Carrie Friedman needs to get some new friends and acquaintances, and perhaps switch eye doctors and take a different yoga class too. Seriously. In what social sphere is it acceptable to, while at a party, place your hands on the belly of an acquaintance, UNDER HER SHIRT, and ask personal questions about whether or not she plans to reproduce? Or to not discipline a four-year-old who whacks someone in the face? Or respond to "I am very proud of my recent work accomplishment!" with "You'll never be happy until you have kids!" (Then again, I don't go to a lot of parties. Maybe if I did, evil spirits would possess me somehow and I'd start spouting horribly intrusive questions. Like a fountain. But probably not.)
I know that hyperbole has long been a hallmark of journalism, particularly the personal essay form of it. And I know that when you're writing a persuasive piece, everyone who has ever done you wrong, on any topic possibly related to that piece, will get a mention. And, of course, if you're writing a piece that involves taking a stance on some aspect of motherhood, every single self-centered mother you've ever come across is put front and center, making it easy to trot out the "All Mothers are Blithering Idiots, Unable to Focus on Anything but Their Own Precious Spawn" stereotype.
Whoopee! Anyway. I notice that the author lives in Los Angeles, so yeah, I'm pretty sure that she lives in a different social sphere than I do. Actually, I've noticed that most Horrible Stereotypical Parents tend to live on either coast, where it seems that people really do spend hours in line waiting to get their children into exclusive preschools, agonize over buying just the right stroller and accessories, and spent thousands, if not tens of thousands, of dollars on kids' birthday parties. Me, I live in flyover country, where, for the most part, people behave...well... normally. Strollers are purchased at Target, some schools have waiting lists but not waiting LINES, and kids' birthday parties are usually fairly simple affairs held in rec rooms and backyards, with the occasional "destination" ones at Chuck E. Cheese or that tea party place (when I was growing up, birthday parties were at the roller rink).* And, oddly enough, parents are capable of holding conversations--coherent, worthwhile ones, even--on topics other than themselves and their children. We may not read as many books as we used to, but that doesn't mean that our brains have flown out the window. Surely all mothers who can converse in a pleasant, rational manner cannot be concentrated in the Midwest?
This may be just the "Midwestern nice" talking, but you couldn't pay me to say some of the things that Friedman relates as being said to her. If someone doesn't have kids, I'm not going to ask them why they don't, or if and when they're going to. Sure, it's none of my business. More importantly, however, I don't care. Unlike the people this author knows, I don't really think that much about other people's reproductive plans, or lack thereof. I am too frackin' busy...working, playing, being a new homeowner, and, yes, parenting.
Which, although it is very noisy and involves far more bodily fluids than I would have ever imagined possible, is wonderful, and I do think that I am the happier for it. However, I think most grownups are smart enough to know what they want out of life, and whether or not that involves being a parent.** My personal views are thus: people who want kids should be able to have them, easily and in the manner of their choosing. People who don't want kids should be able to NOT have them without being asked why they aren't pregnant yet. And people who feel that their way is the One True Path to Happiness would be granted the good manners to shut up.
And people who have to contend with strangers groping them would be granted the ability to say, "Man. I have GOT to start hanging out with a different crowd."
*I realize that money is no doubt a factor in this; if I rubbed elbows with the well-monied denizens of my city, I'm sure I'd know some people who rent ten jumping castles for Suzie's birthday party.
**The rest of the grownups can be viewed on daytime talk shows, regaling the audience with Tales of Raging Dysfunction.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Monday, July 16, 2007
I: Camp Wannahockaloogie
Last week, on the way back from T-ball practice:
Boy Wonder: I am so tired! I will go to sleep! Good night, everyone! pulls hat down over face and begins to "snore" loudly
Note to the uninitiated: when Boy Wonder pretends to snore, he actually sounds like he is trying to...well...hock a loogie. A big one.
Action Hero: Cough! Cough! Garf! Haaackkkkkspl!
Me: Oh no! Is he choking? Does he have something in his throat?
Action Hero: Garf! Cough! Hahaha! Hahahah! Garf! Hacckpspl! HAHAHA! Bleh!
Me: Oh, dear God. He's trying to "snore" too.
The sound of loogie-hocking traveled merrily across the summer sky for the next few minutes. Ah, the wonder of boys...
II: Call Me
New toy: a Spiderman "cell phone." Looks sort of like a real phone. Boy Wonder has been "calling" Spiderman a whole lot this week.
"Mom? I don't think I'll call Spiderman while we're grocery shopping."
"That's fine; we've been calling him a lot. And you know, he might be busy sometimes too!"
"Mom. He's not busy. He just spends all day swinging around on his web."
III: Guess Who?
"Hello, Spiderman? Hi, it's Boy Wonder! Yeah. OK. See you later!" (sound of toy phone being hung up) "Mom? Spiderman is coming over for dinner!"
IIII: Visualize eaten peas
"I don't want my peas. I don't LIKE peas. We have begtables at school. Not peas here. I don't like peas." (sound of post-dinner Rice Krispie treat being offered) "I realize now that I like peas."
"Realize" sounds hilarious coming from a four-year-old.
IV: Gratuitous '80s Songs
Action Hero has recently developed a liking for a small stuffed Mickey Mouse, purchased for him by Grandma last year around this time. He brought it over to me one day, and I tossed out the first few bars of "Mickey." Of course, now I have to do this EVERY TIME he shows me the stuffed animal. He must like this a lot, as he keeps running over, handing me Mickey, and then standing there clapping and looking expectant.
Last week, on the way back from T-ball practice:
Boy Wonder: I am so tired! I will go to sleep! Good night, everyone! pulls hat down over face and begins to "snore" loudly
Note to the uninitiated: when Boy Wonder pretends to snore, he actually sounds like he is trying to...well...hock a loogie. A big one.
Action Hero: Cough! Cough! Garf! Haaackkkkkspl!
Me: Oh no! Is he choking? Does he have something in his throat?
Action Hero: Garf! Cough! Hahaha! Hahahah! Garf! Hacckpspl! HAHAHA! Bleh!
Me: Oh, dear God. He's trying to "snore" too.
The sound of loogie-hocking traveled merrily across the summer sky for the next few minutes. Ah, the wonder of boys...
II: Call Me
New toy: a Spiderman "cell phone." Looks sort of like a real phone. Boy Wonder has been "calling" Spiderman a whole lot this week.
"Mom? I don't think I'll call Spiderman while we're grocery shopping."
"That's fine; we've been calling him a lot. And you know, he might be busy sometimes too!"
"Mom. He's not busy. He just spends all day swinging around on his web."
III: Guess Who?
"Hello, Spiderman? Hi, it's Boy Wonder! Yeah. OK. See you later!" (sound of toy phone being hung up) "Mom? Spiderman is coming over for dinner!"
IIII: Visualize eaten peas
"I don't want my peas. I don't LIKE peas. We have begtables at school. Not peas here. I don't like peas." (sound of post-dinner Rice Krispie treat being offered) "I realize now that I like peas."
"Realize" sounds hilarious coming from a four-year-old.
IV: Gratuitous '80s Songs
Action Hero has recently developed a liking for a small stuffed Mickey Mouse, purchased for him by Grandma last year around this time. He brought it over to me one day, and I tossed out the first few bars of "Mickey." Of course, now I have to do this EVERY TIME he shows me the stuffed animal. He must like this a lot, as he keeps running over, handing me Mickey, and then standing there clapping and looking expectant.
Saturday, July 14, 2007
Then I had religion
Recent quotes from Boy Wonder on random topics:
"Mom? Winnie the Pooh is a friendly bear." (Said thoughtfully, as though he is just now realizing this about Pooh. I can't even remember the last time we watched a Pooh movie.)
"Mom? Do ducks go peepee in the grass, or in the water?"
"Mom? Do worms bite?"
"Mom? When I am 30 years old, how old will Action Hero be?"
Boy Wonder is once again having Big Thoughts in the car. (Lots of them seem to be about nature; perhaps, in thirty years or so, he'll build his own little Walden so he can focus on attaining answers.) His thoughts are about to get bigger, though. Because this fall, he'll be starting K4...at the Catholic school down the street.
During recent efforts to find quality daycare for the boys, I wasn't sure whose needs to place first. At four, Boy Wonder is now old enough to know that he's going to a different school, old enough to ask why, and old enough to miss his former caregivers and friends. (And to tell me so. Repeatedly.) On the other hand, he's four; he'll only need full-time, year-round care for at most another year. Action Hero, at just over fifteen months, won't remember much about this time, and he'll be in daycare for at least three more years. He's younger; he needs to be at a center that posts health alerts and communicates effectively with parents. I couldn't decide what to do, and found myself wishing that our school district, which does feature an after-school program, had all-day K4, rather than their current half-day program (which, being just over two hours long, isn't even half a day). Then I remembered my cousin's wife talking about enrolling their son in school, and about how some of the local Catholic schools had all-day K4. And, the next time I drove the boys to their old daycare (the bitey one), I noticed a sign saying, "Now enrolling: K4-8!"
And I called the number, and as I found out more information about the program, it sounded better and better. They have an after-school program as well, and there will probably be just 10 kids in Boy Wonder's class; much better than the two dozen or so that were on the list for Bitey Daycare's summer program. Boy Wonder and I took a tour of the school, and he said that he liked it. He seemed particularly captivated by the music room; all grades have "official" music class, and there's a separate art class once a week as well. Kids in K4 and K5 are assigned "buddies" from the upper grades, who help them with their lunch trays in the cafeteria and sit with them when the school attends Mass together. The principal is nice. It feels like a good place...as does the daycare that Action Hero will be attending once a spot opens up for him.
Of course, as it is a Catholic school, there is tuition; if you're a parish member, that tuition is cut in half. Since parents with children at the school are expected to take said children to Mass weekly, joining the parish seemed rather sensible. And it doesn't seem like a big deal, either. I'm already comfortable with most of the Ten Commandments, although now I'm going to have to work on not taking the Lord's name in vain. Keeping the Sabbath day holy should be fairly easy, especially since Boy Wonder is up by 6AM on weekends. The church is pretty, with a nice open-concept design and lots of stained glass, and the priest materialized beside us to introduce himself as soon as I filled out my sign-up form. He was quite good-natured also, particularly when listening to me explain to Boy Wonder that no, I didn't have any coins, but in any case, that fountain is not the sort that we throw coins into, and those candles are special candles that people pay to light. (Yes, that would be the holy water fount and the prayer candles.)
I'm looking forward to this. Sure, they have uniforms, but those can be purchased at Target these days and consist of navy blue pants and navy or white polos. And Boy Wonder, like Dragon, looks grand in navy blue. He'll get to make Advent chains, learn Christmas carols and all sorts of obscure hymns, and hear interesting stories.
And, last but not least, he'll no doubt come up with some REALLY interesting questions during commutes.
"Mom? Winnie the Pooh is a friendly bear." (Said thoughtfully, as though he is just now realizing this about Pooh. I can't even remember the last time we watched a Pooh movie.)
"Mom? Do ducks go peepee in the grass, or in the water?"
"Mom? Do worms bite?"
"Mom? When I am 30 years old, how old will Action Hero be?"
