threat that I'm actually going to just get out of the shower wet and naked, and if they want that seared into their brains, that's their own problem.  They finally leave.

And I reach for it, only to find they have somehow, for some mysterious reason, taken the towel.

*End Scene*

A Day Packed Full, and How It Went

Yesterday was a good day to be me.

Woke up, had a lovely cup of coffee, got snuggled on by my part-basset, Teddy, and talked to and listened to my kiddos tell me all of their dreams and adventures and plans for the day.
Kissed them, sent them on their way, and got myself over to a Junior High where I have been hired to coach their solos, their ensembles, and accompany the soloists on piano for their S&E contest next month. In between classes, I was working on beginning to organize the band director's solo/ensemble music files.  Eugh.  What a job. Somewhere between a treasure trove and a messy glove compartment.

After five hours of that, drove over to the car dealership where I needed to have them do some work (ON WARRANTY, so no $$).  I got to hang out in their leather chairs, relaxing, watching some stupid Dr. Phil thing until I realized that I was getting all worked up at his stupidity, so practiced my calming transparent breathing ("I'm made of clear water, and it all goes through me.").  It worked!

Got home and heard all about my kids' days at school and their Halloween plans for costumes, decorating, Trick-or-Treating.  We hung out a bit and watched a little TV, then I went to prepare to give a massage. I ended up arriving early, so I sat in a park and admired the lowering sun through the red and gold leaves.  Sigh.  Then grabbed some GOURMET amazing food for my friend and myself, headed over to her place for a massage session.

I deeply enjoyed giving the massage, learned a lot, and tried to remember all my techniques (and failed).  Then we sat and talked of beautiful things and thoughts and some of our greatest joys. 

I got home to find that the kids had cleaned the living room, and they were all in their jammies and ready for bed and snuggling.  We sat down and talked a bit and loved on each other, and were joined by the dogs who sensed a snuggling going on.  We all then retired to bedrooms for reading and sleeping. 

This was a great, fantastic, satisfying, tiring, lovely, thorough, full day.

Summer Kickoff

Yesterday, my hubs and I took Kid1, Kid2, and Kid1's BFF to an amusement park/water park. 

It was EXHAUSTING.  It was hot.  It was expensive. 

It was fun!

But the important thing to remember:  always ALWAYS bring the kids' friends.  I need to make sure we have a buddy for Kid2 next time.  It's SO much easier!  They chatter to each other all day long.  They share fries.  They giggle over melting ice cream.  They clutch their stomachs after roller coaster rides. 

I will happily be the pack mule on each and every trip to the amusement park from now on.  I rode SOME of the coasters, SOME of the water slides, SOME of the time in the wave pool.  But it wasn't vital that I was there the entire time.  And that, parent friends, is the key.  I stayed behind them, giving them enough space to feel all independent and daring, but being close enough to stop them from doing anything truly awful.

(Except for that ONE TIME I told them to meet us back at the bridge after we (the adults) went on the "Lazy River" ride and they (the kids) went on the tall, tall waterslide with tubes.  And they didn't see us right away, therefore they started wandering around in a panic.  And then they found us. With the help of a security guard. Sigh.)

But really.  It was good.  And I suspect I FINALLY put enough sunscreen on the kids and myself (and did it often enough) that I have not done their future wrinkles any help.

Allieism: Being Stupid

I was discussing an upcoming camping trip with Allison (aged 11), and she was reading the campground rules. 

Allie:  "Mom, it says here that no alcohol is allowed!  You can't bring any wine!"

Me:  "Honey, that's kind of ... an excuse kind of rule.  That means that the owners have legal recourse and can kick people out of the campground if the campers are getting all drunk and stupid."

Allie:  "Well, if they drink THAT much, they're probably pretty stupid already."

Me:  "...... BAHAHAAAAAAAHAAAAAA!"

Simonism: Muscle Strength Test

Simon got in trouble yesterday because he was "repeatedly licking the back of his chair." 

Upon further investigating, I found that he had read that the tongue is the strongest muscle in the body, and he was trying to push his chair in with his tongue -- "to test the tensile strength of the tongue muscle."

3rd grade is still full of surprises, it seems.

Simonism: ThunderCake

This evening, just as I was tucking the kids into bed, a thunderstorm was rolling in. 

I was in Simon's room, closing the window and the curtains, then I went to kiss him goodnight.  After the smooch, he urgently held up a hand to detain me.

