Dear Me

Dear 1997 Engaged-to-be-Married Rita:

Stop agonizing over your crystal pattern.  You will be setting your table for New Years dinner 13 years from now and you will realize that all of your champagne flutes still have the stickers on them.  They've never been used.  Crystal just isn't very important.


Mikasa Artic Lights, as if anyone cares



P.S.  Take daddy seriously when he says he's practicing dancing at the wedding.  He's going to try to make you waltz.  It would be nice if you could dance properly with him.



**********************************************************************

Dear Still-living-at-home Rita:

Pay attention when momma is making her famous fried chicken.  Some day, when you're Really Old (36),  you'll invite friends to your house and brag that you can make fried chicken.  Then you'll worry all day that you'll screw it up.



P.S.  Enjoy living at home with your mother.  No one will ever take care of you like she does.  Also?  Momma's right about your boyfriend, you CAN do better.

**************************************************************

Dear 1995 Rita-Who-is-Dating-Dave:

Pay attention when you're invited over to Dave's grandparent's house for dinner.  Someday, 15 years from now, Dave's mom will give you all of her mother's dishes.  You will be overjoyed to receive the dishes, and will spend time wondering if THOSE were the dishes you ate off of so many years before.  You won't be able to remember.  The not-remembering will make you sad for some reason.


Spode "Byron".  OMG, how cute is that little scene INSIDE the teacup?



P.S.  You're really going to like Steve's new wife, Amy.  Oh, and tell her to cut her hair short.  She'll look great, promise.



Here's the Story

I surprised my husband with The Bike of His Dreams this Christmas.

This is the face of a man who just received The Bike of His Dreams

So, that's the end of the story.  I gave Dave a bike.

The beginning of the story is much more complicated.  So complicated that I debated whether I could write about it.  But I'll try.  I'll try because giving that man The Bike of His Dreams was the most fun I've had in a very long time.

Dave came home a few days after Thanksgiving going on and on about a bike.  A mountain bike.  A bike that would replace the 1994 Cannondale he inherited from my dad.  This Dream Bike belonged to a friend of Dave's.  This friend was willing to sell his bike to Dave for an extraordinarily low price.

When Dave started going on and on about this bike, it occurred to me that this (THIS!) was my PERFECT opportunity to get him a great gift.  But I had to beat him to it.  I had to get to the bike before he went and bought it for himself.

The first thing I did was convince him that we ABSOLUTELY could NOT afford the bike.  "Not right here before Christmas, honey!".  He grudgingly agreed. 

That night, after he fell asleep, I searched through Dave's phone and found the number of this friend with the bike.  The next day I called this friend and made him a deal to secretly buy that bike.  Having never met me, he could have been a jerk.  I was some strange woman calling to ask him to be my co-conspirator in a giant scheme to deceive my husband.  Instead, he was lovely.  He laughed and said he would be more than happy to help me pull off my little plan.

The next day, Dave called his friend and politely declined to purchase the bike.

Perfect plan, right?

WRONG.

Dave came home from work a few days later and declared he was going to "sell everything he could on ebay in order to buy his bike of dreams".  And he began photographing items to list on ebay.  Beloved items. 

And I sat there and let him do it.  I let him LIST items on EBAY for heaven's sake!   

Then I called his friend the next day and asked him to LIE to my husband and tell him he'd already sold the bike.  Essentially, I asked him to CRUSH my husband's SOUL by telling him his Dream Bike was no longer available.  And this sweet man WHO'S NEVER MET ME obliged.

Thus, my husband's soul was crushed.  But at least he stopped selling his things on ebay.

The night before Christmas, I positioned the bike outside our garage door then asked Dave to run over and deliver something to neighbor Susan.

When he stepped outside, he saw The Bike of His Dreams.

And, Internet, there is NO WAY he was happier in that moment than I was.  No possible way. 

Overly Adorable.

Today I played (roughly) 50 games of Hungry Hungry Hippos with William and Paige.  After the first couple of games, Paige began insisting the hippos pray before they eat.

Um.  Okay? 

