I'm celebrating by going on a long car ride with my kids, because nothings says "GOSH, I am happy to be 35!" like watching The Boy throw up over and over again. But that's not till lunchtime, and until then I'm running around doing odd little pre-trip errands and if you're of the thieving persuasion, ALL OUR STUFF IS JUNK. I am happy to be 35, anyhow - or just plain happy, which is the same thing, I guess. Even though all my stuff is JUNK AND NOT WORTH STEALING. And also, we own many vicious dogs. And my dad is planning on sitting on our porch cleaning his rifles all weekend.
SO yeah! We're going away. I'm loading up our MP3 player (full of Ralph's World and Leah Salomaa - apparently I've given up on ever listening to music for grown-ups again.), and also, did I mention that it is my birthday? Yes, it just happens to be that. I'll be back on Sunday and in the meanwhile, wish me happy birthday. And have a good weekend too.
Friday, August 31, 2007
Thursday, August 30, 2007
At Least He's Creative
The Boy was stalling at going to sleep last night and he kept yelling stupid things at us - he wanted water, he had to go to the bathroom, blah blah blah, and then he came up with THE BEST EXCUSE FOR NOT SLEEPING EVER:
"I see the floating head of Miss Marple!"
SCORE!
"I see the floating head of Miss Marple!"
SCORE!
She Is Going To Kick My Butt
Hey look! It's my mom!
She is all sorts of awesome looking, I think. She is the LUCKY! part of my genetics. She doesn't AGE, you see. Or get fat. I didn't inherit THAT part, sadly.
Anyhow. She is ALWAYS putting down her looks and I do NOT know why, but it makes me sad. You're AMAZING looking, mom!
There. Now she will kill me.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
I need to stop doing more than one post a day, because then my comments end up getting split and I end up full of angst because my post about oatmeal, it only got 19 comments.
Of course, I wrote a post about oatmeal and it got NINETEEN COMMENTS, so that's another way to look at it. And I need to RELAX about things a little bit more. Geeeeeeeez.
Here's how to cook steel-cut oatmeal in the crockpot. The crockpot is a good way to cook steel-cut oats because otherwise, I find it tricky to make sure they get enough cooking. Also? I love my crockpot. And want to marry it. If you live in Canada, you can buy nice steel-cut oatmeal from President's Choice cheaply and with THAT, I am DONE talking about oatmeal.
Hey, Friday is my birthday! I'm going to be 35. All I know is that my husband apparently hasn't bought me any presents yet and I think it might be because he's planning on buying them on a trip we're taking this weekend, to which I say: THAT IS CHEATING. I want my presentS on the day OF my birthday, not the WEEKEND of my birthday. And I also want cake for breakfast. I KNOW YOU READ THIS, HUSBAND.
34 feels a LOT younger than 35. I mean, at 34, I can honestly claim to be in my EARLY 30s. Still young! At 35 though, I am five years away from 40. Not so much with the youth. I don't feel any angst about it, but still: I'm getting older! And hungrier. I'm off to search for some breakfast that will not, I hasten to add, involve ANY oatmeal at all.
Of course, I wrote a post about oatmeal and it got NINETEEN COMMENTS, so that's another way to look at it. And I need to RELAX about things a little bit more. Geeeeeeeez.
Here's how to cook steel-cut oatmeal in the crockpot. The crockpot is a good way to cook steel-cut oats because otherwise, I find it tricky to make sure they get enough cooking. Also? I love my crockpot. And want to marry it. If you live in Canada, you can buy nice steel-cut oatmeal from President's Choice cheaply and with THAT, I am DONE talking about oatmeal.
Hey, Friday is my birthday! I'm going to be 35. All I know is that my husband apparently hasn't bought me any presents yet and I think it might be because he's planning on buying them on a trip we're taking this weekend, to which I say: THAT IS CHEATING. I want my presentS on the day OF my birthday, not the WEEKEND of my birthday. And I also want cake for breakfast. I KNOW YOU READ THIS, HUSBAND.
34 feels a LOT younger than 35. I mean, at 34, I can honestly claim to be in my EARLY 30s. Still young! At 35 though, I am five years away from 40. Not so much with the youth. I don't feel any angst about it, but still: I'm getting older! And hungrier. I'm off to search for some breakfast that will not, I hasten to add, involve ANY oatmeal at all.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
The Many Moods Of Oatmeal
INSTANT oatmeal is the precooked stuff in the little packets that you add boiling water to on busy mornings. It has flavourings and other questionable ingredients in it. I think it's pretty disgusting, but I lead a leisurely life and it still IS oatmeal.
QUICK oatmeal is normal, uncooked oats that have been cut fine so they'll cook faster.
REGULAR oatmeal is... regular! and oatmeal! It's less processed than the quick stuff so it will fill you up for longer, but it also takes longer to cook. If you want to use these in your cookies, you'll need to cook them for slightly longer AND you should probably refrigerate your batter for an hour or so before baking. They'll still be yummy.
STEEL-CUT oats are the least processed oats - they're big oatmeal chunks and kind of enjoyable. I like cooking these in the slow cooker overnight, and they are NO good for cookies.
And now you know.
Here's how to cook steel-cut oatmeal:
3 1/2 cups water
1 teaspoon butter
a pinch of salt
1 cup of heavy cream
1/4 cup maple syrup
1/4 cup light brown sugar, packed
1 cup steel cup Irish oatmeal
1/2 cup dried cranberries
1 tablespoon sugar
1/4 teaspoon cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon nutmeg
Bring the water, butter and salt to a rolling boil in a small saucepan.
Meanwhile, whisk together the cream, maple syrup, and brown sugar in a small bowl until the sugar dissolves and the mixture is smooth. Set aside.
Add the oats gradually to the boiling water. Reduce the heat to low and let the mixture simmer for 1/2 hour, stirring frequently. After the first 20 minutes, stir in the cranberries, sugar and spices.
Serve the oatmeal immediately with the sweetened cream.
Makes 3 to 4 servings.
(Recipe from the immensely useful "One Bite Won't Kill You" by Ann Hodgman")
QUICK oatmeal is normal, uncooked oats that have been cut fine so they'll cook faster.
REGULAR oatmeal is... regular! and oatmeal! It's less processed than the quick stuff so it will fill you up for longer, but it also takes longer to cook. If you want to use these in your cookies, you'll need to cook them for slightly longer AND you should probably refrigerate your batter for an hour or so before baking. They'll still be yummy.
STEEL-CUT oats are the least processed oats - they're big oatmeal chunks and kind of enjoyable. I like cooking these in the slow cooker overnight, and they are NO good for cookies.
And now you know.
Here's how to cook steel-cut oatmeal:
3 1/2 cups water
1 teaspoon butter
a pinch of salt
1 cup of heavy cream
1/4 cup maple syrup
1/4 cup light brown sugar, packed
1 cup steel cup Irish oatmeal
1/2 cup dried cranberries
1 tablespoon sugar
1/4 teaspoon cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon nutmeg
Bring the water, butter and salt to a rolling boil in a small saucepan.
Meanwhile, whisk together the cream, maple syrup, and brown sugar in a small bowl until the sugar dissolves and the mixture is smooth. Set aside.
Add the oats gradually to the boiling water. Reduce the heat to low and let the mixture simmer for 1/2 hour, stirring frequently. After the first 20 minutes, stir in the cranberries, sugar and spices.
Serve the oatmeal immediately with the sweetened cream.
Makes 3 to 4 servings.
(Recipe from the immensely useful "One Bite Won't Kill You" by Ann Hodgman")
Coooookies
The cookies in yesterday's Kitchen Party post (my new blog! Go check it out!) are a friend's recipe - whenever I go over to her house, she would have these astonishingly great oatmeal cookies, which she makes almost saucer-sized and perfectly round, slightly hinting of cinnamon. I would eat shocking amounts of them at her place and then go home and wish, forlornly, that I could make them too.Then it occurred to me that I could ask her for the recipe and she very cheerfully gave it to me and now I'm going to post it online, which just goes to show that you REALLY shouldn't share your recipes with me, perhaps:
My Friend E's Cookies
Cream 3/4 cup butter with 3/4 cup white sugar and 3/4 cup of brown sugar
Add 2 eggs and 1 tsp vanilla
Blend this all well and then put together:1 1/4 cup flour, 1 tsp baking soda, 1/2 tsp cinnamon and 1/2 tsp salt
Mix that all in and then add 3 cups of quick-cook oats, 1 cup of raisins (presoaked in warm water for 20 minutes and drained), 1 cup of chocolate chips or butterscotch chips, or heck, a little of both
Bake 8 to 10 minutes at 375 F
They're good. Quick-cook oatmeal is NOT the same thing as instant oatmeal, but I'm certain that you already know that. I just ate the last two of my cookies - which I don't make as big, sadly - for breakfast, along with a glass of milk.
