Monday was the first day of school. The children woke up at 7 am, we had smiley faced blueberry pancakes, and the children dressed themselves and were off. Only I can't show you any of these pictures because our camera decided it couldn't survive without being next to our old monitor, and passed away as well. Those smiley face pancakes were awesome, too.
So instead you will just have to read until I can make fake first day of school pics and then post those.
Nadia is very excited to be in Mrs. Ferguson's 2nd grade class. She was Nadia's cousin's teacher last year, and we got to know her pretty well. I think she will do just fine. We have already had our first school related meltdown when she realized she had thrown away her sandwich keeper with the rest of her lunch trash. Pretty sad for Nadia, who had been looking forward to using it all summer long. Maybe we can figure something out at the store on Saturday.
Brandon has done a lot better with kindergarten than I thought he would. Just to help you get the idea of what I am up against, Cliff and I decided that if Brandon had a super hero name, it would me Anti-Change Boy, the ever loyal sidekick of Megagirl (Nadia). He just does not handle change well at all. I was very grateful to find out that this year the teachers did a "kindergarten roundup", where the parent and child got to go the the class together and do some activities. It was a big help to him to be able to meet the teacher, see his room, see where he would sit, and do some of the things that he would do in class. We also went to back to school night, where we got to drop off his school supplies and see everything again. There was no crying on the first day. It was amazing. He just got in his line at the front door, waved at me, and went inside.
Benjamin is having a much tougher time than Brandon. He is very cuddly right now, almost to the point of strangulation, and keeps asking where the other children are. When we went to drop off Brandon today (he's in pm kindergarten), he was very excited because he thought we were there picking up Nadia. He has been sitting on his pouting step (bottom stair step by the front door) and doesn't want to play with me. I have been letting him hug me all he wants, and hope that Big Sibling Withdrawal pains go away soon.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Two Theories
I have two theories when it comes to school supplies and buying them for your children. What is that, you say? You don't have to buy school supplies because you don't live in Idaho? Well, aren't you just special then. I really don't want to talk about it or I might start cursing in Italian again. Okay, I have calmly counted to 10 and can continue now.
The first theory is that all of the stores in Idaho Falls have decided that adults don't have enough fun when they go shopping. So these stores got together and made a master scavenger hunt list out of all the school supplies handed out to us parents. If this is the case, I will gladly trade 8 glue sticks and one Hannah Montana Folder for 3 watercolor sets. Or 3 10 packs of pencils and 4 spiral notebooks. Or both. I just need those blasted watercolors.
The second is that the PTO (Parent Teacher Organization) is a group genius, and they have just hoarded all of the watercolor sets in the grand scheme of making us parents pay exorbitant prices for them later. It is the black market at its finest. And where would these nice ladies learn such deceitful behavior? Well, let me answer that with the following question: who do you think teaches mafia members how to keep things so secretive and borderline legal? That's right, from their moms who were in the PTO and desperate to raise money for new playground equipment.
So what is a frantic parent to do? You have two choices.
You can picket the school with the hourly threat of being killed by the "Momma Mafia" aka PTO, with the hopes that finally the local politicians will recognise the dire situation and declare a state emergency. As well as get in some good camera time for themselves. Then a SWAT team will be sent in to find and release all hostage watercolor sets. Of course, you and your family will be forced into the Witness Protection Program for your efforts.
Or you can choose to act ignorant. Maybe the teacher will never realize you dropped your kid off at school without every school item listed. Be prepared for it to backfire, just in case. "What's that, Mrs. Smith? Little Johnny doesn't have his watercolors? I was sure I packed them in with the other school supplies...Well, give me a day or two to look for them around the house." Then drive up to Canada where the watercolors are a part of socialism and free to everyone. Just don't let those Mounties catch you.
The first theory is that all of the stores in Idaho Falls have decided that adults don't have enough fun when they go shopping. So these stores got together and made a master scavenger hunt list out of all the school supplies handed out to us parents. If this is the case, I will gladly trade 8 glue sticks and one Hannah Montana Folder for 3 watercolor sets. Or 3 10 packs of pencils and 4 spiral notebooks. Or both. I just need those blasted watercolors.
The second is that the PTO (Parent Teacher Organization) is a group genius, and they have just hoarded all of the watercolor sets in the grand scheme of making us parents pay exorbitant prices for them later. It is the black market at its finest. And where would these nice ladies learn such deceitful behavior? Well, let me answer that with the following question: who do you think teaches mafia members how to keep things so secretive and borderline legal? That's right, from their moms who were in the PTO and desperate to raise money for new playground equipment.
So what is a frantic parent to do? You have two choices.
You can picket the school with the hourly threat of being killed by the "Momma Mafia" aka PTO, with the hopes that finally the local politicians will recognise the dire situation and declare a state emergency. As well as get in some good camera time for themselves. Then a SWAT team will be sent in to find and release all hostage watercolor sets. Of course, you and your family will be forced into the Witness Protection Program for your efforts.
