School started on Wednesday, as I already mentioned. I put a lot of schooling on my plate this term, since the kids are gone, so I'm feeling a smidgen overwhelmed so far. The classes I'm now entering are very different than the ones I've been doing. First I started with the book work type of classes. Then the project-based classes. Now it's the practical application classes. What doesn't help is that I've not done any of this before, so the anxiety levels can get kinda high. Plus, someone is critiquing your work pretty much full time. You self-critique, your peers critique you, your teachers critique you, and your mentors critique you. Sounds fun, no?
Day 7
Not having kids around means the house needs less cleaning. You'd think we'd have a tendency to clean a little each day, since it's WAY less than the cleaning we were doing every day before. But you'd be wrong. We tend to let it pile up over a few days. Because we're lazy.
My mom called and asked a bunch of questions about my children and their typical behavior and we had an interesting discussion about them and why they do what they do. (The answer is that I have no clue.) I gave her my best advice and told her good luck. It's weird to have our positions reversed like that.
Rob came home late last night which wasn't stressful in the least. We have decided that if we normally didn't have kids around we would probably:
1 - Work longer hours.
2 - Need less sleep.
3 - Have more emotional energy.
4 - Cook better food.
I'm not saying that kids are an energy suck, but let's be honest shall we? They totally are. And this is coming from someone who likes her kids and likes being a mom. Kids just use up a lot of physical and emotional energy.
But they also do things like hug you tight and color pictures for you. So it's totally worth it.
(I'm not trying to be sarcastic, I DO think it's worth it. It's just not worth it in a way that adds up, math-wise, in the short-term. Also, studies show that people without kids report higher levels of happiness. Which makes sense, cause those people have more emotional and physical energy, are less stressed, aren't boggled by their kid's latest insanity, have more money to spend, and get more sleep. Duh. But they also die without grandkids. So there.)
Friday, June 29, 2012
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
Day 6 - a story
It should be noted that school starts again today. Since this is the reason why my kids are in California, it seems important to bring it up. I have hours and hours and hours of Practicum scheduled every week. The more I can knock out while they're gone, the less I'll need to do when they're back.
Today Rob and I started the day with a bike ride. It's amazing how much more motivated I am to exercise in the summer when I'm already hot, no matter what I do. Then I took a nap because I don't have many more napping days left.
Then something happened that took me way back. I walked outside barefoot to bring in our trash can and was stung by a bee, right in the middle of my foot. It's been a long time since I've been stung, and an even longer time since it's been on the bottom of my foot. Not pleasant, I tell you. (Though not awful, let's be honest.)
This reminded me of a good little story from my childhood. It's a story of a pesky little brother and a loving father.
One day me (10), Collin (12), Keith (8), Justin (6), Chad (4), and a neighbor (6) were walking through the woods behind our house. I guessed on the ages, but it's accurate enough for the purposes of this story. It wasn't often that us bigger kids (me and Collin) hung out with the younger ones. Probably pure boredom motivated us to do so on that particular day.
Anyways, we were walking through a small section of the woods that we normally didn't bother walking through. It was tiny and not very exciting and about 5 feet away from the lawn. I suppose that day we were "exploring" and hence didn't want to leave the great wild of the woods.
On our first pass through the section, we saw a hole in the ground. We were trying to figure out what the hole was, but we didn't think much of it. On the way back, though, we figured it out. Bees. Or whatever bee-like thing it is that burrows into the ground. Collin and I walked tenderly around the hole. The danger was past (is it past or passed?) and we were happily walking on when Justin and the neighbor started running past us and telling us to run, too.
Too late, though. We were surrounded by swarming bees. Chad was still there, and I was trying to focus through the bee storm enough to get him out, but was completely overcome and ran out myself. I ran to the top of the hill (maybe 50 feet? 75? Not far), where our house was, to get help. Miraculously, my father was just home from work and was standing in the front yard looking at our garden. I was relieved to see him and started quickly telling him what was going on.
Except I was apparently babbling incoherently, because he couldn't understand anything I was saying between the fast talking and the crying. He was listening intently, but I wasn't making sense. I was frustrated because there was real danger down there and I couldn't get it out. Suddenly Collin ran up the hill and declared simply, "Chad's down there."
My dad BOLTED. I've never seen him run faster than he did that day. I remember it clearly, because I hadn't known that my father was that fast. He ran into the bee storm, pulled out a helpless Chad, and pulled about 50 bees off his little body. All of us had been stung a bunch of times, I had 6 stings, but it's harrowing to think that if my father had not been standing there, RIGHT there, there might not have been time. At the very least, him running down there averted a medical emergency.
I remember when he came back up the hill holding Chad, there were bees on him, too. And in that moment, my dad was Super Man.
