Last night after I had gone to sleep I woke to hear Clara whimpering. I reached over to soothe her and my hand landed in a warm, chunky pile of vomit. Ain't parenthood grand?
We had had spinach and cheese raviolis in pesto sauce for dinner so there was an abundance of green. And the smell was the same as dinner had smelled 6 hours earlier, except with a side of rancid.
This morning Clara asked for something to eat and I offered up benign foods free of color and strong odors such as bananas and shredded wheat. But she asked for an egg.
Her highchair still had remnants of the pesto from dinner last night and seeing that made my stomach seize. I was reminded of the time in junior high science class when I dissected an oyster and was disturbed to find the digested green algae in its stomach resembled pesto. I wouldn't eat pesto for years following.
navigating the colorful swirls of life
Showing posts with label family life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family life. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
Monday, March 31, 2008
Spring break on the NC coast
(Pssst... photos of the vacation in the Flickr badge to the left)
Taking a vacation with young children is not a vacation in the true sense; the word “vacation” conjures up feelings up rest and relaxation but if you put the word “family” before the word “vacation” you get a completely different feelings about the whole thing. Really, a family vacation for us is just moving our whole, crazy routine to a different location and calling it a success if we make it through without any casualties.
Recently we decided to uproot our family and temporarily relocate to a tiny, oceanfront condo about 3 hours away. The fact that we had to bring along so much stuff for Sam, including his beanbag, wheelchair and jog stroller, and were forced to climb over furniture and various children to move about the condo did not diminish our enthusiasm. Nor did we allow the strong winds, which picked up the sand and hurled millions of grainy bits at our exposed skin, to prevent us from enjoying the beach. And when Clara attempted to stick her head through the widely spaced bars of the balcony railing to peer down at the beach 3 stories below we simply put an end to family time on the balcony because, though the her head was just big enough to not fit through, she found the table and chairs perfect for climbing on to peer over the balcony rail.
Still, we were not discouraged and we took several little trips to surrounding towns to visit the various attractions. One of these trips included a visit to Wilmington where we toured the USS North Carolina Battleship. I’d never been on a battleship so I wasn’t sure what to expect. The boat was moored on the Cape Fear River and we crossed a bridge to board the top deck of the ship. I had Clara running free hoping she would tire soon and fall asleep in the backpack child carrier I had brought with us on board. But, see, being from California where everyone is afraid of lawsuits, we were used to the California standards of safety; if this battleship had been located in the Golden State we wouldn’t have been able to get within five feet of the boat’s edge. And, surely, there would have been a metal gate in front of a plexiglass barrier protecting us from falling down to the mesh netting that any good California company would have constructed below. But we’re in North Carolina now. And safety either just hasn’t caught on yet or there’s a lot more faith out here in people’s ability to take care of themselves. Because the only thing separating us from the murky waters far below was some low mesh fencing that began about a foot above the deck. And being much closer to the ground than an adult, a small child is surely going to see that whole foot as an incredible opportunity. There were also raised platforms on the ship that extended to the edge and if you stood up on the platform and walked to the edge like any self-respecting child would, then you only got protection from the top 2 feet of the mesh fence. So I started wondering how many little ones had gone over. There were lots of signs on deck about the battles and the number of men who had died on the ship back during the war. But I couldn’t find anything about tourist fatalities. I had already chased Clara away from edge several times and been over it in my mind how the whole tragic fall might go down and how I would have to jump in after her. Of course, I had no idea how deep the water was. If it was too shallow then we could get seriously injured in the fall. But if the water was too deep then there’d be no way I’d be able to find her in the muddy water.
