Girly Girls

Today William went to school which left Paige and I alone for the majority of the day.  

So, naturally, we did girly things.

We went to the park.

Ok, not entirely girly.  The park is a gender neutral activity I suppose.  But, BUT! there were only girls there today!  Why?  I have no idea.  Maybe they got the memo that we were having a girly day?

Then we came home and painted our toenails.  BOOYA! There's you some girly girl stuff!

Mine: Red || Hers: Pink with glitter

And? AND! I'll up THAT, because we let our toenails dry WHILE WATCHING STRAWBERRY SHORTCAKE.

Folks, it doesn't GET any girlier than THAT.

Again I say: Booya!

Gut Check

So today is our second big "home day".  It went far better than last week (and last week really wasn't so bad).  I learned last week that *I* was totally prepared to spend the day helping William with his school work.  I cleared my calendar, I took the phone off the hook.  Heck, I even did all the laundry the night before so I wouldn't be tempted to escape to the laundry room and Fold Things (I'm an avoider, can you tell?).

But, in all my preparations, I forgot to prepare MY KID.  He was totally caught off guard by all the work he was asked to do.  And can you blame him?  He spent all summer Doing Nothing and then I suddenly asked him to Do Lots.  With no warning whatsoever.

Rookie move.

So, I talked to him a couple of different times yesterday afternoon, and then again right before bed about my expectations.  I set aside distinct "learning times" (9-10am for instance).  The result was that he was completely cheerful about his work today.  And? AND? We finished everything by 1pm.  Fully 1 1/5 hours sooner than we finished last week.

So, what I'm getting at here is: things are going well.  I'm enjoying this "blended model" of school and homeschool.  Everything is surprisingly good.

So why am I still freaking out on the inside?

I think it has something to do with the fact that making the choice to do schooling this way took what I think of as a sort of bravery.  And I'll be honest, I'm not usually very brave.  Some might even call me a downright chicken.  I don't really buck the system.  I'm not what you'd call A Pioneer.

Which is why I've spent the better part of a year (while wresting with this schooling decision) quietly freaking the hell out.  On the inside (so as not to ruffle anyone's feathers and Make Waves, ahem).

And when I'm anxious (which is almost always), I eat.  Mostly baked things like cookies and cake.  But sometimes I'll also add in some ice cream.  And if I'm feeling particularly wacky, some chips and salsa.

And SURPRISE! Would you believe I've gained almost 10 pounds THIS SUMMER.  Yes.  In the last, oh, 4 months I've gained TEN FREAKING POUNDS.  Huh.  Who would have guessed this would happen?

In fact? Last Saturday night I asked my husband how my dress looked and his response was "it really emphasises your gut".  God bless him, the man is honest to a fault. 

The good news is: this partial homeschooling thing has forced me to become a LOT more organized.  You cannot do this stuff halfway.  And the organization has spilled over into other areas of my life.  Like, the budget is completely up to date, and hey(!) the toilets are all clean! Huzzah! 

The only thing left to organize is my diet.   

No, not A Diet (egads, I will NEVER do THAT again), but just healthier choices. Which, hey! Shouldnt' be hard - because almost anything is better than a diet of cookies and ice cream and ANGST. 

Change is on the horizon.  I can feel it in my (gigantic, swollen) gut.

What's Your Sign?

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My kid went to school today to learn (among other things) how to sing a song IN MANDARIN, and then he memorized all seven continents and the four major oceans. 

Which means that my child - my FIRST GRADER - is already smarter than me.

Before school started, I took a class sponsored by the school which showed us neophytes parents how to properly instruct our children.  One of the things they suggested was to teach our children the sign language alphabet as an aide in learning the 'single letter phonograms'.  In fact, all of the students at this school know ASL and the corresponding letter names/sounds by the time they finish kindergarten

So what I'm saying is: EVEN THE KINDERGARTNERS AT THIS SCHOOL ARE SMARTER THAN ME.

I worried that William would be behind since he didn't attend this school in kindergarten.  I mean HE didn't know sign language.  So I found an ASL guide in one of my books and thought I'd just try to teach him a few letters per week. 

Yeah.  He and Paige learned the entire alphabet IN ONE DAY.

Children's brains are amazing sponges.  Mine? Mine is like a sad sad dried up sponge.  A stinky, moldy, dried up sponge.  It's taken me an entire week to learn the ASL alphabet (after reviewing them a zillion times while peeking at my cheat sheet).