Simon:  "MAMA!  WaitWaitWAIT!  There's a special kind of CAKE!  You can only make it when it's storming.  It's called "ThunderCake!"  You should make that.  Now."

Yes or No?

It has come to my attention that a teacher at my kids' school refuses to allow the kids to say "No" in her classroom.

 How do I know this?  Tonight's dinner is an excellent example.

Me:  Would you like some more mashed potatoes?
Kid1: Probably not.
Me:  What?  Yes or no.  More potatoes?
Kid1:  Not really.
Me:  The only two possible answers here are "Yes, please," or "No, thank you."  You know that.  More potatoes?
Kid1:  I ... well ... I don't...ummmm. No.  No more potatoes.
Me:  "... please..."
Kid1: No more potatoes, please.
Me:  Why was that so hard?
Other Kid:  Kid1's teacher doesn't allow "no" in the classroom.  I think it's to cut down the negativity in the class.
Me:  "......(mentally) whuck? ..."   Um.  I'm sorry about saying this, but no.  NO.  You need to have the courage to stand up for your answer, be it yes or no.  And if a teacher or anyone else can not cope with hearing a "no" answer, they shouldn't ask yes/no questions.  That's the risk you must accept when you ask a person a yes/no question.  The person might actually say "no."
Other Kid:  May I have some more potatoes?

Me:  No.

Do Birds Like Cumin? [Edited, after more research]

My 8 year old son got into the car this morning for a doctor's appointment that was earrrrrly.  I sniffed and asked, "What's that smell, honey?"

"Um.  Indian spice, I think."

"Did you eat it?"

"Yeah.  I tasted it."

When we arrived at the doctor's office, I noticed a greenish-brown dust on the crown of his head.  Cumin.

"WHY?  Why did you sprinkle -- no, POUR -- cumin on your HEAD?"


"I wanted to see if I could get birds to land on me."

"By putting cumin on your head."

"Yep."

Sigh.

[ADDITIONAL INFORMATION]
Well, turned out it wasn't quite as nuts as it sounds.  

Every winter we make "bird treats" by gathering pinecones, spreading them with peanut butter, and then rolling them in bird seed.
Simon apparently spread PEANUT BUTTER on his head, then thought he was sprinkling seeds on top.  He read the container which read "CUMIN SEEDS" but didn't notice the little word "ground" under the first line.  He thought, 'hey, seeds are seeds.' 
He was trying to make himself into a human bird feeder.

Freedom To Be An Adult

I was reading the post of a darling fellow Derf, and she was talking about what you should give up in order to be happy. 
This got me thinking.

One of my students (Amanda, I'm looking at yoo) commented that she held me up as an example that adults don't have to be all boring and stuff (her words).  I was tickled.  Really!  This kid is in HIGH SCHOOL and doesn't think I'm boring! 

If you're a kid, please go to Nick.com or something and don't read this.  But if you're an adult, pay attention. 

Think back to when you were a kid.  Any age of kid.  And you asked your parents for something, or to do something.  And they said, "We'll see!"  Didn't that just chap your hide?  You KNEW that was parent-speak for "um. No.  No way."  What if, sometimes, they said, "Heck yeah!  Let's dye your hair purple!  That'll be awesome!"

Would your jaw not hit the GROUND?  And imagine the "really? REALLY?" feeling -- that delicious freedom of "YES."  Imagine asking to go to the zoo one Saturday.  And then dad just stands up, grabs his wallet and keys and says, "Dude.  Excellent suggestion.  Meet you at the car."

Now realize that YOU have that power now.  You are the one who doles out the "we'll see" or the "HOLY CATS, LET'S GO!" 

And what, really, is so hard about saying yes?  If a kid wants purple streaks in their hair, why not?  It'll grow out or wash out.  If a kid wants to have a friend sleep over on a Thursday, would it kill them? What about eating ice cream BEFORE dinner?  What about building a massive snow fort, then covering it with water so it would freeze overnight?  What about painting the inside of their closet with glow-in-the-dark paint?  Or painting their closet door with chalkboard paint?  Or staking all the blackberry bushes into a tunnel to hide in?

What about -- for you -- saying YES sometimes?

How about driving through a parking lot full of Canada geese and honking your horn and chasing them?  (slowly, don't want Goosicide on your record)

What about complimenting that really pretty old woman in the grocery store?  Or maybe just paying somebody else's lunch tab -- someone you don't know -- just to make their day.  It'll cost you $12.  Imagine the mystification and happiness!  Leave a vase of cut flowers at a neighbor's front porch.  Try to bake the biggest loaf of bread your oven will hold.