Speaking of cookies - The Baby is playing with The Gingerbread Man toy that McDonalds put out to go along with the latest Shrek movie. The Gingerbread Man says something and the Baby exclaims "He don't TALK!" and then presses the talk button again. Oh, but he DO talk, Baby. Bub&Pie very kindly sent The Gingerbread Man to The Boy, after reading on my site that he was yearning very powerfully for one, mainly because he thought that The Gingerbread Man would (ahem) poop gumdrops. I should have sent B&P some cookies for her trouble, now that I think about it.
Very clever B&P came up with a fun new meme, complete with a spiffy button:
Yep, I'm Doctor Beck now. I haven't decided yet what the Course Calendar will be yet at MY planned School of Blog or who the teachers will be but Be Ready, because it's coming. I tried to work in a lame "trust me, I'm a doctor" joke, but it fell flat, so I gave up. I'll just close by thanking everyone for their warm reception to my new blogging gig yesterday. Thanks very much.
Monday, August 27, 2007
My Big News!
(Big, nervous breath....) I have a new blog!
I'm the new writer for the Kitchen Party at Urbanmoms.ca and my first post is up this morning. I'm really excited about it - I'd wanted to start a more kitchen-centric blog for a long time. (and there ARE other posts, but I didn't write them. I just wrote the post I'm linking to.) Come on over and say hi!
(edited to add: hey! My profile and picture are up now, and I think it will be a lot clearer what I've written. GO have a look!)
I'm the new writer for the Kitchen Party at Urbanmoms.ca and my first post is up this morning. I'm really excited about it - I'd wanted to start a more kitchen-centric blog for a long time. (and there ARE other posts, but I didn't write them. I just wrote the post I'm linking to.) Come on over and say hi!
(edited to add: hey! My profile and picture are up now, and I think it will be a lot clearer what I've written. GO have a look!)
This weekend was so much fun -
**BULLETIN BULLETIN BULLETIN**
The Baby just peed in her potty. Just now. She is jubilant.
**BULLETIN BULLETIN BULLETIN**
Anyhow. This weekend was SO much fun. We had decided back in July that we couldn't travel down south to my aunt's wedding - The Baby is a POOR traveller and since it feels like she JUST got healthy, we don't want to risk that - and then every single person in the house caught my vile, disgusting cold. So it didn't sound like a very promising weekend, but then a good friend came up for the weekend with her daughters after our health took a sudden turn for the better on Friday morning and we had a great time. We hadn't seen each other for FOUR years, and so her children were suddenly these tall, pretty girls instead of the little children I'd seen last time. Of course, I've added an additional human being to our family since her last visit, too.
They got to stay in our Brand New Office:
**BULLETIN BULLETIN BULLETIN**
The Baby just peed in her potty. Just now. She is jubilant.
**BULLETIN BULLETIN BULLETIN**
Anyhow. This weekend was SO much fun. We had decided back in July that we couldn't travel down south to my aunt's wedding - The Baby is a POOR traveller and since it feels like she JUST got healthy, we don't want to risk that - and then every single person in the house caught my vile, disgusting cold. So it didn't sound like a very promising weekend, but then a good friend came up for the weekend with her daughters after our health took a sudden turn for the better on Friday morning and we had a great time. We hadn't seen each other for FOUR years, and so her children were suddenly these tall, pretty girls instead of the little children I'd seen last time. Of course, I've added an additional human being to our family since her last visit, too.
They got to stay in our Brand New Office:
Note the futon that stands in for a guest bed. I heard someone say on a decorating show that "futons are NOT furniture", which amused me. Futons: The Leftover Student Non-Furniture Haunting the Houses of Our 30s. Unless you don't have one. How did you mange THAT?
The shelving unit on the right was given to us by our inlaws after they bought a new entertainment unit for their living room, and we were starkly horrified by it and stuck it in the shed. But suddenly it just worked for the office and/or we were desperate and now we love it. I love you, shelves. You hold my books and art supplies. The long narrow shelf currently holding the wooden truck is going to be the computer desk, should we ever get energetic and move the computer back in. You can also see my two houseplants, which are two more than I want to own but begrudgingly keep alive for the same reason that I rescue spiders in the bathtub: I don't KNOW why.
Thanks for all of your good wishes last week. I felt pretty gruesome mid-week, but I'm cheerfully on the mend now. And now I have a pleased growing-up girl to congratulate AGAIN.
Friday, August 24, 2007
A post about memes
Hailey tagged me many days ago and here I go:
INSTRUCTIONS:
1. You have to post these rules before you give the facts.
2. You must list one fact that is somehow relevant to your life for each letter of their middle name. If you don’t have a middle name, use the middle name you would have liked to have had.
3. When you are tagged, you need to write your own blog post containing your own middle name game facts.
4. At the end of your blog post, you need to choose one person for each letter of your middle name to tag. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.
KA-CHING! My middle name is.... can you bear the excitement?....
ANNE. I KNOW. You've never heard of that as the middle name for someone born in the 1970s before, have you? But it actually was FOR someone and not just a topical space-filler in the middle of my name - it's for my Godmother. And here we go:
A - Ailing. I am still sick. And I am so bored of being sick. I'm not as sick as I was mid-week, though, but there wasn't that sudden radiant moment when I would wake up in the morning completely well either.
N - None. The Amount of ice cream I like eating. Not a big ice cream fan. Which I realize is heretical but I could happily live the rest of my life and never eat ice cream again. I don't DISLIKE it, mind you, it's just not my idea of a treat.
N - November. When I normally get my serious bout of bronchitis. What the heck is up with this?
E - Exciting. I have a new blog project on the go, which I'm soon going to reveal to everyone. I hope you'll like it!
And on to tagging people - Hailey very cleverly continued using her middle name, and so will I: Angela, NotSoSage (Happy Birthday!), NoWheyMama, and
Everyday Life as Lyric Poetry.
And if you've tagged me recently, can you remind me in the comments? I had a computer virus erase bits and pieces of my computer's memory, including the little running note where I keep track of memes.
To clear up one thing from yesterday's post - I have no intention of holding The Boy back a year - he's already the oldest guy in his class, thanks to his January birthday. I would homeschool him for a year and then send him to Grade One next year, if that ends up being the best choice for him. We'll see.
INSTRUCTIONS:
1. You have to post these rules before you give the facts.
2. You must list one fact that is somehow relevant to your life for each letter of their middle name. If you don’t have a middle name, use the middle name you would have liked to have had.
3. When you are tagged, you need to write your own blog post containing your own middle name game facts.
4. At the end of your blog post, you need to choose one person for each letter of your middle name to tag. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.
KA-CHING! My middle name is.... can you bear the excitement?....
ANNE. I KNOW. You've never heard of that as the middle name for someone born in the 1970s before, have you? But it actually was FOR someone and not just a topical space-filler in the middle of my name - it's for my Godmother. And here we go:
A - Ailing. I am still sick. And I am so bored of being sick. I'm not as sick as I was mid-week, though, but there wasn't that sudden radiant moment when I would wake up in the morning completely well either.
N - None. The Amount of ice cream I like eating. Not a big ice cream fan. Which I realize is heretical but I could happily live the rest of my life and never eat ice cream again. I don't DISLIKE it, mind you, it's just not my idea of a treat.
N - November. When I normally get my serious bout of bronchitis. What the heck is up with this?
E - Exciting. I have a new blog project on the go, which I'm soon going to reveal to everyone. I hope you'll like it!
And on to tagging people - Hailey very cleverly continued using her middle name, and so will I: Angela, NotSoSage (Happy Birthday!), NoWheyMama, and
Everyday Life as Lyric Poetry.
And if you've tagged me recently, can you remind me in the comments? I had a computer virus erase bits and pieces of my computer's memory, including the little running note where I keep track of memes.
To clear up one thing from yesterday's post - I have no intention of holding The Boy back a year - he's already the oldest guy in his class, thanks to his January birthday. I would homeschool him for a year and then send him to Grade One next year, if that ends up being the best choice for him. We'll see.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Fun with My Lungs!