So, before EACH AND EVERY GAME we were required to bow our heads while Paige said the following: "Fank you Deezus for dis food, AAAYMIN!". 

The word "amen" was our signal to start the game.  Doesn't that sound adorable?

Yeah.  *You* do it 48 times and see how adorable it is.

And then this afternoon - when the temperature reached a balmy 60 degrees - I took the children on a bike ride. 

Adorable.

I love bike rides with my kids.  They're always so cute.  Their little helmeted heads bobbing up and down.

Except.

Dave recently bought Paige a little bell for her bike.  A bell that she ding!ding!dinged! the ENTIRE time we were out today.  Forty five minutes of SOLID ringing of the bell.

My poor neighbors.  What an "adorable" serenade.

Mother's Day Out starts up again on Monday.  I can't wait to share all of this adorableness with them.

Magic Clean Fairy

I started off writing a big long blog post about my friend, Lisa.  About how she keeps an immaculate home.  And about how I am constantly jealous of her ability to keep the dust at bay.  She has one more child than I do, PLUS she works AND volunteers at school and church.

I won't lie, sometimes her clean-y clean clean-yness gives me an inferiority complex.

So yesterday, she read my blog post about how the mess from Christmas was making me crazy, and this morning, she called and FLAT INSISTED that I bring BOTH my children to her house for a few hours so that I could clean.

It's as if she KNEW I needed to clean.  Turns out, she keeps *her* house all perfectly perfect because mess makes HER crazy. 

Apparently, CLEAN is her own personal Prozac.

So I dumped my kids off with her, raced back home and took down every last one of my Christmas decorations.  Plus I went to the grocery store.  PLUS I did all the laundry.

And today was Paige's first Big Girl play date.  Awww

I feel so SANE now! 

For a second time, Lisa Shinn is a lifesaver. 

P.S. William is clearly having a *terrible* time. 

I'm SO over it

We arrived home this afternoon after spending a couple of days out of town with my in-laws.  When we walked in the back door, the house looked just like it did when we left Christmas morning.  Toys everywhere.  Half-built Lego creations strewn on every surface.  Bits of wrapping paper and ribbon scattered hither and thither.  A few dirty Christmas breakfast dishes still in the sink.

When I left, the scene was one of excitement and joy.  The aftermath of a fantastic morning.

O.M.G.

Today it's just a mess.  A big damn mess. 

I've completely come down off my Christmas High.  My Santa Mojo is gone.  Now I'm asking myself "Where exactly am I supposed to PUT all these new toys?".  And my GOSH my body is having some sort of rebellion from all of the delicious food.  My very blood feels toxic.  And these Christmas decorations?  Yeah, those suckers are making me claustrophobic.  I want them DOWN.  Pronto!

I just put the children to bed, and I'm seriously debating taking all the decorations down before bed.

I know that SOUNDS crazy, but I actually think that just might save my sanity.

Christmas Joy Hangover

A picture of ME(!) with my children.  Miracle!

There's only one problem with being a reformed Scrooge: when the holiday is all over there's a huge let down.

Paige with her dog-shaped "pup" tent.

No more Christmas music.

No more ginger snaps.

No more evergreens and lights and jittery excited children.

I think I'll start the countdown today.

Hey! Only 363 shopping days until Christmas!

Um, *how* many days did you just say, Momma?

Best Christmas Ever

And it's not even over yet.

Now excuse me while I overwhelm you with photos.

Paige and her Poppa



Reading "T'was the Night Before Christmas"




Me and Momma

Um, when can I start opening?

Nephew Aiden

My brother, Russ, with my kids

My step-brother & his family (Minh, Rodney & baby Aiden)

Nana Brown and her boy

The kids bought Dave a sweater - and he LIKED IT! (Miracle!)

Checking out the Santa haul

The kids bought me antlers

Stockings ROCK!

"Helping" Santa construct the toy kitchen.

The aftermath

 Next stop: Dave's side of the family. 

Which means?  I'm not even NEARLY done bombarding you with pictures. 

Don't say I didn't warn you.

Merry Christmas my sweet readers.  I *heart* you!

Disaster Strikes!