About this time David and Jackson decided they wanted to explore the inner belly of the ship. Since Sam’s wheelchair could not go down I had decided to stay above deck with him and Clara. But Clara had other plans. The metal stairs leading down into the ship were narrow and almost completely vertical; in other words, they were treacherous. And to an adventurous toddler such objects of peril were irresistible. Unfortunately, she refused to go down without me. So down Jackson, Clara and I went into the ship, leaving David and Sam above, completely unaware of the extensive labyrinth we were entering. Clara was following her bliss up and down the metal stairs that were unbelievably abundant throughout while I held tightly to her hand and followed along. There were arrows with the word “tour” placed throughout the boat but at some spots there was more than one choice and not once did we see an exit sign. After about ½ of an hour it was becoming clear to me that this tour had no end and Clara was starting to get loopy as her naptime had long passed. Unfortunately, I had left the baby carrier above and was left with the options of either chasing her through the ship or carrying a squirming toddler up and down the dangerous stairs as we tried to fight our way through the other tourists back up to the surface. There were many dangerous areas where the floor was made of a metal grate with gapes and holes large enough to swallow up a wayward toddler. More horrifying was the possibility that one of Clara’s shoes might find its way down one of these holes and become lost forever because THAT was unimaginable to my little shoeophile.
Eventually we caught a glimpse of daylight and emerged from the steel maze to find David and Sam waiting for us above. Now in between freaking out about Clara’s safety and freaking out about being lost inside the ship I did take in enough of the tour to realize what a fascinating vessel it was and how interesting the lives of the men were who had served on it. So I urged David to leave the kids with me and go down to have a look. While we were talking I was trying to prevent Sam’s wheelchair from rolling away on the uneven deck and chase down Clara who was making a break for the side of the boat. I decided to put her in the carrier for safety and so she could catch a nap while David explored below.
By then I was feeling pretty good that we had averted all tragedy and I was heading up to the front of the ship. An older man sitting several feet away waved us over to have a look at something he apparently thought we should see. As I approached he pointed down over the boat where the water met some marsh land. I saw a blue heron there wading in the water but then the man said, “No, look there on land.” A few feet away I saw a very large, life-sized replica of an alligator. Except, see here again, I had forgotten we weren’t in California any more and that alligator was no statue. It was real and it had a name: Charlie. According to the sign on the ship that I had somehow missed while averting various perils, Charlie wasn’t the only alligator that lived in those waters. So then I had to recreate all those various rescue scenarios I had already worked out when I envisioned Clara going over the edge to include the possibility of a giant, hungry alligator. And from what I’ve learned watching nature shows once an alligator bites down on you he’s not letting go. After showing Jackson the alligator he informed me that, “Actually, Mom, if you shove your thumbs into the alligator’s eyes then it’ll let go.” So maybe there was still hope for little Clara.
As I relaxed a little with Clara safely in the carrier on my back, we explored the upper deck a bit more and Clara drifted off to sleep. Deciding to take in some more of the boat side scenery I walked over to the edge and stood looking out past Charlie. At this time one of Clara’s arms dropped loose by her side and the tiny baby doll that she had been carrying fell down from her arm. I watched as it tumbled under the mesh fence and stopped just inches short of falling into the murky waters below.
Taking a vacation with young children is not a vacation in the true sense; the word “vacation” conjures up feelings up rest and relaxation but if you put the word “family” before the word “vacation” you get a completely different feelings about the whole thing. Really, a family vacation for us is just moving our whole, crazy routine to a different location and calling it a success if we make it through without any casualties.
Recently we decided to uproot our family and temporarily relocate to a tiny, oceanfront condo about 3 hours away. The fact that we had to bring along so much stuff for Sam, including his beanbag, wheelchair and jog stroller, and were forced to climb over furniture and various children to move about the condo did not diminish our enthusiasm. Nor did we allow the strong winds, which picked up the sand and hurled millions of grainy bits at our exposed skin, to prevent us from enjoying the beach. And when Clara attempted to stick her head through the widely spaced bars of the balcony railing to peer down at the beach 3 stories below we simply put an end to family time on the balcony because, though the her head was just big enough to not fit through, she found the table and chairs perfect for climbing on to peer over the balcony rail.