And I bet I'll forget them all by next week.

*Sigh*

Toe Snatcher

My husband woke up on Saturday morning and did what he always does - he staggered from the bed to the bathroom in the pale morning light.

Except Saturday, on his way to the bathroom, he fell.  Down.  All the way down to the floor. 

I jerked up in bed when I heard the ruckus (and the cursing) and asked what had happened.

He flipped the light on to see what had grabbed him and saw this:

Danger! Killer Pillow!

I, of course, asked if he'd tripped over the pillow.

Nope.

Apparently, strange as it sounds, Dave managed to get the toes on BOTH OF HIS FEET caught up in the fringe of that pillow.  Yes!  You heard me!

Deadly loopy fringe.  DEADLY!

I mean, what are the chances?  I don't think he could re-create the accident if his life depended on it.  I mean, HOW? Just HOW?

And I would like for you to know that I waited until just now to laugh at him.  I KNOW! I am so strong!

Debunked

As far back as last summer, my kids started asking to "have a sleepover" in William's bunk bed.  He sleeps every night in the top bunk, and they both begged (BEGGED) for Paige to get to sleep in the bottom one.

And I said no.  For an entire year I crushed their little souls.

Why?  Because I am a Sleep Nazi.  I take bedtime verrrry seriously.  When 8:30pm comes around, I want everyone to stop talking. To me. To each other.  To even themselves.  By bedtime, this momma just wants QUIET.  Which is why I expressly forbid this sleepover idea.  It was sure to evoke talking and NOT SLEEPING.  And to that? I am strictly opposed.

But something shifted my thinking when we were on vacation a few weeks ago.  The kids stayed in a room together - in bunk beds in fact - and they did GREAT!  Yes, they chatted for a few minutes before bedtime, but they eventually settled down and slept.  Miracle!

And so I let them have their first at-home sleepover last weekend.  And the most WONDERFUL THING happened: They not only slept, but when they woke up, THEY PLAYED TOGETHER AND DIDN'T COME DOWNSTAIRS FOR AN HOUR.

Yes.  I'm yelling.  But did you read that?  WE SLEPT FOR AN EXTRA HOUR WHILE THEY PLAYED.

If you're looking for my children, you will find them (for the foreseeable future) on Friday and Saturday nights in William's room.  And if you're looking for me and my husband, we will be the ones blissfully sleeping downstairs FOR AN EXTRA HOUR.

Ring Revisited

My brother and I have a weekly phone date to discuss the plot intricacies of Breaking Bad.  (Are you watching this show?  If you are of the faint-of-heart variety, I would NOT recommend it).  Today, while we discussed Skylar and her devious ways and how Gus was SO destined to be offed by the Cartel, the conversation wound around to our dad.  How he would have LOVED this show.  How he would have driven us absolutely insane talking about it.

And then we discussed what a crime it was that daddy died before the DVR was invented. 

Eventually, we started talking about our childhood in general and that's when I mentioned that I'd been given an album full of photos taken of every single room of our childhood home.  I presume they were taken for insurance reasons - to prove what we owned in the event of a fire or tornado.  My mom doesn't remember taking them, and this is just the sort of thing my dad would have done.

At hearing about the existence of these photos, Russ suggested we have lunch TODAY! NOW! And sure enough, he showed up a short time later with a pizza (for the kids) and we sat around FOR TWO HOURS looking at those pictures and talking about our childhood. 

My goodness, it was so odd to hear about the events of my life as seen through the eyes of 1) a boy, 2) someone younger and 3) someone with an entirely different disposition than my own. 

My dad once said that siblings are like veterans of the same war* - each lives through the exact same battles, but emerges with distinctly different wounds.  Some veterans return from war with PTSD and cannot manage even the simplest of life's tasks.  Others? Become U.S. Senators.

At the very bottom of the stack, was an old photo of my dad.  It was taken at one of the few times that my dad had grown his facial hair.  We're guessing sometime in his early thirties.

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To my bearded brother, it was like looking in a mirror.  The similarities were almost haunting.  In the photo, my dad was wearing his wedding ring.  The one he wore when he was married to my mother.  Russ commented on it, and I told him "I have it!".  I ran to the other room and returned with the ring.

Russ slipped it on his finger.  It fit him perfectly.  Even their hands are exactly the same.

We both sort of got tear-y thinking of all the years daddy wore that ring.  That it was on his hand when he cradled our newborn bodies.  I can still imagine it flashing as he plucked his guitar. 

