Today was one of those days when I just stunk all day long. And it was an all day long kind of day (I'm still in my gnarly tennis clothes even as I type this at 10:30).
8:20 this morning the sitter showed up for Frances and Rutledge. Bless her heart, she is the most charming girl I've met in a very long time. I don't know her at all, but I instantly had that feeling that I hope that my own daughter will be like her at 19. Frances is completely in love, wants to go to Haley's house, is still going on and on about how Haley carried how, what they played, and how she has to come back.
8:30 I left for my match at ACAC. The less said about the outcome, the better.
11:30 I arrived home with just enough time to barely stop the car and grab the kids to head over to play practice. Passaportout is learning his lines, slowly but surely. Walter seemed bored, but definitely has his lines down. Rutledge needed a nap.
3:15 I stopped by Rebecca's to drop off more items for the Saturday morning yard sale fundraiser and to get a drink and let the younger children play for a while. I left Frances there while I took the boys to gymnastics.
4:00 Gymnastics for Walter and Ollie. They plan to take a break for the summer.
5:30 I've been back at Rebecca's, where I watched her children so she could mail a package at the post office. Then back to gymnastics to drop off Frances and get the boys. The fabulous news of the day is that Frances has been promoted to Level 1, the infamous beginning of the Champions program. She will bump up to practicing for an hour and forty-five minutes twice a week once July comes. It is a big commitment.
6:00 The boys and I go to Panera to finish writing their pen pals letters to a student in Ghana. We finished the schoolwork for the day. Ollie's handwriting continues to be weak, but he is getting faster at producing nearly illegible scrawl. Their letters were detailed and took a great deal of hard work, and I was proud of them for putting forth such effort when I know that writing on paper is not their most comfortable task. Punctuation still seems very optional to them. Walter has been working in a new cursive workbook today and saw now reason to do math or any other spelling or language arts work. When he gets on something, he wants to do it exclusively until he completes the project to his satisfaction.
7:00 We met other members of our homeschool group at the community college to help pack donations of books and school supplies for the Thomas Jefferson School in Ghana. We saw some slides of the school and the students there. We played in the grass outside until the security guards got mad at us. I was interviewed for a local community newspaper and webcast about our group and our participation in this project.
8:15 Finally home, reeking of sweat, still dressed as though a court is going to appear at any moment. Had a snack, read to Frances, helped her with her own reading, and read a chapter of Down the Rabbit Hole to the boys.
And here I am now, with the dregs of the evening fleeting away, planning for another long tomorrow. Tennis at an hour when I'm usually not out of bed, packing diversions for the twins, trying to rustle up some cash to go strawberry picking with because I'll need to go straight from tennis to the berry farm. After that I said I'd help with tagging items for the yard sale. And somehow school needs to fit in there. At least I can't say we've been bored!
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Monday, May 7, 2007
Wah, wah, wah
It has been a day of much sobbing at Chez Clendenon. Frances sobbing because her tummy hurts and her legs hurt and her neck hurts. Walter sobbing because Ollie got to go on a playdate and he didn't. Rutledge sobbing because he's 2. Frances sobbing again because someone knocked her down and because she fell off the sink in the bathroom and, and....
We're enjoying _Down the Rabbit Hole_, but moving at an all too slow pace. We'll never finish at the rate we're going. I am having to concentrate on schoolwork day and night now to get the boys up to where they need to be for me to feel confident about taking them out of second grade at the end of the summer. Today we covered every subject I had planned, except that Walter didn't seem to get to the grammar page. But both of did 20 pages of test prep, two pages of math plus extra textbook work, two pages of spelling, two pages of Explode the Code, two pages of geography/social studies work, two oral spelling tests, and then writing each of their words seven times. The boys also did handwriting work. Tomorrow I'm going to try to bump up to having them write two sentences in their journals. The important thing is that they get a lot of time with pencils in hands so that their fine motor skills will improve. I need to study a bit more about other things we could be doing to improve their hand strength, but mostly I think they just need meticulous instruction in how to make lowercase letters with as few pencil strokes as possible.
I am feeling particularly tapped out as a person myself lately. All I want to do is play tennis, and I can't find people to play during the times I'm available, and I'm just feeling like a terrible player in general. My performance has been very disappointing, and I know that I need to work on it, but the best way to do that is to go to as many clinics as you have time for, and I can't quite swing that. I have been unsuccessful in finding a sitter for Thursday, so I'm not going to be able to play this week. Next week I already said I'd be somewhere else, though to be honest, I'd rather be playing tennis. But the possibility that I'm going to find childcare is almost nothing, so it's probably better that I've found something to occupy that time. My need to play tennis is pretty intense; I'm craving that time to do something on my own without children. Now that Kerry is working until 6:30 or 7:00 every night, I am finding that more than ever, I need to get these breaks for myself. I am quite bummed that it isn't working out as I had planned.
