Heading to the basement kegerator for a refill of cider...
...and also to get the handweights so I can do that missed strength training routine...before bed...right after I finish the drink...
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Memory Lane
Bill and I have been emailing memories back and forth this month. Today is our 14th anniversary. And because we both like to keep things neat, we married on the same day we began to date. That anniversary is our 20th. I was 18; he was 21.
I don't think most people will "get" many of these one-liners. They're not for you - they are for us. His are in bold, and mine are in italic. These are just the ones from our engagement, wedding and honeymoon. (Note: his are romantic, mine are sarcastic, witty or detailed)
Asking your father for permission to marry you a little too far in advance
Getting on one knee and asking the most important question of my life
bridal fair (aka: your personal "Heidi" moment)
Seeing the most beautiful woman in the world taking my hand at the altar
perfect weather and beautiful pictures at a gorgeous park
Cutting the cake
realizing we had no keys to the getaway car
Dancing to Elvis
But I don’t want to go to the parking lot at the Nuerburgring
what do you mean the office is closed?
pasta mafiosso
Frau Rau
Wuerzburg’s closed on Mondays?
Bartering for a hotel room
Drinking wine in Trier by the black gate and beer in Munich
Der Dom Tuer ist schluss Tuer! (RING!)
Ten km from Fuessen.
trying to spell our last name using a combination of German and English letters and not being able to find the keys or my wallet or whatever and having to go back to the pension only to find they were with me the whole time (aka: when you find out you married a ditz).
Disappointment at Nymphenburg (swans in the mud)
venison aspic (Augustiner Braeu)
No room at Garmisch and the VERY American woman at the pension
The bridge at Neuschwanstein
And that smaller castle with one bedroom and the table that lowered to the basement kitchen. (Schloss Linderhof)
And finally, a terrible train ride, a long flight, an end to a honeymoon, but the beginning of a beautiful marriage.
I don't think most people will "get" many of these one-liners. They're not for you - they are for us. His are in bold, and mine are in italic. These are just the ones from our engagement, wedding and honeymoon. (Note: his are romantic, mine are sarcastic, witty or detailed)
Asking your father for permission to marry you a little too far in advance
Getting on one knee and asking the most important question of my life
bridal fair (aka: your personal "Heidi" moment)
Seeing the most beautiful woman in the world taking my hand at the altar
perfect weather and beautiful pictures at a gorgeous park
Cutting the cakerealizing we had no keys to the getaway car
Dancing to Elvis
But I don’t want to go to the parking lot at the Nuerburgring
what do you mean the office is closed?pasta mafiosso
Frau Rau
Wuerzburg’s closed on Mondays?
Bartering for a hotel room
Drinking wine in Trier by the black gate and beer in Munich
Der Dom Tuer ist schluss Tuer! (RING!)Ten km from Fuessen.
trying to spell our last name using a combination of German and English letters and not being able to find the keys or my wallet or whatever and having to go back to the pension only to find they were with me the whole time (aka: when you find out you married a ditz).
Disappointment at Nymphenburg (swans in the mud)venison aspic (Augustiner Braeu)
No room at Garmisch and the VERY American woman at the pension
The bridge at Neuschwanstein
And that smaller castle with one bedroom and the table that lowered to the basement kitchen. (Schloss Linderhof)And finally, a terrible train ride, a long flight, an end to a honeymoon, but the beginning of a beautiful marriage.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Going Home
I was having an OK evening, until I read this.
He was a loving, married father with six children. His children were 8, 7, 6, 4, 3 and 1 years old. He was scheduled to go on leave in two days. He was thrilled to be going home to be with his family and was looking forward to sitting on the floor of his den with all of his children surrounding him. One of his primary desires was to go home and cook a meal for his children.
Kerry, the soldier who wrote those words, has been included in our family's evening prayers since the beginning of his deployment.
The family of this fallen soldier will now be prayed for in the silence of my heart. Some things, you just can not share with your children.
He was a loving, married father with six children. His children were 8, 7, 6, 4, 3 and 1 years old. He was scheduled to go on leave in two days. He was thrilled to be going home to be with his family and was looking forward to sitting on the floor of his den with all of his children surrounding him. One of his primary desires was to go home and cook a meal for his children.
Kerry, the soldier who wrote those words, has been included in our family's evening prayers since the beginning of his deployment.
The family of this fallen soldier will now be prayed for in the silence of my heart. Some things, you just can not share with your children.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
More pictures
Dressed for Mass. I've been fighting this girl for over a week now with the new clothes that she doesn't like. Mary Janes? Tights? No way, she says. New pants? New shirts? What's wrong with the summer clothes? She remembers this dress from early spring, so at least I have that.
Birthday girl. I forgot to mention that Jenny had one of these last weekend. Yesterday she asked me if I wished I were 6 again. I told her when I was 6, I didn't have her daddy or her or her brothers and sisters in my life, so, no, I would not want to be 6 again. (Oh, but to have that simple life...)[photo removed at the request of an overly sensitive 6 year old]
Self photography. Jeepers, creepers. Where'd she get those peepers? Gosh, oh golly, where'd she get those eyes?
Peter is posing with his "new" football outfit. This fit Billy not too long ago. Billy is thrilled that now he and Peter can play on the same team (Billy has a bigger jersey now). Amazingly, Billy will wear Fritz's old Packers jersey, as long as they aren't playing each other like last weekend.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
On Stuff
The other day, Bill got to go to a village and pass out food and other goodies. It's an enjoyable mission, except that he had to wear his 45 pound body armor the whole time. Imagine walking around with a 5 year old on your shoulders for 6 hours.
While there, a little boy, 6 years old, threw himself over the concertina wire just so he could get to the front of the line. I guess he cut himself pretty badly, but I guess he also thought it was worth it.
This is what an Afghani kid will do to get first dibs on a candy bar. (**See note below)
The catalogs have started to come. They don't yet say "Holiday" or "Christmas" but you know that's what they're gearing up for. While I welcome yet another sign that the end of the year, and the end of my purgatory, are approaching, catalogs do not make me happy. The vast majority of these thick, glossy advertisements get put immediately into the recycle bucket. I have learned that I won't care what I'm missing if I don't see it. My children are not so wise, though. They have been snatching up the toy catalogs and poring through them as though the ultimate source of happiness could be found therein.
I've been hearing a lot of "I want."
Today, having sat through another child showing me all the wonderful things that would make her the perfect, dutiful and loving child simply because her happiness at having all this stuff would make her thus, I called the children around and told them about the Afghani boy. I told them they needed to start thinking about what they could do for other people for Christmas instead of what they could get for themselves. And I told them to think of ONE, and only ONE thing they they really wanted for Christmas. And tell me in November.
I'm sure this isn't the end of it.
My daughters were fascinated by the Yorkshire Terrier in the dog stroller. I think this was their first encounter with someone who treats a dog like a baby. As we left the Scout Hut, the woman who owned the dog told me she gave a stuffed animal terrier to Katie - her adolescent daughter having outgrown it. Katie was, of course, thrilled.
Later, Jenny was crying because Katie wouldn't share the dog. "She promised," Jenny wailed. Katie denied making any such promises.