One of the many stupid ailments that I'm prone to is bronchitis and I think I have it right now. Isn't that exciting? Oh, baby! I'm not terribly sick (although I was for a couple of days. Stupid cold.) but I have a deep, sepulchric cough and my chest keeps rattling. It's really helpful to be a hypochondriac who actually has fairly poor health - saves me from having to find a hobby.
The Baby was restless last night (she's not feeling great either) and kept waking up my poor, sick, hardworking husband, so eventually I took her downstairs and we slept in the New Office. It was nice cuddling with her in that still-unfamiliar room - she feels more baby-sized at night. And there's something about sleeping in a not-usual room of the house that feels a bit like a holiday.
I've been feeling a LOT of distress about The Boy's upcoming school year - he's going to be gone all-day, every day and I do not think he's ready for it. He's a good, smart little guy, and I really hope that his teacher sees that. My husband and I have agreed that if this year doesn't start off well (we'll give it a few weeks), then he's going to come home for the rest of the year, rather than stay in a classroom environment that doesn't suit him. I was reading yesterday that the increasing length of the school year - pre-kindergartners in all day classes, school stretching longer into the summer and starting earlier - has resulted in lower test scores, particularly among little boys. It all makes my stomach hurt.
Meanwhile, the summer has fled from us. We didn't do most of our big long list of fun plans - although we DID have lots of fun - but now we're sick and it's cold and rainy and the leaves are turning red and yellow. We have less than two weeks and they're jam-packed full of summery fun, this season that is already over.
The Baby was restless last night (she's not feeling great either) and kept waking up my poor, sick, hardworking husband, so eventually I took her downstairs and we slept in the New Office. It was nice cuddling with her in that still-unfamiliar room - she feels more baby-sized at night. And there's something about sleeping in a not-usual room of the house that feels a bit like a holiday.
I've been feeling a LOT of distress about The Boy's upcoming school year - he's going to be gone all-day, every day and I do not think he's ready for it. He's a good, smart little guy, and I really hope that his teacher sees that. My husband and I have agreed that if this year doesn't start off well (we'll give it a few weeks), then he's going to come home for the rest of the year, rather than stay in a classroom environment that doesn't suit him. I was reading yesterday that the increasing length of the school year - pre-kindergartners in all day classes, school stretching longer into the summer and starting earlier - has resulted in lower test scores, particularly among little boys. It all makes my stomach hurt.
Meanwhile, the summer has fled from us. We didn't do most of our big long list of fun plans - although we DID have lots of fun - but now we're sick and it's cold and rainy and the leaves are turning red and yellow. We have less than two weeks and they're jam-packed full of summery fun, this season that is already over.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Your Tuesday Health Update
I'm sick! The Boy is sick! The Baby is sick! We have runny nosed, snuffly colds with VERY sore throats and fevers. ("I have a feeeever!" The Baby told her dad last night. "It's on my head!") We are hanging out and watching cartoons that The Girl - still healthy and vigourously controlling the channel changer - is picking out. We are watching a lot of VERY stupid cartoons as a result, this whole world of dopey gradeschool humour. Bleh.
Vacation Bible School is this week and the poor Boy was too sick to go, which made him PRETTY sad. We asked him what he would miss the most, and he answered that they get iced tea at snack time. That part was easily remedied, at least. The Girl, bless her, came home from VBS with candy clutched in her hand, saved for her little brother. Isn't that sweet? He really appreciated it and told her so, gummy worms dangling from his mouth.
So sick! Back to my couch now!
Vacation Bible School is this week and the poor Boy was too sick to go, which made him PRETTY sad. We asked him what he would miss the most, and he answered that they get iced tea at snack time. That part was easily remedied, at least. The Girl, bless her, came home from VBS with candy clutched in her hand, saved for her little brother. Isn't that sweet? He really appreciated it and told her so, gummy worms dangling from his mouth.
So sick! Back to my couch now!
Monday, August 20, 2007
Meandering Moodily Monday
Everyone here - with the exception of our daughters - seems to be under the weather. I feel like someone has scooped out my brains and replaced them with hot soup. Also, my throat hurts and there is a cricket stuck someplace in my living room.
I made this pie last night and it was SO good, but I did end up with a ton of egg whites left over. And why did I have a TON of egg whites left over? Why, because I scorched the first batch of chocolate custard and needed to start all over again, of course. I have a batch of meringues baking in the oven right now, just so I don't feel like I've wasted a whole tray of eggs on an admittedly pretty delicious pie.
Whoa. It's been half an hour - I just woke up from a refreshing little unplanned nap on my keyboard. Off to make yet another cup of tea.
I made this pie last night and it was SO good, but I did end up with a ton of egg whites left over. And why did I have a TON of egg whites left over? Why, because I scorched the first batch of chocolate custard and needed to start all over again, of course. I have a batch of meringues baking in the oven right now, just so I don't feel like I've wasted a whole tray of eggs on an admittedly pretty delicious pie.
Whoa. It's been half an hour - I just woke up from a refreshing little unplanned nap on my keyboard. Off to make yet another cup of tea.
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Lost: one possible frog
The Baby has apparently lost her frog.
"Where my frog at?" she just demanded.
"You have a frog?" I asked her.
Mmm-hmmm, she said seriously, her face wrinkled with worry.
"And your frog is missing?"
"Him name Boris. Him GONE!"
Come home Boris. We miss you, apparently.
Let's see. I have nothing to write about today. It's a very boring - but pleasantly so, if you know what I mean - Sunday. I think I might while away the hours reading a detective novel while The Boy and The Girl build with Legos upstairs and The Baby tries to talk her father into giving her a snack. Everyone is slightly under the weather with The Dread Illness that has made its evil way around town this week, so we're just taking it easy. Later on, The Girl and I will do some womanly bonding while making a lasagna and a chocolate pie. And in conclusion: I have nothing to write about today! Pleasant dull Sunday, reading a book, looking for a missing imaginary frog. The end.
"Where my frog at?" she just demanded.
"You have a frog?" I asked her.
Mmm-hmmm, she said seriously, her face wrinkled with worry.
"And your frog is missing?"
"Him name Boris. Him GONE!"
Come home Boris. We miss you, apparently.
Let's see. I have nothing to write about today. It's a very boring - but pleasantly so, if you know what I mean - Sunday. I think I might while away the hours reading a detective novel while The Boy and The Girl build with Legos upstairs and The Baby tries to talk her father into giving her a snack. Everyone is slightly under the weather with The Dread Illness that has made its evil way around town this week, so we're just taking it easy. Later on, The Girl and I will do some womanly bonding while making a lasagna and a chocolate pie. And in conclusion: I have nothing to write about today! Pleasant dull Sunday, reading a book, looking for a missing imaginary frog. The end.
Friday, August 17, 2007
Apparently it's Books About Impoverished Fatherless Children Week at our house - entirely of our own accords, I'm reading the kids Five Little Peppers and How They Grew and my husband is reading them The Moffats, which is a substantially better book. Childhood memories had made Five Little Peppers out to be a much more well-written read than it actually is. Bleh! I'd meant to read them Understood Betsy this summer - an unjustly neglected classic - it's been in and out of print since it was first published and never found the audience that it should. It's WONDERFUL - fully the equal of Anne of Green Gables. Actually, I prefer it to Anne - I like the pragmatic characters and nobody dies. But now that I think about it, I believe their dad has read it to them as a bedtime book.
It's another cold, threatening-to-rain day, which means I'm likely going to be stuck in the house with my increasingly rebellious troops. Oh boy! That's so much fun! So here's a question - know any good websites for kids? I found two new good sites on Veronica Mitchell's post this morning, but I'm greedy.
And in exchange, here are OUR favorite sites for kids:
The Toymaker. This site is BRILLIANT! I love it! If you have access to a colour printer, this site will be your best friend - you can print out free cut-and-assemble toys and they're just magically gorgeous. The Girl slept for weeks with this propped on her pillow.
Peep and The Big Wide World. SO much fun for preschoolers and it actually teaches important science and logic concepts. Plus Peep cracks me right up.
The Treehouse TV website. I love many of the gentle cartoons on Treehouse (a commercial-free preschoolers' channel), and the site has many gentle little games as well as endless numbers of colouring pages.