Or you can choose to act ignorant. Maybe the teacher will never realize you dropped your kid off at school without every school item listed. Be prepared for it to backfire, just in case. "What's that, Mrs. Smith? Little Johnny doesn't have his watercolors? I was sure I packed them in with the other school supplies...Well, give me a day or two to look for them around the house." Then drive up to Canada where the watercolors are a part of socialism and free to everyone. Just don't let those Mounties catch you.
Friday, August 14, 2009
Questions
Should we find out the gender of this baby? The ultrasound is coming up, and we have found out with all the other children. I know Nadia is adamant about knowing if it's a boy or a girl, but she took it pretty hard when she found out we were expecting Benjamin instead of Benjamina. Although, this little girl's name would have been "Princess Ballerina" according to Nadia. So maybe it was good we had a boy.
Should we let the children come this time and risk Nadia bawling on the way home? Or just Cliff and I go, and then gently break the news to the children so they can cry when they are already at home?
Is it better to let the children keep their own made up words or correct them right away, or does it depend on the word? For instance, we were discussing various dinner choices for tonight. Nadia wanted "portugeeyas". I'm probably spelling it wrong, but however you spell it, it sounds like you are eating some poor Portuguese person for dinner. Really not very appetizing to a pregnant woman who gets the image of some huge pot with a foot sticking out of it every time Nadia mentions it. She finally told us it means a quesadilla with tomato sauce, but I still can't get rid of that foot image.
This also occurs quite a bit with Benjamin, who uses the word "badoo" for Bowser of Mario fame or any other dinosaur, as well as what he calls his grandmothers. I have been too scared to ask either of these ladies what they think of this, and whether or not it should be stopped. Would you be offended if someone was calling you a dinosaur? Or does it depend on who it is?
Cliff is talking about going back to school. He is debating getting his MBA with an emphasis in one area, which would involve taking about 4 classes in that major. Or he should get the MBA and this major together, as offered at a different school? Also, how much does the school name matter now? Does it make a difference what you study at different schools?
If Clifford does go back to school, does he expect me to support him in the manner to which he is now accustomed while I am 7 months pregnant? Or will he decide to be gentlemanly and wait for his sugarmama to deliver this baby and recover sufficiently before sending me back to the mines?
And why can't we get any ripe tomatoes? Will they ever go from yellowish green to red?
That is probably the greatest question of all.
Should we let the children come this time and risk Nadia bawling on the way home? Or just Cliff and I go, and then gently break the news to the children so they can cry when they are already at home?
Is it better to let the children keep their own made up words or correct them right away, or does it depend on the word? For instance, we were discussing various dinner choices for tonight. Nadia wanted "portugeeyas". I'm probably spelling it wrong, but however you spell it, it sounds like you are eating some poor Portuguese person for dinner. Really not very appetizing to a pregnant woman who gets the image of some huge pot with a foot sticking out of it every time Nadia mentions it. She finally told us it means a quesadilla with tomato sauce, but I still can't get rid of that foot image.
This also occurs quite a bit with Benjamin, who uses the word "badoo" for Bowser of Mario fame or any other dinosaur, as well as what he calls his grandmothers. I have been too scared to ask either of these ladies what they think of this, and whether or not it should be stopped. Would you be offended if someone was calling you a dinosaur? Or does it depend on who it is?
Cliff is talking about going back to school. He is debating getting his MBA with an emphasis in one area, which would involve taking about 4 classes in that major. Or he should get the MBA and this major together, as offered at a different school? Also, how much does the school name matter now? Does it make a difference what you study at different schools?
If Clifford does go back to school, does he expect me to support him in the manner to which he is now accustomed while I am 7 months pregnant? Or will he decide to be gentlemanly and wait for his sugarmama to deliver this baby and recover sufficiently before sending me back to the mines?
And why can't we get any ripe tomatoes? Will they ever go from yellowish green to red?
That is probably the greatest question of all.
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Transfoming The IQ
I am a smart person. Really. I know I get the occasional memory lapse, but I can conveniently blame that on my pregnancy (for now). I can solve a sudoku puzzle, work out a crossword, and have even figured out Rubik's Cube. Most of the time. So why do I feel like an idiot every time I have to transform those blasted Transformer toys?
We used to have such a happy, peaceful home. And then that fated Christmas morning arrived. If only I knew what kind of damage those toys would cause. Not to the children, but to me. Brandon opened the first Transformer set and asked that they be transformed. He wouldn't open anything else until I did it.
I asked Cliff for help, since he had played with them as a boy, but he smiled at me, leaned back in his chair, and said, "This is my revenge for you making me potty train the boy."
Okay, so he didn't say that. But he might as well. What he really said was, "Babe, you're going to have to learn, because I won't be home to do it for you." What a jerk.
I have finally mastered Bumblebee, the crane guy, sporty car Decepticon guy, and the helicopter. And I did it without the instructions, because Brandon doesn't believe in keeping helpful bits of direction. But Megatron. I hate Megatron. I never really thought I would ever hate a toy, but there is a pure loathing in my soul for that piece of demon spawn.