Six years later, I'm still sad daddy's not here.  But I'm so glad my brother is here to be sad with me.


*No, momma, I'm not saying OUR childhood was like a war ; )

Any Minute Now Their Brains Will Oooze From Their Ears

Curled up in my bed with their stuffties.  Preshusss.

The kids and I are curled up in my bed watching a movie.  It's 7pm and everyone has eaten, brushed their teeth, and put on pajamas.  The very MINUTE this movie ends, everyone under the age of 37 is going straight to bed.

No, not because anyone has been particularly naughty.  It's actually been a very lovely day.  It's just that Dave has had a dinner meeting every night this week... leaving me here.  With the children.  ALL. DAY. LONG.

It's a LOT of togetherness.

Which is why I'm letting the Electronic Babysitter entertain my children.  I simply cannot play another game of Candyland or Dora Uno.  I can't.  I CAN'T STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT!

Tomorrow I've scheduled a playdate with our neighbor kids (who are ages 5 and 3).  Both my kids are super excited because a) they love these children and b) they need some kid interaction.

I fear this will be a constant battle this school year as all of William's friends attend "regular" school, and therefore are not home during the day like we are.  I've lined up play dates during the week (after 3:30pm, when his buddies are out of school), but I worry that he'll be lonesome this year.

Mainly I worry because I don't know how to do anything else.  I cannot simply be at peace.  MOMMY MUST ALWAYS WORRY.  It's in The Rules.  Check them.  You'll see.

The "Home" Day

William: learning.  Paige: Distracting.

Today was our first "home day".  The day when William does his lessons at home with me, instead of going to school.  Tomorrow, he will take the work he completes back to his teacher for grading.

I've been warned about the "home day" from practically every veteran parent I've encountered.  I was told to plan NOTHING for today.  No lunches out.  No play dates.  No errands.  "Just focus on the school work."

Heck, I was even told to let the crock pot cook my dinner.  Not to even TRY to cook a meal on "the home day".  Heh, believe me, I don't have to be told twice not to cook.  I'll use ANY excuse!

But I'll be honest, I sort of poopoo'd their advice.  I mean, how long can it take for a first grader to complete assignments?  My kid is used to doing worksheets during Paige's afternoon nap - how different could this possibly be?

Very different, as it turns out.

Thankfully, I took the advice of the veteran moms and planned ZERO things for today.  I had my mind ready for the possibility that this could go badly.  And it's a good thing I did.  Oh the work went fine, it was my KID who was the problem.  What I didn't count on was the constant COMPLAINING and GROUSING and WHINING from William.  He did not understand why he had to do all this WORK and LEARNING while at HOME.  The horror!

But, he's an amiable child, and with a bit of prodding from me (ok, and threatening), he was able to complete his work BY TWO THIRTY.  Yes.  It took from 9am to 2:30pm to get all the work done.  Yes, we had breaks.  At one point he played 30 minutes of video games, at another point, I let he and Paige watch a show on TV while they ate their lunch.  Then they played after lunch until Paige's nap. 

So it wasn't ALL work ALL the time.  But still.  It took all day.

That's the "bad" news (if you can call it bad), the good news is: I loved every minute of it.  Ok, maybe not the complaining.  But the time together, my involvement in his learning process.  The way Paige and he did the phonetic flashcards together (Paige is even learning sign language along with her brother!).  Then, William read her a story (as part of his assignment in English).  It's all so sweet.

So far, I'm really liking this school and this model of education.

Of course, it *is* only the second day.  Ask me in a few weeks how I'm feeling.

The First Day of the Rest of Our Lives

The obligatory First Day of School photo.

Today was William's first day of first grade.  It was also the first day for Paige to attend Mother's Day Out since mid July. And in case you're counting, that's FIVE WEEKS I've been with these children nonstop, uninterrupted.  Not that I'm counting (OH PLEASE I AM TOTALLY COUNTING).  And before I get into what it was like to take William to his school this morning, and how he did today, let's talk about ME.

What? It's MY blog isn't it?

Today was SO AWESOME.  My to-do list? DONE.  Booyah!   All those Little Things that have been piling up over the summer, those things I worried about, all of them, are DONE in the space of ONE DAY.