"Katie," I said, "You didn't earn this dog. Somebody just gave it to you out of the generosity of their heart. Don't you think you ought to share it and be just as generous as they were?"
"Well, Mom," she said with angelic sincerity, "I was thinking we could send this dog to Afghanistan for the children there to have."
Perhaps another mother would be fooled by such a sweet sentiment. "That may be a good idea. But in the meantime, can you not share with your sister? Or is it easier to share with a stranger than with your sibling?"
Bingo. She started to cry. In truth, she would rather give the toy away than share with Jenny. This is human nature. We all do this in one form or another. "Love your neighbor" is much much harder than "Donate anonymously to poor people."
Sharing with your sister hurts. You don't care what you're missing if you don't see it. But watching your sister play with your toy is torturous.
*******
The dog may or may not head for Afghanistan and some little child may or may not get himself some stitches in addition to a stuffed animal. Dr. Ray Guarendi says and writes repeatedly that you need to get rid of your kids' stuff if you want them to be generous. The more stuff they have, the more selfish they are.
The more stuff we have, the more selfish we are.
These are the thoughts I ponder as I begin to write shopping lists.
** Note: my husband emailed to tell me that the kid was 14 and was going to such extremes to get flour or rice, not candy. It makes the story worse on both accounts: he was old enough to understand the consequences and he felt those risks were worth it for mere food staples.
While there, a little boy, 6 years old, threw himself over the concertina wire just so he could get to the front of the line. I guess he cut himself pretty badly, but I guess he also thought it was worth it.
This is what an Afghani kid will do to get first dibs on a candy bar. (**See note below)
*******
The catalogs have started to come. They don't yet say "Holiday" or "Christmas" but you know that's what they're gearing up for. While I welcome yet another sign that the end of the year, and the end of my purgatory, are approaching, catalogs do not make me happy. The vast majority of these thick, glossy advertisements get put immediately into the recycle bucket. I have learned that I won't care what I'm missing if I don't see it. My children are not so wise, though. They have been snatching up the toy catalogs and poring through them as though the ultimate source of happiness could be found therein.
I've been hearing a lot of "I want."
Today, having sat through another child showing me all the wonderful things that would make her the perfect, dutiful and loving child simply because her happiness at having all this stuff would make her thus, I called the children around and told them about the Afghani boy. I told them they needed to start thinking about what they could do for other people for Christmas instead of what they could get for themselves. And I told them to think of ONE, and only ONE thing they they really wanted for Christmas. And tell me in November.
I'm sure this isn't the end of it.
*******
My daughters were fascinated by the Yorkshire Terrier in the dog stroller. I think this was their first encounter with someone who treats a dog like a baby. As we left the Scout Hut, the woman who owned the dog told me she gave a stuffed animal terrier to Katie - her adolescent daughter having outgrown it. Katie was, of course, thrilled.
Later, Jenny was crying because Katie wouldn't share the dog. "She promised," Jenny wailed. Katie denied making any such promises.
"Katie," I said, "You didn't earn this dog. Somebody just gave it to you out of the generosity of their heart. Don't you think you ought to share it and be just as generous as they were?"
"Well, Mom," she said with angelic sincerity, "I was thinking we could send this dog to Afghanistan for the children there to have."
Perhaps another mother would be fooled by such a sweet sentiment. "That may be a good idea. But in the meantime, can you not share with your sister? Or is it easier to share with a stranger than with your sibling?"
Bingo. She started to cry. In truth, she would rather give the toy away than share with Jenny. This is human nature. We all do this in one form or another. "Love your neighbor" is much much harder than "Donate anonymously to poor people."
Sharing with your sister hurts. You don't care what you're missing if you don't see it. But watching your sister play with your toy is torturous.
*******
The dog may or may not head for Afghanistan and some little child may or may not get himself some stitches in addition to a stuffed animal. Dr. Ray Guarendi says and writes repeatedly that you need to get rid of your kids' stuff if you want them to be generous. The more stuff they have, the more selfish they are.
The more stuff we have, the more selfish we are.
These are the thoughts I ponder as I begin to write shopping lists.
** Note: my husband emailed to tell me that the kid was 14 and was going to such extremes to get flour or rice, not candy. It makes the story worse on both accounts: he was old enough to understand the consequences and he felt those risks were worth it for mere food staples.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Heave, ho!
I thoroughly enjoyed watching the Cub Scouts do a tug of war at our Back to Scouting night the other week. I also loved to see the Boy Scouts and adult leaders "helping." Although the field looks fairly flat, this side of the rope had a slight downhill, and they always won, no matter how they kept dividing the boys. So a few of the men got in there and were throwing their weight around - literally - first to one side and then the other.A tug of war is one of those things that you do wholly. Every ounce of your mind, strength, and soul is there pulling on that rope. Most activities don't necessarily fully engage you. You can pick daisies in the outfield during a ball game or kick the dirt in the dugout while waiting for your turn at bat. You can build a fort and prepare for the enemy's attack, but still notice that your sister borrowed your scooter without asking. You can read a great book, but still be aware that your mom is on the phone arranging a play date with a good friend.
But when you play tug of war, you are on a mission and the whole world disappears for five minutes. And you can't lose, as long as you don't...let...go......
Hyperbolist
I sat Mary on the counter so I could blow my nose. That's hard to do with a tot in your arms. Then I left her there and moved about 5 feet way to make the coffee.
"Help! Help!" she called. I continued to make the coffee.
"I'm falling!" she persisted. I turned to confirm what my peripheral vision assured me was true. There she sat, perfectly fine, with her arms outstretched and her face smiling.
I will catch you, little one.
"Help! Help!" she called. I continued to make the coffee.
"I'm falling!" she persisted. I turned to confirm what my peripheral vision assured me was true. There she sat, perfectly fine, with her arms outstretched and her face smiling.
I will catch you, little one.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Get Real
There are some truly fabulous people in the world.
Today, a woman I know slightly, a woman who knows my husband professionally, called me. She works not far from my home on Saturdays, and after work she wants to come over to watch the children for me while I go out and run errands or have dinner with a friend or do whatever. She wants to do this regularly, not just a one time thing.
It's such a nice gesture. Just the very offer makes me all happy. It is enough. I don't really need her to do it. But that she thought of me and came up with a plan was so very sweet.
So, as she continued to explain how everything would all work out, I rehearsed in my mind polite phrases to decline her offer. I am fine, after all. Managing quite nicely. He'll be home soon. We're almost halfway there.
But then the Real Me spoke up (to that Prideful Me in my mind). The Real Me is the one that dispenses sage advice to other mothers like "stay home for at least two weeks after having a baby" and "you can't homeschool and have an immaculate house, too." The Real Me is the one who wrote an article about coping with deployment wherein I write: "Get help. If you can afford it, consider lawn care, a cleaning service or a regular babysitter. For non-routine jobs, swallow your pride and ask for help. If friends or relatives ask if there is anything you need, come up with something. It is good to be strong, but it is better to be humble."