Up To Ten Kids. We honestly find it to be in the shallower end of the "up to ten" age range, but there's some fun stuff. It's also an entirely bilingual french-english site.
Starfall! The Boy is mightily sick of Starfall (he's making barfing noises behind me RIGHT NOW), but it's pretty wonderful until you get to that point. Lots of great learn to read-reading skills games. The Girl has really been enjoying reading through the Greek Myths section this summer.
Nick Jr. not ONLY has all of the very favorite preschool characters in super-fun games, but it also has seemingly endless educational worksheets, little books to print out and craft and recipe ideas. It's a FUN site.
Okay, those are our favorites. What sites do your kids love?
(And Jenica, do you have a site? If so, I can't find a link to it.)
It's another cold, threatening-to-rain day, which means I'm likely going to be stuck in the house with my increasingly rebellious troops. Oh boy! That's so much fun! So here's a question - know any good websites for kids? I found two new good sites on Veronica Mitchell's post this morning, but I'm greedy.
And in exchange, here are OUR favorite sites for kids:
The Toymaker. This site is BRILLIANT! I love it! If you have access to a colour printer, this site will be your best friend - you can print out free cut-and-assemble toys and they're just magically gorgeous. The Girl slept for weeks with this propped on her pillow.
Peep and The Big Wide World. SO much fun for preschoolers and it actually teaches important science and logic concepts. Plus Peep cracks me right up.
The Treehouse TV website. I love many of the gentle cartoons on Treehouse (a commercial-free preschoolers' channel), and the site has many gentle little games as well as endless numbers of colouring pages.
Up To Ten Kids. We honestly find it to be in the shallower end of the "up to ten" age range, but there's some fun stuff. It's also an entirely bilingual french-english site.
Starfall! The Boy is mightily sick of Starfall (he's making barfing noises behind me RIGHT NOW), but it's pretty wonderful until you get to that point. Lots of great learn to read-reading skills games. The Girl has really been enjoying reading through the Greek Myths section this summer.
Nick Jr. not ONLY has all of the very favorite preschool characters in super-fun games, but it also has seemingly endless educational worksheets, little books to print out and craft and recipe ideas. It's a FUN site.
Okay, those are our favorites. What sites do your kids love?
(And Jenica, do you have a site? If so, I can't find a link to it.)
Thursday, August 16, 2007
The Baby was feeling a bit crabby last night, and so her daddy was cuddling her on his knee. "Where does it feel yucky?" he asked her.
She thought for a moment.
"In my hair!" she said. "My poor wittle hair."
Being a better parent than me, her father kept a straight face and asked her where else.
"My bewwy button! My poor wittle bewwy button."
He decided a bath would help her feel better, so she very cheerfully sat in the tub, and he called me in to listen as she chatted - "I'm washing my poor wittle arms. Now I'm washing my poor wittle finguhs. Oops! Forgot my poor wittle elbows...."
Poor little dear.
My husband does a book every year for a summer camp for children with cancer. It's a sad project, often - some children visibly deteriorate from year to year while other children are just sadly absent - and I would not be able to do it. I'm mawkishly, uselessly sentimental - crying my eyes out over soppy music while snapping at my kids. When my husband talks to me about this project, I always get weepy about the poor little children, this terrible fearsome suffering.
I would make their book into a black velvet painting of sad-eyed children, an obituary of their summer. This Is A Book About Children With Cancer, I would call it. It would be AWFUL.
My husband is NOT me. I was going to write that he's not sentimental, but he certainly IS, as his desk drawer holding each of the first pair of socks that every one of our children ever wore will attest. Where he outstrips me is in actual practical compassion, the way love comes into action. The resulting book is always a happy one - not a collection of sick children, not children reduced to poor little arms, poor little fingers, but happy children on a summer day, children bathed in sunlight and joyous.
She thought for a moment.
"In my hair!" she said. "My poor wittle hair."
Being a better parent than me, her father kept a straight face and asked her where else.
"My bewwy button! My poor wittle bewwy button."
He decided a bath would help her feel better, so she very cheerfully sat in the tub, and he called me in to listen as she chatted - "I'm washing my poor wittle arms. Now I'm washing my poor wittle finguhs. Oops! Forgot my poor wittle elbows...."
Poor little dear.
My husband does a book every year for a summer camp for children with cancer. It's a sad project, often - some children visibly deteriorate from year to year while other children are just sadly absent - and I would not be able to do it. I'm mawkishly, uselessly sentimental - crying my eyes out over soppy music while snapping at my kids. When my husband talks to me about this project, I always get weepy about the poor little children, this terrible fearsome suffering.
I would make their book into a black velvet painting of sad-eyed children, an obituary of their summer. This Is A Book About Children With Cancer, I would call it. It would be AWFUL.
My husband is NOT me. I was going to write that he's not sentimental, but he certainly IS, as his desk drawer holding each of the first pair of socks that every one of our children ever wore will attest. Where he outstrips me is in actual practical compassion, the way love comes into action. The resulting book is always a happy one - not a collection of sick children, not children reduced to poor little arms, poor little fingers, but happy children on a summer day, children bathed in sunlight and joyous.
Self-justification
Yep, it's a big blogroll. I wanted to acknowledge everyone who takes the time to comment at least semi-regularily at my site, and so it is very, very long. Yes.
It's neither impossible nor that time-consuming to read that many blogs, though - the vast majority are updated once or maybe a twice a week. So I just timed myself while I read through and commented on my blogroll: 24 minutes. I'll do it again before I go to bed, but that's not too time-consuming, I don't think.
It's neither impossible nor that time-consuming to read that many blogs, though - the vast majority are updated once or maybe a twice a week. So I just timed myself while I read through and commented on my blogroll: 24 minutes. I'll do it again before I go to bed, but that's not too time-consuming, I don't think.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
My Blogroll
A Chelsea Morning
A Picturesque Life
Adornments And Distractions
Adventures in Babywearing
All Rileyed Up
Alpha Dogma
Antique Mommy
Baking Bites
Big Blueberry Eyes
Blessed Among Men
Bub and Pie
The Butler's Wife
Calapidder Days
Catherine Newman
Cheaper Than Therapy
The Cheaty Monkey
Cottage Blessings
Crazy Thoughts
Crib Chronicles
Cup O' Joe
Everyday Life As Lyric Poetry
Fairly Odd Mother
Family Doin's
The FlipFlop Mama
The Flourishing Mother
Fluttercrafts
The Flying Mum
Glass Half Full
God's Grace In Practice
Graced By Christ
Greenblogger
Here and Now
Here In Idaho
Hiraeth
I Can Fly, Just Not Up
I Have To Say
It's Always A Production
It's Really Me
Italian Trivia
The Journey
Joy In Chaos
Juris Mommy
Just Another Mommy Blog
The Kids Are Alright
La Belle
Life With All Boys
Life, The Universe and Everything
Living To Tell The Story
Looking Towards Heaven
Metro Mama
Mimi On The Breach
Mother Nature
Mrs. Incredible
Needs New Batteries
News From Whitekirk
Nomotherearth
Not So Sage
Omaha Mama
On The Writers' Road Less Travelled
One Plus Two
Pack Family
Painted Maypole
Peanut Butter and Jelly Boats
Planet Nomad
Poppy Fields
Portrait of a Writer... Interrupted
Praying For Parker
Raising Five
Regaining Paradise
Riley's Ramblings
Rosebud and Papoosie Girl
Running On Empty
Scratchin' The Surface
Shalee's Diner
She Lives
Slouching Towards 40
Snapshot
Stranger In A Strange Land
Three and Holding
Toddled Dredge
Trish's Dishes
Under the Mad Hat
Unless the Lord...
Welcome to the Confessional
Wherever Ewe Go
Wisdom Has Two Parts
Within the Woods
World of One Thousand Different Things
Write About Here
Phew! Let me know if I left you off.