Why. NOT?

Dye the kids' breakfast eggs blue.

CHOCOLATE MILK in the cereal sometime.

Throw your strong-but-silent husband a surprise party.

Sometimes, the "we'll see" response is just ingrained.  OUR parents never let us _______ , so why should we let our kids do that?"

Because.  It's fun.

Delighted With ShrinkyDinks

Oh, what a fun time we had at the party!  (My daughter turns 11 soon.)
Basically, three LOVELY little girls (ages 8, 9, and 11) joined my girl for dinner and cupcakes and fun.

AND SHRINKYDINKS!

Shrinky Dinks (TM) are awesome sheets of plastic which, after being colored and cut into shapes, get baked.  (*Not unlike me after the party last night.)  Upon baking, they shrink to 1/3 of their size, but get 9x thicker.  (Yep.  9x thicker after a night of partying? MmmHmmm.)

Primarily, the girls made charms for charm bracelets last night (a banana, hearts, a cell phone, a birthday cake, flowers, butterflies, and so on).  It was SO sweet to see them shrug off the "too cool for that" mentality and just dive in and color and play.  They giggled, screeched, laughed, and whacked the others with balloons.

One of the girls' moms stayed with me to drink wine supervise, help with the make-your-own pizzas, and chat.  She and I just get along so well, even though we come from very different perspectives.  She's from the other side of the world -- literally-- and comes from a religious/social background that is rather unknown to me (until recently), and she's a MATHEMATICIAN.  I mean, that alone outlines our differences dramatically.

I love little girls.  I love their capacity to become best friends upon sight.  The fact that they just ... play.
And you know what?  I'm learning to do the same.

Birthday Girl

My daughter.  My precious little fairy. Turning 11 soon.  She's survived the years I worried most about -- 8, 9, and 10.  I don't know why those concerned me so much.  Could be that during those years for me, I found my lifelong passion (flute), fell in puppy love the first time, discovered how hard I found math to be, watched my family go through some big changes (siblings getting married, moving out, parents changing jobs), and started to figure out who I was.

Eleven was where I started to enjoy things a bit.  I started to be regarded by my peers as smart, talented, and sweet.  (It took me decades for others to think of me as funny, though.  Weird.)  At 11, I was already largely the person I'd end up being.

I wonder, when I look at her.  Is she already involved in her calling?  Would that be the science club she's in?  Or math-0-rama?  Or cooking?  Maybe the writing contest she does every year.  Flute she's been playing?  Possibly choir.  I have no idea.

Eleven is on the way to being a young lady.  At 11, you know some of the 'facts of life.'  And you've heard stories about the rest of them.  You have opinions about things.  About politics, economics, people, fashion.  This is delightful to think about, but a bit scary too.  We're on the cusp of this "mother/teenager" relationship I've heard of.  I know.  Eleven is NOT a teenager.  But we're definitely in the neighborhood now.

She's afraid she'll change into a stereotypical teen.  We've discussed this, and I remind her that all those generalities are just that -- general.  And I'm afraid I"m going to be a pre-menepausal woman who is a bundle of prickly feelings and hot flashes.  Does that happen to ALL mom/daughter pairs?  Am I just as guilty of believing the generalities?

I hope not.

Being the Mom of Gifted and Talented Kids

Dave, with guitar, Grandpa, Karen (making an odd gesture), little Stevie and me (bottom right).

 Having grown up being the youngest of four smarty-pantz kids, I was accustomed to the high-expectation litany from teachers. “Oh, you must be good at math, being Steve’s little sister!” “Oh, Dave got such high grades in History. In fact, with his photographic memory, he'd read each page of the text then rip it out because he didn't need it any more.  I can’t wait to see YOUR work!”  “Karen was such a great artist!  I’m so glad YOU’RE going to be in my class!”

This is really and truly one of Karen's recent paintings. I KNOW. 

Naturally, I was tragically bad at math, Physics made NO sense to me, and my art skills?  Well... Want to see for yourself?

My sibs and I were “gifted and talented,” as it was coded in our school district.  My talents were more in the reading, writing, spelling, science, and music areas.  Our parents liked to see the A’s on the report cards, but (luckily) supported me as I struggled through math and physics, and never made me feel bad about my lack therein.

Not THAT kind of G&T, sadly.