Next year feels so up in the air to me. If my boys were smart, I would feel much better about the prospect of sending them to school. As it is, I worry that if they transfer to school, they will be lost in the sea of average students in the middle group, plodding their way through the system as one of a sea of faces. My intention in sending them to school would be for them to receive the attention and education that they deserve so that they can find their potential. Deep down, I want to believe that they are capable people, but at home, I am preventing them from really shining because I am not offering them enough work and enough scope of material. Up until now, I have been focusing fairly narrowly on reading and math, seeing the basic skills as what will allow them to explore their own interests. Most of our other "school" doesn't look all that much like school; we spend hours reading about all kinds of topics, looking up information to their questions, and doing projects. I miss some of these things, but unless we want to spend more than 5 hours a day on school, I need to drop some of this so that they can pick up the basic skills they are lacking: spelling, handwriting, math from several different books, proofreading skills.
Here's my favorite test prep question of the day:
Which one of these does not belong?
(a) grass
(b) dirt
(c) carpet
(d) flowers
We're enjoying _Down the Rabbit Hole_, but moving at an all too slow pace. We'll never finish at the rate we're going. I am having to concentrate on schoolwork day and night now to get the boys up to where they need to be for me to feel confident about taking them out of second grade at the end of the summer. Today we covered every subject I had planned, except that Walter didn't seem to get to the grammar page. But both of did 20 pages of test prep, two pages of math plus extra textbook work, two pages of spelling, two pages of Explode the Code, two pages of geography/social studies work, two oral spelling tests, and then writing each of their words seven times. The boys also did handwriting work. Tomorrow I'm going to try to bump up to having them write two sentences in their journals. The important thing is that they get a lot of time with pencils in hands so that their fine motor skills will improve. I need to study a bit more about other things we could be doing to improve their hand strength, but mostly I think they just need meticulous instruction in how to make lowercase letters with as few pencil strokes as possible.
I am feeling particularly tapped out as a person myself lately. All I want to do is play tennis, and I can't find people to play during the times I'm available, and I'm just feeling like a terrible player in general. My performance has been very disappointing, and I know that I need to work on it, but the best way to do that is to go to as many clinics as you have time for, and I can't quite swing that. I have been unsuccessful in finding a sitter for Thursday, so I'm not going to be able to play this week. Next week I already said I'd be somewhere else, though to be honest, I'd rather be playing tennis. But the possibility that I'm going to find childcare is almost nothing, so it's probably better that I've found something to occupy that time. My need to play tennis is pretty intense; I'm craving that time to do something on my own without children. Now that Kerry is working until 6:30 or 7:00 every night, I am finding that more than ever, I need to get these breaks for myself. I am quite bummed that it isn't working out as I had planned.
Next year feels so up in the air to me. If my boys were smart, I would feel much better about the prospect of sending them to school. As it is, I worry that if they transfer to school, they will be lost in the sea of average students in the middle group, plodding their way through the system as one of a sea of faces. My intention in sending them to school would be for them to receive the attention and education that they deserve so that they can find their potential. Deep down, I want to believe that they are capable people, but at home, I am preventing them from really shining because I am not offering them enough work and enough scope of material. Up until now, I have been focusing fairly narrowly on reading and math, seeing the basic skills as what will allow them to explore their own interests. Most of our other "school" doesn't look all that much like school; we spend hours reading about all kinds of topics, looking up information to their questions, and doing projects. I miss some of these things, but unless we want to spend more than 5 hours a day on school, I need to drop some of this so that they can pick up the basic skills they are lacking: spelling, handwriting, math from several different books, proofreading skills.
Here's my favorite test prep question of the day:
Which one of these does not belong?
(a) grass
(b) dirt
(c) carpet
(d) flowers
Sunday, May 6, 2007
It's all Downhill...
We bought the furniture today. Although it felt like we spent all afternoon in the furniture store, the reality was that we were there for a very long two hours. Two hours that included considerable time in the bathrooms, even more time peeling a toddler away from breakable objects, and just incredible indecision. We went in with the intention of purchasing a leather sofa and loveseat and cocktail ottoman. The next thing I knew, we were back and forth fifty times between fabric and leather. The fabric would be more cozy, softer, perhaps warmer for the room. The leather is probably more durable, more wipeable, more sanitizable. But the warmth of fabric! Then there was the question of dark brown vs. red. Red leather. It would be fabulous in a chair, but in a sofa and loveseat? The look was distinctly diner.
In the end, we chose the dark brown leather. And a bed. Which was not at all in the plans. It is a lovely four poster, and I hope that it will match our bedroom furniture and transform this into a more finished room. So from henceforth, we are even more destitute than before.