A Picturesque Life
Adornments And Distractions
Adventures in Babywearing
All Rileyed Up
Alpha Dogma
Antique Mommy
Baking Bites
Big Blueberry Eyes
Blessed Among Men
Bub and Pie
The Butler's Wife
Calapidder Days
Catherine Newman
Cheaper Than Therapy
The Cheaty Monkey
Cottage Blessings
Crazy Thoughts
Crib Chronicles
Cup O' Joe
Everyday Life As Lyric Poetry
Fairly Odd Mother
Family Doin's
The FlipFlop Mama
The Flourishing Mother
Fluttercrafts
The Flying Mum
Glass Half Full
God's Grace In Practice
Graced By Christ
Greenblogger
Here and Now
Here In Idaho
Hiraeth
I Can Fly, Just Not Up
I Have To Say
It's Always A Production
It's Really Me
Italian Trivia
The Journey
Joy In Chaos
Juris Mommy
Just Another Mommy Blog
The Kids Are Alright
La Belle
Life With All Boys
Life, The Universe and Everything
Living To Tell The Story
Looking Towards Heaven
Metro Mama
Mimi On The Breach
Mother Nature
Mrs. Incredible
Needs New Batteries
News From Whitekirk
Nomotherearth
Not So Sage
Omaha Mama
On The Writers' Road Less Travelled
One Plus Two
Pack Family
Painted Maypole
Peanut Butter and Jelly Boats
Planet Nomad
Poppy Fields
Portrait of a Writer... Interrupted
Praying For Parker
Raising Five
Regaining Paradise
Riley's Ramblings
Rosebud and Papoosie Girl
Running On Empty
Scratchin' The Surface
Shalee's Diner
She Lives
Slouching Towards 40
Snapshot
Stranger In A Strange Land
Three and Holding
Toddled Dredge
Trish's Dishes
Under the Mad Hat
Unless the Lord...
Welcome to the Confessional
Wherever Ewe Go
Wisdom Has Two Parts
Within the Woods
World of One Thousand Different Things
Write About Here
Phew! Let me know if I left you off.
Woefully Wednesday
Apparently my backyard causes all cameras to automatically go to their Magical Lighting setting. It doesn't FEEL magical back there - I basically sit in a lawn chair and sulk until the kids decide that they've had enough outdoorsy fun and I can get back into my beloved indoors again.
I've been feeling sort of mopey this week, so I think that I'm going to spend the day away from the computer and instead do Super Summery Fun with the kids, under the theory that if I can't actually enjoy myself, I can at least have the grim pleasures of martyrdom. Have a good day, and I'll see you tomorrow.
I've been feeling sort of mopey this week, so I think that I'm going to spend the day away from the computer and instead do Super Summery Fun with the kids, under the theory that if I can't actually enjoy myself, I can at least have the grim pleasures of martyrdom. Have a good day, and I'll see you tomorrow.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Painted Maypole wrote a poignant, lovely post about her daughter's first day at school yesterday, and it set me to thinking back to school thoughts - although my kids have 20 days left of summer, weeks and weeks of lazy, unstructured time stretching ahead of them.
In the picture above, The Girl is waiting for the bus on her first day of kindergarten.
It was an unusual day in many ways. Her father was home, waiting to go to an elderly relative's funeral with The Boy and me, and so he got to see her off to school for (so far) the only time. And I had a little passenger, having found out the day before that I was pregnant again. So I think of those things while looking at that set of pictures, but mostly I just feel a stab of that sudden grief at the loss of the Girl's round cheeks, the long-gone small child proportions, her wispy hair. Now she is a lanky, upright girl, her face having gone through an underwater change and looking more like the adult face she will someday wear. She is in every way a child to be proud of, and yet I still feel like Faust, feel his wail of "O stay, thou art so fair" welling up inside of me.
Of course, we all know about the deal Faust made and how well THAT turned out, and I often have this sinking suspicion that my sentimental yearning for the past makes me, in many respects, my children's enemy, that loving best what they are no longer is a wicked thing. Someday - sooner than I can bear to think - this time too will be past and I'll mourn the loss of her eight-year-old self, impossibly young at some future date that I can't bear yet to think about.
In the picture above, The Girl is waiting for the bus on her first day of kindergarten.
It was an unusual day in many ways. Her father was home, waiting to go to an elderly relative's funeral with The Boy and me, and so he got to see her off to school for (so far) the only time. And I had a little passenger, having found out the day before that I was pregnant again. So I think of those things while looking at that set of pictures, but mostly I just feel a stab of that sudden grief at the loss of the Girl's round cheeks, the long-gone small child proportions, her wispy hair. Now she is a lanky, upright girl, her face having gone through an underwater change and looking more like the adult face she will someday wear. She is in every way a child to be proud of, and yet I still feel like Faust, feel his wail of "O stay, thou art so fair" welling up inside of me.
Of course, we all know about the deal Faust made and how well THAT turned out, and I often have this sinking suspicion that my sentimental yearning for the past makes me, in many respects, my children's enemy, that loving best what they are no longer is a wicked thing. Someday - sooner than I can bear to think - this time too will be past and I'll mourn the loss of her eight-year-old self, impossibly young at some future date that I can't bear yet to think about.
Monday, August 13, 2007
Summer's End
The kids had a small dollar store inflatable pool in the backyard full of murky water - they were conducting experiments in it or brewing potions up or something, but one handsome large Leopard Frog decided to take residence in it, to their delight. The kids checked on their frog before doing anything else, admiring his sleek greenness, his prognathous yellow eyes, and his cleverness in choosing their pool for his home.
Of course tragedy struck. A stupid cat killed our frog - not to eat, just tore him apart and left him destroyed where he had lived. Stupid, cruel nature and its senseless destruction of such harmless beauty.
Summer always starts getting old this time of year for me - the trees seem dusty, their bright greens faded, the flowers not as pretty as they were back in August. I start yearning for the fall, for it's golden mellowness, the feeling of gentle decline. I start wanting pumpkin soup, apple pies, beef stew, hot mugs of cider on the porch in the evening, wrapped in quilts against the chill. I start wanting summer to be over.
Of course, this is just another one of nature's cruel tricks, making us wish away this clement lushness, making us wish ourselves that much closer to months and months of winter.And only looking back mid-winter will we suddenly realize with a pang how happy we were, surrounded by such stupid beauty, this endless gift of nature, this thing that gets taken away from us over and over again.
Of course tragedy struck. A stupid cat killed our frog - not to eat, just tore him apart and left him destroyed where he had lived. Stupid, cruel nature and its senseless destruction of such harmless beauty.
Summer always starts getting old this time of year for me - the trees seem dusty, their bright greens faded, the flowers not as pretty as they were back in August. I start yearning for the fall, for it's golden mellowness, the feeling of gentle decline. I start wanting pumpkin soup, apple pies, beef stew, hot mugs of cider on the porch in the evening, wrapped in quilts against the chill. I start wanting summer to be over.
Of course, this is just another one of nature's cruel tricks, making us wish away this clement lushness, making us wish ourselves that much closer to months and months of winter.And only looking back mid-winter will we suddenly realize with a pang how happy we were, surrounded by such stupid beauty, this endless gift of nature, this thing that gets taken away from us over and over again.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
We spent yesterday back-to-school shopping with The Girl, and she now has a fantastically chic new wardrobe. Much chic-er, it goes without saying, than my own wardrobe, which feels both correct - she goes to school, while I spend my days singing Wheels on the Bus and cleaning up cat barf - and REALLY REALLY WRONG, because I'd like super-cute clothes, too. But she's more fun to shop for, since clothes don't fit me the way that I like now that I'm all matronly and stuff.
When I first became a mother, I went through this REALLY serious self-image problem. I was heavier (all of 130 pounds, which now strikes me as this unattainable dream weight) and things looked different and also I WAS A MOTHER, and how were mothers supposed to dress? So I spent a year wearing really, really baggy pants and big t-shirts and looking pretty dire, and now I've found a bit of a happier medium, I guess - I'm not one of those "LOOK HOW HOT I AM" mothers and I'm also not dressing like I'm Amish, but I still don't feel like I have an adult identity, you know? I wear jeans and slim t-shirts and the occasional hoody and go into a bit of a panic when I have to dress like an actual grown-up because I don't own clothes like that.
I was looking through some old photos recently and came across a photo of my great-great grandmother - my great-grandmother standing behind her with white bows in her hair - and it suddenly ran through me like an electric current that I am older now than she was when that picture was taken. She is a handsome, stern-faced woman and undeniably an adult - a serious person for serious times. Times are still serious but most of the adults seem to have vacated, leaving instead these 60 year old perpetual adolescents, 30 year olds who are indistinguishable from the kids at the high school - this culture of Peter Pans with no grown-ups anywhere, none of those strong-backed serious people who could bear things, if needed.