As the parent of G&T kids (Oddly, until just now I didn’t put together that G&T stands for both Gifted and Talented AND my favorite beverage, Gin and Tonic.  Interesting.), I am faced with people’s mistaken assumptions.










1:  A G&T kid is gifted in ALL AREAS.
    Um.  No.  My little brainiac daughter is awesome at math and English, but her PHYSICAL coordination? She has been known to trip and fall, even when standing still.  As a preschooler, she almost always had a bruise on her forehead from smacking into car side-view mirrors in parking lots.  She did not understand how to throw a ball TO  someone until I explained the geometry of it.
My off-the-charts brilliant son cries and lashes out in anger over improbably small hurts, and when upset, babbles nearly incomprehensibly in frustration.  He also can’t seem to draw anything except stick people and buildings (usually with lightning or possibly gunfire -- it’s hard to say).

Dana, a friend of mine who is very passionate about possibly debunking G/T mythology was taught that these kids are actually most identifiable by the extremity of their asynchronous development. In some areas the child will be extremely precocious, mastering skills or hitting milestones much more quickly than the average developmental timeline. However, there will be developmental areas in which the child will be slower than average to develop. The three main spheres of development are cognitive, social/emotional and physical. Developing much more rapidly in any one of those spheres almost always results in one or more of the other spheres looking relatively stunted in comparison. With that in mind, look how much more sharply the truth about a G/T kid comes into focus.

2:  G&T kids are well-behaved.
    BWAAA. HA.  OMG, these kids are exploding with ideas and thoughts and FRUSTRATION.  They have SO many ideas that their little bodies can’t handle, and this causes anger, anxiety, impulsivity, and sometimes even sadness.  They routinely get into fights with each other over who gets the dictionary, who gets to read the newspaper, and who came up with the best description of the color blue.  Seriously.  They will cry because the other one knows how to do multiplication up to the 12s, and the other (younger) one only knows up to the 5s.

3:  G&T kids like to do schoolwork/homework.
    YOU try to get a kid interested in writing all their 5th-grade spelling words 5x each AND put each one into a sentence when they are actually at a 12th grade reading comprehension level.  It’s like pulling fricking teeth.  And any kid who easily learns things HATES to find out they can’t figure something out in a split second.  Trying to deduce how to carry the 2?  If it doesn’t make sense RIGHT THEN, it’s Armageddon.

4:  G&T kids can apply their knowledge to their lives in practical ways.
    Oh, I’m wiping tears of laughter away at this one.  They might be able to come up with an hypothesis and method and result for a science fair project, but when a PENCIL BREAKS?  They stand there and stare blankly at it, wondering what force on Earth could possibly solve this problem.  Never mind that there is (a) a cup full of mechanical pencils on the shelf, and (b) an electric pencil sharpener on the table.  Nope.  “The pencil is DEVASTATINGLY BROKEN. It’s a sign that I need to go watch Spongebob.”

Welp, I guess that's that.

5:  All the kids in the family will display similar G&T tendencies.
    Yeesh.  That’s like saying that all the kids will like green beans or the RED dental floss.  As the youngest myself, this was the worst one.  There’s nothing like having a teacher regard you brightly that first day, thinking, “Oh, THIS one will be such a breeze to teach,” and then when you get up to the blackboard to do the problem, you feel her eyes narrow as she cocks her head to the side and asks, “Umm, honey?  Remember the Order Of Operations? Ohhh. You don’t. Really?”

6:  G&T kids get good grades.
    Sometimes yes, sometimes no.  I really have to thank two of my daughter’s grade school teachers here, because they each let her have the actual grade her work deserved.  As I mentioned, my daughter is crazy-good at reading and spelling, but in 3rd grade, she got a 48% one quarter for spelling.  I was aghast, and asked the teacher what in the HECK had happened.  Teacher responded that since my daughter already knew all the words, she didn’t bother to do the “write the words 5x, and use each in a sentence” for many of the weeks.  I applauded the teacher’s strength in giving a real grade to the little girl who had won the Gold Medal in the All-School spelling bee for the last 3 quarters.  Next term (after actually doing the work), she was at 98%. The following year (4th grade), my girl got a C- in reading.  READING.  She was reading Nancy Drew and Harry Potter in kindergarten.  When I asked about the grade, I found that she hadn’t done a number of oral book reports because she thought they were pointless.  Again, I praised the teacher’s honesty, and suggested to my daughter to get her butt in gear.  The next term, she earned her A+.