Boy Wonder is once again having Big Thoughts in the car. (Lots of them seem to be about nature; perhaps, in thirty years or so, he'll build his own little Walden so he can focus on attaining answers.) His thoughts are about to get bigger, though. Because this fall, he'll be starting K4...at the Catholic school down the street.
During recent efforts to find quality daycare for the boys, I wasn't sure whose needs to place first. At four, Boy Wonder is now old enough to know that he's going to a different school, old enough to ask why, and old enough to miss his former caregivers and friends. (And to tell me so. Repeatedly.) On the other hand, he's four; he'll only need full-time, year-round care for at most another year. Action Hero, at just over fifteen months, won't remember much about this time, and he'll be in daycare for at least three more years. He's younger; he needs to be at a center that posts health alerts and communicates effectively with parents. I couldn't decide what to do, and found myself wishing that our school district, which does feature an after-school program, had all-day K4, rather than their current half-day program (which, being just over two hours long, isn't even half a day). Then I remembered my cousin's wife talking about enrolling their son in school, and about how some of the local Catholic schools had all-day K4. And, the next time I drove the boys to their old daycare (the bitey one), I noticed a sign saying, "Now enrolling: K4-8!"
And I called the number, and as I found out more information about the program, it sounded better and better. They have an after-school program as well, and there will probably be just 10 kids in Boy Wonder's class; much better than the two dozen or so that were on the list for Bitey Daycare's summer program. Boy Wonder and I took a tour of the school, and he said that he liked it. He seemed particularly captivated by the music room; all grades have "official" music class, and there's a separate art class once a week as well. Kids in K4 and K5 are assigned "buddies" from the upper grades, who help them with their lunch trays in the cafeteria and sit with them when the school attends Mass together. The principal is nice. It feels like a good place...as does the daycare that Action Hero will be attending once a spot opens up for him.
Of course, as it is a Catholic school, there is tuition; if you're a parish member, that tuition is cut in half. Since parents with children at the school are expected to take said children to Mass weekly, joining the parish seemed rather sensible. And it doesn't seem like a big deal, either. I'm already comfortable with most of the Ten Commandments, although now I'm going to have to work on not taking the Lord's name in vain. Keeping the Sabbath day holy should be fairly easy, especially since Boy Wonder is up by 6AM on weekends. The church is pretty, with a nice open-concept design and lots of stained glass, and the priest materialized beside us to introduce himself as soon as I filled out my sign-up form. He was quite good-natured also, particularly when listening to me explain to Boy Wonder that no, I didn't have any coins, but in any case, that fountain is not the sort that we throw coins into, and those candles are special candles that people pay to light. (Yes, that would be the holy water fount and the prayer candles.)
I'm looking forward to this. Sure, they have uniforms, but those can be purchased at Target these days and consist of navy blue pants and navy or white polos. And Boy Wonder, like Dragon, looks grand in navy blue. He'll get to make Advent chains, learn Christmas carols and all sorts of obscure hymns, and hear interesting stories.
And, last but not least, he'll no doubt come up with some REALLY interesting questions during commutes.
Saturday, July 07, 2007
Happy birthday!
Happy birthday to Wordwitch! Your birthday this year is so auspicious, hundreds of thousands of people are getting married today. Apparently, it's a very powerful day for those who believe in numerology. Or slot machines. Anyway, all good wishes to people getting married, believing in numerology, or playing the slots today. But even better good (huh?) wishes to you; hopefully Hawkins and Gomez managed to work up a special day for you.
As she often does, Wordwitch brings up a good point. Those of us who work full-time outside of the home spend A LOT OF DAMN TIME at work. Having cordial relationships with your coworkers is quite pleasant, particularly if you do something that involves hours spent staring at a computer screen or pile of papers and doesn't require a lot of face-to-face interaction. Being cordial does not take a lot of effort (well, at least I don't think it does), and everyone HAS a birthday; it's not that hard to remember when someone's is, and how (or if, for all you Jehovah's Witnesses out there) they might like it to be recognized.
Having friendly relationships with your coworkers is even nicer. I don't know about you, but I like to know all kinds of things about my coworkers: where they commute from, where they hail from originally, what they studied in school (I find that particularly fascinating: not only what they studied, but how they ended up in the current job if it's not something immediately related to what they studied), if they watch TV and what shows they like, if they enjoy reading and what sort of books they like, etc. It turns out that I'm far more social than I would have thought, had you asked me back when I was in high school wearing my black trench coat. Or maybe I'm just practical. I'm spending at least forty hours a week working in close proximity to these people, and I like my workplaces harmonious, thanks.
I've had both "cordial" and "friendly" workplaces (shoot, even when I had that temp job back in February, I ended up in a department full of people who watched Lost and 24, and those are great icebreakers right there) and haven't often realized that I've been fortunate to have such. Thanks for reminding me. May your office wise up and get cordial. If they don't, send them to me for lessons.
As she often does, Wordwitch brings up a good point. Those of us who work full-time outside of the home spend A LOT OF DAMN TIME at work. Having cordial relationships with your coworkers is quite pleasant, particularly if you do something that involves hours spent staring at a computer screen or pile of papers and doesn't require a lot of face-to-face interaction. Being cordial does not take a lot of effort (well, at least I don't think it does), and everyone HAS a birthday; it's not that hard to remember when someone's is, and how (or if, for all you Jehovah's Witnesses out there) they might like it to be recognized.
Having friendly relationships with your coworkers is even nicer. I don't know about you, but I like to know all kinds of things about my coworkers: where they commute from, where they hail from originally, what they studied in school (I find that particularly fascinating: not only what they studied, but how they ended up in the current job if it's not something immediately related to what they studied), if they watch TV and what shows they like, if they enjoy reading and what sort of books they like, etc. It turns out that I'm far more social than I would have thought, had you asked me back when I was in high school wearing my black trench coat. Or maybe I'm just practical. I'm spending at least forty hours a week working in close proximity to these people, and I like my workplaces harmonious, thanks.
I've had both "cordial" and "friendly" workplaces (shoot, even when I had that temp job back in February, I ended up in a department full of people who watched Lost and 24, and those are great icebreakers right there) and haven't often realized that I've been fortunate to have such. Thanks for reminding me. May your office wise up and get cordial. If they don't, send them to me for lessons.
Thursday, July 05, 2007
I get knocked down
Update on the previous: today was the boys' last day at Reality Bites. Earlier this week, enough red flags began waving at once that I said the hell with it, called their old daycare center, and asked if they could chill there awhile until a spot for Action Hero opens up at another center closer to home. This one comes recommended by Once Former, About to be Current Again Daycare, and is run by a nice director who was kind enough to sit down with me and talk about her center when I arrived at ten minutes before closing accompanied by two rambunctious children who converged on the center's snack cracker basket like a horde of ravening wolves. Future Center won't have a spot open for a while, so once again the boys and I will be spending a lot of time in the car. But at least we'll be spending our time going to, and coming from, somwhere that they will receive proper supervision. But...wait! I've only mentioned a spot for Action Hero! What will Boy Wonder be doing this fall, you ask?
Watch this space.
In the meantime, having recently posted about the awesomely intelligent Boy Wonder, I'd like to dedicate this post to the little guy, Action Hero, who remains a sweet, smiley, mellow toddler despite the recent high-stress daycare experience.
Today, Action Hero is fifteen months old! Developmental check: just as physical as his big brother was at this age. During a recent visit, a friend mentioned that her friend's daughter, just turned one, could now stand on her own. Well, so can Action Hero...on the coffee table. After he climbs up there all by himself. I had to do a little furniture rearranging after I observed him trying to step right up onto an end table from his then-current perch on the toybox. He can also climb onto the futon, couch, and recliner, and then will proceed to dance on all of them. It's no wonder that his first phrase is "Dit dow!" I'm not sure if he's shooting for "Sit down!" or "Get down!" Could be either, as he hears both frequently.
That's his only phrase, but he has a few other words. Oddly enough, four of them (hi, uh-oh, dog, and ball) were Boy Wonder's first words too. Another one, of course, is "no," used vociferously and in context. His most recent, and most important (ahem) word is Mama, said so clearly that in one instance I thought Boy Wonder had called me. I am rather impressed with that last one, as it took Boy Wonder a darned long time to get around to the "M" sounds and words. Of course, he didn't have another small person, running around shouting "Mama! Mom! MOMMY!" every three minutes, to provide an example.
He is very clingy and cuddly at the moment...could be recent daycare stress, or could just be what toddlers do at this age. If he is tired, hungry, angry, lonely, or otherwise in discomfort, nothing will do but the Shining Maternal Presence. If the Shining Maternal Presence leaves the room, or is in the room but not holding him, gently patting his hair while he sucks his thumb and rests his head on her shoulder, the tiny tears flow like a river. When the Shining Maternal Presence must perform domestic duties, such as preparing a meal or washing the dishes, Action Hero must be right there with her, "helping" by noisily rattling pots, pans, Tupperware, and kitchen utenils. (The other day, he grabbed a large Tupperware container and filled it methodically with smaller containers and container lids. If I were writing a parenting memoir, I'd use that as an example of his brilliance: why, my child doesn't need TOYS! He can make a toy out of ANYTHING! Since I blog to an audience of perhaps five, I'll just say that it was darned cute.)
Action Hero likes his older brother, and wants to do everything he does. He is sometimes happy to play with him, and will cheerily subject to being covered by a blanket, given a stuffed animal, and told, "Go to bed, Action Hero! It's sleepytime!" Other times, he will get up, grab the blanket, and run away, oblivious to the cries of, "Mom! Action Hero isn't playing! It's his pretend bedtime and he WON'T GO TO BED!" (Gosh, I wonder where he gets that.) He plays peek-a-boo with great flair, likes stuffed animals, and still has a fondness for plastic toys that beep, talk, and sing. And he just loves, for some reason, the Dora theme song. Boy Wonder recently experienced a resurgence of Dora love, and we had to get some Dora movies from the library. Now I think we should watch Dora movies all the time, because once that song starts, Action Hero begins dancing and clapping, whirling crazily around the living room and laughing like the happiest toddler in the universe.
Dance on, little guy!
Watch this space.
In the meantime, having recently posted about the awesomely intelligent Boy Wonder, I'd like to dedicate this post to the little guy, Action Hero, who remains a sweet, smiley, mellow toddler despite the recent high-stress daycare experience.
Today, Action Hero is fifteen months old! Developmental check: just as physical as his big brother was at this age. During a recent visit, a friend mentioned that her friend's daughter, just turned one, could now stand on her own. Well, so can Action Hero...on the coffee table. After he climbs up there all by himself. I had to do a little furniture rearranging after I observed him trying to step right up onto an end table from his then-current perch on the toybox. He can also climb onto the futon, couch, and recliner, and then will proceed to dance on all of them. It's no wonder that his first phrase is "Dit dow!" I'm not sure if he's shooting for "Sit down!" or "Get down!" Could be either, as he hears both frequently.
That's his only phrase, but he has a few other words. Oddly enough, four of them (hi, uh-oh, dog, and ball) were Boy Wonder's first words too. Another one, of course, is "no," used vociferously and in context. His most recent, and most important (ahem) word is Mama, said so clearly that in one instance I thought Boy Wonder had called me. I am rather impressed with that last one, as it took Boy Wonder a darned long time to get around to the "M" sounds and words. Of course, he didn't have another small person, running around shouting "Mama! Mom! MOMMY!" every three minutes, to provide an example.