A friend of mine who is a nurse told me a distressing story - she worked for the day at a clinic dealing with cases of dysplasia and cervical cancer and the most advanced cases were in 13 and 14 and 15 year old girls, these highly promiscuous children with their immature bodies. A few of them had already had hysterectomies and a few of them had such late-stage cervical cancer that there was no hope. My friend cried telling me this, cursing their irresponsible parents who had failed to take care of these kids, cursing this awful, brain-dead sex-soaked culture where all of the adults have stepped out, leaving only bewildered children in charge.
When I first became a mother, I went through this REALLY serious self-image problem. I was heavier (all of 130 pounds, which now strikes me as this unattainable dream weight) and things looked different and also I WAS A MOTHER, and how were mothers supposed to dress? So I spent a year wearing really, really baggy pants and big t-shirts and looking pretty dire, and now I've found a bit of a happier medium, I guess - I'm not one of those "LOOK HOW HOT I AM" mothers and I'm also not dressing like I'm Amish, but I still don't feel like I have an adult identity, you know? I wear jeans and slim t-shirts and the occasional hoody and go into a bit of a panic when I have to dress like an actual grown-up because I don't own clothes like that.
I was looking through some old photos recently and came across a photo of my great-great grandmother - my great-grandmother standing behind her with white bows in her hair - and it suddenly ran through me like an electric current that I am older now than she was when that picture was taken. She is a handsome, stern-faced woman and undeniably an adult - a serious person for serious times. Times are still serious but most of the adults seem to have vacated, leaving instead these 60 year old perpetual adolescents, 30 year olds who are indistinguishable from the kids at the high school - this culture of Peter Pans with no grown-ups anywhere, none of those strong-backed serious people who could bear things, if needed.
A friend of mine who is a nurse told me a distressing story - she worked for the day at a clinic dealing with cases of dysplasia and cervical cancer and the most advanced cases were in 13 and 14 and 15 year old girls, these highly promiscuous children with their immature bodies. A few of them had already had hysterectomies and a few of them had such late-stage cervical cancer that there was no hope. My friend cried telling me this, cursing their irresponsible parents who had failed to take care of these kids, cursing this awful, brain-dead sex-soaked culture where all of the adults have stepped out, leaving only bewildered children in charge.
Friday, August 10, 2007
On The Other Hand
I don't mean to sound like I want to hold hands with all other mothers and sing Kumbaya - having children does not automatically make you a good person or an adult or a competent parent, and these are all sad, sad things. (remember when Tom Cruise said that Katie Holmes was now to be called "Kate" because she'd had a child and was now a mature woman? Okaaaay, Tom.)
Anyhow.
Today, The Baby handed me a toy phone and demanded that I talk. Feeling not at all foolish, I cheerfully started talking to the Tooth Fairy, telling her about The Girl's four loose teeth. ("She's distressed," I told the Girl. "At $5 a tooth, that's going to end up being quite expensive.") The Baby was enchanted with my prattle and said "My tooth loose too! My tooth all falling out!", and then said "Call Hair Fairy! My hair falling out, too!". Poor child. She's in rough shape. Thank goodness for gullible fairies who bring money for nasty bodily bits.
I taught my eight year old daughter how to make crepes this afternoon, which either makes me a very good mother - she won't starve to death when she grows up and leaves home, and crepe-making is a pleasant skill to have - or a very terrible mother - I LET MY EIGHT YEAR OLD USE THE STOVE. Take your pick. But all went well and we had buckwheat crepes with homemade strawberry jam for lunch.
The Boy spent the night at his grandparents and came bursting in the front door a little while ago, bursting with his adventures - he picked potato bugs! he saw pigs! he pet baby kitties! - and my eyes felt like they could not see him enough, like this brief absence had made his brown-eyed, smiling self come into sharp, vivid focus. One thing about being at-home with kids all the time is that the daily sameness dulls how I see my kids, makes them an everyday thing that irritates as much as delights. But his sudden steps on the porch, his voice calling out to me made my heart leap with delight, that this yearned for child was almost home, was just steps away from me.
Anyhow.
Today, The Baby handed me a toy phone and demanded that I talk. Feeling not at all foolish, I cheerfully started talking to the Tooth Fairy, telling her about The Girl's four loose teeth. ("She's distressed," I told the Girl. "At $5 a tooth, that's going to end up being quite expensive.") The Baby was enchanted with my prattle and said "My tooth loose too! My tooth all falling out!", and then said "Call Hair Fairy! My hair falling out, too!". Poor child. She's in rough shape. Thank goodness for gullible fairies who bring money for nasty bodily bits.
I taught my eight year old daughter how to make crepes this afternoon, which either makes me a very good mother - she won't starve to death when she grows up and leaves home, and crepe-making is a pleasant skill to have - or a very terrible mother - I LET MY EIGHT YEAR OLD USE THE STOVE. Take your pick. But all went well and we had buckwheat crepes with homemade strawberry jam for lunch.
The Boy spent the night at his grandparents and came bursting in the front door a little while ago, bursting with his adventures - he picked potato bugs! he saw pigs! he pet baby kitties! - and my eyes felt like they could not see him enough, like this brief absence had made his brown-eyed, smiling self come into sharp, vivid focus. One thing about being at-home with kids all the time is that the daily sameness dulls how I see my kids, makes them an everyday thing that irritates as much as delights. But his sudden steps on the porch, his voice calling out to me made my heart leap with delight, that this yearned for child was almost home, was just steps away from me.
Thursday, August 9, 2007
I'm going to start this rant with the important and never before stated thought that mothers are too quick to judge each other: I've been known to have harsh, judgemental thoughts of mothers who let their small babies "cry it out" (while being completely comfortable letting my toddlers cry it out. Hypocrite much?) and I've been on the receiving end of criticism about having our babies sleep in our bed or carrying them in a baby sling. And yet both sets of judging mothers - me and them - were competent mothers and all the babies involved were fine, cheerful and well-loved. So what's going on with that?
In part, we're passionate about our kids - and most of us haven't been around babies much before having them, so many mothers tend to attach themselves to a particular parenting philosophy which they then harp upon with the zeal of the newly converted. We're told that the first three years are vitally important and that getting mothering wrong - letting them watch Baby Einstein videos, for example - will end up with us getting post cards from our child in jail instead of from our child in Doctors Without Borders.
In another part - it's fun to be judgemental. It makes me feel better about my lazy parenting if I find out that another mother lets her kids watch violent cartoons and drink Kool-Aid all day: Hey, I might be a crappy mom, but at least I'm not her! Having other mothers screw up - and I'm not talking about abusive moms, just moms who are obviously making poor decisions - makes my own lethargic parenting look stellar in comparison. Nasty.
There's a lot of nastiness in our current parenting culture. The whole working mom/stay-at-home mom thing is a big example - I read just this morning on a blog that I stumbled across that stay-at-home mothers are dooming their daughters to a lifetime of domestic drudgery, since children always, always do exactly the same thing as their parents and all. It's true! So anyhow, there's that, and then there's the rabid vitriol on the stay-at-home mom side of the fence, which I'm not even going to get into since I don't want to have to delete THIS post, too. Anyhow, what the heck is up with that?
Parents are supposed to be grown-ups. One of the big marks of reaching some sort of maturity for me was my newfound ability to wrap my head around the idea that PERFECTLY REASONABLE HUMAN BEINGS might like to live their lives differently than me, that they might reach different conclusions than I do about vegetarianism or hair length or what have you. So why can't I hang out with other mothers without this subtle snark being a constant undercurrent? Why are we so mean to each other?
In part, we're passionate about our kids - and most of us haven't been around babies much before having them, so many mothers tend to attach themselves to a particular parenting philosophy which they then harp upon with the zeal of the newly converted. We're told that the first three years are vitally important and that getting mothering wrong - letting them watch Baby Einstein videos, for example - will end up with us getting post cards from our child in jail instead of from our child in Doctors Without Borders.
In another part - it's fun to be judgemental. It makes me feel better about my lazy parenting if I find out that another mother lets her kids watch violent cartoons and drink Kool-Aid all day: Hey, I might be a crappy mom, but at least I'm not her! Having other mothers screw up - and I'm not talking about abusive moms, just moms who are obviously making poor decisions - makes my own lethargic parenting look stellar in comparison. Nasty.