Mid-morning on Wednesday, William began complaining that he was cold.  Moments later, he asked to wear his coat.  IN THE HOUSE.

Then he laid down on the kitchen floor.  "Just to rest for a minute."

Uh oh.

I felt his head.  Yep.  Fever.

After (silently) cursing, I settled him into his bed and began pacing.  Would this ruin Christmas?  Nah, I reasoned we still had a good 36 hours before the festivities began.

But the fever didn't end.  In fact, by Thursday morning his temperature reached 104.6 and he was complaining of a sore throat. "Hurrah!" I thought, because a sore throat and fever were classic signs of strep throat.  And strep throat is a bacterial infection.  And bacterial infections can be fought with antibiotics!

So I called the pediatrician.  Turns out, the office was preparing to close FOR THE WEEKEND (What the heck?).  The nurse asked if I could be there in 10 minutes.  I was wearing my pajamas.  William was wearing nothing but his underwear (in an attempt to cool his body). And yet I said YES!  I said OF COURSE I could be there in 10 minutes!

I dressed myself and William WHILE I was making empty promises to the nurse.  I hung up the phone and RAN (RAN!) to Susan's house and handed her my baby (still clad in her pajamas). 

And can I just stop right here and say that I do not know WHAT I would do with out Susan Wagner and her family.  Seriously.

When I arrived at the doctor, I realized William wasn't wearing any shoes (whoops!).  So, I had to CARRY him.  He weighs 50lbs.  My back may never recover.

They did a strep test on William, which involves swabbing his tonsils with a long q-tip.  This required me to LAY on William while the nurse PRIED his jaws open.  I swear to you a veterinarian trained to work on grizzly bears would have been a better option.  It was awful.

While we waited for the results of the test, the staff began to file out and turn off various lights in the office.  They made it perfectly clear that WE were holding them up for their long weekend vacation.  I felt appropriately guilty.

The nurse returned and said the strep test was negative.  She suggested we call the triage nurse TOMORROW to see about getting a flu test.  I suggested we do the dang test TODAY. 

Man oh man that nurse was peeved.

So we did the grizzly-bear-holding-down-thingy with William again.  This time swabbing the lower portion of his brain via his nostrils.  Afterward, it took him a full five minutes  to stop screaming and rubbing his nose.  He was SO very offended by all this.

And guess what?  MY KID TESTED POSITIVE FOR THE FREAKIN' FLU! 

The flu.  The day before Christmas Eve. 

My mood turned as black as coal.  I called my family and canceled our plans to have lunch at my  house on Friday.  Then I called my sister-in-law and explained that we had exposed her entire family to the flu.  MERRY CHRISTMAS!

But guess what?  The doctor wrote all of us prescriptions for Tamiflu, and $171 later, we were all dosed up on the drugs.  And a few hours after that?  William's fever broke!

Today, he's completely back to normal.  Which means?  All our plans are back on!

Is that not a the most miracle-y Christmas miracle? 

God bless us every one! 

The Ghost of Christmas Present

I've always hated Christmas.

Did you just gasp audibly?  Can you believe there is a person in the world that could hate Christmas? 

I'm serious.  I've always hated this time of year. 

When I was younger, Christmas meant trying to divide up my time between my divorced parents in such a way that no one would have their feelings hurt.  Do I even need to tell you THAT WAS IMPOSSIBLE!   It was awful.

And then I became a mother and Christmas meant doing all of the decorating, all of the shopping, all of the wrapping, all of the cooking.  I found Christmas to be exhausting.  It seemed unfair.  Everyone ELSE got to enjoy Christmas because *I* was working my ass off.  The ends (gifts, family, togetherness) somehow did not justify the means.

Isn't that SELFISH? And AWFUL? And WEIRD?  I know!  I'm ashamed! 

And here's the EVEN WEIRDER thing: this year, I sort of like Christmas.  And nothing AT ALL has changed.  I still decorated.  I still baked.  I still shopped and wrapped.  Same everything.  In fact, THIS  year I'm actually HOSTING Christmas for my family.  So?  MORE WORK.