My Pop isn't a super sentimental being. Back in the day "I love you" was rare to hear. A lot of the love stuff that most of us do easily isn't easy for him. On top of that, he isn't a big reactor. I could come home super excited about something and he'd casually say, "Great," maybe, or just nod. So I'd have to go find Mom so she could be excited for me. Dad was just a cool cat.
But that day, when he bolted down the hill without wondering what might happen to him, ... I knew what that was. That was love.
(Years later Justin admitted that he and the neighbor kid were throwing rocks into the hole, just to see what would happen, and that's why the bees swarmed. Hence this is also the story of a pesky little brother.)
Today Rob and I started the day with a bike ride. It's amazing how much more motivated I am to exercise in the summer when I'm already hot, no matter what I do. Then I took a nap because I don't have many more napping days left.
Then something happened that took me way back. I walked outside barefoot to bring in our trash can and was stung by a bee, right in the middle of my foot. It's been a long time since I've been stung, and an even longer time since it's been on the bottom of my foot. Not pleasant, I tell you. (Though not awful, let's be honest.)
This reminded me of a good little story from my childhood. It's a story of a pesky little brother and a loving father.
One day me (10), Collin (12), Keith (8), Justin (6), Chad (4), and a neighbor (6) were walking through the woods behind our house. I guessed on the ages, but it's accurate enough for the purposes of this story. It wasn't often that us bigger kids (me and Collin) hung out with the younger ones. Probably pure boredom motivated us to do so on that particular day.
Anyways, we were walking through a small section of the woods that we normally didn't bother walking through. It was tiny and not very exciting and about 5 feet away from the lawn. I suppose that day we were "exploring" and hence didn't want to leave the great wild of the woods.
On our first pass through the section, we saw a hole in the ground. We were trying to figure out what the hole was, but we didn't think much of it. On the way back, though, we figured it out. Bees. Or whatever bee-like thing it is that burrows into the ground. Collin and I walked tenderly around the hole. The danger was past (is it past or passed?) and we were happily walking on when Justin and the neighbor started running past us and telling us to run, too.
Too late, though. We were surrounded by swarming bees. Chad was still there, and I was trying to focus through the bee storm enough to get him out, but was completely overcome and ran out myself. I ran to the top of the hill (maybe 50 feet? 75? Not far), where our house was, to get help. Miraculously, my father was just home from work and was standing in the front yard looking at our garden. I was relieved to see him and started quickly telling him what was going on.
Except I was apparently babbling incoherently, because he couldn't understand anything I was saying between the fast talking and the crying. He was listening intently, but I wasn't making sense. I was frustrated because there was real danger down there and I couldn't get it out. Suddenly Collin ran up the hill and declared simply, "Chad's down there."
My dad BOLTED. I've never seen him run faster than he did that day. I remember it clearly, because I hadn't known that my father was that fast. He ran into the bee storm, pulled out a helpless Chad, and pulled about 50 bees off his little body. All of us had been stung a bunch of times, I had 6 stings, but it's harrowing to think that if my father had not been standing there, RIGHT there, there might not have been time. At the very least, him running down there averted a medical emergency.
I remember when he came back up the hill holding Chad, there were bees on him, too. And in that moment, my dad was Super Man.
My Pop isn't a super sentimental being. Back in the day "I love you" was rare to hear. A lot of the love stuff that most of us do easily isn't easy for him. On top of that, he isn't a big reactor. I could come home super excited about something and he'd casually say, "Great," maybe, or just nod. So I'd have to go find Mom so she could be excited for me. Dad was just a cool cat.
But that day, when he bolted down the hill without wondering what might happen to him, ... I knew what that was. That was love.
(Years later Justin admitted that he and the neighbor kid were throwing rocks into the hole, just to see what would happen, and that's why the bees swarmed. Hence this is also the story of a pesky little brother.)
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
Day 5
Once upon a time I had the great idea of writing journals for my kids while they were little. This worked pretty well until I started blogging, and then the journal entries became further and further apart. Lately Miciah has been reading her journal and asking me to write more in it. I said, "Write what? "Today Miciah and I read a girl development book and had a great talk about tampons."? There's not as much to say as there used to be." She decided I should write some stories from the past and/or print out my blog.
So today I started on that project. Spent about 4 hours putting together a 20-page book with blurb. When the kids get home they'll be pleasantly surprised to get Thackering: In The Beginning. Awesome sounding, right?
Know what I noticed?
 |
| September 2001 |
Rob and I looked so weird back then. Seriously. He has braces and I look like I'm 10.
Maybe I'll finish more by the time they get back. Maybe not. Either way, it's a start.
And that project made me feel like talking to my kids. So I called them. They were busy with Grandma, going fun places and doing fun things. It was a 5-minute phone call wherein I was passed from Miciah to Elijah to Teancom. In the end I said, "Well, I was just calling to say 'I love you," and 'Have fun.'" To which Tank responded, "Okay! Whatever!" Which means they're having a good time. Hurray!