It's amazing how much easier it is to accomplish things when you're not refereeing fights, searching for kid shoes so that you can leave the house (why is it so hard to just PUT THE SHOES WHERE THEY BELONG? Huh? WHYYYEEEE?), or buckling car seats.  I swear to you, I could have solved the national debt crisis today.  I was that focused and efficient.

But back to William.  When he got into the car after school, he said he liked his teacher.  He even said he made a friend!  Best of all, he said his day was "great".  Not just "good", but "great"!  He did, however, lodge a small complaint.  Apparently, they did "only one fun thing today"... and that was recess.  "The rest of the time we just had to WORK and LEARN". 

My goodness! What kind of school is this where children are expected to do things like WORK and LEARN?  It's an outrage!

Nail Biting

End of Summer fun.

My boy starts his new school in the morning.  And in preparation for school, I attended a training class on Saturday morning.  One that trained me how to train William.

Specifically, I was taught how to teach William how to spell, write, and read.  Something I thought I already knew how to do. 

Turns out? Not so much. 

The methods by which these students are taught are totally foreign to me.  Apparently, I learned by memorizing sight words.  The "see and say" method.  William will learn using an entirely different method.  One in which he will learn phonetic methods, grammar rules, and, um, oh heck, I forgot. 

Until Saturday, I was looking forward to my year.  Looking forward to being involved in my child's education.  I was excited.

Now?  I'm mostly terrified.

Thankfully, immediately following the training session, the school held a little luncheon for new parents.  And at the luncheon, we new parents were told that we were mostly likely going to feel terrified the first few weeks of school.  That we would question our decision to send our children to this school.  That we would question our very sanity.  That we would, at some point in the first six weeks, want to quit.

And I'm so glad they told me that.  BECAUSE I AM FEELING ALL OF THOSE THINGS.

Waaaaahhh.  Hold me.

Winky McWinkypants

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Lately Paige has developed a proclivity for closing just one eye.  She's constantly winking.  She'll just be talking to  you and she's closing one eye.  This alarmed me.  So much so, that my Worried Mommy Brain started to suspect that she had some serious vision issues. 

I reasoned that I had instances on both sides of my family where various uncles and aunts have one strong eye and one weak eye.  I felt sure that Paige was favoring her strong eye, and choosing to close the weak one. 

My diagnostic skillz! I am SUCH a good doctor! (Especially considering I've never been to medical school!).

I asked around and got a recommendation for a good pediatric eye doctor.  An actual doctor (unlike me: I only play a doctor on the Internet).  When I called to make the appointment, they were very clear that I would need to pay UP FRONT for this exam. That insurance does NOT cover routine eye exams on three year olds.

$105.  Yikes.

But it was worth it!  Because mah baybee was most surely GOING BLIND.  In only one eye.  But still.

I spent moments day-dreaming about what Paige would look like with glasses.  Wondering if she could possibly keep them clean, and more importantly, keep from breaking them.  And then I began to fear that she'd have to wear an eye patch over her good eye to help the other eye get stronger - like a pirate.  My own little Jack Sparrow in drag.

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We arrived for our appointment today and Paige sat quietly while the nurse tested first one eye, and then the next.  Paige dutifully described the tiny pictures on the screen, never getting one wrong.

Then the nurse DILATED her wee eyes.  I did not expect this for a three year old.  But Paige took it like a champ.  She never cried.  And she seemed only slightly irked that someone had forced drops of sting-y liquid in her peepers.  The nurse was so impressed she gave her chocolate.

Then the doctor came in and looked at Paige with various NASA-looking instruments.  All the while saying what a nice, sweet girl Paige was.  He never gave any indication of what he was seeing in her eyes.

Finally, he turned to me and I braced myself for the news.  With a very grave voice he said "Her eyes are perfect.  I believe the winking is caused by something we like to call WEIRDNESS".

Huh.  Weirdness runs in my family too.

I suppose I should have thought of that.  I would have saved myself $105.

*Sigh*

Wherein I Talk About Private School

Will with his new teacher - who is so cute I want to put her in my pocket and take her home with me.

So, my kid is starting a new school next Monday. He'll be in the first grade (though I can hardly believe it).  Notice I said "new" school.  Yeah.  About that.  The decision to change schools - to go from a (good) public school, to a private school - was difficult. 

Sort of. 

I knew from the minute William started school (back when he was four) that the big public school wasn't really the right place for him.  It was big and crowded and chaotic.  And William doesn't do well in big, crowded, chaotic environments. 