And yet I'm enjoying the season.  I like all the lights.  I like that folks say "Merry Christmas!" when I check out at the grocery store.  I like going to church and singing Christmas hymns.  I like all the children's Christmas specials on television.  Heck, I genuinely LIKE the colors red and green - seeing them all around makes me happy! 

WHAT IS GOING ON HERE??

We DID simplify this year.  We didn't mail Christmas cards.  We reduced our shopping list (only buying for the children in our family).  And I did my shopping early.  And the wrapping.  I did that early too.

Is THAT why this Christmas feels different?  Is it because I was a tiny bit more prepared? 

Or perhaps I was visited by three ghosts.  Yes!  That's IT!

God bless us, every one!

I Can't Take Much More of This

We have a Secret Santa.  Some sweet soul is coming to my house EVERY DAY (even on the weekends!) and leaving little gifts.  Gifts that coincide with the Twelve Days of Christmas.

So clever!  So creative! 

For instance, on the 5th day of Christmas our Secret Santa brought us five golden "rings" (jingle bells). 

And on the sixth day?  Six ACTUAL eggs - from the Geese-a-Laying, of course.

And yesterday, we got seven swans. 

Wee little dishes in the shape of swans.  Now where do you even FIND such a thing?  And how long ago did this person start hunting down all the supplies for this?  And are we the only recipients, or does this person get up at 3am to start delivering all their secret gifts?

TELL ME!  The suspense is quite literally keeping us up at night.

Today (before 6am, y'all!) we received Laughing Cow Cheese. 

Obviously, those Maids have been A'Milking.

So dang CLEVER!

And here's the deal: we've counted, and the twelfth day of Christmas falls ON Christmas day.  Meaning, this poor person is going to have to come to my house ON CHRISTMAS MORNING.  What a bummer!  Don't you want nothing more than to stay in your warm pajamas on Christmas morning?  I feel bad!

Also, will the person reveal themselves on Christmas morning?  Or will I have to live forever NOT KNOWING? 

It's killing me.  Truly.



PS - I failed to photograph the fourth day. 

We received four penguin hand puppets (one is shown here, the rest were immediately snatched by the children and I haven't seen them since) and a Chick-Fil-A gift card (in the amount of $4). 

Get it? Four calling birds.  I am agog at the cuteness.

Gift Etiquette

Quick!  Internet!  Tell me, what is the gift-giving etiquette when someone buys you a gift and you haven't bought them anything?

Also?  Could you tell me why this ALWAYS happens?  Every year?  WHYYYYY?

Dave's business partner, and sort of the "head dude" at his office, presented Dave (privately) with a gift yesterday.  The gift was wrapped - but NOT in Christmas paper - instead it looked like the sort of gift you'd take to a wedding.  Black and white plaid paper with big white bow.

And when this business partner gave Dave the gift he said "I don't usually exchange gifts with the other partners, but my wife found this for you.  We wanted you to have a wedding gift since we weren't there for your wedding".

We got married in the fall of 1997.  Thirteen years ago.

When Dave conveyed all this to me, I'll admit, I was nonplussed.  Was the partner joking?  Was this a joke?  Or, is it that - after enjoying each other last weekend at the Christmas party - this wife genuinely wanted to get us something?  I'M SO CONFUSED!

And, let's all bear in mind that MEN handled this exchange.  Meaning: there could have been all SORTS of things lost in translation. 

And here's the kicker: the gift was a BEAUTIFUL full-sized CASHMERE throw.  It's gorgeous.  It's LOVELY.  I cannot WAIT to curl up in it.  And let me also say that this mans wife is equally as LOVELY.  I really enjoy her company. 

So there.  That's the whole story.  Now tell me, what should I do?  Mail a note thanking her (them) for this fantastic gift that I will most likely use every day, or dash out this morning and select something for Dave to present to his partner this afternoon.

But won't that be SO obvious?  Or, does it even MATTER that it's obvious so long as the gift is reciprocated?

Hellllllp!

Ah, Life

My mother and I had our annual baking day on Friday.  This year (our sixth year), we made SIXTEEN DOZEN homemade gingersnaps and FOURTEEN loaves of pumpkin bread.