As a side note, it's interesting that my most clingy child was actually the least clingy on the day they left. Miciah and Elijah were hanging all over me, but Tank was all chill. Strange, no?
Today was kale and cabbage soup. The kale, cabbage, and tomatoes were from our garden. Mmmm. We now have so much food in our fridge that we might not need to cook for the next week. Not joking.
And here's me with my hair cut. Self-portrait, into the mirror. (When I take pictures of myself, that's the only way that I look "right" to myself.) My hair isn't great in this picture (and it's not a great picture). I hadn't styled it or anything. Plus, we'd just returned from running. But I assume my hair isn't great most of the time, so I guess it's accurate!
Monday, June 25, 2012
Day 4
Today we've been doing chores. Cleaning up after a weekend of camping and headaches (seriously, the migraine was out of control). Buying stuff that we need. Mowing the lawn. Boring stuff.
Dinner for two:
Not once did I have to say, "I don't care that you don't like it, and how do you even know that you don't like it if you've never tried it before?"
Though this brings up a good point. While I don't mind skipping some of the kid stuff, some of the rest of it is pretty great. Who's going to randomly tickle attack Rob? Who's going to say "Mommy!" and give me hugs? Who's going to write notes like this:
I told Elijah that when I was missing him, I was going to ask Rob to run around the living room really fast so that I'd have to say, "Rob, where do we run circles? Yep, in the basement, your room, or outside. Please go one of those places."
Dinner for two:
Though this brings up a good point. While I don't mind skipping some of the kid stuff, some of the rest of it is pretty great. Who's going to randomly tickle attack Rob? Who's going to say "Mommy!" and give me hugs? Who's going to write notes like this:
I told Elijah that when I was missing him, I was going to ask Rob to run around the living room really fast so that I'd have to say, "Rob, where do we run circles? Yep, in the basement, your room, or outside. Please go one of those places."
Sunday, June 24, 2012
40 Day Fast
Well, these three kiddos are hanging out with their grandparents in California.
It wasn't planned. It just kind of materialized. (I say that like they just up and left one day. Ha!) They'll be gone for all of July. I counted out the days - if they come home August 1st, it'll be 40 days. We're on a 40 day kid fast.
I've decided to chronicle it. Cause it could be interesting. Well, I think it's interesting anyway, and this is my blog.
Day 1 - Saying Goodbye
(Umm, I don't know how long the camera lens has been filthy, but Rob finally figured it out yesterday. So the smudges will disappear in upcoming pictures.)
Rob and I drove to Dayton and saw the kids off on an airplane with my dad. This is how sentimental I am. When my dad said, "You can come to the airport with us if you want," I said, "No, it's cool. I can say my goodbyes at the house." And then he went on to say that he was actually asking me to come with him to help him get the kids through security, etc. Oh! Right. Of course. And can I just say that having 3 adults to take care of kids at the airport was luxurious. Highly recommend it.
Then Rob and I came home and something really strange happened. I was overcome with anger and then despondency. We've been without kids before for a week or so. We've been down to one kid lots of times. But never like this.
I started looking around at things. At their things. And I wanted to throw them across the room. Maybe destroy them. At the very least, shove them out of sight so I wouldn't have to look at them for weeks. The anger. And then, once that passed, I wanted to lay in bed for hours. "What am I supposed to do now?" I thought. "What is my purpose?"
It should be noted that I enjoy being without my kids. People who can't get away need to get their heads checked. But in that little moment, I just felt purposeless. And in truth, so much of what I do in life revolves around 3 tiny beings. And I like it that way.
So Rob and I got out of the house.
Day 2 - Clifty Falls
There's this itty bitty Indiana State Park not far from here called Clifty Falls State Park. Lame name. It's like they held a contest to come up with the least creative name. It was a toss-up between "Clifty Falls" and "Cliffs and Falls."
So, not shockingly, the park looked kinda like this:
Nothing spectacular, but it was pretty. I spent a ton of time in my childhood playing in a Midwest woods much like this, so Clifty Falls just felt right.
We hiked about 10 miles, most of it in the shade and/or along a creek bed! All day I kept saying, "Thanks for coming with me, Rob." I keep thinking it's uber-lame that Rob and I, you know, go camping and hiking for fun. This somehow is unrefined.
While falling asleep in our own bed that night we heard noises that seemed strange. When the house is empty except for the person laying next to you, there's lots to hear.
Day 3
Nough said.
Thursday, June 21, 2012
Bowl of Peaches
Know what's so great about this bowl of peaches?
It came from our peach tree!