The Prideful Me attempted to ignore the Real Me, but the Real Me is obnoxiously persistent and just won't leave it alone. When the nice woman paused for a breath, the Real Me jumped in and accepted her offer before the Prideful Me even knew it was coming. (The Prideful Me thought some things which I won't repeat here, because the Real Me is never that vulgar.)
Both the Prideful Me and the Real Me love to do nice things for other people. Doing good deeds makes everybody happy.
The Prideful Me hates to accept other people's good deeds. It is so very hard. I don't know why.
The Real Me sees how this whole thing is win-win: the nice woman gets to do a good deed (or two or three) and she gets to feel good knowing that she made a difference, and a big difference, in one person's life. And I get to have a much-needed break. I could run errands in peace. I could get my Christmas shopping done. I could eat a leisurely meal. I could sit still for 20 minutes at a coffee shop. I could get a hotel room and take a nap.
And I could practice the virtue of humility, which is to say, I am fine, but I am tired. I am managing quite nicely, except my patience is wearing a bit thin. Soon is a relative thing. We are almost halfway there, but three months is still an awfully long time.
My point is that there are some really nice people in the world, and I need to let them do their thing. And I need to listen to my own advice.
Today, a woman I know slightly, a woman who knows my husband professionally, called me. She works not far from my home on Saturdays, and after work she wants to come over to watch the children for me while I go out and run errands or have dinner with a friend or do whatever. She wants to do this regularly, not just a one time thing.
It's such a nice gesture. Just the very offer makes me all happy. It is enough. I don't really need her to do it. But that she thought of me and came up with a plan was so very sweet.
So, as she continued to explain how everything would all work out, I rehearsed in my mind polite phrases to decline her offer. I am fine, after all. Managing quite nicely. He'll be home soon. We're almost halfway there.
But then the Real Me spoke up (to that Prideful Me in my mind). The Real Me is the one that dispenses sage advice to other mothers like "stay home for at least two weeks after having a baby" and "you can't homeschool and have an immaculate house, too." The Real Me is the one who wrote an article about coping with deployment wherein I write: "Get help. If you can afford it, consider lawn care, a cleaning service or a regular babysitter. For non-routine jobs, swallow your pride and ask for help. If friends or relatives ask if there is anything you need, come up with something. It is good to be strong, but it is better to be humble."
The Prideful Me attempted to ignore the Real Me, but the Real Me is obnoxiously persistent and just won't leave it alone. When the nice woman paused for a breath, the Real Me jumped in and accepted her offer before the Prideful Me even knew it was coming. (The Prideful Me thought some things which I won't repeat here, because the Real Me is never that vulgar.)
Both the Prideful Me and the Real Me love to do nice things for other people. Doing good deeds makes everybody happy.
The Prideful Me hates to accept other people's good deeds. It is so very hard. I don't know why.
The Real Me sees how this whole thing is win-win: the nice woman gets to do a good deed (or two or three) and she gets to feel good knowing that she made a difference, and a big difference, in one person's life. And I get to have a much-needed break. I could run errands in peace. I could get my Christmas shopping done. I could eat a leisurely meal. I could sit still for 20 minutes at a coffee shop. I could get a hotel room and take a nap.
And I could practice the virtue of humility, which is to say, I am fine, but I am tired. I am managing quite nicely, except my patience is wearing a bit thin. Soon is a relative thing. We are almost halfway there, but three months is still an awfully long time.
My point is that there are some really nice people in the world, and I need to let them do their thing. And I need to listen to my own advice.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Oops.
Remember those cookies the kids made and the toddler destroyed?
The ones we mailed to Afghanistan?
The ones with the Army black beret?
They arrived, which is nice. My husband is sharing them, which is nice.
Did I mention he was working with Special Forces soldiers?
You know, the ones known as the Green Berets...
The ones we mailed to Afghanistan?
The ones with the Army black beret?
They arrived, which is nice. My husband is sharing them, which is nice.
Did I mention he was working with Special Forces soldiers?
You know, the ones known as the Green Berets...
Friday, September 18, 2009
It's all Mattel's fault
New Government Policy Imposes Strict Standards on Garage Sales Nationwide
You make me promises, promises.
Remember when we all went crazy over the new laws for lead in toys and other products for children?
Why do I believe promises, promises?
It won't apply to resale, they said.
Knew you'd never keep all of your promises.
We'll still be able to shop at thrift stores and yard sales and eBay, they said.
We didn't really believe that, did we?
You make me promises, promises.
Remember when we all went crazy over the new laws for lead in toys and other products for children?
Why do I believe promises, promises?
It won't apply to resale, they said.
Knew you'd never keep all of your promises.
We'll still be able to shop at thrift stores and yard sales and eBay, they said.
We didn't really believe that, did we?
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Is anybody else looking forward to Christmas yet?
They had Advent calendars and specialty Christmas candy out at the commissary today.
Isn't that w o n d e r f u l ?
Only 80 more days until the Feast of St. Nicholas. Just in case you were counting.
Isn't that w o n d e r f u l ?
Only 80 more days until the Feast of St. Nicholas. Just in case you were counting.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Feeling Enlightened
I recently blogged about problems with Neighbor Girl and how I told her to go home one day. Since school has started, we see her much less. But when she is here, the problems, especially with Jenny, continue. Sunday evening, just before dinner, my 6 year old is once again in tears; it was her turn to pick the game, but NG wouldn't let her.
I made it clear to Katie and NG that dinner was in 10 minutes and NG was to go home at that time. She likes to stay for dinner, but I think the rule will be "not on school nights."
At dinner, I discussed the girls' treatment of Jenny. "When was the last time Jenny got to pick a game?" I asked.
"We never get to pick. NG always picks," explained Katie, unhappily.
"What are we going to do about this?" I asked. I'm not surprised that this is happening. I'm only surprised that my daughter isn't complaining about it. I have had to realize that she is too nice to put up a fight. Her sense of politeness is overruling her sense of justice.
All the kids, even the boys, suggested a "House Rules" list, written down, that they could refer to. My kids know the house rules. They want the power that comes with pointing to a written rule and telling someone else they have to obey it.
So I typed up some house rules and then asked the kids for their ideas, some of which matched mine:
"Share and take turns."
"No name calling."
"Clean up when you are done playing."
Some of their ideas, I never would have thought of:
"Clear your own dishes from the table." (Apparently, NG makes the girls clear her stuff.)
"Close the door behind you." Now that the colder weather is approaching, I have been on the kids' cases about leaving the door open. The field mice will be seeking warmer lodging.
The boys wanted "Leave the boys alone" but I already had a rule "No excluding others." I suggested "Ask before joining ongoing activities" and said that they could ask for 10 minutes before having to include them. Most of the time, the girls don't want to play, they want to harass. If they have to ask to join in, and then wait 10 minutes, they will likely move on to other games.
Most interesting: while I was listing generic rules that apply to everybody ("Do what you MUST do FIRST. Play comes after work."), the kids were thinking exclusively in terms of NG.
We'll see how this goes.
I made it clear to Katie and NG that dinner was in 10 minutes and NG was to go home at that time. She likes to stay for dinner, but I think the rule will be "not on school nights."