My son, on the other hand, is a wiggle-butt, and has a tough time staying at his seat long enough to finish his work.  He got a mid-semester report stating that he had roughly 25 PAGES of unfinished classwork, and would be getting a failing grade unless it was dealt with.  We called him to task about that, and rescinded all TV and computer privileges until his work was completed, but told him that we would love him no matter how many years it took him to get through 3rd grade.  It took him just under ONE WEEK to finish ½ semester’s worth of work.  He got nearly 100% on all the assignments.  The key?  I had him stand up to do his work at the kitchen table.  Also, having no access to Lego StarWars is a pretty good motivator.

Sometimes (in my case), the giftedness/talent lies outside the realm of good grades.  I am a musician, and have been winning competitions and auditions since I began playing. I'm lucky because my parents knew how important my flute was to me and no matter how poorly I did in Trigonometry, I always still had my music.  Sadly, I've seen parents take very gifted musicians/artists/whatevers OUT of their lessons because of their failures in, say, math or reading.  This will result in a very unhappy, angry child with no outlet for his or her  prodigious gifts.


7:  G&T kids are dull and boring and square.
    They are snarky and funny and deliciously original.  Some recent incidents include making gingerbread cookies.  I had them decorate the cookies on their own, only to find that they had made them all into zombies.  My daughter wrote a mini-play which featured a Thanksgiving turkey trying to talk its way out of becoming dinner, and when it failed, its spirit haunted the cook, gobbling in the dark of night.  Then my son found a grasshopper under our Christmas tree and decided to teach it about space and the Milky Way by using the Christmas lights (blinking them on and off).  These kids are hilarious and curious.

Not our actual cookies.  We ate them too fast to get a photo.

8:  G&T kids will follow in their G&T Parents' footsteps.
     As a former G&T myself, I have to remember that my kids may not demonstrate the same talents or have the same passions as I do.  Just last year, I tried to encourage my daughter by giving her flute lessons.  I couldn't IMAGINE that she wouldn't be awesome.  But she isn't.  She's average.  And that should be enough, right?  But I never heard her practicing for fun. Suddenly I realized that I had not acknowledged one of her TRUE gifts:  cooking.  She hums to herself in the kitchen, she sings, she creates and experiments.  As soon as I had that "a-HA" moment, I provided her with her own equipment in the kitchen,and took her grocery shopping so she could spend time doing HER thing.  She is SO much happier now! She still plays the flute a little, but it's not what makes her heart sing and that's OK with me.

No matter how high the IQ, the GPA, or the reading level, they’re just kids.  They squabble, tell fart jokes, and chew with their mouths open.  And they have problems with enemies and friends, with handwriting, with teachers.  It’s easy to forget that they’re just grade-schoolers when they start to ponder the mysteries of the universe,  and sometimes I expect too much from them.  Then I go check on them after bedtime and watch them sleep, surrounded by Barbies, books, trains, and candy wrappers, and I get to focus on WHO they are, and not what they know or achieve.

--written with the input of the RFML SparkyNinjaPirateHookers

Allie's Words of Wisdom About DADT

My daughter is 10, and is full of wisdom.  It surprises me from time to time.

When "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" was repealed recently, she and I were discussing it.  She is very up on current events, and just couldn't get past why DADT had ever been enacted. 

Her concise, brilliant comment was this:

"The US is supposed to be the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave.  You can't be free if you have to lie about who you are, and the government isn't being very brave if they're afraid of gays."

That's my girl.

"But on the Upside..." Bleaching Hair, and Flat Tires

I am a hopeless "on the upside-er."  I can almost always find some obscure positive in a negative (true calamities, unfortunately, make me want to smack myself with the horrifying positives I find.).

Example 1:
Today, I'm giving myself highlights in my hair.  It's with one of those caps that you pull the strands through.  I got it all set up, pulled through, and so on, and got the gloves on.  (Rather I put on ONE glove.  I never seem to put on both at once.)
Then I mixed the little envelope of highlight powder (read: Clorox, I think), mixed it with the little bottle of activator, and added in the little squeezy tube of "hair protector," which is probably just glue.

Mixmixmix.  Spread it all on my hair (the stuff sticking out of the cap).  THEN.  Then? I happened to glance over on the counter.  THERE WAS ANOTHER PACKET OF BLEACH POWDER.