There's a lot of nastiness in our current parenting culture. The whole working mom/stay-at-home mom thing is a big example - I read just this morning on a blog that I stumbled across that stay-at-home mothers are dooming their daughters to a lifetime of domestic drudgery, since children always, always do exactly the same thing as their parents and all. It's true! So anyhow, there's that, and then there's the rabid vitriol on the stay-at-home mom side of the fence, which I'm not even going to get into since I don't want to have to delete THIS post, too. Anyhow, what the heck is up with that?
Parents are supposed to be grown-ups. One of the big marks of reaching some sort of maturity for me was my newfound ability to wrap my head around the idea that PERFECTLY REASONABLE HUMAN BEINGS might like to live their lives differently than me, that they might reach different conclusions than I do about vegetarianism or hair length or what have you. So why can't I hang out with other mothers without this subtle snark being a constant undercurrent? Why are we so mean to each other?
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
FYI
Choking hazards for the six-and-under set:
- hard candies. I just don't do these at all - I'm always so horrified to see toddlers with lollipops, for example (and no, not from a health or tooth decay point of view).
- grapes
- cherry tomatoes
- hot dogs (if you want to feed an under-6 a hot dog, slice it lengthwise and then slice it lengthwise again. Otherwise, they are exactly the size of a child's throat.)
- peanut butter. This is a SERIOUS choking hazard - it can close off the airway quickly. Peanuts are another high-risk food.
- string cheese. Kids under six shouldn't eat string cheese whole - if this is a food you want to serve your young child, pull it into "strings" first.
- popcorn
- carrots. Toddlers should never eat raw carrots - I give the boy (who is five) very narrow, splinter-sized carrot sticks. Celery shouldn't be given to kids under six, and children should never be given whole apples. (cut them into bite-sized cubes)
- popcorn isn't safe for the under-six set.
- whole olives
- cherries
- and let us not forget ice cubes.
And of course there's a whole world of non-food related choking hazards, like balloons. But I'll just stick with the food list. I've seen many responsible, loving parents unwittingly give their kids horribly dangerous things without a second thought, so it's good to have a reminder that little kids need extra care while eating.
- hard candies. I just don't do these at all - I'm always so horrified to see toddlers with lollipops, for example (and no, not from a health or tooth decay point of view).
- grapes
- cherry tomatoes
- hot dogs (if you want to feed an under-6 a hot dog, slice it lengthwise and then slice it lengthwise again. Otherwise, they are exactly the size of a child's throat.)
- peanut butter. This is a SERIOUS choking hazard - it can close off the airway quickly. Peanuts are another high-risk food.
- string cheese. Kids under six shouldn't eat string cheese whole - if this is a food you want to serve your young child, pull it into "strings" first.
- popcorn
- carrots. Toddlers should never eat raw carrots - I give the boy (who is five) very narrow, splinter-sized carrot sticks. Celery shouldn't be given to kids under six, and children should never be given whole apples. (cut them into bite-sized cubes)
- popcorn isn't safe for the under-six set.
- whole olives
- cherries
- and let us not forget ice cubes.
And of course there's a whole world of non-food related choking hazards, like balloons. But I'll just stick with the food list. I've seen many responsible, loving parents unwittingly give their kids horribly dangerous things without a second thought, so it's good to have a reminder that little kids need extra care while eating.
A Terrible Thing That Almost Happened
We went to my parent's house for supper last night because my middle brother was visiting.
So everyone is happily eating and chatting when suddenly The Boy staggers up, clutching his neck and gagging, horribly distressed. His dad and I were on our feet and we realized that he was choking on an ice cube and that he couldn't breathe. He was panicking and I went to this spot of total and absolute terror and my husband very calmly did the Heimlich Maneuver on him and out popped the offending ice cube.
He sat on my lap for the rest of the evening, sniffling. He said "I'm glad Daddy was here to hurt my tummy," which made me burst into tears. Eventually he consented to eating a bowl of vanilla ice cream, but the rest of the evening was a pretty emotional one.
He's fine today - he's behind me right now, in fact, playing with blocks with his baby sister. It was reported on our local news that a two-year-old chocked to death on a grape at her family's camp recently, surrounded by her family desperately trying to save her. It devestated me when I heard it and now I'm even more haunted for her family - and more grateful for my husband's ability to calmly handle an emergency. And I am trying to keep the nightmarish other scenario at bay, this awful thing that could have happened.
So everyone is happily eating and chatting when suddenly The Boy staggers up, clutching his neck and gagging, horribly distressed. His dad and I were on our feet and we realized that he was choking on an ice cube and that he couldn't breathe. He was panicking and I went to this spot of total and absolute terror and my husband very calmly did the Heimlich Maneuver on him and out popped the offending ice cube.
He sat on my lap for the rest of the evening, sniffling. He said "I'm glad Daddy was here to hurt my tummy," which made me burst into tears. Eventually he consented to eating a bowl of vanilla ice cream, but the rest of the evening was a pretty emotional one.
He's fine today - he's behind me right now, in fact, playing with blocks with his baby sister. It was reported on our local news that a two-year-old chocked to death on a grape at her family's camp recently, surrounded by her family desperately trying to save her. It devestated me when I heard it and now I'm even more haunted for her family - and more grateful for my husband's ability to calmly handle an emergency. And I am trying to keep the nightmarish other scenario at bay, this awful thing that could have happened.
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
My husband wanted me to mention that all of those cuts on his arms in the baby mouse picture were from opening big cartons of paper at work and not from his tragic emo nature. I'm pretty sure that no one was looking at his arms at all since he was holding a RODENT in his hand, but just in case you were worried: They're work injuries! Big paper cuts! Also, ouch.
I made the most delicious breakfast this morning - baked tapioca, risen into a golden yellow souffle-esque pillow, tasting like an airy, vanilla-scented dream. I will never understand tapioca's bad press - it's delicious, despite it's fish-eye reputation. Tapioca has so much going for it - cooked on the stovetop, it's quick enough for a week night and makes a lovely soothing dessert for a cold winter night. And it's gluten-free, which pleases me. But I fear that within a generation it will be a lost dessert, this food that people used to make and then forgot about.
People don't make dessert much anymore - it has been unsoundly written off in our current faux-health conscious era, where an otherwise sensible friend can tell me that her children drink several cans of pop and boxes of juice a day and then mention that she never makes dessert because it's too unhealthy. Ummmmmm. We try to limit the amount of junk our kids get - next to no pop, very little in the way of candy - but I do make dessert a couple of times a week and bake things like cookies quite often. I know what's in them and it makes the kids happy - it makes me happy, too, to feel like the source of all sweet things, good things, in my kids' lives.
I made the most delicious breakfast this morning - baked tapioca, risen into a golden yellow souffle-esque pillow, tasting like an airy, vanilla-scented dream. I will never understand tapioca's bad press - it's delicious, despite it's fish-eye reputation. Tapioca has so much going for it - cooked on the stovetop, it's quick enough for a week night and makes a lovely soothing dessert for a cold winter night. And it's gluten-free, which pleases me. But I fear that within a generation it will be a lost dessert, this food that people used to make and then forgot about.
People don't make dessert much anymore - it has been unsoundly written off in our current faux-health conscious era, where an otherwise sensible friend can tell me that her children drink several cans of pop and boxes of juice a day and then mention that she never makes dessert because it's too unhealthy. Ummmmmm. We try to limit the amount of junk our kids get - next to no pop, very little in the way of candy - but I do make dessert a couple of times a week and bake things like cookies quite often. I know what's in them and it makes the kids happy - it makes me happy, too, to feel like the source of all sweet things, good things, in my kids' lives.
Monday, August 6, 2007
Ta da!
It's green!
Not quite the colour that's in these pictures, though - it's not photographing very accurately. It's more of an antique-copper sort of green and less of a Granny Smith apple green. But these are close enough.
The Boy walked in and announced "It's so much more romantic already!". We're not sure what he meant by "romantic", but yes, it is. And here's a shot of the big double doors in the office, just because I think they're awesome:
Did you know....
.... that today is a holiday in Canada? Yep. It's the Civic Holiday! And that explains why my husband is home painting the office, instead of slogging away at work (photoshopping pictures of girls in bikinis and eating doughnuts. His life is HARD!).
EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW. Thanks to the whale pool's early demise, we decided to set up the Bigger Pool, which had been hanging out, rolled up, in the shed. My husband unrolled it and a mouse ran out, which was pretty bad. Then he kept unrolling it AND THERE WERE BABY MICE IN OUR ROLLED UP POOL. My husband - who is the world's sweetest, bravest, most disgusting human being - PICKED UP THE BABY MICE and placed them with their mother.