Still, we were not discouraged and we took several little trips to surrounding towns to visit the various attractions. One of these trips included a visit to Wilmington where we toured the USS North Carolina Battleship. I’d never been on a battleship so I wasn’t sure what to expect. The boat was moored on the Cape Fear River and we crossed a bridge to board the top deck of the ship. I had Clara running free hoping she would tire soon and fall asleep in the backpack child carrier I had brought with us on board. But, see, being from California where everyone is afraid of lawsuits, we were used to the California standards of safety; if this battleship had been located in the Golden State we wouldn’t have been able to get within five feet of the boat’s edge. And, surely, there would have been a metal gate in front of a plexiglass barrier protecting us from falling down to the mesh netting that any good California company would have constructed below. But we’re in North Carolina now. And safety either just hasn’t caught on yet or there’s a lot more faith out here in people’s ability to take care of themselves. Because the only thing separating us from the murky waters far below was some low mesh fencing that began about a foot above the deck. And being much closer to the ground than an adult, a small child is surely going to see that whole foot as an incredible opportunity. There were also raised platforms on the ship that extended to the edge and if you stood up on the platform and walked to the edge like any self-respecting child would, then you only got protection from the top 2 feet of the mesh fence. So I started wondering how many little ones had gone over. There were lots of signs on deck about the battles and the number of men who had died on the ship back during the war. But I couldn’t find anything about tourist fatalities. I had already chased Clara away from edge several times and been over it in my mind how the whole tragic fall might go down and how I would have to jump in after her. Of course, I had no idea how deep the water was. If it was too shallow then we could get seriously injured in the fall. But if the water was too deep then there’d be no way I’d be able to find her in the muddy water.
About this time David and Jackson decided they wanted to explore the inner belly of the ship. Since Sam’s wheelchair could not go down I had decided to stay above deck with him and Clara. But Clara had other plans. The metal stairs leading down into the ship were narrow and almost completely vertical; in other words, they were treacherous. And to an adventurous toddler such objects of peril were irresistible. Unfortunately, she refused to go down without me. So down Jackson, Clara and I went into the ship, leaving David and Sam above, completely unaware of the extensive labyrinth we were entering. Clara was following her bliss up and down the metal stairs that were unbelievably abundant throughout while I held tightly to her hand and followed along. There were arrows with the word “tour” placed throughout the boat but at some spots there was more than one choice and not once did we see an exit sign. After about ½ of an hour it was becoming clear to me that this tour had no end and Clara was starting to get loopy as her naptime had long passed. Unfortunately, I had left the baby carrier above and was left with the options of either chasing her through the ship or carrying a squirming toddler up and down the dangerous stairs as we tried to fight our way through the other tourists back up to the surface. There were many dangerous areas where the floor was made of a metal grate with gapes and holes large enough to swallow up a wayward toddler. More horrifying was the possibility that one of Clara’s shoes might find its way down one of these holes and become lost forever because THAT was unimaginable to my little shoeophile.
Eventually we caught a glimpse of daylight and emerged from the steel maze to find David and Sam waiting for us above. Now in between freaking out about Clara’s safety and freaking out about being lost inside the ship I did take in enough of the tour to realize what a fascinating vessel it was and how interesting the lives of the men were who had served on it. So I urged David to leave the kids with me and go down to have a look. While we were talking I was trying to prevent Sam’s wheelchair from rolling away on the uneven deck and chase down Clara who was making a break for the side of the boat. I decided to put her in the carrier for safety and so she could catch a nap while David explored below.