Whoops.
So I added a few drops of water to the bottle of activator and shook it to death, and poured the leftovers into the little mixing bowl thingy, and squoze the little tube to get any remaining driplets of that out, and added the extra packet of powder.  Stirstirstir.  Swear to self. Stir.
Then, with the OTHER glove, grab random handsful of the mixture, which is suspiciously doughy and dry, and smear it into and (hopefully) let it meld with the OTHER gloop on my hair.

As I stood there in the bathroom, willing my hair to not turn orange and/or fall out, I thought, "Well, on the upside, I have TONS of hair.  If it all falls out, my hair will be so much less DENSE and will dry faster!"

------------------------
Example 2:
  Child #1 was in 1st grade, and Child #2 was in preschool.  Got Allie to the bus for school, and took Simon to preschool.  Dr. Smartypantz took the minivan to the airport to go to Iceland for a conference. It's January in Michigan.
Got back home, did things around the house.  All is well!
Looked up, and realized that it's time to go get Simon from preschool, 5 miles away.
Car will not start.
January.
New to town.  Know no one.
Too late to call a cab.

Do I panic?  NO!  I figure, call Allie's school.  Inform them of my issue, and ask the wonderful teacher who lives down the street to please keep Allie with her, and then drive her home and keep her until I arrive back home.  Sure, no problem.

THEN.  Call the preschool.  Inform them of the quandry.  Ask if Simon can stick around with them for 20 minutes or so while I make my way over there.  Sure, no problem.

Go to garage.  Get out wrench to attach bike-trailer to 10-speed.  Throw a few blankets in the trailer, since it's roughly 0 degrees F out.  Child chills easily. Add one more blanket.

Get on bike to ride over to the preschool 5 miles away.  Tire.  Is flat.  PANIC? NO!!
Walk/run bike and trailer over to the gas station 1/2 mile away (on the way to the preschool, thankfully), and try to get air.
Did not bring purse.  Need quarter.  Panic?  NO!  Search ground for dropped coin, when the gas station attendant takes pity and manually turns on the air for me.  WOOT!
Fill tire.
Ride bike to preschool.  Forgot gloves.
Panic?  NO!
Sweater sleeves, when pulled down far enough, can be like mittens.
Did not realize it was actually uphill for much of the drive.

Preschool calls cell.  "Where are you?"
"I'm (puffpuffpuff) ON THE WAY!"

Child sounds worried in background.

Get nearly to preschool, when Teacher Down the Street calls.  "I'll come there and pick you up.  It's insane for you to be riding a bike in this weather. And it's going to start snowing any time."
YAAAY for Teacher Down the Street!

Get to preschool.  Realize I've sweated entirely through the back of my thick down-filled jacket.  Ew.  It's all wet now.
Simon is fine, but disappointed that he doesn't get to ride in the trailer in the snow.

Teacher gets there.  We realize that the bike/trailer will not fit in her car.
Panic? NO!

I leave the bike and trailer inside the school entrance, willing to take my chances.  Leave a "please don't steal my bike, since it would really make a bad day worse" sign on the bike.

Look down.  Realize that bike tire is flat again.

Go home.  Call garage and ask them to come tow the car.  Pour a drink.


"But on the upside, IT COULD HAVE RAINED!"

[Edit: My darling brother pointed out that this makes me look rather Pollyanna-ish.  And it's true.  Until you read my NEXT post (which hasn't been written yet) about the evil OTHER side of this phenomenon.]

Simonisms

Today was a half day for the kids at school.  We sat down to lunch together, enjoying the novelty of bologna sandwiches and orange slices in our own kitchen.

Simon and I were just finishing up (Allie had already snarfed up her tuna sandwich), and suddenly he looked at me and said,

"Mama? Do you think that life has meaning?"

Um. Well....

"It's a gweat mystewy, isn't it?  I think that the universe started -- from a COLOR CHEMICAL."

A what?

"A color.  It had so much energy that it exploded in a Big Bang.  Then?  ANOTHER explosion -- a BIGGER BANG -- made the whole universe."

So, if it was a color that started it all, what color was it?
--pause--

"It was a color that I just discovered now -- in my mind.  It was -- hmm. I'm going to have to name it  'Suthuldu.'  It, at every point, changes into another color."

Wow.  That's an amazing idea. Now, eat your sandwich.

------------

Then.... minutes later

"Mama?  What color was the FIRST black hole?  BEFORE it sucked everything into it?  If it's not all full of matter and energy, it couldn't be black yet, right?"

--mama falls on floor, eyes rolling into her head--