At dinner, I discussed the girls' treatment of Jenny. "When was the last time Jenny got to pick a game?" I asked.
"We never get to pick. NG always picks," explained Katie, unhappily.
"What are we going to do about this?" I asked. I'm not surprised that this is happening. I'm only surprised that my daughter isn't complaining about it. I have had to realize that she is too nice to put up a fight. Her sense of politeness is overruling her sense of justice.
All the kids, even the boys, suggested a "House Rules" list, written down, that they could refer to. My kids know the house rules. They want the power that comes with pointing to a written rule and telling someone else they have to obey it.
So I typed up some house rules and then asked the kids for their ideas, some of which matched mine:
"Share and take turns."
"No name calling."
"Clean up when you are done playing."
Some of their ideas, I never would have thought of:
"Clear your own dishes from the table." (Apparently, NG makes the girls clear her stuff.)
"Close the door behind you." Now that the colder weather is approaching, I have been on the kids' cases about leaving the door open. The field mice will be seeking warmer lodging.
The boys wanted "Leave the boys alone" but I already had a rule "No excluding others." I suggested "Ask before joining ongoing activities" and said that they could ask for 10 minutes before having to include them. Most of the time, the girls don't want to play, they want to harass. If they have to ask to join in, and then wait 10 minutes, they will likely move on to other games.
Most interesting: while I was listing generic rules that apply to everybody ("Do what you MUST do FIRST. Play comes after work."), the kids were thinking exclusively in terms of NG.
We'll see how this goes.
Unless the house is on fire
What time was it? Perhaps 4 am.
I am vaguely aware of my bedroom door opening. I hear, "Mommy?" It's Katie. I am so far down in the depths of slumber that I don't answer.
Again, "Mommy?" She doesn't sound hurt, frightened, sick. I know what she wants. I'm still silent, but I am also more awake now.
A third time, "Mommy?" I realize she just won't go away without a response. I manage to garble out a muffled, "Huh?"
"I had a bad dream. Can I sleep on your floor?" Years ago, she would repeat this request every.single.night. We finally told her she always had permission to sleep on our floor, using our decorative shams as pillows, as long as she came in without waking us up. And so she did, often bringing Jenny in tow. But sometime, I don't know when exactly - 6 months ago perhaps - her nighttime game of musical beds tapered off and stopped.
Since Bill left, I expected her to start up again, but she held off until the last week or two. Apparently, she has forgotten the do not disturb rule.
It amuses me when people ask about how old babies are before they sleep through the night. In the last 3 months, each of my children, except for Billy, has disturbed me at least once in the middle of the night.
This is probably another one of those things that people with grown children assure me I will miss one day. I'm not buying it.
I am vaguely aware of my bedroom door opening. I hear, "Mommy?" It's Katie. I am so far down in the depths of slumber that I don't answer.
Again, "Mommy?" She doesn't sound hurt, frightened, sick. I know what she wants. I'm still silent, but I am also more awake now.
A third time, "Mommy?" I realize she just won't go away without a response. I manage to garble out a muffled, "Huh?"
"I had a bad dream. Can I sleep on your floor?" Years ago, she would repeat this request every.single.night. We finally told her she always had permission to sleep on our floor, using our decorative shams as pillows, as long as she came in without waking us up. And so she did, often bringing Jenny in tow. But sometime, I don't know when exactly - 6 months ago perhaps - her nighttime game of musical beds tapered off and stopped.
Since Bill left, I expected her to start up again, but she held off until the last week or two. Apparently, she has forgotten the do not disturb rule.
It amuses me when people ask about how old babies are before they sleep through the night. In the last 3 months, each of my children, except for Billy, has disturbed me at least once in the middle of the night.
This is probably another one of those things that people with grown children assure me I will miss one day. I'm not buying it.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Santorum for President 2012
Santorum Admits to Pondering Run for Republican Presidential Nomination - Asks for Prayers
I'll give him my prayers...and my vote, and my money, and my time.
I'll give him my prayers...and my vote, and my money, and my time.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Only because Margaret asked
The other day my mom told me that George Will had written a column about why we should get out of Afghanistan. I couldn't do more than glance at it. I love George Will and respect his opinion, and so I can't bear to read his reasons why my husband is wasting his time right now and why my family is suffering for nothing.
I guess with the recent 9-11 anniversary, the whole issue is on the minds of many.
The ever wonderful Minnesota Mom emails me:
Love to you all. I am offering up my Mass today for your family. How is Bill doing? I just read that there was another outbreak in Afghanistan which made me wonder, why are we there? Forgive the dumb question, but really? Do they want us there? Are we winning?
I know you'll have an opinion.
First of all, I know there are many of you who are praying for my husband and me and my family. I thank you all. It helps us, truly.
Secondly, Margaret knows me well. I almost always have an opinion. I have a vague recollection of not having an opinion once. It's not a common experience.
So I respond:
Why are we there? Are we winning hearts and minds? Are we making a difference? Should we make a difference? Should we care about these people a world away? Do they want us there? Should we stay or should we go?
I can't answer all of these with any political correctness.
And I don't know how other wives or mothers feel. I speak only for myself.
We have a poor country whose only hope for survival is to grow poppies and sell them to the world to support its drug habit. We have a country with a government too weak to keep out corruption or evil influences that would use the land to harbor, train and support terrorists and their structure. We have a country that went backwards in development and made educated women quit their professional jobs to wear burkas against their will and stay at home.
From a social justice standpoint, is it not the obligation of the strong to help and defend the weak? Are the rich not to help the poor? Do we stop ministering to the downtrodden because THEY have lost hope? Is it not possible to teach people how to better their lives, and at the very least make a difference in one person's life for one day? To fill a hungry belly for just today, to put shoes on one child's feet, to show them the promise of the future by embodying all that is good in the world for one day?
Why Afghanistan? Well, from there arose the center of attacks against the US. If we leave, they will simply reestablish their bases. The Taliban is still there. They are fighting and waiting for us to go. They won't stop until they are decimated. That, unfortunately, means death, for us and for them and for civilians who harbor them and for civilians who are in the wrong place at the wrong time. War is awful. Better our soldiers (less than 600, I believe, since 2001 - most of the soldiers have died in Iraq, not Afghanistan, although that is changing**) than our civilians.
From there is the supply of most of the world's opium. Drug use is a serious problem in this country and in others. Drug addiction destroys people, lives and families. We can and should fight a two-front war: prevent drug use by educating people and prevent drug use by making the supply scarce and expensive.
Do they want us there? It depends. If you like making easy money from poppies, NO. If you like the Taliban, NO. If you fear the Taliban and know that if you are friendly to US Troops they will kill you and your family, then it may be difficult to welcome US involvement.
What should we do? I don't know. We can't save the whole world, and certainly not all at once. I am glad I do not have to make these decisions.
All I know is this: if 5 or 10 or 20 or 40 years from now, Afghanistan is a better place due to our involvement, then I will believe that my husband's sacrifice (whether that is simply missing his family for 6 months or if it ultimately takes a limb or his life) and my family's suffering will not have been in vain. If we walk away, and Afghanistan goes back to the way it was in 2001, then this was all for nothing. The 600 dead, lost for no good reason. My children's pain at having no father, even if temporary, will be for naught. We would have done better to have simply dropped a few bombs a la Bill Clinton and left it at that.