By then I was feeling pretty good that we had averted all tragedy and I was heading up to the front of the ship. An older man sitting several feet away waved us over to have a look at something he apparently thought we should see. As I approached he pointed down over the boat where the water met some marsh land. I saw a blue heron there wading in the water but then the man said, “No, look there on land.” A few feet away I saw a very large, life-sized replica of an alligator. Except, see here again, I had forgotten we weren’t in California any more and that alligator was no statue. It was real and it had a name: Charlie. According to the sign on the ship that I had somehow missed while averting various perils, Charlie wasn’t the only alligator that lived in those waters. So then I had to recreate all those various rescue scenarios I had already worked out when I envisioned Clara going over the edge to include the possibility of a giant, hungry alligator. And from what I’ve learned watching nature shows once an alligator bites down on you he’s not letting go. After showing Jackson the alligator he informed me that, “Actually, Mom, if you shove your thumbs into the alligator’s eyes then it’ll let go.” So maybe there was still hope for little Clara.
As I relaxed a little with Clara safely in the carrier on my back, we explored the upper deck a bit more and Clara drifted off to sleep. Deciding to take in some more of the boat side scenery I walked over to the edge and stood looking out past Charlie. At this time one of Clara’s arms dropped loose by her side and the tiny baby doll that she had been carrying fell down from her arm. I watched as it tumbled under the mesh fence and stopped just inches short of falling into the murky waters below.
Saturday, March 01, 2008
Photos for peace - well, except for those first three
This is how we have fun on Friday nights around here.
Place the baby's pacifier inside the ball.
Watch as she struggles to get it out.
Laugh and say "how cute" when she fails at the impossible task and resigns to sucking on the pacifier through the ball.
*******************
How to find an hour of peace: take 2 cranky kids, a bunch of toys, some bath bubbles and insert them into the bath tub. Now turn on the jets. Ahhh.... gives a whole new meaning to "Calgon, take me away."
*******************
More tips on how to achieve peace: give your kids a shopping cart and access to the pantry.
*******************
And this... this is what I get to crawl in to bed with at night. Those parents who maintain that a child's rightful nighttime place is in the crib are just missing the point completely.
Place the baby's pacifier inside the ball.
Watch as she struggles to get it out.
Laugh and say "how cute" when she fails at the impossible task and resigns to sucking on the pacifier through the ball.
*******************
How to find an hour of peace: take 2 cranky kids, a bunch of toys, some bath bubbles and insert them into the bath tub. Now turn on the jets. Ahhh.... gives a whole new meaning to "Calgon, take me away."
*******************
More tips on how to achieve peace: give your kids a shopping cart and access to the pantry.
*******************
And this... this is what I get to crawl in to bed with at night. Those parents who maintain that a child's rightful nighttime place is in the crib are just missing the point completely.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Yosemite Sam
You may remember reading about a road trip to Santa Cruz that I took with Jackson and Clara well over a year ago. During this time David took Sam to Yosemite. Separate vacations because, really, 3 kids and "fun family trip" is wishful thinking. Anyway, David began a blog about the trip shortly after returning.... and he just finished. Yes, that is how quickly projects get done around here if I leave it up to him. And I wouldn't be complaining were it not for the fact that he's been nagging me about linking to the blog ever since he finished it. Just to clarify: David and Sam went to Yosemite in September of 2006; David completed the blog entry about the trip on January 10, 2008 - 15 months later. Now can anyone explain why I'm being given grief for letting 2 weeks go by without mentioning the forgotten trip?
So here's the link to David's blog about the trip to Yosemite where he shows us some pretty pictures, talks about the new jog stroller he bought for the trip, and shows video of the jog stroller in action because that's what guys do... they obsess over new toys. What he doesn't talk about is how intense and lonely it was with just Sam because that's what women do... we obsess over feelings and emotions.
So here's the link to David's blog about the trip to Yosemite where he shows us some pretty pictures, talks about the new jog stroller he bought for the trip, and shows video of the jog stroller in action because that's what guys do... they obsess over new toys. What he doesn't talk about is how intense and lonely it was with just Sam because that's what women do... we obsess over feelings and emotions.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
New photos posted
Cute kids in the leaves, in the snow and at Christmas.
And if you know of anyone who wants to buy a house in California I can hook you up with one. I'll refrain from commenting on our current situation with our tenant until we get a rational explanation... or really, any explanation at all.