We bought it this year. Actually, my Mom purchased it for me because I was eying it at the "plant store" (as Tank named it) and drooling all over myself. I told her that I wanted THIS peach tree because it's the one that will give me fruit this year and not 10 years from now. Which means you spend more than $15. And also means that we wouldn't be able to afford it until next year. (I've been eying the Give-Me-Fruit-This-Year peach tree for 2 spring seasons. I thought I did well not buying it for 2 years running.)
Each of us who so desired got a peach to ourselves, and a nice bowl of peaches. For our first year, I say that's a triumph! Also, the boys were not interested in the peaches. This is also nice - more for the rest of us!
A week or so ago, we were wondering when the peaches would be ripe. Then the birds let us know. Thanks, birds!
Our entire edible garden collection, minus the cucumbers and strawberries, which are in a different section altogether:
Next year the boysenberries will be replaced by a thornless blackberry mini-arbor. We'll be able to crawl under it. I'm already dreaming about it. And hopefully next year we'll be re-doing our deck and planting a grape arbor over it. Envision the loveliness!
Public Service Announcement: Don't plant boysenberries if you have other options. The yumminess doesn't make up for the ouchy thorns. There are even thorns on the leaves. The leaves! Just don't do it.
It came from our peach tree!
We bought it this year. Actually, my Mom purchased it for me because I was eying it at the "plant store" (as Tank named it) and drooling all over myself. I told her that I wanted THIS peach tree because it's the one that will give me fruit this year and not 10 years from now. Which means you spend more than $15. And also means that we wouldn't be able to afford it until next year. (I've been eying the Give-Me-Fruit-This-Year peach tree for 2 spring seasons. I thought I did well not buying it for 2 years running.)
Each of us who so desired got a peach to ourselves, and a nice bowl of peaches. For our first year, I say that's a triumph! Also, the boys were not interested in the peaches. This is also nice - more for the rest of us!
A week or so ago, we were wondering when the peaches would be ripe. Then the birds let us know. Thanks, birds!
Our entire edible garden collection, minus the cucumbers and strawberries, which are in a different section altogether:
Next year the boysenberries will be replaced by a thornless blackberry mini-arbor. We'll be able to crawl under it. I'm already dreaming about it. And hopefully next year we'll be re-doing our deck and planting a grape arbor over it. Envision the loveliness!
Public Service Announcement: Don't plant boysenberries if you have other options. The yumminess doesn't make up for the ouchy thorns. There are even thorns on the leaves. The leaves! Just don't do it.
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
Not as Expected
Well, you'll be happy to hear that I did NOT bomb Really, Really Important Test. In fact, I did really well on it.
Rob just laughed and laughed when I told him, and then he told me that he'd never again believe me when I said I didn't do well on a school assignment.
Apparently my standards for myself are quite high. I don't intend to change that, though.
So, happiness: I can continue on my path as previously planned. No re-taking tests. No re-taking classes.
Hurray!
Rob just laughed and laughed when I told him, and then he told me that he'd never again believe me when I said I didn't do well on a school assignment.
Apparently my standards for myself are quite high. I don't intend to change that, though.
So, happiness: I can continue on my path as previously planned. No re-taking tests. No re-taking classes.
Hurray!
Thursday, June 14, 2012
Who's the Humor Whore Now?
You guys remember my recent post on humor? I called Rob a humor whore, a guy who craves the laughs. I declared that to be a burden and was glad I was different. I don't need people to laugh at my jokes - I can be funny to myself, and that's good enough for me.
That was until someone actually thought I was funny.
Her name is Evan and she's awesome. She's funny herself. She's extremely nice and social and inclusive. She'll make you feel comfortable and welcome, even if you've just met her. She's a gem of a human being.
And I see her often. She's in one of my classes this term. She attends the same deaf events I attend. She's good at sign language, and she's comfortable shutting off her voice. So if she's there and I'm there, likely we're together and we're signing, and it's awesome.
Lately she's decided that I'm funny. The first few times caught me off guard. She started laughing at things I would say. She'd say, "Tamra, you crack me up," and I'd think to myself, "I don't believe I said anything funny." It was just my standard Tamra-style stuff. A little sarcasm, a little honesty. No jokes here.
I'm not just being modest. I seriously was searching my brain to discover where the humor was in what I'd said. In this conversation, for instance:
Evan: "I'm looking forward to your presentation tomorrow."
Tamra: "Oh, yeah. Don't be. It won't be that great."
Evan: [laughing] "Tamra, you're hilarious. 'Don't be. It won't be that great.' Ah, that's funny."
And I'm thinking, "That so wasn't a joke." I was trying to decide if I should insist that it wasn't a joke, if I should be insulted that she was laughing at what wasn't intended to really be funny. But I decided that it did have an element of humor. The sarcasm bit - the blow-it-off with self-deprecating humor part.
The conversation that put it all over the edge, though, went like this. There's a group of about 10 of us, some deaf, some hearing. Most of us signing. It's 11:30 p.m. Evan has had 2 beers.