We have had no more attacks on our soil because we have been keeping them engaged elsewhere. Where should we fight them? Afghanistan? Iraq? New York City? Or should we let them win? Do you want your daughters or granddaughters wearing burkas? Would you like your children or your grandchildren to see the cathedrals of Europe? Would you like to see the cathedral of Notre Dame turned into a mosque? Europe is the frontline for the cultural battles and they are seeing a fair number of deadly attacks on civilians as well. If Europe collapses, then the new frontline is HERE. We won't leave our country a better place for future generations if we can not respond to this fight now. We may not think this is a holy war...but they do.
So that's my two cents.
I like to bounce my thoughts off my husband because he usually provides a different angle on issues and helps me hone or alter my opinion. Unfortunately, I don't have that option right now, so these thoughts, which he will read long after most of you, are unshaped by his experiences and opinions.
At the conclusion of my rant, I asked Margaret if I just shouldn't turn the email into a blog, and she thought yes, because she would like to hear other people's thoughts. So, let us know how you feel. Should we stay or should we go?
** As of September 10th, there have been 746 deaths in Afghanistan and 4,343 related to Iraq.
I guess with the recent 9-11 anniversary, the whole issue is on the minds of many.
The ever wonderful Minnesota Mom emails me:
Love to you all. I am offering up my Mass today for your family. How is Bill doing? I just read that there was another outbreak in Afghanistan which made me wonder, why are we there? Forgive the dumb question, but really? Do they want us there? Are we winning?
I know you'll have an opinion.
First of all, I know there are many of you who are praying for my husband and me and my family. I thank you all. It helps us, truly.
Secondly, Margaret knows me well. I almost always have an opinion. I have a vague recollection of not having an opinion once. It's not a common experience.
So I respond:
Why are we there? Are we winning hearts and minds? Are we making a difference? Should we make a difference? Should we care about these people a world away? Do they want us there? Should we stay or should we go?
I can't answer all of these with any political correctness.
And I don't know how other wives or mothers feel. I speak only for myself.
We have a poor country whose only hope for survival is to grow poppies and sell them to the world to support its drug habit. We have a country with a government too weak to keep out corruption or evil influences that would use the land to harbor, train and support terrorists and their structure. We have a country that went backwards in development and made educated women quit their professional jobs to wear burkas against their will and stay at home.
From a social justice standpoint, is it not the obligation of the strong to help and defend the weak? Are the rich not to help the poor? Do we stop ministering to the downtrodden because THEY have lost hope? Is it not possible to teach people how to better their lives, and at the very least make a difference in one person's life for one day? To fill a hungry belly for just today, to put shoes on one child's feet, to show them the promise of the future by embodying all that is good in the world for one day?
Why Afghanistan? Well, from there arose the center of attacks against the US. If we leave, they will simply reestablish their bases. The Taliban is still there. They are fighting and waiting for us to go. They won't stop until they are decimated. That, unfortunately, means death, for us and for them and for civilians who harbor them and for civilians who are in the wrong place at the wrong time. War is awful. Better our soldiers (less than 600, I believe, since 2001 - most of the soldiers have died in Iraq, not Afghanistan, although that is changing**) than our civilians.
From there is the supply of most of the world's opium. Drug use is a serious problem in this country and in others. Drug addiction destroys people, lives and families. We can and should fight a two-front war: prevent drug use by educating people and prevent drug use by making the supply scarce and expensive.
Do they want us there? It depends. If you like making easy money from poppies, NO. If you like the Taliban, NO. If you fear the Taliban and know that if you are friendly to US Troops they will kill you and your family, then it may be difficult to welcome US involvement.
What should we do? I don't know. We can't save the whole world, and certainly not all at once. I am glad I do not have to make these decisions.
All I know is this: if 5 or 10 or 20 or 40 years from now, Afghanistan is a better place due to our involvement, then I will believe that my husband's sacrifice (whether that is simply missing his family for 6 months or if it ultimately takes a limb or his life) and my family's suffering will not have been in vain. If we walk away, and Afghanistan goes back to the way it was in 2001, then this was all for nothing. The 600 dead, lost for no good reason. My children's pain at having no father, even if temporary, will be for naught. We would have done better to have simply dropped a few bombs a la Bill Clinton and left it at that.
We have had no more attacks on our soil because we have been keeping them engaged elsewhere. Where should we fight them? Afghanistan? Iraq? New York City? Or should we let them win? Do you want your daughters or granddaughters wearing burkas? Would you like your children or your grandchildren to see the cathedrals of Europe? Would you like to see the cathedral of Notre Dame turned into a mosque? Europe is the frontline for the cultural battles and they are seeing a fair number of deadly attacks on civilians as well. If Europe collapses, then the new frontline is HERE. We won't leave our country a better place for future generations if we can not respond to this fight now. We may not think this is a holy war...but they do.
So that's my two cents.
I like to bounce my thoughts off my husband because he usually provides a different angle on issues and helps me hone or alter my opinion. Unfortunately, I don't have that option right now, so these thoughts, which he will read long after most of you, are unshaped by his experiences and opinions.
At the conclusion of my rant, I asked Margaret if I just shouldn't turn the email into a blog, and she thought yes, because she would like to hear other people's thoughts. So, let us know how you feel. Should we stay or should we go?
** As of September 10th, there have been 746 deaths in Afghanistan and 4,343 related to Iraq.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Photo downloads
I had to get a shot of Mary before those last two top teeth come in. She has a cute gap up there, but her canines have erupted. The gap will be closing soon. Her eyes are looking pretty green here.
This is the final product of those "Army guy" cookies. I realized when I boxed them that I had not decorated a single cookie. Some were obviously decorated by a four year old. They are all cute.
Not satisfied with plain white clone troopers, Billy took magic marker and customized these guys. I have more of his artwork that I must scan and post. He is hysterical. Maybe he'll make comic books some day.
Bill's brother came down last weekend and right after he walked in the door, he said, "First of all, do you have any chores for me?" Need I say that he has leaped into first place on my favorite people list for this month? Here he is, reading to all the kids.
He also took my van in to get a new tire - a four hour ordeal. Thank goodness it wasn't I and six kids sitting there. He's a good guy, and I'm very grateful for his help.
This is the final product of those "Army guy" cookies. I realized when I boxed them that I had not decorated a single cookie. Some were obviously decorated by a four year old. They are all cute.
Not satisfied with plain white clone troopers, Billy took magic marker and customized these guys. I have more of his artwork that I must scan and post. He is hysterical. Maybe he'll make comic books some day.
Bill's brother came down last weekend and right after he walked in the door, he said, "First of all, do you have any chores for me?" Need I say that he has leaped into first place on my favorite people list for this month? Here he is, reading to all the kids.
He also took my van in to get a new tire - a four hour ordeal. Thank goodness it wasn't I and six kids sitting there. He's a good guy, and I'm very grateful for his help.