He is very clingy and cuddly at the moment...could be recent daycare stress, or could just be what toddlers do at this age. If he is tired, hungry, angry, lonely, or otherwise in discomfort, nothing will do but the Shining Maternal Presence. If the Shining Maternal Presence leaves the room, or is in the room but not holding him, gently patting his hair while he sucks his thumb and rests his head on her shoulder, the tiny tears flow like a river. When the Shining Maternal Presence must perform domestic duties, such as preparing a meal or washing the dishes, Action Hero must be right there with her, "helping" by noisily rattling pots, pans, Tupperware, and kitchen utenils. (The other day, he grabbed a large Tupperware container and filled it methodically with smaller containers and container lids. If I were writing a parenting memoir, I'd use that as an example of his brilliance: why, my child doesn't need TOYS! He can make a toy out of ANYTHING! Since I blog to an audience of perhaps five, I'll just say that it was darned cute.)
Action Hero likes his older brother, and wants to do everything he does. He is sometimes happy to play with him, and will cheerily subject to being covered by a blanket, given a stuffed animal, and told, "Go to bed, Action Hero! It's sleepytime!" Other times, he will get up, grab the blanket, and run away, oblivious to the cries of, "Mom! Action Hero isn't playing! It's his pretend bedtime and he WON'T GO TO BED!" (Gosh, I wonder where he gets that.) He plays peek-a-boo with great flair, likes stuffed animals, and still has a fondness for plastic toys that beep, talk, and sing. And he just loves, for some reason, the Dora theme song. Boy Wonder recently experienced a resurgence of Dora love, and we had to get some Dora movies from the library. Now I think we should watch Dora movies all the time, because once that song starts, Action Hero begins dancing and clapping, whirling crazily around the living room and laughing like the happiest toddler in the universe.
Dance on, little guy!
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Bite me: This time it's personal
(Note: This ought to explain why I've been scarce lately. Well, this and the vomiting, fevers, and general malaise.)
Yo District Manager (don't have a name yet),
(Background about my kids, their names and ages, and where and when my kids have attended Daycare Centers. Edited to be concise. I was kind enough not to charge myself freelance rates for the editing services.)
I would like to bring an issue to your attention. On May 31, upon arrival in the toddler room, I noticed a large bite mark on the back of my son's calf. I pointed it out to the two staff members, who were unaware of it, and mentioned it to an office staff member on the way out. On Thursday, June 7, while bathing my son, I noticed a bite mark on his back. My children do not attend the center on Fridays, so I called the next morning to let the director know. The next Tuesday, June 12, I arrived at pickup time to find two fresh bite marks, along with what appeared to be another small bite, on the front of his shin. This time, the bites were accompanied by an incident report, which explained that another child had bitten my son as he walked up the playground stairs.
At this point, as I felt that three bites in three weeks seemed excessive, I asked an office staff member (the center director had left for the day) if there might be a child with a biting problem. She said yes, there was. When I spoke with the morning-shift teachers in the toddler room, they gave the impression that they agreed with her.
Over the next couple of days, my son's shin became quite bruised, and I called the center director to express my concern again. At pickup time, she approached me to say that she understood my concern, and wanted to reassure me that it was not the same child each time. I am not sure how she was able to say this with such confidence, as two of the three bite marks had not been noticed by staff members, and decided to ask the toddler teachers to clarify on Monday. They explained that there was not actually a child with biting issues in my son's classroom, but in the next age group up, and the age groups were sometimes combined oustide on the playground or in the late afternoons. This made me wonder if levels of supervision were adequate during the times that these age groups were combined.
My concerns intensified the next day, Tuesday, June 19, when once again I found a bite mark, this time on my son's wrist (it featured more teeth marks than he has teeth, so it was not self-inflicted). Again, there was no incident report. I reported the bite to the center director the next morning, and she said that she would talk with the teachers about it.
Over the weekend, I noticed a sore, with a scab forming over it, on one of my son's fingers; since the daycare had not mentioned this, I thought he'd injured his finger at home. I was very disappointed when I arrived this morning and the teacher informed me that there was an incident report for me, dated last Thursday, June 21: another child had bitten my son on the finger. I took the report to the center director immediately to inquire why I had not received the report earlier, as it is now Tuesday, and mentioned that I was particularly disappointed because this bite had obviously broken the skin and I had not been informed in a timely fashion. She said that sometimes they forgot to leave the reports with the afternoon teachers.
I do not want to overreact; I am well aware that children, particularly those in this age group, are very oral and frequently express such by biting. However, my fourteen-month old, one of the younger toddlers in his classroom, has been bitten five times in four weeks. The center director's handling of the matter seems to so far consist of reassuring me that he is not always bitten by the same child. Again, since three of the five bites were not observed until I found them, I don't see how that can be stated with any accuracy, nor do I find it particularly relevant; I would think that one child being bitten five times over four weeks is problematic no matter what the situation. If one child has biting issues, that needs to be handled with the child's parents. If multiple children are biting with this frequency, the level of supervision in the toddler room needs to be addressed.
Thank you. I look forward to hearing from you.
Yo District Manager (don't have a name yet),
(Background about my kids, their names and ages, and where and when my kids have attended Daycare Centers. Edited to be concise. I was kind enough not to charge myself freelance rates for the editing services.)
I would like to bring an issue to your attention. On May 31, upon arrival in the toddler room, I noticed a large bite mark on the back of my son's calf. I pointed it out to the two staff members, who were unaware of it, and mentioned it to an office staff member on the way out. On Thursday, June 7, while bathing my son, I noticed a bite mark on his back. My children do not attend the center on Fridays, so I called the next morning to let the director know. The next Tuesday, June 12, I arrived at pickup time to find two fresh bite marks, along with what appeared to be another small bite, on the front of his shin. This time, the bites were accompanied by an incident report, which explained that another child had bitten my son as he walked up the playground stairs.
At this point, as I felt that three bites in three weeks seemed excessive, I asked an office staff member (the center director had left for the day) if there might be a child with a biting problem. She said yes, there was. When I spoke with the morning-shift teachers in the toddler room, they gave the impression that they agreed with her.
Over the next couple of days, my son's shin became quite bruised, and I called the center director to express my concern again. At pickup time, she approached me to say that she understood my concern, and wanted to reassure me that it was not the same child each time. I am not sure how she was able to say this with such confidence, as two of the three bite marks had not been noticed by staff members, and decided to ask the toddler teachers to clarify on Monday. They explained that there was not actually a child with biting issues in my son's classroom, but in the next age group up, and the age groups were sometimes combined oustide on the playground or in the late afternoons. This made me wonder if levels of supervision were adequate during the times that these age groups were combined.
My concerns intensified the next day, Tuesday, June 19, when once again I found a bite mark, this time on my son's wrist (it featured more teeth marks than he has teeth, so it was not self-inflicted). Again, there was no incident report. I reported the bite to the center director the next morning, and she said that she would talk with the teachers about it.
Over the weekend, I noticed a sore, with a scab forming over it, on one of my son's fingers; since the daycare had not mentioned this, I thought he'd injured his finger at home. I was very disappointed when I arrived this morning and the teacher informed me that there was an incident report for me, dated last Thursday, June 21: another child had bitten my son on the finger. I took the report to the center director immediately to inquire why I had not received the report earlier, as it is now Tuesday, and mentioned that I was particularly disappointed because this bite had obviously broken the skin and I had not been informed in a timely fashion. She said that sometimes they forgot to leave the reports with the afternoon teachers.
I do not want to overreact; I am well aware that children, particularly those in this age group, are very oral and frequently express such by biting. However, my fourteen-month old, one of the younger toddlers in his classroom, has been bitten five times in four weeks. The center director's handling of the matter seems to so far consist of reassuring me that he is not always bitten by the same child. Again, since three of the five bites were not observed until I found them, I don't see how that can be stated with any accuracy, nor do I find it particularly relevant; I would think that one child being bitten five times over four weeks is problematic no matter what the situation. If one child has biting issues, that needs to be handled with the child's parents. If multiple children are biting with this frequency, the level of supervision in the toddler room needs to be addressed.
Thank you. I look forward to hearing from you.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
If you say it loud enough, you'll always sound precocious...
At Boy Wonder's four-year checkup, the doctor began with a series of questions. Could he walk forward and backward, jump, and hop on one foot? Why, yes. Sometimes all at the same time while standing on the couch. Could he speak clearly, so that strangers could understand him? Check. At the dentist's office: "Hi, Dr. Dentist! I'm BoyWonder Last Name! Are you going to check my teeth?" Dentist to Dragon: "Wow, he's really outgoing. He's only four?" At the mall: "I'm Boy Wonder. I'm the one who's bigger and has teeth! He's the baby brother. We call him Action Hero and he has four teeth." (In response to "Aw, what a cute pair of brothers!") Could he draw with a crayon? Yeah; actually, he can write his NAME with a crayon. (Or a marker or a pencil. I just about fell over the first time I saw him write his name; I still have the name-tag sticker he wrote it on.) Build a tower of blocks? Check. Name at least four colors? More like all of them, for a while now. I still remember going Christmas shopping with him in the stroller, a few months before he turned three; we were walking past display tables draped in various colorful cloths, and he was pointing and shouting, "Rett! Lello! Green! Hurple! Bew!"
The questions went on; I don't remember any more of them, but the answer to most was, "Yes, with flair." This doesn't mean that I think he's a Gifted Prodigy, although I think he's pretty smart; he's been doing curriculum-ish stuff at daycare for a while, and he's got a good memory, like someone else I know. (Blush.) He is pretty verbal and outgoing, though. And watching him learn, listening to him ask questions, watching him puzzle over the answers...all fascinating. One of the most enjoyable things about being a parent is getting a crash course in Early Childhood Development.
There's a lot to absorb, though, and the wires do get crossed sometimes. Please enjoy these recent examples.
We've been talking about days of the week a lot recently (Friday is Grandma Day, Saturday and Sunday are days when Mommy and Daddy are home and not at their offices, Monday is a school day). He also likes to count.
"And then there's sixteen. What comes after sixteen?"
"Seventeen! Eighteen! Nineteen!"
"Wow, you're doing great. What comes after nineteen?"
"Friday!"
From the scientific frontier:
"Mom, mosquitos suck butts, right?"
Body art:
(patting Dragon's tattoo) "Daddy has a dragon on his arm." (pause) "When I grow up, will I have a dragon on my arm?" (Me: "Well, if you want one. But someone will have to draw it with special ink...but not until you're at least eighteen, or until you...oh, never mind.")
The questions went on; I don't remember any more of them, but the answer to most was, "Yes, with flair." This doesn't mean that I think he's a Gifted Prodigy, although I think he's pretty smart; he's been doing curriculum-ish stuff at daycare for a while, and he's got a good memory, like someone else I know. (Blush.) He is pretty verbal and outgoing, though. And watching him learn, listening to him ask questions, watching him puzzle over the answers...all fascinating. One of the most enjoyable things about being a parent is getting a crash course in Early Childhood Development.
There's a lot to absorb, though, and the wires do get crossed sometimes. Please enjoy these recent examples.
We've been talking about days of the week a lot recently (Friday is Grandma Day, Saturday and Sunday are days when Mommy and Daddy are home and not at their offices, Monday is a school day). He also likes to count.