And so, at this time last year, I began to nudge my husband about a private school I'd heard of.  One that uses the Classical Model to educate.  One that has a class-size cap at 12 students. Yes! TWELVE!

First, I read every single book I could get my hands on about the Classical Model, about The Trivium, and about The Socratic Method of education.  Then I convinced Dave to tour the school with me in September of 2010.  We were incredibly impressed with the faculty, the curriculum, and the students.

But there was a catch.  A BIG catch.  The school only meets two days per week. 

Two.

The other days, parents are expected to oversee specific homework assignments to be turned in the following school day.

This "blended model" (as they call it) keeps parents closely involved with their child's education, and also leaves room for extra curricular activities.  (I think we will enroll William in karate this fall - something I didn't do last year because he was too exhausted after 9 hours at school to do much more than stare blankly at the wall until bedtime.).

I was all for changing schools.  I thought it sounded great.  My husband?  He took a bit more convincing.  His argument was essentially, why would we PAY for a school AND do more work AND drive 15 minutes one way when we could just drop the boy off down the street at the public school FOR FREE.

I'll admit, he had a valid argument.

But what finally convinced him was the way in which William was learning.  All sort of by proxy.  William is a quiet, gentle kid who doesn't cause any trouble.  And in a kindergarten class with one teacher and TWENTY FOUR students, a kid like Will is simply ignored.  The teacher, bless her soul, spent her day corralling and disciplining the naughty kids - she was more of a prison warden than a teacher. 

Instead, William will be in a class this fall with eight other children.  EIGHT OTHER CHILDREN.  He will not be ignored.  It's not possible.

The curriculum is more intense.  The first graders are expected to do second-grade level math.  They will know their multiplication tables up to the 5's by the time school ends. 

And in the third grade? They start Latin.

I realize this is rigorous, but I think the ramping-up in curriculum will be off-set by only having to go two days/week.  The other three days he can proceed at his own pace.  Take breaks.  Goof off.  Run.  Wiggle.  You know, BE A BOY.

I have no idea how this is going to go.  Some days I have high hopes that he will grow up, go to Harvard, and eventually cure cancer.  Other days, I just hope he can tie his shoes by the time he graduates.

Blurry



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Today was a blur.

William goes back to school on Monday.  And I can't wait. 

Not because I want to get rid of him.  No, I just want to be done with the back-to-school rush.

OMG with the buying of school supplies and the ordering of books and the shopping for uniforms and the parent orientations and the meet-the-teacherings.

I think first grade is trying to kill me.

Make New Friends, But Keep the Old



Three cheers for old friends!


We survived Arkansas!  And we were not (as far as we know) visited by any angry spirits.

Hurray for no hauntings! (Although I did get a little queasy when walking past a certain area of the house where my friend and her husband cleaned up a MYSTERIOUS BROWN STAIN.  But I would like for you to know that I did not, at any point, scream or pass out.  GO ME!)

We stayed, as you will recall, at the vacation home of a friend of mine.  She was, in fact, my very best friend growing up.  We did everything together.  And I thought we always would.  At the point when we graduated from high school, the idea of going months (sometimes even years) without seeing each other was unimaginable.

But then life happened.

She went off to school in an other state.  Then she graduated from college and got a Real Job in yet another state.  And as things do, we grew apart.  Not for any discernible reason.  We just got busy with life.  You know how it goes.

And so staying with her this weekend felt so foreign (I barely know her husband or her child), and yet so familiar.  It's funny how easily you can fall back into a groove with someone.  A half hour into our stay I felt like no time had passed. 

Except.

She's a grown-up now.  A wife.  A mother. 
 

My friend's son.  Would you please look at that dimple? I DIE!

And although I've grown quite accustomed to MYSELF in these roles, it was strange for me to see HER operating as a wife and mother.  Because, in my mind, she's still in high school.  Seventeen years old.  Just a baby herself.

I suppose, in the last 20 years, she's been getting older too.  It's funny how that happens.

People of Arkansas

I hate it when people make judgements about me based on the fact that I live in Oklahoma.  I have had actual people look me right in the eye and ask if there are still buffalo, Indians, and teepees in Oklahoma.

And in case you're wondering, the answer is no.  There are skyscrapers, and freeways, and golf courses.  I've seen buffalo IN THE ZOO. 

So today, when I traveled to Arkansas for the first time, I was determined not to paint the state with a broad brush.  I did NOT want to judge.

And yet.