And he's single. If you know any intelligent, Catholic girls who LOVE the Big Apple, let me know! (And since he reads my blog: I'm there for you, bro.)
Adventures at the Post Office
I had some packages to send, so I packed up the four younger kids and went to the post office. The older boys stayed home, both because they wanted to, and because I actually don't mind not taking them. Although they are well behaved and helpful with the littlest ones, traveling with only four kids makes me feel a bit less conspicuous.
But no matter about that. Today I met Lydia.
Lydia looked to be about four years old. And, unlike my four year old BOY, has no qualms about talking to strangers. And asking them lots and lots of questions.
My entourage arrived at the doors of the post office just ahead of Lydia and her mother. Apparently she had never seen such a sight and she asked her mother, "Why does she have three children and a baby?" Lydia's mortified mother attempted to shush her with a hand gesture, so Lydia turned to me and repeated the question.
I smiled, and said I had these children because God gave them to me.
And then we got in line, about 6th or 7th back, with Lydia and her mother right behind. I hurriedly filled out two customs forms for my overseas boxes and addressed a third envelope to my husband while Lydia's mom scribbled on her things. Lydia sat on the floor with my children and showed off her electronic alphabet toy. And we all inched forward every so often, the kids pushing the stack of boxes along.
Finally we were next in line, but Jenny continued to push the boxes past the "wait" area. I said, "Stop." Lydia thought I was calling her name, and she thought "Stop" a rather odd name, so she questioned me about it. I explained that Jenny was pushing the box too far, so Lydia turned her attention to the box.
"Where is the box going?"
"Afghanistan."
"What's in the box?"
"Cookies."
"Why are you sending cookies?"
I told her that my husband, their Daddy, was in Afghanistan, and that they had made these cookies for him. I'm sure she has no idea what or where Afghanistan is, but I see no point in answering four-year-olds with vague "you wouldn't understand" responses. They'll just keep asking anyway.
She asked if Bill was a cook. I guess cooks like cookies more than anybody. Makes sense to me.
She asked if Mary was a boy or a girl.
She continued to express her amazement at how many children I had. She wanted to know if they all had the same parents. I think Lydia's mother just about died with that question.
She wanted to know why I wouldn't let them sprawl all over the floor where people were trying to walk.
The questions continued even after the next available postmistress began weighing my mail. It was a small office, so there was no escaping her interrogation.
Finally, finally, the ordeal was over. I paid and we left. Lydia's poor mother had tried to hush her several times, and I had smiled and told her it was okay. She is four. I have been asked the same things, and worse, by people 5 and 10 and 15 times her age, ones old enough to know better.
And it wasn't Lydia I minded. It was the dozen or more other people in the room, who were thrilled that the little girl was asking the very questions that were in their own minds, who made me very grateful to see the door. Really, when I collected my receipt and the baby and turned around from the counter, I felt like I was center stage and under a hot spotlight.
So much for being inconspicuous.
But no matter about that. Today I met Lydia.
Lydia looked to be about four years old. And, unlike my four year old BOY, has no qualms about talking to strangers. And asking them lots and lots of questions.
My entourage arrived at the doors of the post office just ahead of Lydia and her mother. Apparently she had never seen such a sight and she asked her mother, "Why does she have three children and a baby?" Lydia's mortified mother attempted to shush her with a hand gesture, so Lydia turned to me and repeated the question.
I smiled, and said I had these children because God gave them to me.
And then we got in line, about 6th or 7th back, with Lydia and her mother right behind. I hurriedly filled out two customs forms for my overseas boxes and addressed a third envelope to my husband while Lydia's mom scribbled on her things. Lydia sat on the floor with my children and showed off her electronic alphabet toy. And we all inched forward every so often, the kids pushing the stack of boxes along.
Finally we were next in line, but Jenny continued to push the boxes past the "wait" area. I said, "Stop." Lydia thought I was calling her name, and she thought "Stop" a rather odd name, so she questioned me about it. I explained that Jenny was pushing the box too far, so Lydia turned her attention to the box.
"Where is the box going?"
"Afghanistan."
"What's in the box?"
"Cookies."
"Why are you sending cookies?"
I told her that my husband, their Daddy, was in Afghanistan, and that they had made these cookies for him. I'm sure she has no idea what or where Afghanistan is, but I see no point in answering four-year-olds with vague "you wouldn't understand" responses. They'll just keep asking anyway.
She asked if Bill was a cook. I guess cooks like cookies more than anybody. Makes sense to me.
She asked if Mary was a boy or a girl.
She continued to express her amazement at how many children I had. She wanted to know if they all had the same parents. I think Lydia's mother just about died with that question.
She wanted to know why I wouldn't let them sprawl all over the floor where people were trying to walk.
The questions continued even after the next available postmistress began weighing my mail. It was a small office, so there was no escaping her interrogation.
Finally, finally, the ordeal was over. I paid and we left. Lydia's poor mother had tried to hush her several times, and I had smiled and told her it was okay. She is four. I have been asked the same things, and worse, by people 5 and 10 and 15 times her age, ones old enough to know better.
And it wasn't Lydia I minded. It was the dozen or more other people in the room, who were thrilled that the little girl was asking the very questions that were in their own minds, who made me very grateful to see the door. Really, when I collected my receipt and the baby and turned around from the counter, I felt like I was center stage and under a hot spotlight.
So much for being inconspicuous.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Exactly my Point
Mother says doctors refused to treat infant because of U.K. health rules
Sorry, the government rules have established a cutoff date of 23 weeks gestation. Too bad for your baby.
A prime example of why the government should not be involved in medical decisions. This is a life or death situation, and we're fooling ourselves if we think government involvement won't bite us in our rears sooner or later.
And what makes me so very very mad, is that gestational dates are highly inaccurate, especially when you are establishing cutoff dates and refusing care because the baby's estimated gestation is two days shy of the date at which you would provide care.
They treated her like it was a miscarriage.
This is murder, folks. No easy way around it. Refusing treatment to a baby showing signs of hope (the baby lived for two hours). We are sliding down that slope.
Sorry, the government rules have established a cutoff date of 23 weeks gestation. Too bad for your baby.
A prime example of why the government should not be involved in medical decisions. This is a life or death situation, and we're fooling ourselves if we think government involvement won't bite us in our rears sooner or later.
And what makes me so very very mad, is that gestational dates are highly inaccurate, especially when you are establishing cutoff dates and refusing care because the baby's estimated gestation is two days shy of the date at which you would provide care.
They treated her like it was a miscarriage.
This is murder, folks. No easy way around it. Refusing treatment to a baby showing signs of hope (the baby lived for two hours). We are sliding down that slope.
Liars make me angry, too
Rep. Wilson shouts to Obama during speech: 'You lie'
Since I didn't listen to the speech, I cannot form an opinion about how I personally would feel had I been a member of Congress. Having at least once opened my big fat mouth inappropriately in a public scenario, I can empathize with Rep. Wilson. That doesn't make it right. But...
Sen. Lindsey Graham, R-South Carolina, told CNN affiliate WIS-TV in Columbia that he, too, was disappointed.