We also ate - and I swear to you I'm not exaggerating - a round dozen cookies EACH. 

They were delicious, but my bowels may never forgive me for that kind of abuse.

This year, our baking day happened to coincide with the date of baby Paige's very first Christmas program.  Which meant that mom got to join me at the performance.

(Here we are watching Paige)

Paige and all her little friends (sixty children all under the age of 5) from Mother's Day Out performed various holiday tunes.  Well, that's not entirely true.  Most children just stood there on the stage looking dumbstruck while being assaulted with eleventy jillion camera flashes. 

But my Paige - forever the showoff - performed loud and proud for all of us - complete with all the proper hand motions.  I'll admit, I was beaming.  That is, until my little rock star SAT DOWN on stage in the middle of the performance and began PICKING HER NOSE WITH GUSTO.

I mean it.  She was digging for gold all the way up to her second knuckle.

It took everything I could do not to just die DEAD right there in that church.  Instead, I said many rapid prayers to Jesus asking that he PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE just this once not let her EAT her boogers.

The Heavenly Father heard my prayer, and I was saved from certain Death by Humiliation.

But just barely.

And now you know why I ate all those cookies: Comfort Food.

Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas

Welcome to our Christmas card.

For the second year in a row we've elected NOT to send Christmas cards.  The cost.  My gosh the cost.  Plus, I've made a real effort to simplify our holiday this year.

And let's face it, NOT mailing Christmas cards is certainly simpler.

But, as a lover of all things related to mail (oh my how I love to receive mail), I feel sad that I'm not sending a little piece of my family out to mailboxes all over the place. 

I hope next year I can do SOMETHING.  Anything.  A postcard maybe?  I feel sad being one of those many who have given up on traditional post in favor of, well, THIS.  An electronic version of the Christmas card.

It's just not the same.  Not the same at all.

So, until next year, a very merry (electronic) Christmas.

- Rita

It's a Secret

... and it's killing us.

We have a Secret Santa, apparently.  Someone is leaving a gift on our doorstep each day.

First it was this:

A golden pear.  With a note attached saying "On the first day of Christmas, Santa's elves gave to me, A pear from the partridge's tree.

Then, yesterday, chocolate.  "Two bars of Dove" to be exact.

Oh my GOSH, and today?  Today on my very own personal front porch?  THREE FRENCH PENS!

No really.  Look closely:

Someone - our Santa - has brought us pens that are carefully labeled WITH FRENCH NAMES.

Thus: French pens.

HOW CUTE IS THAT?

And I'll be honest, this whole Secret Santa thing IS DRIVING US CRAZY.  Who is it?  WHO?  I cannot imagine ANY of my friends having the time or energy to do such a thing.  My friends are mothers.  They're tired.  They're busy. 

WHO has time for this?  WHO? 

I'm thinking of investing in surveillance equipment.

Yay Tuesday!

1.  My sister-in-law came to see me today.

2.  She drove 2 hours to get here.

3.  She came here "just because".

4.  She has a broken healing ankle.

5.  She hobbles.

6.  She hobbles much.

7.  Hobbling does not prevent her from shopping.

8.  From shopping much.

9.  We ate food. 

10.  Unhealthy food.  Pizza.  Cookies.

11.  We knitted.

12.  No really, we knitted.

13.  Stop looking at me like that.

14.  She brought  my children gifts.

15.  My children adore her.

16.  And so do I.

Oh Monday.

So, we've *ahem* helped Santa do his shopping for baby Paige.  Dave and I happened to be at Target the Saturday after Thanksgiving when we spied this little number.

A pretend kitchen.  Complete with sink, burners, oven, and even a wee little washing machine on the side.

And here's the deal, I find all of these toys for girls a bit off-putting.  I mean, when you walk down the BOY toy aisle there are things geared toward 1) saving the world from imminent destruction 2) weapons for maiming Bad Guys 3) and things for constructing other things. 