A newbie in the group tells everyone that he's 31 years old. I say (in English and sign language at the same time) that I'll be 31 soon. Steve, a deaf man sitting next to me, says in sign language, "Oh! He's the same age as you." I nod. "You're 31. I'm so proud of you."
At this point I am genuinely stuck. How do you respond to that? He's proud of me for ... for what exactly? So I go ahead and say that, again in English and sign language: "For ... living?"
Evan DIES laughing. It stops the conversation. Everyone is staring at Evan, who is laughing so hard that she's crying, as she repeats what I've just said about 5 times. Again I'm looking at Evan thinking, "It really wasn't that funny."
That was a Friday. The next time I see her is Wednesday night's class, and she tells everyone that on Friday I'd said something that was hilarious. She can't remember what it was, but it was awesome. I tell her that it's just as well because it wasn't that funny. She insists it was, and I'm convinced at this point that she was just a touch tipsy the first time, so I repeat the whole conversation. And wouldn't you know it, AGAIN she dies laughing! She talks about it for the next 5 minutes, repeating the "joke" again and again, and says that I should be a stand-up comedian.
I went home and told Rob proudly, "EVAN thinks I'm funny. I'm not even trying, and she says I'm funny."
And a Humor Whore is born.
That was until someone actually thought I was funny.
Her name is Evan and she's awesome. She's funny herself. She's extremely nice and social and inclusive. She'll make you feel comfortable and welcome, even if you've just met her. She's a gem of a human being.
And I see her often. She's in one of my classes this term. She attends the same deaf events I attend. She's good at sign language, and she's comfortable shutting off her voice. So if she's there and I'm there, likely we're together and we're signing, and it's awesome.
Lately she's decided that I'm funny. The first few times caught me off guard. She started laughing at things I would say. She'd say, "Tamra, you crack me up," and I'd think to myself, "I don't believe I said anything funny." It was just my standard Tamra-style stuff. A little sarcasm, a little honesty. No jokes here.
I'm not just being modest. I seriously was searching my brain to discover where the humor was in what I'd said. In this conversation, for instance:
Evan: "I'm looking forward to your presentation tomorrow."
Tamra: "Oh, yeah. Don't be. It won't be that great."
Evan: [laughing] "Tamra, you're hilarious. 'Don't be. It won't be that great.' Ah, that's funny."
And I'm thinking, "That so wasn't a joke." I was trying to decide if I should insist that it wasn't a joke, if I should be insulted that she was laughing at what wasn't intended to really be funny. But I decided that it did have an element of humor. The sarcasm bit - the blow-it-off with self-deprecating humor part.
The conversation that put it all over the edge, though, went like this. There's a group of about 10 of us, some deaf, some hearing. Most of us signing. It's 11:30 p.m. Evan has had 2 beers.
A newbie in the group tells everyone that he's 31 years old. I say (in English and sign language at the same time) that I'll be 31 soon. Steve, a deaf man sitting next to me, says in sign language, "Oh! He's the same age as you." I nod. "You're 31. I'm so proud of you."
At this point I am genuinely stuck. How do you respond to that? He's proud of me for ... for what exactly? So I go ahead and say that, again in English and sign language: "For ... living?"
Evan DIES laughing. It stops the conversation. Everyone is staring at Evan, who is laughing so hard that she's crying, as she repeats what I've just said about 5 times. Again I'm looking at Evan thinking, "It really wasn't that funny."
That was a Friday. The next time I see her is Wednesday night's class, and she tells everyone that on Friday I'd said something that was hilarious. She can't remember what it was, but it was awesome. I tell her that it's just as well because it wasn't that funny. She insists it was, and I'm convinced at this point that she was just a touch tipsy the first time, so I repeat the whole conversation. And wouldn't you know it, AGAIN she dies laughing! She talks about it for the next 5 minutes, repeating the "joke" again and again, and says that I should be a stand-up comedian.
I went home and told Rob proudly, "EVAN thinks I'm funny. I'm not even trying, and she says I'm funny."
And a Humor Whore is born.
Monday, June 11, 2012
Last Week
Let's talk about last week, shall we? Cause it was lousy.
This week is finals week, so last week was when all my projects were due. I wisely did several papers in advance and spread out the homework. No problems.
Had a stomach bug on Sunday night and Monday well into the day, and that set me back a little, studying-wise.
Then I bombed a Really, Really Important Test. Granted, I still don't really know how I did, and I won't know for another week or so, but I know that my mind FROZE - and it's all on video! Not good at all. Everything that was up there in my head refused to make it out to my hands. It was embarrassingly, excruciatingly horrible and I dread the feedback that is coming my way.
I performed well in several other important ways - I took a final early and aced it. (Well, that's not official, but I'm telling you, I rocked it out!) I did an ASL presentation in class of Wile E. Coyote and Road Runner, and it was pretty sweet. Etc.