And if you know of anyone who wants to buy a house in California I can hook you up with one. I'll refrain from commenting on our current situation with our tenant until we get a rational explanation... or really, any explanation at all.
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
Four adults to 3 children was about the right ratio
My parents moved out on Monday. I think leaving after a 2 month stay qualifies as moving out, right? It really was a nice visit we had with them. The kids loved having their grandparents here. The first thing Jackson said when he got off the bus after school was "I wish Grammie and Gramps were still here." And Clara has walked into the room in which they stayed several times since they've left with her palms face-up by her ears uttering a questioning "hmmm?" sound. It's as if she's saying, "What has happened to those two magnificent people who used to live in this room for, oh, as far back as I can remember? They slept right here in this bed and they used to kiss me goodnight every night, greet me after my naps, take me outside for walks, share their blueberries with me in the mornings, eat lunch with me on the back porch, read me lots of books, sing ring around the rosie and fall down, hold my hand in the car, grant my endless requests for crushed ice from the freezer, humor me my 'need' for lotion and chapstick, and basically just adore me. But now this room is empty. Where did they go?"
Knowing my dad I'm kind of surprised he didn't construct a life-sized cardboard cut-out of himself to leave in the bedroom.
Knowing my dad I'm kind of surprised he didn't construct a life-sized cardboard cut-out of himself to leave in the bedroom.
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Santa's call
Jackson received a call from Santa the other night. This was something I had arranged through our county’s parks and recreation department. Parks and rec provides you with an online form to fill out with information about your child and a time you’ll be home. Then on the chosen night a woman calls, identifying herself as an operator from the North Pole, and says she has Santa on the phone for your child.
A form must be filled out for each child; I only filled out one for Jackson that just happened to include the names and ages of his siblings. But after speaking to Jackson for a few minutes Santa asked if he could speak with Sam. Because, to Santa, Clara at the age of one and a half was too young to talk on the phone but, clearly, an almost 5 year old would be jumping at the chance. So dutifully, with phone in hand, Jackson began walking over to Sam, who was busy yelling and growling in typical Sam fashion. The impending scene began to play out in my head. Jackson holds the phone up to Sam’s ear, Santa begins a conversation and Sam growls deafeningly into the phone. The jolly old man, alarmed by the satanic sounds coming through the phone, clutches his chest while falling to the floor and we’ve just ruined Christmas for children everywhere.
“Wait, Jackson,” I call. “Just tell Santa that Sam can’t talk right now.”
Jackson does as he’s told and the conversation with Santa is wrapped up soon after.
When he’s off the phone Jackson excitedly recounts all the details of his chat with Santa.
“He also told me not to pick on Clara anymore.”
“Really,” I say trying to sound surprised since that was info I had included on the form.
“And to remember to pick my clothes up off the floor and put them in my hamper.”
“Huh. Well, it sounds like that Santa knows what he’s talking about.” I say.
“Yeah, it’s just too bad Sam couldn’t talk to him,” Jackson says with such a deep disappointment that I’m silenced for a few moments.
I pull him close to me for a hug and at that point I’m not sure who is comforting whom. I manage my own sadness over Sam pretty well on a daily basis, but I’m still not very good at managing my sadness over Jackson’s sadness of his brother and all the typical stuff that Sam misses out on. And one day soon Clara may start realizing that Sam has a much harder life than the rest of us and she will probably be sad, too. And this thought makes me very, very sad.
Soon after the event I realize what I should have done when Santa asked to speak to Sam. I should have gotten on the phone myself just to give Santa a heads up before letting him wish Sam a very merry Christmas. But I’m still learning how to be the parent of a special needs child. Next Christmas I’ll do better.