The girl toy aisle, on the other hand, contains 1) things relating to childcare 2) things relating to cooking 3) things relating to cleaning.  I'm serious!  I wish I was making this up, but just today I spied a miniature PINK IRONING BOARD.  And an oven.  A PINK oven.  And oh my GOSH with the baby dolls.  And baby diapers.  And baby strollers.  And baby beds. 

What is this 1955?  Am I buying toys for Betty Draper over here? 

And yet, my baby girl is SO into baby dolls.  And baby doll accessories.  I suppose these things are, I don't know, genetic? 

And, it turns out, Paige is also really entranced by pretend food and pretend tea sets and pretend dishes.

So?  We bought the kid a kitchen.  Whattayagonnado? 

We bought the pretend kitchen at full price.  A whopping $119 - more, honestly, than we were really comfortable spending ON A TWO YEAR OLD.  Sheesh.  But we rationalized the purchase by saying that the wee little kitchen was the same color scheme as my actual kitchen, and ooooh wouldn't it be so cuuuute in there?  Her cooking and me cooking in our matching kitchens.  Adorable.

Or revolting, if you're Gloria Steinem.

Anyway.  Yesterday, the Target flier advertised our little kitchen for a mere $89.  That's a $30 price reduction, folks.  Taking the overall price from Outrageous to just Ridiculous.

So I marched my hiney up to the Target return desk, receipt in hand, and requested a price adjustment.  The gal behind the counter pushed some buttons, scanned some unknown things, then flatly told me "no".  The price adjustment period is 14 days, and today makes day 16.  Too bad for me, right?

Wrong.

I drove home, lugged that damn tiny kitchen out from its hidey hole, loaded it in my car and drove it back to Target whereby I returned it.  Then I asked to buy it right back.

The gal at the return desk wouldn't do it.  She said it would have to first be "restocked".  She was on to me.

Instead, I walked to the back of the store, found an identical kitchen, lugged it to the cashier and bought it for the low low ridiculous price of $89.  And now a completely different, yet totally identical kitchen is tucked safely in the hidey hole awaiting Christmas.

I bragged to Dave about my Target Switcheroo and he scoffed.  "Why did you bring ours from home?  Why didn't you just buy the kitchen at $89, then walk it over to the return desk and return it using your original $119 receipt?".

Well sheesh, now I feel a stupid.

iPhoning It In

So.  I'm tired.  It's 10:20 on Sunday evening and I've just returned from dinner with one of my favorite people.

Meet Alissa (and her beers):

And yes, my wee little 100lb. friend drank all of those herself.  She says they were very "hop-y".  I think that some sort of beer snob speak.  But I can't be sure.  I was too busy drinking my caramel appletini to really  listen.

Anyhoo.  Where were we? 

Oh right. I'm tired.

I spent the weekend trying to cure my 2 year old of a vicious cough.  Turns out, the Internet is mighty helpful when it comes to non-medically approved advice!  We ended up using Benadryl at bedtime along with Vicks Vapor Rub on the soles of her feet.  It worked like a charm.  Thanks Internet!

So, since I'm so tired, let's just take a walk through the photo file of my iphone.  That'll give you a glimpse into the weekend.  And that's all you get tonight:  A glimpse.  I'm too tired for anything else.

Here are my peeps at church this morning.

And in case you can't make it out in the photo, here's a closeup of William's Christmas sweater.

Isn't *that* festive?

Oh!  And here's a photo of an actual product for sale in an actual store here in Oklahoma City.

I emailed that photo to Susan and asked if that was her special Starbucks order.  Her response?  "I wonder if they serve that in the drive thru?".

Ha!  I love her.

Cough Relief

Baby Paige has developed a cough.  Again.

OMG with the coughing.  Coughing is the soundtrack of my life.  Since early September it's all I've heard.  Someone in my family has been coughing for nearly FOUR FREAKING MONTHS.

The cough, based on my extensive zero years of medical training, is due to post-nasal drip.  Her nose is runny.  And the runny nose is causing her to cough.  Simple enough, right?

So I called the pediatrician this morning, not to obtain an appointment, but to simply ask what would be the best medicine to give my 2 1/2 year old for coughing.  Specifically, coughing at night.  My poor girl coughed LITERALLY every minute of the night last night.  She was exhausted.  Her mother was exhausted. 