"And then there's sixteen. What comes after sixteen?"
"Seventeen! Eighteen! Nineteen!"
"Wow, you're doing great. What comes after nineteen?"
"Friday!"
From the scientific frontier:
"Mom, mosquitos suck butts, right?"
Body art:
(patting Dragon's tattoo) "Daddy has a dragon on his arm." (pause) "When I grow up, will I have a dragon on my arm?" (Me: "Well, if you want one. But someone will have to draw it with special ink...but not until you're at least eighteen, or until you...oh, never mind.")
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Bite me
First things first! I have recently hit two big blog milestones: I recently whizzed right past my 100th post without even noticing. Go me! And, not to detract from that milestone, please enjoy the first gratuitous use of "bitch," available in the comments. Go Anonymous!
And serious things second.
I have been so busy worrying, for the past couple of months, about the kids getting undetectable bat bites. Meanwhile, I'd forgotten to worry about a slightly more common type of bite: the HUMAN bite.
Kids, particularly toddlers, bite each other frequently. I was shocked and horrified the first time it happened to Boy Wonder; he must have been about 15 or 16 months old, and another child at his daycare bit him. Which is a tough age, for the bitee and for the biter. There's not really a lot that can be done at that age; the daycare center will of course inform the parents that their child bit another kid, and the parents can talk themselves blue in the face about how we don't bite our friends, but then the child will simply forget about it until the next day. And it's my impression that unless the issue becomes very serious, with a child biting constantly, breaking skin and drawing blood, the daycare center isn't able to do much except keep an eye on the biter and fill out reports every time someone is bitten. After enough paperwork has stacked up, I imagine it's probably suggested to the parents that the other children in the classroom might be better off without mini-Dracula. It never got to that point with Boy Wonder; no one in his class was a serious biter, and over perhaps two years with a bunch of other toddlers, he was bitten perhaps four or five times. Overall, not bad.
However. The boys have been at their new daycare for six weeks now, and three of those weeks have featured bite marks for Action Hero. And the first two times, the teachers didn't even know that he'd been bitten. I am not quite sure how they did not notice the first time, since he was wearing shorts and had a BIG HONKING FRESH BITE MARK on the back of his leg. The second time, I found a bite mark on his back later in the evening, and called the center in the morning to let them know. They were apologetic, and mentioned that since Action Hero is such a mellow kid, he probably hadn't even cried about being bitten. Which may be the case, as he is quite a laid-back child (except when I try put him down so I can, I don't know, make dinner or pick crackers off the floor, whereupon he turns into a tiny red-faced screaming creature and clings to my legs, but that's a story for another time). Still, BIG HONKING BITE MARK. Seriously.
At least the one today was observed and written up right away; apparently, the toddlers were out on the playground, and Action Hero was walking up the steps when another kid grabbed his leg and bit him. Twice. Pretty hard, judging by the way his shin looks: no broken skin, but it's almost bruisy-looking. Two little rings of teeth marks, with another half-bite in the center of one of the rings. Good grief. And I was pretty irritated, and explained how I am aware that kids bite each other, and certainly my older son had been bitten a time or three, but four bites in less than three weeks seemed a little excessive, and did any of the toddlers perhaps have biting issues? And they said yes, actually; one of the toddlers had been biting rather a lot lately; the mother had been informed, and just didn't know what to do about it anymore.
I'm not sure what to do, either. Yes, kids bite, and while I was never pleased when Boy Wonder was bitten, it was infrequent enough that I didn't consider it a serious problem. Action Hero getting bitten weekly, though (and he's only there four days out of five)--that's a problem. I hope the daycare handles it properly; I'm already wishing that their former daycare would vanish from its present location (which is in exactly the opposite direction from my office) and materialize at the end of our block, so they could attend that one again. This does not help much.
And serious things second.
I have been so busy worrying, for the past couple of months, about the kids getting undetectable bat bites. Meanwhile, I'd forgotten to worry about a slightly more common type of bite: the HUMAN bite.
Kids, particularly toddlers, bite each other frequently. I was shocked and horrified the first time it happened to Boy Wonder; he must have been about 15 or 16 months old, and another child at his daycare bit him. Which is a tough age, for the bitee and for the biter. There's not really a lot that can be done at that age; the daycare center will of course inform the parents that their child bit another kid, and the parents can talk themselves blue in the face about how we don't bite our friends, but then the child will simply forget about it until the next day. And it's my impression that unless the issue becomes very serious, with a child biting constantly, breaking skin and drawing blood, the daycare center isn't able to do much except keep an eye on the biter and fill out reports every time someone is bitten. After enough paperwork has stacked up, I imagine it's probably suggested to the parents that the other children in the classroom might be better off without mini-Dracula. It never got to that point with Boy Wonder; no one in his class was a serious biter, and over perhaps two years with a bunch of other toddlers, he was bitten perhaps four or five times. Overall, not bad.
However. The boys have been at their new daycare for six weeks now, and three of those weeks have featured bite marks for Action Hero. And the first two times, the teachers didn't even know that he'd been bitten. I am not quite sure how they did not notice the first time, since he was wearing shorts and had a BIG HONKING FRESH BITE MARK on the back of his leg. The second time, I found a bite mark on his back later in the evening, and called the center in the morning to let them know. They were apologetic, and mentioned that since Action Hero is such a mellow kid, he probably hadn't even cried about being bitten. Which may be the case, as he is quite a laid-back child (except when I try put him down so I can, I don't know, make dinner or pick crackers off the floor, whereupon he turns into a tiny red-faced screaming creature and clings to my legs, but that's a story for another time). Still, BIG HONKING BITE MARK. Seriously.
At least the one today was observed and written up right away; apparently, the toddlers were out on the playground, and Action Hero was walking up the steps when another kid grabbed his leg and bit him. Twice. Pretty hard, judging by the way his shin looks: no broken skin, but it's almost bruisy-looking. Two little rings of teeth marks, with another half-bite in the center of one of the rings. Good grief. And I was pretty irritated, and explained how I am aware that kids bite each other, and certainly my older son had been bitten a time or three, but four bites in less than three weeks seemed a little excessive, and did any of the toddlers perhaps have biting issues? And they said yes, actually; one of the toddlers had been biting rather a lot lately; the mother had been informed, and just didn't know what to do about it anymore.
I'm not sure what to do, either. Yes, kids bite, and while I was never pleased when Boy Wonder was bitten, it was infrequent enough that I didn't consider it a serious problem. Action Hero getting bitten weekly, though (and he's only there four days out of five)--that's a problem. I hope the daycare handles it properly; I'm already wishing that their former daycare would vanish from its present location (which is in exactly the opposite direction from my office) and materialize at the end of our block, so they could attend that one again. This does not help much.
Saturday, June 02, 2007
This is your captain speaking?
Not QUITE the result I expected. Thanks to Wordwitch for the link!
Your results:
You are James T. Kirk (Captain)
Click here to take the Star Trek Personality Test
Your results:
You are James T. Kirk (Captain)
| You are often exaggerated and over-the-top in your speech and expressions. You are a romantic at heart and a natural leader.  |
Click here to take the Star Trek Personality Test
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Background noise
So, I think I'm going to read another parenting book.
Wait! Before you tell me that I'd be better off sticking a nail file up my nose, let me explain. I just read an essay by this woman, and did not fling the magazine containing said essay across the room in disgust. In fact, I said, "Hmm. That is a topic that I've often thought about. I would not object to reading more of her work."
Here is the essay...oh wait, that's not all of it. Well, here's the essay's introduction, then. Sorry.
And this is, indeed, a topic that I've often thought about. Or, at least, I've often wondered whether people think the boys are adopted. I am about as white as you can get; my larger veins, in fact, are quite visible through my skin. True story: during the days of retail and slightly less tequila, a coworker said one day, "Hey, you have some blue crayon or marker on your face!" I went into the restroom to investigate, since it wasn't like I carried a pack of Crayolas around the store with me, came back out, and said, "Jenn. That's a vein. I don't think I'll wash it off." And she was just entranced, saying, "That's your VEIN? Really? I've never SEEN a person with such prominent veins!" She rattled on in that (oh no) vein (sorry) until I felt like a circus freak. Fortunately, that was before I wore glasses; now, my glasses cover up the most prominent vein, and no one has told me to wash the marker off my face in years. Or maybe I just work with people whose brain-to-mouth filters are in better operational order.
Anyway. I have brown hair, hazel eyes, and pale skin that sunburns easily. Dragon is half Filipino, with black hair, brown eyes, and a tan (but during his baby and toddler years, his skin was paler). And the boys are tiny little copies of him; the resemblances are eerie. Action Hero looks just like Boy Wonder did at the same age (he wears a lot of hand-me-downs, so pictures are extra-eerie). Boy Wonder looks just like Dragon's baby and kid pictures. Clearly, they are all related.
I seem to run across people with better manners, though, because no one has ever asked me the question that spurs the author's essay. Have they assumed my kids are of a particular ethnicity? Sure. Boy Wonder has been greeted in Spanish on a few occasions, and I think in Chinese a couple of times. He was even recognized as Filipino once. At the hospital where he was born, the nurses and techs on the maternity floor would go see the babies in the nursery, so they could chat with the new mothers about the new babies, and one of my techs was Filipino. She was utterly delighted about the fact that Boy Wonder was, too, and brought me all sorts of extra stuff--I got piles of graham crackers and little cartons of grape juice, and left the hospital with two free diaper bags.
Perhaps I have an aura that says, "Keep the obnoxious commentary to yourself." Many women write about total!strangers! asking to touch their pregnant bellies, and that never happened to me. So far, no one has criticized my kids' behavior in stores, restaurants, or other public venues (although now that Boy Wonder is ridiculously verbal and amazingly contrary, and is accompanied by a vocal toddler who likes to climb, I'm sure our day is coming). Instead of, "Such beautiful children! Where did you get them?" I get, "Such beautiful children! And your husband must be...Latino? Or Asian?" I suppose even that could be considered rude, in a way; it's still saying, "Tell me about your child's ethnic background!" Which is not necessarily anyone else's business. When in doubt, say, "What a cute child! You must be very proud."
At any rate...where did my point go, again? I'll let you know after I read a couple of this author's books. Somehow, I think I'll find them more enjoyable than I found the other ones...
*(I do have an essay topic of my own, though; someday, I'll write one called, "No, They're Both Boys." Remember that black hair? The boys have lots of it, and always have. Apparently, people are not used to seeing boy babies with hair, because I have gotten, "Oh, what a lovely little one! Look at the smile on her!" more than once. Not about Boy Wonder now, of course. But once, when he was a baby, a woman and her daughter, in front of us in the grocery store line, held a lengthy conversation in which they tried to decide just how to phrase their cute-baby compliment. And Action Hero has certainly gotten his share of "Oh, she's adorable!" comments. I've never quite understood it; sure, the boys have more hair than many grown men do, and Action Hero's curls rather charmingly, but their clothes are plastered with trucks, dinosaurs, and Spiderman. They've always looked boyish to me.)
Wait! Before you tell me that I'd be better off sticking a nail file up my nose, let me explain. I just read an essay by this woman, and did not fling the magazine containing said essay across the room in disgust. In fact, I said, "Hmm. That is a topic that I've often thought about. I would not object to reading more of her work."