A form must be filled out for each child; I only filled out one for Jackson that just happened to include the names and ages of his siblings. But after speaking to Jackson for a few minutes Santa asked if he could speak with Sam. Because, to Santa, Clara at the age of one and a half was too young to talk on the phone but, clearly, an almost 5 year old would be jumping at the chance. So dutifully, with phone in hand, Jackson began walking over to Sam, who was busy yelling and growling in typical Sam fashion. The impending scene began to play out in my head. Jackson holds the phone up to Sam’s ear, Santa begins a conversation and Sam growls deafeningly into the phone. The jolly old man, alarmed by the satanic sounds coming through the phone, clutches his chest while falling to the floor and we’ve just ruined Christmas for children everywhere.
“Wait, Jackson,” I call. “Just tell Santa that Sam can’t talk right now.”
Jackson does as he’s told and the conversation with Santa is wrapped up soon after.
When he’s off the phone Jackson excitedly recounts all the details of his chat with Santa.
“He also told me not to pick on Clara anymore.”
“Really,” I say trying to sound surprised since that was info I had included on the form.
“And to remember to pick my clothes up off the floor and put them in my hamper.”
“Huh. Well, it sounds like that Santa knows what he’s talking about.” I say.
“Yeah, it’s just too bad Sam couldn’t talk to him,” Jackson says with such a deep disappointment that I’m silenced for a few moments.
I pull him close to me for a hug and at that point I’m not sure who is comforting whom. I manage my own sadness over Sam pretty well on a daily basis, but I’m still not very good at managing my sadness over Jackson’s sadness of his brother and all the typical stuff that Sam misses out on. And one day soon Clara may start realizing that Sam has a much harder life than the rest of us and she will probably be sad, too. And this thought makes me very, very sad.
Soon after the event I realize what I should have done when Santa asked to speak to Sam. I should have gotten on the phone myself just to give Santa a heads up before letting him wish Sam a very merry Christmas. But I’m still learning how to be the parent of a special needs child. Next Christmas I’ll do better.
Friday, December 14, 2007
Genitals and religion
While changing Clara's poopy diaper tonight David was complaining about all the hidden crevices.
"Hold on, Clara. You've got poop all over your vagina."
"It's her vulva. The labia majora, labia minora... all the external stuff. The vagina is the internal part."
"Whatever. Can't we just call it a hoo-ha?"
Jackson peeks up from his reading...
"Wait! Did you just say 'minora'? That's what they light for Hanukkah."
"Hold on, Clara. You've got poop all over your vagina."
"It's her vulva. The labia majora, labia minora... all the external stuff. The vagina is the internal part."
"Whatever. Can't we just call it a hoo-ha?"
Jackson peeks up from his reading...
"Wait! Did you just say 'minora'? That's what they light for Hanukkah."
Sunday, October 07, 2007
Back porch living
I'm typing this while sitting on my screened in back porch, drinking a beer and listening to the cicadas and crickets in the trees. This morning on the porch we enjoyed coffee and breakfast (which was brought over by our new neighbor...seriously) and watched as a family of deer traipsed through our yard.
How awesome is that?
How awesome is that?
Saturday, October 06, 2007
Home, sweet home
We're all moved in. Nothing is unpacked or put away but all 3 kids are freshly bathed and tucked into their beds asleep. David and I are on the couch enjoying the complete quiet and a couple of beers. It's really lovely here. I'll try to put up some photos soon.
Saturday, September 29, 2007
And someday we'll be able to afford to furnish it
This is our new house. We just closed on it yesterday despite the fact that our home in California is still on the market. We're still not sure what kind of fuzzy math the mortgage company used to determine that we could actually afford this place. But it's pretty, isn't it? The lawn will be put in in a few weeks once the weather cools off more.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
And it will provide milk and cheese for our family
"I know how to solve the poison ivy problem in our yard."
"Oh, yeah? How?"
"We'll get a goat."
"Well then how will we solve our goat problem?"
"Chupacabra!"
"Oh, yeah? How?"
"We'll get a goat."
"Well then how will we solve our goat problem?"
"Chupacabra!"