And would you like to know what the kind nurse suggested for a severe un-ending cough?

Karo Corn Syrup. 

No, I will not shut up.  I'm serious! 

She suggested a whole teaspoon full of nothing "syrup" to "coat her throat" and prevent coughing.

And here's why:  The FDA has recommended that ALL cough medicine be removed from the market for children UNDER THE AGE OF FOUR.  Why?  Because some stupid-ass parents were overdosing their kids by giving multi-symptom cough/cold medications either too often, or in combination with other multi-symptom medicines.  So, to protect us FROM OURSELVES the FDA simply REMOVED cough medicines as an option for all humans under the age of four.  If you're under four, you can just cough yourself silly. 

Which brings us back to Karo Syrup.  That's ALL the nurse could legally recommend to me today.  Syrup.

OMGAREYOUKIDDINGME?

So tell me, wise Internet, what have YOU used for your young children with a horrible cough?  So far, I've used Benadryl to dry her out (contrary to the advice of the nurse today - who said Benadryl is now ALSO on the "naughty" list), a humidifier, and Vick's Vaporub, all with only mild success.

What would you recommend?  I'm one desperate momma over here.

Oh Thursday, I'm So Glad You're Over.

So, *this* is the email I sent today:

Dear Principal-Whose-Name-I-Won't-Disclose,

 I wanted to make you aware of a situation that occurred today during the teacher’s holiday luncheon.

I am the homeroom mom for Mrs. X's kindergarten class. I arranged for a parent volunteer, Suzie McNicepants*, to cover the class from 11:30 to 12:30 so that Mrs. X could enjoy the teacher’s luncheon. Mrs. X left a specific set of instructions for us to follow while she was away from her students, the first of which was to watch the children complete their recess on the playground. When Suzie McNicepants* arrived at school at 11:30, Mrs. X's class was on the playground with the other kindergarten classes. When the whistle blew and the children lined up, Suzie noticed that Mrs. Y's parent volunteer was not there. Mrs. Y's class was unattended, so Mrs. McNicepants (admirably) took it upon herself to supervise BOTH classes. I happened to drop in to Mrs. X's class (to drop off some papers) and found my parent volunteer trying to manage (I estimate) 45 kindergartners. She was doing her very best, but you can imagine the chaos.

It is my understanding that Mrs. Y was called last evening by her homeroom parent and she was told that a volunteer had been arranged to cover her classroom. I do not believe that anyone did anything inherently wrong here. The homeroom parent made the arrangements, Mrs. Y was assured the parent would be there. However, I am concerned that our students were left in what could have been real danger. Forty-five rowdy 5 and 6 year olds with an unqualified parent volunteer is worrying. I am concerned that this sort of thing could leave our school open to criticism or (even worse) a lawsuit.

I hesitated to write this email, as I certainly do not wish to be perceived as “meddlesome” or a “troublemaker”. But, in good conscience, I felt you needed to know what happened. I am writing this email in hopes that in the future, we can put in place a system of checks and balances that will assure that our students are properly supervised.

Sincerely,


Rita Meddlesome Mommy


Yeah.

So how was *your* day?


*Obviously, her name is NOT Suzie McNicepants.  But, God bless her, after what she went through today, it ought to be.

Go Toward the Lights

Do you live in Oklahoma City?

What about the suburbs of Oklahoma City?

Yes?

Then get in your car RIGHT THIS MINUTE and drive yourself to NW 63rd and Western where you will witness the most BREATHTAKING trees you ever did see.

Thank you Chesapeake Energy Corporation.  You make everything about Christmas EVEN BETTER.

Worry Avenged

My kid had a substitute teacher on Friday.  A man who is a retired high school math teacher.  Now he substitutes occasionally.  I've met him before when he substituted for another teacher in the school.  He seemed likable enough.

But, for some reason, my kid doesn't like him.  I mean he *really* doesn't like him.  He cried several times in class on Friday (my kid hardly EVER cries), and apparently the substitute teacher had quite enough of the crying, so he put my kid in the Naughty Corner.  My kid has *never* been put in the Naughty Corner.  So guess what?  He cried even HARDER.  Vicious cycle.