So far today I have encountered MANY people with FEW teeth.

Now granted, I've only been to gas stations and (even worse) Walmart.  So I'm STILL determined to withhold judgement.

But I swear, I'd better see a LOT more teeth tomorrow, or I might have to believe the rumors.



BTW, have you seen People of Walmart?  My goodness, it makes me weep for our future.

Sixth Sense

My family and I have been invited to stay with some friends in their lake house in a few weeks.  Four days of boating and (more importantly) catching up with long lost friends.  We are all so excited.

Since the trip is approaching, I called my friend to find out the specifics (will we need sleeping bags? how much food should we bring? Is there a washer/dryer?).  After we discussed the nitty gritty, we moved on to chatting about the drive time (SIX HOURS. Eeep!), and the lake itself (which is, apparently, beautiful).

The conversation eventually got around to their lake home, about how excited they were to buy it a year ago, about what a steal of a deal it was. 

And that's when she said it.

"Well, have I ever told you why we got such a good deal on the house?".

*Gulp*

Apparently, someone committed suicide in the basement.  AND GUESS WHERE MY FAMILY AND I WILL BE SLEEPING?

Yes.  The basement.

And when she told me, I LAUGHED! And I found myself saying "oh PLEASE", and "that's no big deal".  And the truth is, it ISN'T a big deal.  It really isn't.

And yet.

I've had more run-in's with The Spooky than I'd care to admit. 

Once, about a year after my dad passed away, my son (then only 3) turned to me one afternoon when we were alone together and said "why is that man crying?".  Since we were alone, I asked "what man?".  And he pointed his wee finger at a photograph of my father as a little boy.  He was smiling in the photo.  Not crying. Smiling.  And yet William kept insisting that it was a MAN and he was CRYING.

Freaky.

And then, about 6 months ago, Paige (who has never known my dad, and rarely even hears his name) asked me if Grandpa Noble would be at my weekly lunch with my Aunt Susie.  Which was odd on many levels since 1) how the heck did she know his name? (if I *do* talk about my dad, I certainly don't refer to him as "Grandpa Noble") and 2) my dad had lunch with my Aunt Susie every single week until he died. 

Probably nothing.  But still.  Freaky.

Does this mean I've had encounters with actual, what? GHOSTS? Just typing that WORD makes me feel like a lunatic.  And does sleeping in a basement where a person lost their life mean that I will have a personal encounter with an angry spirit who is unable to cross over to the, um, OTHER SIDE and will therefore haunt me and my family until we run screaming from the house in the dead of night only to be murdered by a man with a chainsaw wearing a hockey mask?

Of course not. 

Right?  OH MY GOD PLEASE TELL ME I'M RIGHT.

Surface of the Sun

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Remember how I started off the summer complaining about the unbearable heat?

Yeah.  About that.

Turns out, the month of July was not only the hottest EVER on record for our state, but it was the hottest on record FOR THE ENTIRE NATION.  EVER.  In the history of record keeping (going back to 1895).*

See?  I TOLD YOU IT WAS HOT.

*Source: http://www.tulsaworld.com/news/article.aspx?subjectid=100&articleid=20110808_100_0_GaryMc463051#

Weekend Lessons

Things I learned on my ski vacation*:

1. I learned to take my back foot out of my ski.

Skillz.

2.  I learned to take my back foot out of my ski WITH someone else next to me.

Skillz: They're multiplyin'.

3. I learned to ski with no hands. 

Look Ma! Fat Thighs ARE good for something!

4.  I learned that you have to watch my SIL veeeery closely while skiing.



She's sneaky.



5. I learned to ski on the disk BACKWARD.



I also learned that my hiney is HUGE. 



6. I learned that building a pyramid can lead to bruising.

My legs look like I took a hammer to them.

7. I learned that when my SIL says "lets build a knee board pyramid!", that it might not turn out as cool as we'd hoped.

He looks like he's riding on two turtles.

8. I learned that even a three year old can ski if properly motivated.

And with the right teacher.

9. I learned that a seven year old is harder to motivate.

This right here?  Cost me ten bucks.

10. I learned that, when holding on to the back of a knee board, you should not position your nose near Paige's, um, crack. 

Why, of COURSE she tooted.  I TASTED it.  And it was also HOT. *GAG*

*There are not enough words to properly thank our hosts.  Mike and Donna, we are SO grateful.  Truly.

Preview

We went to the lake this weekend.