The thing I hate most about him is that it's only supposed to take 4 steps to transform him. And I can't do it. It's like my brain stops working in between steps 3 and 4. The final product is a tank that can only fire at its wheels, instead of firing its projectile missile somewhere into the carpet that I will later find when I step on it. And it looks pigeon toed. Which is not good when you are the leader of the Decepticons and feared by both your followers and enemies. Who wants to fear a pigeon toed robot? That's right, no one.
So I am a failure. Apparently I am not smart because a toy is besting me in the intelligence department, and because I can't perform a simple task for my son. My only option is to mumble under my breath, "Wait till your father gets home." Cliff's revenge is complete.
All I can do is hope and pray this next baby is a girl, because if it is, watch out, Cliff. You have no idea what you're in for in the girly pink department.
We used to have such a happy, peaceful home. And then that fated Christmas morning arrived. If only I knew what kind of damage those toys would cause. Not to the children, but to me. Brandon opened the first Transformer set and asked that they be transformed. He wouldn't open anything else until I did it.
I asked Cliff for help, since he had played with them as a boy, but he smiled at me, leaned back in his chair, and said, "This is my revenge for you making me potty train the boy."
Okay, so he didn't say that. But he might as well. What he really said was, "Babe, you're going to have to learn, because I won't be home to do it for you." What a jerk.
I have finally mastered Bumblebee, the crane guy, sporty car Decepticon guy, and the helicopter. And I did it without the instructions, because Brandon doesn't believe in keeping helpful bits of direction. But Megatron. I hate Megatron. I never really thought I would ever hate a toy, but there is a pure loathing in my soul for that piece of demon spawn.
The thing I hate most about him is that it's only supposed to take 4 steps to transform him. And I can't do it. It's like my brain stops working in between steps 3 and 4. The final product is a tank that can only fire at its wheels, instead of firing its projectile missile somewhere into the carpet that I will later find when I step on it. And it looks pigeon toed. Which is not good when you are the leader of the Decepticons and feared by both your followers and enemies. Who wants to fear a pigeon toed robot? That's right, no one.
So I am a failure. Apparently I am not smart because a toy is besting me in the intelligence department, and because I can't perform a simple task for my son. My only option is to mumble under my breath, "Wait till your father gets home." Cliff's revenge is complete.
All I can do is hope and pray this next baby is a girl, because if it is, watch out, Cliff. You have no idea what you're in for in the girly pink department.
Monday, August 3, 2009
Some Other Sharp People and Warm River
We went to Warm River on Saturday with Jenny, Beaner and their two children. We all had a really good time. Here is a picture of our family in Warm River, which really isn't that warm at all, but gets its name because it is spring water and never freezes. This is also when I got my sunburn. Darn low necked maternity shirt.
Ben had to be held a lot of the time in the water, but finally decided to test it out. And loved it.
The kids had a great time playing in the water, and found slimy rocks, snails, and slugs which were actually leeches, but I didn't want to ruin the fun. So they were called slugs and I discreetly checked everyone to make sure no one took home a new "friend".
Four wheeling. The kids couldn't get enough of this. This is Nadia and Dad getting ready to head out. We took a very well groomed trail that is actually the remains of an old railroad bed between Yellowstone, the first ski resort in Idaho (now closed), and Idaho Falls. The dads later went on another trail that was not quite so kid friendly by themselves, and I am told that Cliff is still quite limber and graceful in his old age. I'll have to check it out sometime. ;)
Yes, Brandon looks dazed and delirious from all the fun and excitement. I wish I could show you pics of feeding the fish, but it never works. There is a little bridge area where you are not allowed to disturb the fish in any way. The trout that live here are enormous, and if you throw in a slice of bread, you understand what the phrase "feeding frenzy" means. Maybe you will have to visit and see for yourselves how beautiful and fun it is. We will definitely be going again next summer, and hopefully more than once. Warm River makes the Idaho winters worth it!Brandon, Piggy and the Tooth Fairy
I would have posted this earlier, but we have been experiencing technical difficulties with the monitor we bought 2 years ago. We tried reviving it, but no luck. Now it is dead. It was a widescreen flat panel, and I miss it terribly.Brandon lost his first tooth about a week ago. And yes, the permanent was right behind. It looks HUGE in his little mouth.
Now many of you know what cheapskates we are, and one of the areas we skim in is with the Tooth Fairy. I know lots of parents (including mine) who give children a dollar when a tooth is lost. We only give a measly 25 cents. As a result, Brandon's best friend Piggy (as in Piggy Bank) has not been feeling well lately.
Apparently, Piggy is sick. And he needs more than a quarter from the Tooth Fairy to feel better. So I have suggested that Brandon do more chores to get more quarters for that poor Piggy. He took it better than I thought he would, and every time he does a chore, he gives me an update on Piggy's health. It's really quite cute.
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