Here is the essay...oh wait, that's not all of it. Well, here's the essay's introduction, then. Sorry.
And this is, indeed, a topic that I've often thought about. Or, at least, I've often wondered whether people think the boys are adopted. I am about as white as you can get; my larger veins, in fact, are quite visible through my skin. True story: during the days of retail and slightly less tequila, a coworker said one day, "Hey, you have some blue crayon or marker on your face!" I went into the restroom to investigate, since it wasn't like I carried a pack of Crayolas around the store with me, came back out, and said, "Jenn. That's a vein. I don't think I'll wash it off." And she was just entranced, saying, "That's your VEIN? Really? I've never SEEN a person with such prominent veins!" She rattled on in that (oh no) vein (sorry) until I felt like a circus freak. Fortunately, that was before I wore glasses; now, my glasses cover up the most prominent vein, and no one has told me to wash the marker off my face in years. Or maybe I just work with people whose brain-to-mouth filters are in better operational order.
Anyway. I have brown hair, hazel eyes, and pale skin that sunburns easily. Dragon is half Filipino, with black hair, brown eyes, and a tan (but during his baby and toddler years, his skin was paler). And the boys are tiny little copies of him; the resemblances are eerie. Action Hero looks just like Boy Wonder did at the same age (he wears a lot of hand-me-downs, so pictures are extra-eerie). Boy Wonder looks just like Dragon's baby and kid pictures. Clearly, they are all related.
I seem to run across people with better manners, though, because no one has ever asked me the question that spurs the author's essay. Have they assumed my kids are of a particular ethnicity? Sure. Boy Wonder has been greeted in Spanish on a few occasions, and I think in Chinese a couple of times. He was even recognized as Filipino once. At the hospital where he was born, the nurses and techs on the maternity floor would go see the babies in the nursery, so they could chat with the new mothers about the new babies, and one of my techs was Filipino. She was utterly delighted about the fact that Boy Wonder was, too, and brought me all sorts of extra stuff--I got piles of graham crackers and little cartons of grape juice, and left the hospital with two free diaper bags.
Perhaps I have an aura that says, "Keep the obnoxious commentary to yourself." Many women write about total!strangers! asking to touch their pregnant bellies, and that never happened to me. So far, no one has criticized my kids' behavior in stores, restaurants, or other public venues (although now that Boy Wonder is ridiculously verbal and amazingly contrary, and is accompanied by a vocal toddler who likes to climb, I'm sure our day is coming). Instead of, "Such beautiful children! Where did you get them?" I get, "Such beautiful children! And your husband must be...Latino? Or Asian?" I suppose even that could be considered rude, in a way; it's still saying, "Tell me about your child's ethnic background!" Which is not necessarily anyone else's business. When in doubt, say, "What a cute child! You must be very proud."
At any rate...where did my point go, again? I'll let you know after I read a couple of this author's books. Somehow, I think I'll find them more enjoyable than I found the other ones...
*(I do have an essay topic of my own, though; someday, I'll write one called, "No, They're Both Boys." Remember that black hair? The boys have lots of it, and always have. Apparently, people are not used to seeing boy babies with hair, because I have gotten, "Oh, what a lovely little one! Look at the smile on her!" more than once. Not about Boy Wonder now, of course. But once, when he was a baby, a woman and her daughter, in front of us in the grocery store line, held a lengthy conversation in which they tried to decide just how to phrase their cute-baby compliment. And Action Hero has certainly gotten his share of "Oh, she's adorable!" comments. I've never quite understood it; sure, the boys have more hair than many grown men do, and Action Hero's curls rather charmingly, but their clothes are plastered with trucks, dinosaurs, and Spiderman. They've always looked boyish to me.)
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Lost in thought
Random thoughts on the season finale. Hopefully, some of you watch the show?
1. Dominic Monaghan must be BFF with the producers and screenwriters, because Charlie got one heck of a sendoff. Nobly volunteering for a suicide mission, having several chances to change his mind and not changing it...and then finding out that he was the right one for the mission, because I don't think anyone else on that island played the piano. I'm somewhat sad; I always liked the character.
2. I will assume that Walt (no wonder they shuffled his character off; the actor's growth really outpaced the character there!) told Locke that the boat was not a Happy Rescue Boat. I will assume this because I like Locke even more than I liked the previously mentioned character.
3. No, I don't have any guesses as to who was in the coffin. Looked like someone short, though, which sort of lets out Saywer and Locke.
4. Are we sure that Mikhail's name is not Rasputin? Good grief. Did he die in the grenade blast too, or is he going to chase Desmond to the surface?
5. I briefly wondered if the mother/son accident victims were Claire and Aaron, once I realized that it was a reverse flashback episode.
6. My own personal theory, which is probably utterly ridiculous: Ben is not in charge of the Others, although he's welcome to think that he is. Richard is really in control and has always been. Ben is an experiment, meant to determine just how crazy someone will become, and how far he will go, given the right circumstances.
1. Dominic Monaghan must be BFF with the producers and screenwriters, because Charlie got one heck of a sendoff. Nobly volunteering for a suicide mission, having several chances to change his mind and not changing it...and then finding out that he was the right one for the mission, because I don't think anyone else on that island played the piano. I'm somewhat sad; I always liked the character.
2. I will assume that Walt (no wonder they shuffled his character off; the actor's growth really outpaced the character there!) told Locke that the boat was not a Happy Rescue Boat. I will assume this because I like Locke even more than I liked the previously mentioned character.
3. No, I don't have any guesses as to who was in the coffin. Looked like someone short, though, which sort of lets out Saywer and Locke.
4. Are we sure that Mikhail's name is not Rasputin? Good grief. Did he die in the grenade blast too, or is he going to chase Desmond to the surface?
5. I briefly wondered if the mother/son accident victims were Claire and Aaron, once I realized that it was a reverse flashback episode.
6. My own personal theory, which is probably utterly ridiculous: Ben is not in charge of the Others, although he's welcome to think that he is. Richard is really in control and has always been. Ben is an experiment, meant to determine just how crazy someone will become, and how far he will go, given the right circumstances.
Sunday, May 20, 2007
Brokedown parable
(This goes out to everyone who's experiencing A Series of Unfortunate Events lately.)
Many years ago, during the days of tequila and retail, a coworker told me this story.
One Sunday night, his girlfriend called; her car had broken down. Actually, it didn't so much "break down" as "speed up uncontrollably"; her gas pedal had gotten stuck in the down position. Fortunately, she was driving on the highway at the time, and was eventually able to brake enough to take an exit into town and pull into a gas station. And, since her car was rather unsafe to continue driving, she asked if he could come pick her up.
So he went to pick her up, and they examined her car in the parking lot. They decided to just take his car home, and worry about towing hers somewhere later. Unfortunately, once they decided this, his car wouldn't start.
So, since SOMEONE's car needed to get fixed fairly quickly, they decided to call a tow truck and send one of the cars to the repair shop. A tow truck arrived, and promptly broke down. The tow truck driver was mortified: "This has NEVER happened before." he said.
At that point, they decided the hell with it; they'd take the bus home and worry about the cars in the morning. They walked to the nearest bus stop, waited for a while, and then boarded the bus, happy to be on the way home.
And, at least eight years later, I can still see him, clear as day, saying with a grin and trying not to crack up again, "And then, and then, the BUS broke down."
I've had a few runs of luck like that myself, although usually they haven't taken place over one evening. Among the more memorable: two years ago, my grandfather got really sick, and eventually passed away, giving the family a one-way ticket on the Stress Express. Boy Wonder spent that same winter getting every virus that hit southeastern WI, developing a stunning array of fevers, ear infections, and GI viruses. Then he fell off the couch and onto the coffee table, biting through his lower lip and inspiring our first child-related ER trip. Then he got a nasty bacterial infection. Then I dropped the VCR on my foot, causing broken toes and a nasty bruise. Then Boy Wonder had his ear-tube surgery, followed by a solid week of nasty gunk draining out of his ears. (I think I could use the word "nasty" once more, if I tried really hard.) That was a really long few months.
And among the more recent: well, 2006 started out wonderfully, what with having Action Hero and buying a house. But then my metaphorical security blanket was whisked away with a vengeance. Just bought a house? Great, but you don't have a job. Getting one won't be easy, either. You won't get one before the year's out. And your transmission needs rebuilding! Hey, it's 2007! Still no job. Your basement leaks. Oh, hey, have a job. (Yay!) But you'll have to change the kids' daycare center. Boy Wonder will seem really excited about it, but after being there for a couple of weeks, he'll start telling you that he wants to stay home with you and Grandma all the time! AND THERE ARE BATS IN YOUR ATTIC (and, momentarily, in your basement)!
Of course, things aren't all bad. With the kids around, they never are. Boy Wonder and Action Hero are awesome; more than awesome, really, and I'll have to blog about them more often, just so I can share their awesomeness with the Internet, my small corner of which consists of five friends and my in-laws (hi!). (Bit from today: my cousin graduated from college today, and had a little family get-together at a local restaurant. Me: "Boy Wonder, time to change clothes! We need to get ready for Cousin's party!" Boy Wonder: "OK! (pause) Mommy? What color does Cousin like?")
And really, the inconveniences can march merrily along. I'll take those in a minute over some of the things that I've been reading about in the news lately.
Many years ago, during the days of tequila and retail, a coworker told me this story.
One Sunday night, his girlfriend called; her car had broken down. Actually, it didn't so much "break down" as "speed up uncontrollably"; her gas pedal had gotten stuck in the down position. Fortunately, she was driving on the highway at the time, and was eventually able to brake enough to take an exit into town and pull into a gas station. And, since her car was rather unsafe to continue driving, she asked if he could come pick her up.
So he went to pick her up, and they examined her car in the parking lot. They decided to just take his car home, and worry about towing hers somewhere later. Unfortunately, once they decided this, his car wouldn't start.
So, since SOMEONE's car needed to get fixed fairly quickly, they decided to call a tow truck and send one of the cars to the repair shop. A tow truck arrived, and promptly broke down. The tow truck driver was mortified: "This has NEVER happened before." he said.
At that point, they decided the hell with it; they'd take the bus home and worry about the cars in the morning. They walked to the nearest bus stop, waited for a while, and then boarded the bus, happy to be on the way home.
And, at least eight years later, I can still see him, clear as day, saying with a grin and trying not to crack up again, "And then, and then, the BUS broke down."
I've had a few runs of luck like that myself, although usually they haven't taken place over one evening. Among the more memorable: two years ago, my grandfather got really sick, and eventually passed away, giving the family a one-way ticket on the Stress Express. Boy Wonder spent that same winter getting every virus that hit southeastern WI, developing a stunning array of fevers, ear infections, and GI viruses. Then he fell off the couch and onto the coffee table, biting through his lower lip and inspiring our first child-related ER trip. Then he got a nasty bacterial infection. Then I dropped the VCR on my foot, causing broken toes and a nasty bruise. Then Boy Wonder had his ear-tube surgery, followed by a solid week of nasty gunk draining out of his ears. (I think I could use the word "nasty" once more, if I tried really hard.) That was a really long few months.