We must be doing something right
Today we received Jackson's first progress report from school. What I mean by that is that this is the first time he's received a report from a school that actually quantifies his progress in simple language. His old school would send home a report at the end of the year written in calligraphy on handmade hemp paper that smelled of patchouli and included such phrases as "Jackson has a rich interior life" and "he embraces the routines of the season."
His new school's report evaluated a child on a scale of 1-4 in 5 different areas: science, math, reading, writing and social studies. Our little academic scored 3s (meeting requirement) in 3 of the subjects and 4s (exceeding requirements) in reading and math. I haven't really seen any of the science or social studies work they've been doing since the bulk of the work is reading, writing and math. And Jackson's writing is pretty damn sloppy but I believe this to be not the result of an inadequacy in his writing abilities, but rather due to the fact that he's just plain lazy.
There was also a place for the teacher to check off problems the child is having that needed further attention and, possibly, required a conference. There was nothing checked for Jackson, not even that he has an intense obsession with Pokemon that borders on psychosis. Don't know how she missed that one.
His new school's report evaluated a child on a scale of 1-4 in 5 different areas: science, math, reading, writing and social studies. Our little academic scored 3s (meeting requirement) in 3 of the subjects and 4s (exceeding requirements) in reading and math. I haven't really seen any of the science or social studies work they've been doing since the bulk of the work is reading, writing and math. And Jackson's writing is pretty damn sloppy but I believe this to be not the result of an inadequacy in his writing abilities, but rather due to the fact that he's just plain lazy.
There was also a place for the teacher to check off problems the child is having that needed further attention and, possibly, required a conference. There was nothing checked for Jackson, not even that he has an intense obsession with Pokemon that borders on psychosis. Don't know how she missed that one.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
The brother we never told you about
Last night after dinner we were sitting around the table and Clara was being extraordinarily cute.
"She is so dang cute. I'm so glad I had all cute kids."
"Yeah, they're pretty cute... well, except for that one ugly one we have..."
"Who? Which one of us is the ugly one? Is it Sam?"
"No, not Sam."
"Then is it Clara?"
"Nope. It's not Clara either."
"Oh, man..."
"Yep, it's Joe."
This is where all kidding ends and Jackson's face and tone of voice become solemn.
"Who's Joe?"
"She is so dang cute. I'm so glad I had all cute kids."
"Yeah, they're pretty cute... well, except for that one ugly one we have..."
"Who? Which one of us is the ugly one? Is it Sam?"
"No, not Sam."
"Then is it Clara?"
"Nope. It's not Clara either."
"Oh, man..."
"Yep, it's Joe."
This is where all kidding ends and Jackson's face and tone of voice become solemn.
"Who's Joe?"
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Southern pests
I've made mention here before of the hippie school that Jackson attended in Kindergarten and 1st grade. Well, thanks to the wonders of YouTube you can experience some of the magic yourself.
The difference between this school and a typical public school have been becoming very obvious to me as Jackson completes his second week at a public school. One of the main unfortunate differences is that Jackson has been coming home from school with chigger bites. That's CH-igger. But, yeah, we worried about that, too.
I'm kidding.
The difference between this school and a typical public school have been becoming very obvious to me as Jackson completes his second week at a public school. One of the main unfortunate differences is that Jackson has been coming home from school with chigger bites. That's CH-igger. But, yeah, we worried about that, too.
I'm kidding.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Diversion
David's away for the week. He had to go back to California for work, leaving me with 3 kids during this rocky start to our new life here in NC. All I can say is that it's been the best of times, it's been the worst of times. But more on that in another post. For now let me leave you with this photo I took downtown. You can probably read the large sign that says "Elsewhere". But look closely and you might see that other sign that reads "Closed". Such is life lately.