But the fact that my birthday was the day after Really, Really Important Test that I bombed? Not cool.
Still, Friday was going to redeem everything. My birthday celebration. Rob asked me what I wanted for dinner and I said I didn't care, so long as I didn't have to take care of it (oh, and the Browns had to be there. Not optional). He said okay.
And then he took care of nothing. I cleaned the house with the kids' help for hours. And as Rob was coming home from work late, he called to ask if I wanted to run to the store to pick up stuff for dinner. I was so mad that I almost cried. Instead, I verbally abused the man that I adore. The whole thing was awful.
But then it was good. How could it not, when it was like this? Pretty sweet.
On Saturday night I finally was on speaking terms again with my sweet, patient husband.
Moral of the story:
1 - Don't verbally abuse people.
2 - Don't bomb Really, Really Important Tests.
And that's why I have this blog. So I can pass on nuggets of wisdom. You're welcome.
This week is finals week, so last week was when all my projects were due. I wisely did several papers in advance and spread out the homework. No problems.
Had a stomach bug on Sunday night and Monday well into the day, and that set me back a little, studying-wise.
Then I bombed a Really, Really Important Test. Granted, I still don't really know how I did, and I won't know for another week or so, but I know that my mind FROZE - and it's all on video! Not good at all. Everything that was up there in my head refused to make it out to my hands. It was embarrassingly, excruciatingly horrible and I dread the feedback that is coming my way.
I performed well in several other important ways - I took a final early and aced it. (Well, that's not official, but I'm telling you, I rocked it out!) I did an ASL presentation in class of Wile E. Coyote and Road Runner, and it was pretty sweet. Etc.
But the fact that my birthday was the day after Really, Really Important Test that I bombed? Not cool.
Still, Friday was going to redeem everything. My birthday celebration. Rob asked me what I wanted for dinner and I said I didn't care, so long as I didn't have to take care of it (oh, and the Browns had to be there. Not optional). He said okay.
And then he took care of nothing. I cleaned the house with the kids' help for hours. And as Rob was coming home from work late, he called to ask if I wanted to run to the store to pick up stuff for dinner. I was so mad that I almost cried. Instead, I verbally abused the man that I adore. The whole thing was awful.
But then it was good. How could it not, when it was like this? Pretty sweet.
On Saturday night I finally was on speaking terms again with my sweet, patient husband.
Moral of the story:
1 - Don't verbally abuse people.
2 - Don't bomb Really, Really Important Tests.
And that's why I have this blog. So I can pass on nuggets of wisdom. You're welcome.
Friday, June 8, 2012
A Little Princess Bride, Anyone?
In honor of my birthday, here is this video of Rob doing The Battle of Wits scene from The Princess Bride.
He came into my ASL class and demonstrated an English language version of the ASL concept of Role Shifting. It's basically when you become a different character, and it's used in ASL all the time. In English we don't use it so much, except for comic effect or storytelling or something.
Also, my ASL class only had 3 people in it this term. We've had a lot of fun. All of them, teacher included, were amazed that Rob would come in and perform for them. (That's right, my husband is awesomer than your husband.)
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
Freedom in One Way and Another
Freedom Gone
Today is the last day that I can sit at home alone in the afternoon and do my homework (or not do my homework, whichever).
Freedom Gained
However, I get to play with my kids full-time starting tomorrow! They can stay up late and I don't have to call them in at 9:00 when the light is perfect for catching fireflies. They don't have to wake up early in the morning (even though Elijah still will) and they won't need to wake ME up, either.
I LOVE summer's lack of rigorous schedule. I hate schedules, personally, so I like it when the only thing on our to-do list is "Hang Out and Have Fun!" This also explains why I'm notoriously boring. I don't know where the Happening Places in Cincinnati are because I think the most happening place is my backyard fire pit. ... This is what it feels like to be old and boring and not care. How lovely.
Someone Else Finds Freedom
And that is why you keep the weights on the top of the cage.
Today is the last day that I can sit at home alone in the afternoon and do my homework (or not do my homework, whichever).
Freedom Gained
However, I get to play with my kids full-time starting tomorrow! They can stay up late and I don't have to call them in at 9:00 when the light is perfect for catching fireflies. They don't have to wake up early in the morning (even though Elijah still will) and they won't need to wake ME up, either.
I LOVE summer's lack of rigorous schedule. I hate schedules, personally, so I like it when the only thing on our to-do list is "Hang Out and Have Fun!" This also explains why I'm notoriously boring. I don't know where the Happening Places in Cincinnati are because I think the most happening place is my backyard fire pit. ... This is what it feels like to be old and boring and not care. How lovely.