And among the more recent: well, 2006 started out wonderfully, what with having Action Hero and buying a house. But then my metaphorical security blanket was whisked away with a vengeance. Just bought a house? Great, but you don't have a job. Getting one won't be easy, either. You won't get one before the year's out. And your transmission needs rebuilding! Hey, it's 2007! Still no job. Your basement leaks. Oh, hey, have a job. (Yay!) But you'll have to change the kids' daycare center. Boy Wonder will seem really excited about it, but after being there for a couple of weeks, he'll start telling you that he wants to stay home with you and Grandma all the time! AND THERE ARE BATS IN YOUR ATTIC (and, momentarily, in your basement)!
Of course, things aren't all bad. With the kids around, they never are. Boy Wonder and Action Hero are awesome; more than awesome, really, and I'll have to blog about them more often, just so I can share their awesomeness with the Internet, my small corner of which consists of five friends and my in-laws (hi!). (Bit from today: my cousin graduated from college today, and had a little family get-together at a local restaurant. Me: "Boy Wonder, time to change clothes! We need to get ready for Cousin's party!" Boy Wonder: "OK! (pause) Mommy? What color does Cousin like?")
And really, the inconveniences can march merrily along. I'll take those in a minute over some of the things that I've been reading about in the news lately.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
The batman cometh
Bat Exclusion has begun around here, and I can't tell you how happy I am about that. Technically, the bats may have been excluded by now, but Batman generally likes to give them two full weeks to vacate the premises.
I had better explain that.
Right around a month ago, I saw a bat in the basement. At least, I was pretty sure it was a bat. It was flying too smoothly, and too darned fast, to be a bird (or, at least, to be the type of bird that's common around here; besides, there weren't any big splats of white on the floor). I went upstairs and told Dragon that there was something flying around in the basement, and he did his darndest to try to convince me that it was a bird. Or a really, really big moth ("We're not living in the tropical rainforest!" I said). Or, if it was a bat, it was, in fact, in my belfry, and did not actually exist. I was unimpressed, and soon we donned hats and gloves and took a flashlight down to the basement. We did not, however, find anything.
The next day, I e-mailed the local bat conservatory, careful not to phrase things in an "OH MY GOD I SAW A BAT GET IT OUT OF HERE NOW!" way. It's a conservatory; these people like bats. (Of course they do; they've had all their shots. The people, I mean.) I described the situation, asked if they thought it was likely that I had seen a bat, and if so, what I could do about that. A nice lady called back, and, unfortunately, responded very much in the affirmative. "Probably one of these guys," she said. "In Wisconsin, they're generally coming out of hibernation right now. They prefer attics in winter, but once the weather warms up and they wake up, they sometimes like basements due to the warmth and humidity." Yeah, my basement is a little more humid than I would like. Rain, rain, go away. Anyway. She also said that she thought it highly unlikely that I'd see the bat again, as he was probably about as thrilled to see me as I was to see him (and yes, it probably was a him; females of that species tend to send the guys out for groceries), but that since I have young children, I would probably want to contact a licensed professional about doing an exclusion.
Boy, did I ever. So I checked the list on their Web site and called Batman, who stopped by a few days later and confirmed that yes, we probably did have a few of those guys hanging out, and had for a while, probably since well before the previous owners of Charming Bungalow moved away...and the previous owners, being older and perhaps harder of hearing, and not needing to do late-night laundry, probably hadn't even been aware of them. So he explained the process. Which I will now detail, just for you. Oh, you're not interested? Too bad. Neither was I, really, until I saw a BAT in my BASEMENT. If I had to learn about it, you can too.
Basically, bats are protected, and exclusions must be humane. So, the exclusion specialists determine where the bats are entering and leaving the house (usually through a small gap on the roof or near the chimney), put up a one-way door, like capped PVC tubing or some sort of netting, over their main entrance, and seal up all other openings. The bats will be able to leave through the one-way door, but will not be able to get back in, and will find somewhere else to crash during the day. Hopefully. In Wisconsin, this needs to be done by the end of May, when bats generally celebrate Mother's Day. Baby bats cannot fly, and would not be able to leave, putting them in an inhumane situation. And I did not want to wait the whole summer long until the baby bats could fly. Especially since, once they do begin flying, they sometimes get lost and go whizzing around the house, frantically looking for a way out.
So Batman came; this confused Boy Wonder a bit. ("Not that Batman, honey. A different one.") He had a Brag Binder with him, which I rather enjoyed. I think all independent businesses must have these: photos, documents, or other memorabilia of well-known, rich, or otherwise noteworthy clients. In this case, it was mostly photos of fancy homes that he'd performed exclusions on; one belonged to a famous actress. ("So this is meant to make us not feel so bad about having bats, right?") Dragon was concerned, saying, "But if he's in such demand and working for famous people, why is he coming to OUR house? Or charging us more?" I tried to reassure him, explaining my Brag Binder philosophy. I assume that he works on regular houses the majority of the time, but they don't end up in the binder; it's not all that impressive to say, "And look, I did an exclusion on this little three-bedroom down the street! And here's a garage where bats were roosting. And a barn, too!" Much grander to keep a photo of the fancy historic mansion downtown, even if it's a Polaroid. Anyway. He came and started the exclusion last Friday, and we now have two one-way doors on roof sections and a bunch of other sealed-up cracks. In another week, he will come remove the doors and seal the openings. ("Did Batman come to take the bat away? He did a good job! I never even SAW a bat, Mommy! He did a great job!")
I sure hope he did, and that they will be gone soon, if they're not already. Bat-free is the way to be! Whee! Whee! Whee! Ahem. Naturally, Boy Wonder has recently become entranced with all things Batman (the one with the cape, not the one with the Brag Binder), and is now the proud owner of Batman pajamas, Batman underwear, and Batman sheets and pillowcases.
Perhaps those will serve as protective talismans.
I had better explain that.
Right around a month ago, I saw a bat in the basement. At least, I was pretty sure it was a bat. It was flying too smoothly, and too darned fast, to be a bird (or, at least, to be the type of bird that's common around here; besides, there weren't any big splats of white on the floor). I went upstairs and told Dragon that there was something flying around in the basement, and he did his darndest to try to convince me that it was a bird. Or a really, really big moth ("We're not living in the tropical rainforest!" I said). Or, if it was a bat, it was, in fact, in my belfry, and did not actually exist. I was unimpressed, and soon we donned hats and gloves and took a flashlight down to the basement. We did not, however, find anything.
The next day, I e-mailed the local bat conservatory, careful not to phrase things in an "OH MY GOD I SAW A BAT GET IT OUT OF HERE NOW!" way. It's a conservatory; these people like bats. (Of course they do; they've had all their shots. The people, I mean.) I described the situation, asked if they thought it was likely that I had seen a bat, and if so, what I could do about that. A nice lady called back, and, unfortunately, responded very much in the affirmative. "Probably one of these guys," she said. "In Wisconsin, they're generally coming out of hibernation right now. They prefer attics in winter, but once the weather warms up and they wake up, they sometimes like basements due to the warmth and humidity." Yeah, my basement is a little more humid than I would like. Rain, rain, go away. Anyway. She also said that she thought it highly unlikely that I'd see the bat again, as he was probably about as thrilled to see me as I was to see him (and yes, it probably was a him; females of that species tend to send the guys out for groceries), but that since I have young children, I would probably want to contact a licensed professional about doing an exclusion.
Boy, did I ever. So I checked the list on their Web site and called Batman, who stopped by a few days later and confirmed that yes, we probably did have a few of those guys hanging out, and had for a while, probably since well before the previous owners of Charming Bungalow moved away...and the previous owners, being older and perhaps harder of hearing, and not needing to do late-night laundry, probably hadn't even been aware of them. So he explained the process. Which I will now detail, just for you. Oh, you're not interested? Too bad. Neither was I, really, until I saw a BAT in my BASEMENT. If I had to learn about it, you can too.
Basically, bats are protected, and exclusions must be humane. So, the exclusion specialists determine where the bats are entering and leaving the house (usually through a small gap on the roof or near the chimney), put up a one-way door, like capped PVC tubing or some sort of netting, over their main entrance, and seal up all other openings. The bats will be able to leave through the one-way door, but will not be able to get back in, and will find somewhere else to crash during the day. Hopefully. In Wisconsin, this needs to be done by the end of May, when bats generally celebrate Mother's Day. Baby bats cannot fly, and would not be able to leave, putting them in an inhumane situation. And I did not want to wait the whole summer long until the baby bats could fly. Especially since, once they do begin flying, they sometimes get lost and go whizzing around the house, frantically looking for a way out.
So Batman came; this confused Boy Wonder a bit. ("Not that Batman, honey. A different one.") He had a Brag Binder with him, which I rather enjoyed. I think all independent businesses must have these: photos, documents, or other memorabilia of well-known, rich, or otherwise noteworthy clients. In this case, it was mostly photos of fancy homes that he'd performed exclusions on; one belonged to a famous actress. ("So this is meant to make us not feel so bad about having bats, right?") Dragon was concerned, saying, "But if he's in such demand and working for famous people, why is he coming to OUR house? Or charging us more?" I tried to reassure him, explaining my Brag Binder philosophy. I assume that he works on regular houses the majority of the time, but they don't end up in the binder; it's not all that impressive to say, "And look, I did an exclusion on this little three-bedroom down the street! And here's a garage where bats were roosting. And a barn, too!" Much grander to keep a photo of the fancy historic mansion downtown, even if it's a Polaroid. Anyway. He came and started the exclusion last Friday, and we now have two one-way doors on roof sections and a bunch of other sealed-up cracks. In another week, he will come remove the doors and seal the openings. ("Did Batman come to take the bat away? He did a good job! I never even SAW a bat, Mommy! He did a great job!")
I sure hope he did, and that they will be gone soon, if they're not already. Bat-free is the way to be! Whee! Whee! Whee! Ahem. Naturally, Boy Wonder has recently become entranced with all things Batman (the one with the cape, not the one with the Brag Binder), and is now the proud owner of Batman pajamas, Batman underwear, and Batman sheets and pillowcases.
Perhaps those will serve as protective talismans.
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
I inHALE, dude
(We interrupt My Awesome Kids stories for this unscheduled mini-rant.)
I inhale. Regularly, in fact. I've been doing it since before I was in high school. Back then, I did it once in the morning and once in the evening. Now, the frequency has increased: twice in the morning and once in the evening. Over the years, I've experimented with several different kinds, but I've always come back to the one that does the job best. I always have some of it with me. Back in high school, it was no big deal; I didn't even had to pay for it. Now, though, I pay. Mightily, and I'm not too pleased about it, either. It's going to make a serious dent in the budget. In fact, when I first got the letter that my insurance company was changing the asthma inhaler that I use the most from a Tier 2 to a Tier 3 medication, almost doubling my copay, I...
Really now. What did you THINK I was talking about?
Anyway. Back to paying through the nose. Ironically, the healthcare organization responsible for this currently is running a series of commercials about how they are making things better, easier, and more affordable for patients. You've probably seen the commercials; the most recent one features a variety of medical gear wrapped in layers of red tape. They should make another one, featuring a woman reaching into her pocket over and over with a bewildered expression on her face, realizing she doesn't have enough cash for her copay, and then searching frantically for her credit card, and then searching for a different credit card. Perhaps, for dramatic effect, she could be coughing, or even gasping for breath.