William came home from school on Friday distraught.  He kept saying that the teacher "scared him".  Hmmm.  I reasoned that this teacher is a male.  A tall one.  With a big, deep booming voice.  My kid doesn't really care for loud noises.  So that must be it, right?  Yes.  That's all it was.

And here's where it gets hard: the substitute was slated to return on Monday.  So, all weekend my kid begged (I mean BEGGED) to stay home from school on Monday.  He'd bring it up at the most random moments.  During church.  At a professional basketball game.  "Momma, please can I stay home on Monday?". 

I fretted about sending him.  Obviously there was *something* that frightened my kid.  But what?  He couldn't articulate what was so scary.  And this is where dealing with my boy is frustrating.  All of his stories are riddled with gaps that I must try to fill in using, I don't know, logic? Magic?  I end up asking eight million questions of him so that I can piece together a story.  He just doesn't communicate in a way that paints a vivid and clear picture.

So I sent him to school on Monday.  I reasoned that I could not set the precedent that every time we're a little scared, momma will rescue us.  However, I promised I would speak to the teacher about William's fears.  The teacher said William cried several times during class on Monday.  He said he even went so far as to ask William if he was feeling well.  He assured me they'd do just fine.  That he'd keep a special eye on Will for me.

And then I left my little 6 year old boy there, all tear-y eyed and scared.

And then?  I went home and paced the floor and ground my teeth to dust.

I went back at lunchtime (I had promised William I would).  He said he was doing alright, but then immediately started begging for me to take him home. 

I stayed until after recess, making sure that William was settled in class (and, if I'm being honest, I wanted that teacher to see me there - me: The Involved Mom, the Mom Who's Watching You, Mister).

William returned from school saying his day was better.  He said he hadn't cried at all. 

Ahhh.  Sigh of relief.  It was all just some big misunderstanding.  Some quirk with my kid.  My kid who's bothered by all sorts of things that don't seem to bother other children. 

Yes.  I'm sure it was nothing.

Except.  This morning, I walked William into class to discover FOUR other parents gathered around William's regular teacher.  Alarmingly, they were all parents of BOYS, and they were telling the teacher how SCARED their children were.  They said their children BEGGED not to be sent to school on Monday.  One parent even said the substitute rolled up a newspaper and whacked a her kid with it.

Oh my GOSH!  It wasn't just my kid!  *Other* kids were scared too!

You can imagine my guilt.  I should have trusted  my kid.  I should have put more stock in the "signs".  He never cries.  He loves school.  He rarely says things "scare" him.

Lesson learned, I suppose.

Man, this parenting thing is *hard*.



ps. I should add that we parents marched ourselves to the principal and explained the situation.  We're hoping this particular substitute will not be invited back to our school. 

Avian Anger

My kid hates crafts.  HATES them.  Anything involving coloring or cutting or gluing makes him break out into hives.  In fact, sometimes if he's really naughty, I just make him go color as a punishment.  It gets him every time.

Yet, when he saw this video tutorial about Angry Bird* Christmas tree ornaments, he begged, BEGGED for me to buy the supplies so that we could make them.

And I promptly ignored him.  Because, seriously, the boy HATES crafts.  I figured he'd forget about the video in a few days and that would be that.

But he begged all week.  ALL WEEK the boy begged to do a craft!

So I had no choice but to buy the supplies.

And sure enough, he happily cut and glued and constructed.   He was such a happy little crafter! 

I'd love to think this all means he's turned a corner, but the skeptic in me still believes this is an anomaly.  A glitch in his otherwise craft-hating psyche. 

Oh dear.  He just asked if we can make Angry Pigs.  Hmmm.  Now I'm starting to wonder.



*"Angry Birds" is a game William plays on my iPhone wherein he lobs birds WITH A SLINGSHOT at angry pigs.  Don't ask me... I have no idea why this is appealing.  And I dont' care, because apparently, the game makes my kid feel all crafty.