"The president's combative tone did not justify a member of Congress shouting out, 'You lie,' " said Graham. "Our nation's president deserves to be treated with respect. It was an inappropriate remark, and I am glad an apology has been made."
So, the President had a combative tone? I'm really not sure if I wouldn't be applauding Rep. Wilson had I been there. I'm all for politeness, but we've got a president who is saddling us with massive debt and using the power of the federal government to make some significant changes in the daily lives of us all. This is not wrangling over which pork project gets funding or whether or not to get involved in a foreign conflict. This is a life or death situation for each and every American. Your health care should not be dictated by a government body. Is that not obvious?
There were times in our nation's history that our representatives battled it out: in legislative assemblies, in churches, in homes, on the streets. The years leading up to the Revolutionary War and the Civil War were extremely volatile and interrupting someone's speech with a negative interjection was commonplace. Rules of decency have not changed.
Is health care on the same plane as the fight for independence or the claim to the right to own slaves? If you are an unborn child, the answer is yes. If you are an elderly person, the answer is yes. If you have a life threatening illness, the answer is yes. If you'd like to get your prescription filled in less than an hour, the answer is yes. If you are a doctor who does not want to perform abortions, the answer is yes. If you are a nurse who does not want to have to inform patient after patient that their care has been denied, the answer is yes. If you are a pharmacist who does not want to fill a prescription for the morning after pill because it is against your religion, the answer is yes. If you are happy with your current insurance, the answer is yes. If you don't want to pay more taxes, the answer is yes. If you don't want your taxes dollars paying for things which are against your religion, the answer is yes.
I am not saying that Rep. Wilson acted properly. I am saying that if things continue down the road to socialized medicine, the time for politeness will soon be at an end.
Since I didn't listen to the speech, I cannot form an opinion about how I personally would feel had I been a member of Congress. Having at least once opened my big fat mouth inappropriately in a public scenario, I can empathize with Rep. Wilson. That doesn't make it right. But...
Sen. Lindsey Graham, R-South Carolina, told CNN affiliate WIS-TV in Columbia that he, too, was disappointed.
"The president's combative tone did not justify a member of Congress shouting out, 'You lie,' " said Graham. "Our nation's president deserves to be treated with respect. It was an inappropriate remark, and I am glad an apology has been made."
So, the President had a combative tone? I'm really not sure if I wouldn't be applauding Rep. Wilson had I been there. I'm all for politeness, but we've got a president who is saddling us with massive debt and using the power of the federal government to make some significant changes in the daily lives of us all. This is not wrangling over which pork project gets funding or whether or not to get involved in a foreign conflict. This is a life or death situation for each and every American. Your health care should not be dictated by a government body. Is that not obvious?
There were times in our nation's history that our representatives battled it out: in legislative assemblies, in churches, in homes, on the streets. The years leading up to the Revolutionary War and the Civil War were extremely volatile and interrupting someone's speech with a negative interjection was commonplace. Rules of decency have not changed.
Is health care on the same plane as the fight for independence or the claim to the right to own slaves? If you are an unborn child, the answer is yes. If you are an elderly person, the answer is yes. If you have a life threatening illness, the answer is yes. If you'd like to get your prescription filled in less than an hour, the answer is yes. If you are a doctor who does not want to perform abortions, the answer is yes. If you are a nurse who does not want to have to inform patient after patient that their care has been denied, the answer is yes. If you are a pharmacist who does not want to fill a prescription for the morning after pill because it is against your religion, the answer is yes. If you are happy with your current insurance, the answer is yes. If you don't want to pay more taxes, the answer is yes. If you don't want your taxes dollars paying for things which are against your religion, the answer is yes.
I am not saying that Rep. Wilson acted properly. I am saying that if things continue down the road to socialized medicine, the time for politeness will soon be at an end.
Wednesday, September 09, 2009
Toddler Convicted of Torturing Soldiers
We're decorating cookies to send to Bill. He'll eat one and then share the others, since he's working hard to maintain his girlish figure.
I detained all the little soldiers in a holding cell last night. They were on the kitchen counter waiting for their noses and cheeks. But Mary got to them first.
Chocolate chips eyes were plucked and apparently eaten. Mouths ripped off. I'm quite certain this is against State Department protocol. At least there was no evidence of water boarding.
Anyway, these cookies are supposed to look like Army guys. The Army's black beret has a blue flash in the center. This is what my table looked like last night before we ran out of black frosting and started working on licorice mouths.
I detained all the little soldiers in a holding cell last night. They were on the kitchen counter waiting for their noses and cheeks. But Mary got to them first.
Chocolate chips eyes were plucked and apparently eaten. Mouths ripped off. I'm quite certain this is against State Department protocol. At least there was no evidence of water boarding.
I'm going State's evidence. I had no idea things would get this out of hand.
Is it naptime yet?
I'm having a tough, frustrating time right now, mainly because Mary has been very clingy. No matter how interesting the activity, she will not participate unless I am right there. Hence, she has been watching a lot of videos on my computer so I can at least do laundry or make dinner and be somewhat productive.
This attachment coincides with the weaning which I finally ended on August 29th. Eleven days later, and she has asked to be nursed every.single.day. I guess you can't consider a tot weaned if she still asks for it, right?
I have found an outlet for my thoughts which pester me day and night through blogging and other writing. But Mary is not interested in sitting long on my lap while I type awkwardly around her. So, I read to her. Or I make "fish kiss" faces and she laughs and says more more. Or we play peak-a-boo. And then I do school or my work, and she makes messes or climbs precariously on furniture, and I finally turn on Kipper the Dog.
And there is no time to blog or to write emails to my husband beyond "Miss you. Love you. Girls started ballet today. More later." More later ends up being "I'm tired. I'm going to bed. Will try to write in the morning."
This too shall pass, I know. But in the middle of it, the days are too long and naps and bedtime too short.
This attachment coincides with the weaning which I finally ended on August 29th. Eleven days later, and she has asked to be nursed every.single.day. I guess you can't consider a tot weaned if she still asks for it, right?
I have found an outlet for my thoughts which pester me day and night through blogging and other writing. But Mary is not interested in sitting long on my lap while I type awkwardly around her. So, I read to her. Or I make "fish kiss" faces and she laughs and says more more. Or we play peak-a-boo. And then I do school or my work, and she makes messes or climbs precariously on furniture, and I finally turn on Kipper the Dog.
And there is no time to blog or to write emails to my husband beyond "Miss you. Love you. Girls started ballet today. More later." More later ends up being "I'm tired. I'm going to bed. Will try to write in the morning."
This too shall pass, I know. But in the middle of it, the days are too long and naps and bedtime too short.
Monday, September 07, 2009
Sunday, September 06, 2009
If you loved me, you would JUST STAY IN BED
Right now, my stock punishment for the kids is to copy a Hail Mary.
Katie has been given this assignment many times over the last week. Her most common infraction is not staying in bed quietly after "goodnight." Before she even has a chance to finish complaining about her sister and roommate, she is seated and handed pen and paper.
I happened to have written the Hail Mary on a piece of paper to try and help Jenny remember how to say it. When it's her turn to lead a decade of the family rosary, this is what transpires:
Jenny: Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed is the fruit -
Me: Blessed art thou.