I am seriously not thrilled about the increased copay. I did know about it beforehand, after I received my, "We're increasing the cost of the inhaler that you've used monthly for more than ten years. Ask your doctor about this new one, which you've never heard of in your life, as a lower-cost alternative!" letter. This is, of course, an entirely reasonable suggestion. But I really have tried several different types of inhalers in the past, and the results? Have not been pretty. They worked very well from a breathing standpoint, but I could have baked a dozen loaves of bread with what they made grow in my throat. I am not currently open to trying a lower-cost alternative now, thanks.
In additon, my generic rescue inhaler, aka albuterol, is being phased out as a generic. Why? Because albuterol inhalers contain CFCs. This confuses me slightly, because generally, people who use albuterol inhalers do not spray them into the air like aerosol hairsprays. They INHALE albuterol. Into their LUNGS. How does that affect the ozone layer? (Is this why I sunburn so easily?) If someone with a science background can explain this to me, I'd appreciate it. Because the name-brand rescue inhalers cost four times as much as the generic ones. (Granted, my asthma is well-managed by the daily maintenance meds and I am rarely in need of rescue, so I may not need to get another one for a while. However, spending $10 is still preferable to spending $42, even if it is the answer to life, the universe, and everything...)
So, my recent trip to the drugstore, for my now-more-expensive monthly inhaler, my no-longer-generic inhaler, and my other daily inhaler (which inexplicably cost a fraction of the other two) cost $100. This healthcare company is making things easier, all right; at least, it made the decision to switch to New Job's health and prescription plan a very easy decision indeed.*
And, in other news, OH GREAT NOW I HAVE SOMETHING ELSE TO WORRY ABOUT.
*I am, as always, grateful for what I have, and should mention that this stuff costs WAY, WAY MORE without health insurance, and that I'm lucky to even have the option of switching to an insurance plan with lower prescription copays. And that plenty of people are gasping for breath on a regular basis because they can't manage the cost of maintenance meds. Breathing easily should be a right, not a privilege.
I inhale. Regularly, in fact. I've been doing it since before I was in high school. Back then, I did it once in the morning and once in the evening. Now, the frequency has increased: twice in the morning and once in the evening. Over the years, I've experimented with several different kinds, but I've always come back to the one that does the job best. I always have some of it with me. Back in high school, it was no big deal; I didn't even had to pay for it. Now, though, I pay. Mightily, and I'm not too pleased about it, either. It's going to make a serious dent in the budget. In fact, when I first got the letter that my insurance company was changing the asthma inhaler that I use the most from a Tier 2 to a Tier 3 medication, almost doubling my copay, I...
Really now. What did you THINK I was talking about?
Anyway. Back to paying through the nose. Ironically, the healthcare organization responsible for this currently is running a series of commercials about how they are making things better, easier, and more affordable for patients. You've probably seen the commercials; the most recent one features a variety of medical gear wrapped in layers of red tape. They should make another one, featuring a woman reaching into her pocket over and over with a bewildered expression on her face, realizing she doesn't have enough cash for her copay, and then searching frantically for her credit card, and then searching for a different credit card. Perhaps, for dramatic effect, she could be coughing, or even gasping for breath.
I am seriously not thrilled about the increased copay. I did know about it beforehand, after I received my, "We're increasing the cost of the inhaler that you've used monthly for more than ten years. Ask your doctor about this new one, which you've never heard of in your life, as a lower-cost alternative!" letter. This is, of course, an entirely reasonable suggestion. But I really have tried several different types of inhalers in the past, and the results? Have not been pretty. They worked very well from a breathing standpoint, but I could have baked a dozen loaves of bread with what they made grow in my throat. I am not currently open to trying a lower-cost alternative now, thanks.
In additon, my generic rescue inhaler, aka albuterol, is being phased out as a generic. Why? Because albuterol inhalers contain CFCs. This confuses me slightly, because generally, people who use albuterol inhalers do not spray them into the air like aerosol hairsprays. They INHALE albuterol. Into their LUNGS. How does that affect the ozone layer? (Is this why I sunburn so easily?) If someone with a science background can explain this to me, I'd appreciate it. Because the name-brand rescue inhalers cost four times as much as the generic ones. (Granted, my asthma is well-managed by the daily maintenance meds and I am rarely in need of rescue, so I may not need to get another one for a while. However, spending $10 is still preferable to spending $42, even if it is the answer to life, the universe, and everything...)
So, my recent trip to the drugstore, for my now-more-expensive monthly inhaler, my no-longer-generic inhaler, and my other daily inhaler (which inexplicably cost a fraction of the other two) cost $100. This healthcare company is making things easier, all right; at least, it made the decision to switch to New Job's health and prescription plan a very easy decision indeed.*
And, in other news, OH GREAT NOW I HAVE SOMETHING ELSE TO WORRY ABOUT.
*I am, as always, grateful for what I have, and should mention that this stuff costs WAY, WAY MORE without health insurance, and that I'm lucky to even have the option of switching to an insurance plan with lower prescription copays. And that plenty of people are gasping for breath on a regular basis because they can't manage the cost of maintenance meds. Breathing easily should be a right, not a privilege.
Sunday, April 29, 2007
The stressed alphabet
A is for Anxiety.
B is for Bat...and Basement. And, as of this afternoon, Bigass Bumblebee. Because I'm not nervous enough about going in the basement, apparently. (The bee was caught and released.)
C is for Crazy, which I am driving myself.
D is for Darkness, which I am striving to avoid whenever I go in the basement.
E is for Exclusion (of Bats), which should begin sometime next week. E is also for Eagerness to get that Exclusion going.
F is for...oh, Forget it. I am not going to be able to think of anything else.
Up next: happier topics, such as Boy Wonder's birthday party.
B is for Bat...and Basement. And, as of this afternoon, Bigass Bumblebee. Because I'm not nervous enough about going in the basement, apparently. (The bee was caught and released.)
C is for Crazy, which I am driving myself.
D is for Darkness, which I am striving to avoid whenever I go in the basement.
E is for Exclusion (of Bats), which should begin sometime next week. E is also for Eagerness to get that Exclusion going.
F is for...oh, Forget it. I am not going to be able to think of anything else.
Up next: happier topics, such as Boy Wonder's birthday party.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Four!
Boy Wonder turned four today. This has caused him to ponder some weighty matters, like when exactly his Batman cake will be arriving, who will be coming to his birthday party, and whether or not he wanted to turn four at all. This morning featured Wild Mood Swings, involving a dramatic floor-flinging and shouts of, "I don't WANT to be four! I want to be THREE LIKE THIS forever!" This was after, upon waking up and being informed that it was finally Tuesday, his birthday, he said, "I'm four NOW? Really? Wow! I'm FOUR today!" and smiled charmingly.
He did make one important decision, though. On the way home today, he spent ten minutes deciding what he was going to be for Halloween. He's got it narrowed down to Batman, the Green Goblin, Spiderman, or Batman. Or maybe the Green Goblin. No, Batman! Or Cookie Monster. (That last one threw me. We still have roughly ten zillion Sesame Street DVDs, acquired back in the day where he'd burst into tears if one was not played for him immediately upon arriving home and I had a constant loop of "Honker Duckie Dinger Jamboree" playing in my head, but he hasn't asked to watch one in ages.) No matter what he decides about HIS costume, though, he is quite sure about mine. He has decided that I will be Catwoman. So, if you'll excuse me, I need to go exercise. A lot.
He did make one important decision, though. On the way home today, he spent ten minutes deciding what he was going to be for Halloween. He's got it narrowed down to Batman, the Green Goblin, Spiderman, or Batman. Or maybe the Green Goblin. No, Batman! Or Cookie Monster. (That last one threw me. We still have roughly ten zillion Sesame Street DVDs, acquired back in the day where he'd burst into tears if one was not played for him immediately upon arriving home and I had a constant loop of "Honker Duckie Dinger Jamboree" playing in my head, but he hasn't asked to watch one in ages.) No matter what he decides about HIS costume, though, he is quite sure about mine. He has decided that I will be Catwoman. So, if you'll excuse me, I need to go exercise. A lot.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
The joker
Boy Wonder is learning about jokes lately. Knock-knock jokes in particular. In fact, he spent Friday's drive home (about 35 minutes) telling me a wide selection of them!
However, "learning" is the operative word here. He knows about knock-knock jokes, and knows that people think they are funny, but he doesn't quite understand why the plays on words or sounds are funny. Therefore, his knock-knock jokes are not so much jokes as verbalizations of random adjectives and nouns, with a "Knock, knock?" thrown in for flair. He thinks they are all hilarious. I'll let you judge for yourself; please enjoy the selection below.
Knock, knock!
Who's there?
Potatohead!
Potatohead who?
POTATOHEAD HOUSE! HAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHH! THAT WAS A FUNNY ONE, MOMMY!
Knock, knock!
Who's there?
Fire engine!
Fire engine who?
FIRE ENGINE BICYCLE!
Knock, knock!
Who's there?
Tree!
Tree who?
Tree grass! No, tree grass marker! HAHAHAHAHAH!!!!!!! THESE ARE FUNNY JOKES, MOMMY!
However, "learning" is the operative word here. He knows about knock-knock jokes, and knows that people think they are funny, but he doesn't quite understand why the plays on words or sounds are funny. Therefore, his knock-knock jokes are not so much jokes as verbalizations of random adjectives and nouns, with a "Knock, knock?" thrown in for flair. He thinks they are all hilarious. I'll let you judge for yourself; please enjoy the selection below.
Knock, knock!
Who's there?
Potatohead!
Potatohead who?
POTATOHEAD HOUSE! HAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHH! THAT WAS A FUNNY ONE, MOMMY!
Knock, knock!
Who's there?
Fire engine!
Fire engine who?
FIRE ENGINE BICYCLE!
Knock, knock!
Who's there?
Tree!
Tree who?
Tree grass! No, tree grass marker! HAHAHAHAHAH!!!!!!! THESE ARE FUNNY JOKES, MOMMY!
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Basement got bat
I have three very nice essays, all handwritten (on my lunch hour at work!) and ready to be keyed in and posted. However, regular programming has been temporarily suspended while I obsess about the BAT in my BASEMENT. Not the nice blue plastic kind that's used to hit a whiffle ball; that one's in our backyard. No, a REAL bat. Brown, winged, about the size of my hand. Seen on Tuesday night, as I entered the basement to do laundry, flipped on the light, and very nearly hit the deck as an unidentified flying creature zoomed around the basement a few times before vanishing. Surprisingly, I did not shriek.
There is a BAT in my BASEMENT. Some bats carry RABIES. Rabies makes people DIE. I've gotten a degree in general bat information from Google University over the past few days, and have run across many sites about Beneficial Bats, and how they eat insects, and really, only 10% of them might carry rabies, and we are all statistially likelier to get hit by cars than we are to catch rabies from a bat. This does not make me comfortable with a family of bats living in my insulation, however. Professional help (of the bat exclusion kind, not the psychiatric kind) should arrive early next week.
Back to continued freaking out over BAT in BASEMENT.