Someone Else Finds Freedom
Monday, June 4, 2012
Elijah's Story
Elijah has two stories that I want to post. This one came home today (last day of school is Wednesday!) and it's too brilliant to not post RIGHT NOW! As always, all spelling is his. On this particular story, I arranged it so it was easier to see the organization of the piece.
Ahem.
... To note: That was all only two sentences. We have since talked about two writing principles. 1 - Making lists. 2 - Run-on sentences.
Ahem.
Name: Elijah Ruben Thacker Rm. #204
Who lives here? Spong bob and spider man live here!
Who lives here? Spong bob and spider man live here!
Well how it all started is some people moved here
and they were unpaken
and a nock was heard
and they opened the door
and the people walked in
and the people yealed very lowed hay dude lets party on dude.
Ok dude and he sead no because he had to unpack some more
and he had to buy a bed
and he had to buy a lot of clowes
and he had to clean the house
and he had to buy a cimney
and he had to buy a mail box
and he had to buy a job
and spounge bob and spider man had to buy a place to live
and spounge bob and also spider man had to buy a window
and spounge bob and spider man had to buy a buck bed
and spuonge bob and spider man had to buy some food
and spounge bob and spider man had to buy a tv
and spounge bob and spider man had to buy a watch
and spounge bob and spider man had to buy a tree
and spounge bob and spider man had to buy a straw berry plant
and spounge bob and spider man had to buy a vacume
and sponge bob and spider man had to buy a gate
and spo- ob and spider man had to buy a dishwasher
and spounge bob and spider man had to buy a refrigearater
and sponge bob and spider man had to buy a filter
and sponge bob and spider man had to buy fifeteen blankets
and spounge bob and spider man had to buy a clock
and spounge bob and spider man had to buy a porch light
and spounge bob and spider man needed to have a few gates for there house
and spounge bob and spider man neeeded a lot of heters for there house
and spounge bob and spounge bob and spider man had to buy a fire extiwshter
and spounge bob and spider man had to buy a fire pit
and spounge bob and spider man had to buy a sink
and spounge bob and spider man just keept buying things all over again
so there house exploded
so they had to buy it again
so they lived happly ever after.
... To note: That was all only two sentences. We have since talked about two writing principles. 1 - Making lists. 2 - Run-on sentences.
The Tankster
I have a bunch of school projects to prepare for, but I'm sick today, so I don't feel like doing any of it. Also, I haven't been eating today (no point), which means I generally feel like fainting when I stand up.
So why not a blog post, eh?! I've already read books for 3 hours, listened to podcasts for 2 hours, and stared at the fish tank for another half hour. (We have an aquatic frog now. He's really cute.)
Church Practice Time
Tank's trying our patience when it comes to church attendance. Here's my feeling on it: He'll grow out of it. I figure the less of a deal I make of the whole thing, the better off we'll all be.
But I'm starting to feel like nothing we're trying is working at all, and we've tried lots of things. We came to the conclusion, as parents, that it's because Tank isn't forced to do enough hard things. He does plenty of chores and such, but most of those things he just does happily. So our new approach has been started today: Church Practice Time.
When we were at BYU and Miciah was a toddler, it was suggested by the Stake President's wife that we all do Church Practice Time (or whatever she called it) with our kids. It meant sitting quietly on the couch every day for an hour and 10 minutes. Doing nothing. Nothing at all. Just sitting with arms folded.
That sounded barbaric to me. Why would you do that to a toddler?! Plus, who has the time? What a waste. So we didn't do it. And our kids made it just fine.
Our version is like this: It's half an hour. Tank can do anything that he's allowed to do during sacrament meeting: color in a coloring book, read a church book quietly, or draw in a notebook. (No, we don't allow toys. Don't get me started. No, we don't allow his blankie. He's almost 6. No, he can't have a snack.)
We aren't tying it to a reward or punishment system. The idea is that every Sunday for the rest of Tank's life, until he's out of our house, he'll be attending church. Which means tolerating sacrament meeting is a skill he needs to learn. Hence Church Practice Time. When he starts behaving appropriately through sacrament meeting, we'll assume that he's learned this skill and cancel practice. If he starts behaving worse, we'll assume he needs more practice time, and we'll extend the half hour.
I'm the meanest mom. I think we spent more time on the couch today with him SCREAMING at me before Practice Time even started than the actual length of Practice. (I seriously shut the window so the neighbors wouldn't think he was dying and call the police.)
So it goes.
The Watering Can
Just to highlight the cute, nice, happy little Tank that he usually is, here's a good little story.
We were playing at Parky's Farm in the garden area. They have a water trough and several watering cans that the kids can fill up as many times as they want and then water select plants. There was a bucket where the watering cans were kept, and 2 watering cans were sitting in the lawn, about 15 feet away from the bucket. As we were leaving, I noticed them and said, "Oh, two watering cans."