Jenny: Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.
The next Hail Mary repeats exactly like this. Ten times I correct her for missing the middle part. She hears it the right way 43 other times. Makes no difference.
And we repeat this night after night.
So, I wrote down the Hail Mary for her to follow along and get it right.
But she can't read yet. I don't know what I was thinking.
Then along came a misbehaving child, and voilà - instant punishment. I keep old spiral notebooks from last school year around, open to a blank page, sit a child down, and make them copy the prayer.
Katie has been given this assignment many times over the last week. Her most common infraction is not staying in bed quietly after "goodnight." Before she even has a chance to finish complaining about her sister and roommate, she is seated and handed pen and paper.Every single time she does it, she finishes with "I love Mom." It's so sweet. But I just wish she'd tell me that at goodnight.
Friday, September 04, 2009
Disciplining a Visitor
With girls, Two is company and Three's a crowd. Always try to have just two or four or more girls together at any time for playing.
When Neighbor Girl comes over, she prefers to play with Katie. Katie is 8, she is 10. Jenny is not yet 6, but naturally wants to be included all the time. Naturally, the age gap from 10 to 6 is big enough and is heightened by, firstly, NG being an only child, and secondly, NG having gone to traditional schools which segregate based on silly things like age.
The other day NG was here and Jenny was coming up to me every 10 minutes or so in tears. After a half hour of this, I had had enough. Older children must be nice and indulgent to younger children in my house. I refuse to be the constant arbiter of how much time one child is allowed to pester another child who wants to play with "his" friends alone. Be inclusive...or else!
So I told NG it was time for her to go home. And I told Katie it was time for her to clean her room. Twenty minutes later, Katie and Jenny were playing nicely together (in a clean room). NG took this personally and her mother kept her home yesterday.
How do you handle the neighbor kids? Other times I have doled out punishment (time outs, chores) to everybody, but I just wasn't in the mood that afternoon.
And how do you handle the pesky younger sibling issue? Do you grant older children their "privacy"? Or do you make them learn how to cope with difficult people by enforcing inclusivity?
And any suggestion on gender wars? Man, the battles are raging here. It's boys vs. girls on everything.
When Neighbor Girl comes over, she prefers to play with Katie. Katie is 8, she is 10. Jenny is not yet 6, but naturally wants to be included all the time. Naturally, the age gap from 10 to 6 is big enough and is heightened by, firstly, NG being an only child, and secondly, NG having gone to traditional schools which segregate based on silly things like age.
The other day NG was here and Jenny was coming up to me every 10 minutes or so in tears. After a half hour of this, I had had enough. Older children must be nice and indulgent to younger children in my house. I refuse to be the constant arbiter of how much time one child is allowed to pester another child who wants to play with "his" friends alone. Be inclusive...or else!
So I told NG it was time for her to go home. And I told Katie it was time for her to clean her room. Twenty minutes later, Katie and Jenny were playing nicely together (in a clean room). NG took this personally and her mother kept her home yesterday.
How do you handle the neighbor kids? Other times I have doled out punishment (time outs, chores) to everybody, but I just wasn't in the mood that afternoon.
And how do you handle the pesky younger sibling issue? Do you grant older children their "privacy"? Or do you make them learn how to cope with difficult people by enforcing inclusivity?
And any suggestion on gender wars? Man, the battles are raging here. It's boys vs. girls on everything.
Wednesday, September 02, 2009
Fire the Teacher
Billy writes a letter to his father:
Dear Dad,
Shoole's going great, But the only problem is...I can't figure out what I'm going to be for - Holoween!
School's going great, Dad, as long as you don't mind that I'm failing spelling and grammar.
And he's my best hope.
Dear Dad,
Shoole's going great, But the only problem is...I can't figure out what I'm going to be for - Holoween!
School's going great, Dad, as long as you don't mind that I'm failing spelling and grammar.
And he's my best hope.
Tuesday, September 01, 2009
Video link for the day
It's 20 minutes long, but well worth it.
The Butterfly Circus.
h/t Stina
The best lines are, paraphrasing, that there is no good in displaying a man's weaknesses and that the greater the struggle, the more glorious the final result. Now, let's all get out there and shine.
The Butterfly Circus.
h/t Stina
The best lines are, paraphrasing, that there is no good in displaying a man's weaknesses and that the greater the struggle, the more glorious the final result. Now, let's all get out there and shine.
Chore Time
I just finished reading Managers of Their Chores: A Practical Guide to Children's Chores (the book was loaned to me by Angoraknitter). If you struggle with home management, and I know many do, this may be the book for you.
Most of the book is dedicated to explaining why children should be doing chores, which I didn't really need. Some of the book talked about having a good attitude (both the parents and the children) toward doing chores. Since I am the only person in this house who seems to like doing housework, there was some good advice here. I especially liked the back of the book with their "troubleshooting guide" written like the manual for an appliance (Problem: children won't do chores; Possible Cause: no consequences for not doing chores).
Very valuable was the Master List of chores in the back which seems pretty thorough. This is a list of most things that need to be done around the house with the idea that you use this list to assign frequency and person to the chore (including Mom and Dad).
I really like the idea of young children taking their chore list with them (the book comes with special holders that clip to clothing). They claim that this helps keep distracted children on task. Since this is a huge problem in this household, I will be finding out really soon if this does, in fact, work. Sounds like it should.
Finally, and most appealing, is the ability to purchase software that will help you manage your chores and also the ability to print out the chore cards using their online program, including picture chore cards for those who can not yet read. I'm not clear if the chore cards require the additional purchase of the software or if that is provided free for book owners. I'll have to buy the book first to find out. Anyone could get by with handwritten cards or ones done on the computer yourself, but having personally spent hours looking for appropriate free clipart to use for various chore charts over the years, having a resource of related artwork on hand is worth the money to avoid all that work.
Most of the book is dedicated to explaining why children should be doing chores, which I didn't really need. Some of the book talked about having a good attitude (both the parents and the children) toward doing chores. Since I am the only person in this house who seems to like doing housework, there was some good advice here. I especially liked the back of the book with their "troubleshooting guide" written like the manual for an appliance (Problem: children won't do chores; Possible Cause: no consequences for not doing chores).
Very valuable was the Master List of chores in the back which seems pretty thorough. This is a list of most things that need to be done around the house with the idea that you use this list to assign frequency and person to the chore (including Mom and Dad).
I really like the idea of young children taking their chore list with them (the book comes with special holders that clip to clothing). They claim that this helps keep distracted children on task. Since this is a huge problem in this household, I will be finding out really soon if this does, in fact, work. Sounds like it should.
Finally, and most appealing, is the ability to purchase software that will help you manage your chores and also the ability to print out the chore cards using their online program, including picture chore cards for those who can not yet read. I'm not clear if the chore cards require the additional purchase of the software or if that is provided free for book owners. I'll have to buy the book first to find out. Anyone could get by with handwritten cards or ones done on the computer yourself, but having personally spent hours looking for appropriate free clipart to use for various chore charts over the years, having a resource of related artwork on hand is worth the money to avoid all that work.
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