There is a BAT in my BASEMENT. Some bats carry RABIES. Rabies makes people DIE. I've gotten a degree in general bat information from Google University over the past few days, and have run across many sites about Beneficial Bats, and how they eat insects, and really, only 10% of them might carry rabies, and we are all statistially likelier to get hit by cars than we are to catch rabies from a bat. This does not make me comfortable with a family of bats living in my insulation, however. Professional help (of the bat exclusion kind, not the psychiatric kind) should arrive early next week.
Back to continued freaking out over BAT in BASEMENT.
Friday, April 13, 2007
Parenting by the book
Every once in a while, I get the urge to read a parenting book or two. Of the "parenting memoir" variety, that is. I find being a parent a fascinating experience, and obviously I enjoy writing about my kids and my experience. So of course I'm interested in reading about the parenting experiences of others.
Next time I get the urge to read a few parenting books, however, I will announce it here. At that point, please remind me that I should really be doing something else with my time. Like cleaning my basement. Or cleaning the garage. Or even sticking nail files up my nose. Because EVERY TIME I've picked up a parenting book lately, I've ended up rolling my eyes and saying, "God. What a twit. I can't believe someone got paid to write that."
On the parenting bookshelf lately:
Alternadad. I grabbed this book off of the freebie table at my former office, and then didn't get around to reading it for quite a while (mostly because I grabbed it about an hour before the place became "my former office"). If you spend a lot of time online, you've probably heard Neal Pollack's name at some point. He writes for Salon.com, and sometime last year he wrote a piece about his son getting expelled from daycare for having a biting problem. Many, many people had many, many strong reactions to this piece. I wasn't fond of it either; I recall reading it and thinking, "Boy, he and his wife sound like a couple of twits. Really unsympathetic twits, too. And if I were the parent of the other kid and read this story, I would be livid. I can't believe he got paid to write that." (He writes about it in more detail in this book, and makes everyone involved seem a bit more sympathetic.) But he also inserts lots of references to smoking weed, and about how he is a WRITER, and his wife is an ARTIST. It got distracting, rather like the Slacker Mom's constant references to her childhood on a Wyoming ranch.
I'm Too Sexy for my Volvo: A Mom's Guide to Staying Fabulous!. Oh, man. This one is for affluent women who live on either coast, and not for normal people who live in flyover country. She lost me at the part where you're supposed to take the money you'd spend on fine wines, which you're not drinking during pregnancy, and spend it on fifty-dollar soap to pamper yourself.
It may not seem like the two books I'm snarking on here have a lot in common, but. One focuses on being a cool dad with a creatively fulfilling career, smoking a lot of pot and delighting in the kid dancing and saying, "Rock and roll!" And the other is subtitled A Mom's Guide to Staying Fabulous! Seems to be a lot of concern about parenthood not changing Who You Are, and having the need to trumpet that from the rooftops. Perhaps it's because I was never cool or fabulous to begin with, but I was never worried that becoming a parent would drastically alter my personality. Pre-kids, I read a lot, and had a couple of favorite TV shows. Sometimes, I went to book discussion groups, or out to a movie with a friend. Now, I watch a lot more TV (yay DVR), but I'm still reading a moderate amount. And once, I went to a movie with a friend.
The Motherhood Manifesto: What America's Moms Want--and What to Do About It. A foray into nonfiction! This book certainly seemed to have some valid points (American women would probably really love having flexible work schedules, and being able to work from home, and being able to find high-quality daycare that fits their schedule and their budget, and having longer, and paid, maternity leaves to start with). Unfortunately, I couldn't concentrate on those points, because this book was edited by a crew of drunken monkeys. What with the misplaced modifiers, misuse of commas, and general grammatical hilarity, I was too distracted to read more than a couple of pages without giggling, rolling my eyes, or both.*
So, that's enough of that. Until next time, when I pick up a paperback with an interesting jacket design and some intriguing back cover copy about One Person's (or One Family's ) Unique and Special Parenting Experience. Coming soon to a bookstore near all of us, I'm sure.
*If you find a typo here, sorry. I try to self-edit as much as I can, but if you decided that I'm hypocritical and go looking for typos, I'm sure you'll find some. Anyway, keep in mind that this is a BLOG, and it's FREE; it's not an actual published book produced by an actual publishing house, which presumably has some sort of editing process in place.
Next time I get the urge to read a few parenting books, however, I will announce it here. At that point, please remind me that I should really be doing something else with my time. Like cleaning my basement. Or cleaning the garage. Or even sticking nail files up my nose. Because EVERY TIME I've picked up a parenting book lately, I've ended up rolling my eyes and saying, "God. What a twit. I can't believe someone got paid to write that."
On the parenting bookshelf lately:
Alternadad. I grabbed this book off of the freebie table at my former office, and then didn't get around to reading it for quite a while (mostly because I grabbed it about an hour before the place became "my former office"). If you spend a lot of time online, you've probably heard Neal Pollack's name at some point. He writes for Salon.com, and sometime last year he wrote a piece about his son getting expelled from daycare for having a biting problem. Many, many people had many, many strong reactions to this piece. I wasn't fond of it either; I recall reading it and thinking, "Boy, he and his wife sound like a couple of twits. Really unsympathetic twits, too. And if I were the parent of the other kid and read this story, I would be livid. I can't believe he got paid to write that." (He writes about it in more detail in this book, and makes everyone involved seem a bit more sympathetic.) But he also inserts lots of references to smoking weed, and about how he is a WRITER, and his wife is an ARTIST. It got distracting, rather like the Slacker Mom's constant references to her childhood on a Wyoming ranch.
I'm Too Sexy for my Volvo: A Mom's Guide to Staying Fabulous!. Oh, man. This one is for affluent women who live on either coast, and not for normal people who live in flyover country. She lost me at the part where you're supposed to take the money you'd spend on fine wines, which you're not drinking during pregnancy, and spend it on fifty-dollar soap to pamper yourself.
It may not seem like the two books I'm snarking on here have a lot in common, but. One focuses on being a cool dad with a creatively fulfilling career, smoking a lot of pot and delighting in the kid dancing and saying, "Rock and roll!" And the other is subtitled A Mom's Guide to Staying Fabulous! Seems to be a lot of concern about parenthood not changing Who You Are, and having the need to trumpet that from the rooftops. Perhaps it's because I was never cool or fabulous to begin with, but I was never worried that becoming a parent would drastically alter my personality. Pre-kids, I read a lot, and had a couple of favorite TV shows. Sometimes, I went to book discussion groups, or out to a movie with a friend. Now, I watch a lot more TV (yay DVR), but I'm still reading a moderate amount. And once, I went to a movie with a friend.
The Motherhood Manifesto: What America's Moms Want--and What to Do About It. A foray into nonfiction! This book certainly seemed to have some valid points (American women would probably really love having flexible work schedules, and being able to work from home, and being able to find high-quality daycare that fits their schedule and their budget, and having longer, and paid, maternity leaves to start with). Unfortunately, I couldn't concentrate on those points, because this book was edited by a crew of drunken monkeys. What with the misplaced modifiers, misuse of commas, and general grammatical hilarity, I was too distracted to read more than a couple of pages without giggling, rolling my eyes, or both.*
So, that's enough of that. Until next time, when I pick up a paperback with an interesting jacket design and some intriguing back cover copy about One Person's (or One Family's ) Unique and Special Parenting Experience. Coming soon to a bookstore near all of us, I'm sure.
*If you find a typo here, sorry. I try to self-edit as much as I can, but if you decided that I'm hypocritical and go looking for typos, I'm sure you'll find some. Anyway, keep in mind that this is a BLOG, and it's FREE; it's not an actual published book produced by an actual publishing house, which presumably has some sort of editing process in place.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
You can always go...downtown
Today, I re-entered the world of Gainful Employment. I forgot to mention this earlier, perhaps because it freaked me out a little, but my new job is downtown. In the city. In an actual high-rise building. Surrounded by a lot of other tallish buildings. This is somewhat exciting; even before my 19-year-old self headed off to Arizona, I'd never spent much time downtown.
As it turns out, high-rise buildings have their advantages. The one I work in now features an attached parking structure, a small coffee shop, a restaurant, and a convenience store. There are electrical outlets in the bathrooms (er, at least the women's bathrooms); if I were so inclined, I could plug in a curling iron and style my hair right there. (That's a pretty big "if," considering I can't remember when I last used my curling iron, don't even remember where I put it when we moved back to Wisconsin three years ago, and don't ever bother actually styling my hair anyway. But if I wanted to style my hair in my new office building, I could.) The convenience store proved remarkably convenient this morning. I don't know what possessed me to wear a skirt today, what with the six (!) inches of snow we were expecting, but wear a skirt I did, and stick my thumb through my pantyhose I also did. I had just decided, rather anxiously, to arrange myself mindfully so that the large run forming in them could not be detected easily, and then I walked past the convenience store and delightedly beheld an entire RACK of pantyhose. So I bought a pair, and once again displayed a professional appearance. Which lasted until about noon, when I stuck my thumb through the new pantyhouse. There's got to be a lesson in this somewhere; I think it's probably "Don't wear skirts. Stick to pants. And stop telling the Internet about what you wear under your skirts."
So I'll tell you, briefly, about my new office. (But not too much, since now that I have a job I'd like to keep it.) I have a nice cubicle, which is located next to some windows. I can see a good portion of downtown, including some nostalgic landmark-type buildings. (This is a nice change from seeing the parking lot, a dumpster, and some geese.) Free coffee and tea are available in the break areas, and the coworkers appear quite pleasant.
And then we all got home for the evening, and Action Hero said, "Hi! HI! Hiiiiiiiii! Ha! Hai! Hi! Hei!" and waved frantically. Then he climbed up onto the couch and started walking around on it.
As it turns out, high-rise buildings have their advantages. The one I work in now features an attached parking structure, a small coffee shop, a restaurant, and a convenience store. There are electrical outlets in the bathrooms (er, at least the women's bathrooms); if I were so inclined, I could plug in a curling iron and style my hair right there. (That's a pretty big "if," considering I can't remember when I last used my curling iron, don't even remember where I put it when we moved back to Wisconsin three years ago, and don't ever bother actually styling my hair anyway. But if I wanted to style my hair in my new office building, I could.) The convenience store proved remarkably convenient this morning. I don't know what possessed me to wear a skirt today, what with the six (!) inches of snow we were expecting, but wear a skirt I did, and stick my thumb through my pantyhose I also did. I had just decided, rather anxiously, to arrange myself mindfully so that the large run forming in them could not be detected easily, and then I walked past the convenience store and delightedly beheld an entire RACK of pantyhose. So I bought a pair, and once again displayed a professional appearance. Which lasted until about noon, when I stuck my thumb through the new pantyhouse. There's got to be a lesson in this somewhere; I think it's probably "Don't wear skirts. Stick to pants. And stop telling the Internet about what you wear under your skirts."
So I'll tell you, briefly, about my new office. (But not too much, since now that I have a job I'd like to keep it.) I have a nice cubicle, which is located next to some windows. I can see a good portion of downtown, including some nostalgic landmark-type buildings. (This is a nice change from seeing the parking lot, a dumpster, and some geese.) Free coffee and tea are available in the break areas, and the coworkers appear quite pleasant.
And then we all got home for the evening, and Action Hero said, "Hi! HI! Hiiiiiiiii! Ha! Hai! Hi! Hei!" and waved frantically. Then he climbed up onto the couch and started walking around on it.