Having rescued his daily quota of tiny rodents, he's now finishing painting the OFFICE (thanks, Becky!) A very restful day off indeed.
EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW. Thanks to the whale pool's early demise, we decided to set up the Bigger Pool, which had been hanging out, rolled up, in the shed. My husband unrolled it and a mouse ran out, which was pretty bad. Then he kept unrolling it AND THERE WERE BABY MICE IN OUR ROLLED UP POOL. My husband - who is the world's sweetest, bravest, most disgusting human being - PICKED UP THE BABY MICE and placed them with their mother.
Having rescued his daily quota of tiny rodents, he's now finishing painting the OFFICE (thanks, Becky!) A very restful day off indeed.
Sunday, August 5, 2007
Home Renovation is Fun!
I am blogging - disconcertingly enough - from my living room right now. It's just so wrong!
The office is actually getting painted this afternoon, for REALS. It only took us five years but we've finally decided upon a colour. TRIUMPH!
But before we can paint the office, first we must haul all of five years worth of accumulated krep out and plaster and prime the stupid walls. Here's your before picture:
The office is actually getting painted this afternoon, for REALS. It only took us five years but we've finally decided upon a colour. TRIUMPH!
But before we can paint the office, first we must haul all of five years worth of accumulated krep out and plaster and prime the stupid walls. Here's your before picture:
This is where the magic happens, people. Generally. When my computer is not hogging up the living room. So there should be an after picture tomorrow sometime. I know, the suspense is AWESOME. What stupid, bad idea of a colour have we chosen this time? (well, I actually know that answer, but it should surprise all of you unless you've been following me around, creepy-like.)
And the Baby Alert is over. I repeat: there is no baby. 1/2 disappointment, 1/2 relief. Nothing soothes a conflicted soul like some lunch, I hear.
Friday, August 3, 2007
Some posts that may or may not be forthcoming
I WAS going to write a scathing diatribe against the whole Bratz-Skank-Little-Girl culture but I'm tooooo hot. Maybe tomorrow.
I also have a planned rebuttal to an article in the July issue of Chatelaine wherein one columnist referred to parents as "breeders", which is the most dehumanizing, animalistic way to refer to people who are raising the children that will look after her snarky barren self someday. She also - this unnamed columnist (hey, I read the article at the dentist's office, okay?) stated that having two children is either a million or a billion times harder than having one, which is a load of crap, of course. There is nothing in the world harder than having that first kid and with the second, you already know your first child AND you now know how to look after a baby. It's not even twice as hard. Going from two to three was a bit of a trip, mind. So she - the unnamed columnist - has no idea what she's talking about. Maybe I'll sign the magazine out of the library and snipe away. Maybe not.
Okay, here's another post: why do children hate raisins? Raisins are great! Freaking spoiled kids. I made the world's best oatmeal cookies the other day and had to leave out the raisins because my kids were collectively revolted by the idea of raisins despoiling their cookies. And yet I just ate a bowl of Raisin Bran for breakfast and thought it was delicious, thanks to my sophisticated raisin-loving adult palate.
And as for the ol' baby factory update: if I'm still in fertility limbo on Tuesday, I'm to go in for blood tests and so forth. My husband and I had an interesting little chat yesterday about matters baby-related, and I asked him WHY, if neither of us had particularly thought about having another baby before our current "scare", was I feeling so grindingly disappointed right now? He suggested that it was because we'd both started planning for this one and because we both know so well what a new little baby would be like - this little person, snuggled up in a sling - and then suddenly it wasn't going to happen and it's almost like grief, really, and it sort of throws on the HEY, LET'S HAVE A BABY switch.
Anyhow. Look at the picture that my mom took yesterday:
Of course, shortly after this lovely photo was taken, we had another horrible thunderstorm. But it was very pretty for a short while.
I also have a planned rebuttal to an article in the July issue of Chatelaine wherein one columnist referred to parents as "breeders", which is the most dehumanizing, animalistic way to refer to people who are raising the children that will look after her snarky barren self someday. She also - this unnamed columnist (hey, I read the article at the dentist's office, okay?) stated that having two children is either a million or a billion times harder than having one, which is a load of crap, of course. There is nothing in the world harder than having that first kid and with the second, you already know your first child AND you now know how to look after a baby. It's not even twice as hard. Going from two to three was a bit of a trip, mind. So she - the unnamed columnist - has no idea what she's talking about. Maybe I'll sign the magazine out of the library and snipe away. Maybe not.
Okay, here's another post: why do children hate raisins? Raisins are great! Freaking spoiled kids. I made the world's best oatmeal cookies the other day and had to leave out the raisins because my kids were collectively revolted by the idea of raisins despoiling their cookies. And yet I just ate a bowl of Raisin Bran for breakfast and thought it was delicious, thanks to my sophisticated raisin-loving adult palate.
And as for the ol' baby factory update: if I'm still in fertility limbo on Tuesday, I'm to go in for blood tests and so forth. My husband and I had an interesting little chat yesterday about matters baby-related, and I asked him WHY, if neither of us had particularly thought about having another baby before our current "scare", was I feeling so grindingly disappointed right now? He suggested that it was because we'd both started planning for this one and because we both know so well what a new little baby would be like - this little person, snuggled up in a sling - and then suddenly it wasn't going to happen and it's almost like grief, really, and it sort of throws on the HEY, LET'S HAVE A BABY switch.
Anyhow. Look at the picture that my mom took yesterday:
Of course, shortly after this lovely photo was taken, we had another horrible thunderstorm. But it was very pretty for a short while.
Thursday, August 2, 2007
And the answer is:
I am NOT pregnant! (I went to the clinic and had the nurse-practioner check.)
But now I want to be.
Uh oh.
But now I want to be.
Uh oh.
We have - thanks to my husband's work - GREAT dental insurance and as a result we're at the dentist's every couple of weeks, apparently. We spent yesterday morning there, and my kids - you will be delighted to know - have perfect teeth, unlike my husband and I who did our teeth shopping at Hillbillies 'R' Us and then spent 30+ years eating nothing but candy.
I love our dental hygenist, who is friendly, gentle and adores us. She usually chats away while I sit serenely having my teeth cleaned, but yesterday she looked into my mouth and gasped "Beck, are you pregnant AGAIN?", which was unsettling given that I'm, you know, late.
When I was so sick - two springs ago now, this date vanishing farther into the distance - I decided to myself that I would have another baby, just to show death who was boss and all. Then I went home and realized that three kids are a LOT of kids - we're a crowd wherever we go. Recipes serve four, cars seat four, and we already get lots of "Gee, you guys are FERTILE" comments wherever we go. Our playroom is full, we're out of bedrooms, our grocery bill is astronomical AND I have hard, hard pregnancies - high-risk bedrest pregnancies. Staying at three kids seemed like the wisest thing.
Standing there yesterday though, holding the pregnancy test in my hand and waiting for the one stripe or two to show up, I suddenly felt a wild surge of joy. Another baby! But the test results came back vague and undetermined, so I get another day of waiting before I go to the clinic to see if I am or not. And meanwhile, there is this little shock of love for this possible person, this fourth child who we would somehow make room for and certainly welcome, wherever we go.
I love our dental hygenist, who is friendly, gentle and adores us. She usually chats away while I sit serenely having my teeth cleaned, but yesterday she looked into my mouth and gasped "Beck, are you pregnant AGAIN?", which was unsettling given that I'm, you know, late.
When I was so sick - two springs ago now, this date vanishing farther into the distance - I decided to myself that I would have another baby, just to show death who was boss and all. Then I went home and realized that three kids are a LOT of kids - we're a crowd wherever we go. Recipes serve four, cars seat four, and we already get lots of "Gee, you guys are FERTILE" comments wherever we go. Our playroom is full, we're out of bedrooms, our grocery bill is astronomical AND I have hard, hard pregnancies - high-risk bedrest pregnancies. Staying at three kids seemed like the wisest thing.
Standing there yesterday though, holding the pregnancy test in my hand and waiting for the one stripe or two to show up, I suddenly felt a wild surge of joy. Another baby! But the test results came back vague and undetermined, so I get another day of waiting before I go to the clinic to see if I am or not. And meanwhile, there is this little shock of love for this possible person, this fourth child who we would somehow make room for and certainly welcome, wherever we go.
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