And I was able to cross something off of my bucket list.

Item #28: Build a water ski pyramid.  *Check*

I'll tell you all about it tomorrow.

Tonight I'm laying in my own bed wondering how much ibuprofen I can legally take.

BPFSS

Last Friday night we went to the movies.  Just the four of us. 

iPhones do not take good pictures in the dark. FYI.

Going to the movies was a first for us.  Up until now, we'd thought Paige (barely 3) was a bit too young.  But, the animated movie "Rio" was playing at a nearby dollar theater (which is a misnomer, as all movies are TWO dollars. Ahem).  We figured if Paige couldn't sit still for the duration of the film, we'd only be out $8.

Well, that's not entirely true.  We all know the ticket is only PART of the price of admission to the movies.  Then there's the popcorn.  And the drink.  And maybe some Milk Duds (which I only eat while watching a movie... otherwise they are totally unappealing.  Why IS that?). 

And since we were not quite sure how this whole going-to-the-movies-with-a-toddler thing was going to pan out, we decided to do the old Big Purse Full of Smuggled Snacks Trick.

You do this, right?  Pack a big purse with items bought (for a MUCH cheaper price) at a convenience store so as to avoid giving the movie theater approximately one arm and one leg for the exact same stuff?  Please say I'm not the only criminal one.

As I was packing my contraband (juice boxes and crackers) I was reminded of a story my husband and his brothers LOVE to tell from their childhood about their mother.  And before I tell you, I should remind you that Dave's mother is a very fine, upstanding, respectable woman.  She would no more steal than the man in the moon.

At the time this story takes place, Pam had THREE boys (two of them teenagers) to feed during a movie.  That, my friends, is a LOT of popcorn and candy and cokes.  To buy such things at the movie theater would have required her to take out a second mortgage on her home.  And perhaps sell some plasma.

And so it was that Pam decided pack herself a Big Purse Full of Smuggled Snacks.  She stopped at a convience store prior to the movie and allowed the boys to pick out candy and drinks.  And I suppose she had smuggling on her mind, because she began ripping things off the racks AND SHOVING THEM INTO HER PURSE.  Like a common shoplifter!

I'll wait here while you clutch your pearls.

Dave swears if he hadn't noticed what she was doing and yelled "MOM!" (which snapped her out of it right quick), we'd all be visiting her in prison to this very day.

Blush. Blanche. Bliss.

Yesterday afternoon I escaped the heat for a few hours by attending a play in downtown Oklahoma City.  The performance was held at our Civic Center.  The "big", "fancy"auditorium in our city.  The one where you go to hear the symphony.  The one that hosts The Nutcracker at Christmastime. 

Yesterday, I saw A Street Car Named Desire.  And I sat in the best seat in the house.  Right up close.  Right in the middle. 

You see, the leading role (no, not Stella, the other one - the one who goes crazy) was played by my dear friend, Alissa.  And she had a special ticket set aside just for moi.  I know! I'm very special.

Alissa was (is) a Real-Live Bonafide Actor.  She moved here from LA (because of family) and now teaches acting at my Alma Mater (the University of Oklahoma.).

I agreed to go see her performance on the premise that I'd never really seen her act.  I wanted to! I was looking forward to it.

Until it happened.

When she walked out onto the stage, I felt awkward.  Like I do when I stumble upon my kid pretending to be Thomas the Train (complete with British accent).  I was a little embarrassed.  Like I was witnessing my friend up there pretending like a 4 year old.

I squirmed in my chair and wondered if I'd be able to endure the entire show.

And that's the last thing I remember.  I got lost in the show and the character and I soon forgot it was even Alissa up there. I was simply watching Blanche.  In New Orleans.   I was swept away in the story so much that I found myself frowning at the main actor when he struck Stella.  As if he would somehow feel my scorn.  And when Alissa Blanche gazed out into the audience pretending to see a streetcar passing by, I totally bought it. 

I suppose that's what makes an actor a Good Actor.  My reality was completely suspended.  She was really good! The show was really good! (which was a relief, because, I mean, she could have totally sucked, right?).

After the show I waited for Alissa outside the theater.  She wandered out only minutes after the curtain fell.  There she was in jeans and a tank top looking, well, just like her.  No more Blanche.  Just my friend Alissa.

And then I felt awkward again.  What does one say? "My GOSH that was good pretending!".  That's what I felt like saying. 

Because she is.  She's a really good actor.