We were coming back to this same area again, so I made a mental note to ask Tank to pick them up when we came back through in a few minutes. I kept on walking and when I turned to see where Tank was, I felt a small ping of pride when I discovered him picking up those watering cans and putting them back in the right place. Without me asking. And without him needing to - since he wasn't the one who left them there in the first place.
Sometimes kids are pretty cool.
...
I take no credit for this. My kids are who they are, pretty much despite me as a mother. I don't think I'm a bad mom, I just know I didn't create their personalities, and I'm highly unlikely to change them. Behavior modification I can work on - hence Church Practice Time - but am I likely to change Tank's attitude towards church? No.
And what a relief, right? I can barely handle my own attitudes, let alone 3 other little people's. :) Some day we'll all be adults and so long as I've loved them, and treated them well, I assume we'll all be friends then.
Maybe then Tank will thank me for Church Practice Time. ...Or more likely, he'll probably still hate it, even when he's 30 and looking back on his life. ... Still gonna make him do it.
So why not a blog post, eh?! I've already read books for 3 hours, listened to podcasts for 2 hours, and stared at the fish tank for another half hour. (We have an aquatic frog now. He's really cute.)
Church Practice Time
Tank's trying our patience when it comes to church attendance. Here's my feeling on it: He'll grow out of it. I figure the less of a deal I make of the whole thing, the better off we'll all be.
But I'm starting to feel like nothing we're trying is working at all, and we've tried lots of things. We came to the conclusion, as parents, that it's because Tank isn't forced to do enough hard things. He does plenty of chores and such, but most of those things he just does happily. So our new approach has been started today: Church Practice Time.
When we were at BYU and Miciah was a toddler, it was suggested by the Stake President's wife that we all do Church Practice Time (or whatever she called it) with our kids. It meant sitting quietly on the couch every day for an hour and 10 minutes. Doing nothing. Nothing at all. Just sitting with arms folded.
That sounded barbaric to me. Why would you do that to a toddler?! Plus, who has the time? What a waste. So we didn't do it. And our kids made it just fine.
Our version is like this: It's half an hour. Tank can do anything that he's allowed to do during sacrament meeting: color in a coloring book, read a church book quietly, or draw in a notebook. (No, we don't allow toys. Don't get me started. No, we don't allow his blankie. He's almost 6. No, he can't have a snack.)
We aren't tying it to a reward or punishment system. The idea is that every Sunday for the rest of Tank's life, until he's out of our house, he'll be attending church. Which means tolerating sacrament meeting is a skill he needs to learn. Hence Church Practice Time. When he starts behaving appropriately through sacrament meeting, we'll assume that he's learned this skill and cancel practice. If he starts behaving worse, we'll assume he needs more practice time, and we'll extend the half hour.
I'm the meanest mom. I think we spent more time on the couch today with him SCREAMING at me before Practice Time even started than the actual length of Practice. (I seriously shut the window so the neighbors wouldn't think he was dying and call the police.)
So it goes.
The Watering Can
Just to highlight the cute, nice, happy little Tank that he usually is, here's a good little story.
We were playing at Parky's Farm in the garden area. They have a water trough and several watering cans that the kids can fill up as many times as they want and then water select plants. There was a bucket where the watering cans were kept, and 2 watering cans were sitting in the lawn, about 15 feet away from the bucket. As we were leaving, I noticed them and said, "Oh, two watering cans."
We were coming back to this same area again, so I made a mental note to ask Tank to pick them up when we came back through in a few minutes. I kept on walking and when I turned to see where Tank was, I felt a small ping of pride when I discovered him picking up those watering cans and putting them back in the right place. Without me asking. And without him needing to - since he wasn't the one who left them there in the first place.
Sometimes kids are pretty cool.
...
I take no credit for this. My kids are who they are, pretty much despite me as a mother. I don't think I'm a bad mom, I just know I didn't create their personalities, and I'm highly unlikely to change them. Behavior modification I can work on - hence Church Practice Time - but am I likely to change Tank's attitude towards church? No.
And what a relief, right? I can barely handle my own attitudes, let alone 3 other little people's. :) Some day we'll all be adults and so long as I've loved them, and treated them well, I assume we'll all be friends then.
Maybe then Tank will thank me for Church Practice Time. ...
Friday, June 1, 2012
Little Guy
The other day Tank had his Sunday shirt on inside out. I noticed it while we were sitting down in the pew. I asked him if he wanted to change it (cause honestly, I don't care if it's inside out), and he said yes. When I went to help him unbutton it, he looked around self-consciously and said, "Not here, Mom."
And then this morning I told him he needed to take a bath. Non-negotiable. I started the water for him, like normal, and then said, "Okay, go ahead." He looked at me like, "Are you kidding me?" And he said, "Well, get out."
Little guy's growing up.
(Still asked for help washing his hair, though. So I guess he's not TOO grown up.)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)