Saturday, September 08, 2007
I'm surprised he didn't ask for us to remove his shackles
Sometimes Jackson gets sent to his room. Some days he gets sent to his room a lot. Like a few weeks ago when we were having a heat wave and couldn't go outside for more than 6 seconds (I timed it) before breaking out in a soul-drenching sweat. Being cooped up in an apartment for several days brings out the worst in everyone. And if you're wondering why we didn't go to the mall or a movie or something then let me remind you. So, anyway, Jackson spent quite a bit of time in his room before the school year started and, one day, I guess he'd had enough because he wrote this and slipped it out his door:
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
When I'm reminded of the sensitive man I married
David and I were discussing Sam's undesirable behaviors and how we're just not trained how to deal with them.
"We just need someone to come into our home and fix all his behavioral problems."
"We need Super Retard Nanny."
"We just need someone to come into our home and fix all his behavioral problems."
"We need Super Retard Nanny."
Monday, September 03, 2007
Listen and enjoy
Turn your sound up really loud and have a listen.
That is the sound of our sweet Sam yelling. Yelling is something he does a lot. Now some of the loveliness is lost in the recording but you can probably get the idea that this is not something you want to listen to everyday. But we, as his lucky family, do get to listen to this every damn day.
Here's what I want you to do. I want you to put this onto your iPod or other inferior portable MP3 player. Plug this into some portable speakers, put it on loop and turn it up loud. Now make a really important phone call.
Did you lock yourself in the bathroom so you could hear the other person on the phone? Fine, how about this: tenderly pick up the MP3 player and speakers. Is it bucking, kicking and scratching while yelling? No? Well, count yourself lucky. Now place it in a stroller or some other wheeled contraption and take it for a walk through a quiet neighborhood.
Still doing okay? Put it in the car and drive it to the nearest indoor shopping center. The echo is quite an enhancement and there are more people there to gape in horror.
Feeling a little hungry? Feeling a little brave? You go right ahead and take that thing into a restaurant.
Don't forget to keep it on at full volume for the car ride home. Are your ears bleeding yet?
Okay, last assignment: set it down in a room adjacent to two other rooms containing a man working from his home office in one and a teething and irritable toddler who just went down for a nap in the other.
How ya doing? Still sober?
Okay, then let's do this again tomorrow.
That is the sound of our sweet Sam yelling. Yelling is something he does a lot. Now some of the loveliness is lost in the recording but you can probably get the idea that this is not something you want to listen to everyday. But we, as his lucky family, do get to listen to this every damn day.
Here's what I want you to do. I want you to put this onto your iPod or other inferior portable MP3 player. Plug this into some portable speakers, put it on loop and turn it up loud. Now make a really important phone call.
Did you lock yourself in the bathroom so you could hear the other person on the phone? Fine, how about this: tenderly pick up the MP3 player and speakers. Is it bucking, kicking and scratching while yelling? No? Well, count yourself lucky. Now place it in a stroller or some other wheeled contraption and take it for a walk through a quiet neighborhood.
Still doing okay? Put it in the car and drive it to the nearest indoor shopping center. The echo is quite an enhancement and there are more people there to gape in horror.
Feeling a little hungry? Feeling a little brave? You go right ahead and take that thing into a restaurant.
Don't forget to keep it on at full volume for the car ride home. Are your ears bleeding yet?
Okay, last assignment: set it down in a room adjacent to two other rooms containing a man working from his home office in one and a teething and irritable toddler who just went down for a nap in the other.
How ya doing? Still sober?
Okay, then let's do this again tomorrow.
Saturday, September 01, 2007
Bedtime brilliance
I had a brilliant thing to write about on my blog last night. I was in bed composing in my head a piece of writing that would have truly blown your mind (I can safely say this because, just wait, you'll see that you'll never actually get to read it). Immediately before I drift off to sleep is when I do my best writing. My mind seems to be a bit looser. I can usually have something laid out start to finish in my mind and all that is required is that I get out of bed and quickly jot it down before it slips away. But I was tired last night. I convinced myself that I would remember it in the morning. I didn't. Nothing. And I blame the children. They are the reason I am so tired at night. The fucking irony is the children are often the inspiration for my writing.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)