Then talk about an evening sucked away. Loud, loud children while I was trying to read. Excessive energy that didn't want to settle down. And then nearly two hours of printing schoolwork for the week. I'll be shocked if I'm not being begged to send them to school by the week's end! We have gone from doing schoolwork that resembles schoolwork 4 days a week to 5-6 days a week, and I've gone from asking them to do three worksheets a day on average to doing 10-12. If their scores don't improve with this, it's not from lack of trying. And they also will be learning the discipline of sitting down at a desk and following someone else's agenda for their education. I have a bad feeling that we're still on the downswing with this, the precipitous drop toward hating school and all of the subjects I am trying to cover, but once we hit bottom with Walter, it should be a positive trend in terms of what he retains. In some ways, the new regime is tough on all of us. I miss being able to read to them, but between the added time it takes to do the work and the added time in our day they spend sobbing about not wanting to do the work, my nerves are pretty frazzled and we just don't have the free space for it right now. Ollie is becoming more and more interested in history, but right now, because this isn't something they will be tested on, we can't put undue focus on it. I'm really seeing the limitations faced by public school teachers, and in an ideal world, with bright, self-motivated children, it would take far less time to cover far more material at a mastery level, but I feel like I'm locked in a battle of wills that I am determined to win. There are thrilling moments in one's homeschooling life, the ones where you feel like you are learning and discovering as much as your children, and then there are close encounters with the darkside of education. Let's just say we're currently no longer with the force, but darnit, we'll appear successful on paper if my new plan works the way I intend it to.
I am doing a terrible job of reading on my own. At the rate I'm going now, I will be 70 years old before I finish the fourth Harry Potter book again. What am I doing? I'm just plain tired. Cleaning and straightening up and getting children to bed is consuming most of the evening, and then I'm just too exhausted to focus my eyes. Oh, for more hours in the day!
In the end, we chose the dark brown leather. And a bed. Which was not at all in the plans. It is a lovely four poster, and I hope that it will match our bedroom furniture and transform this into a more finished room. So from henceforth, we are even more destitute than before.
Then talk about an evening sucked away. Loud, loud children while I was trying to read. Excessive energy that didn't want to settle down. And then nearly two hours of printing schoolwork for the week. I'll be shocked if I'm not being begged to send them to school by the week's end! We have gone from doing schoolwork that resembles schoolwork 4 days a week to 5-6 days a week, and I've gone from asking them to do three worksheets a day on average to doing 10-12. If their scores don't improve with this, it's not from lack of trying. And they also will be learning the discipline of sitting down at a desk and following someone else's agenda for their education. I have a bad feeling that we're still on the downswing with this, the precipitous drop toward hating school and all of the subjects I am trying to cover, but once we hit bottom with Walter, it should be a positive trend in terms of what he retains. In some ways, the new regime is tough on all of us. I miss being able to read to them, but between the added time it takes to do the work and the added time in our day they spend sobbing about not wanting to do the work, my nerves are pretty frazzled and we just don't have the free space for it right now. Ollie is becoming more and more interested in history, but right now, because this isn't something they will be tested on, we can't put undue focus on it. I'm really seeing the limitations faced by public school teachers, and in an ideal world, with bright, self-motivated children, it would take far less time to cover far more material at a mastery level, but I feel like I'm locked in a battle of wills that I am determined to win. There are thrilling moments in one's homeschooling life, the ones where you feel like you are learning and discovering as much as your children, and then there are close encounters with the darkside of education. Let's just say we're currently no longer with the force, but darnit, we'll appear successful on paper if my new plan works the way I intend it to.
I am doing a terrible job of reading on my own. At the rate I'm going now, I will be 70 years old before I finish the fourth Harry Potter book again. What am I doing? I'm just plain tired. Cleaning and straightening up and getting children to bed is consuming most of the evening, and then I'm just too exhausted to focus my eyes. Oh, for more hours in the day!
Friday, May 4, 2007
Home Sweet Home
It's interesting. When I get on one of these kicks where I am serious about looking at other houses, the end result has always been to come home after looking to discover that I really do love our house. It's not even a fixating on a specific thing to love about the house or where we are; it really is a deep kind of contentment and appreciation for what we have.
Tonight we spent about an hour at the prospective house, and I think Kerry and I both left feeling rather confident that even at a lower price, we're pretty lucky to have what we already do. It needs work. It looks lived in. New carpet would feel nice. Decent furniture would be extremely satisfying. A family room that we actually wanted to sit in would be welcome. But the basic bones of what we have are just fine. Enough space, but not too much. A useable layout. Nice features here and there. So many things to do all around us. As safe a place as you get these days for kids to play. Friends for them. There's really very little to complain about except the commute.
Tomorrow morning we are going to the Waldorf May Faire. Walter has a new book about Gnome Crafts, so we need some wool felt sheets to make our gnomes this coming week.
Today was a difficult day for Walter. I'm not sure what happened at the park this afternoon, but we left with him in the worst meltdown I have seen in probably three years. He was hysterically inconsolable, shrieking and crying for no clear reason, spewing out nonsense sentences and wailing that he was going to sell his bike. No, he was going to sell his bike for $25. No, for $1. Then for $.25. And finally he was giving it away. Something about how he didn't want us to bring his bike in the first place. I could figure out now precipitating event for his misery. I'm unsure what to make of this. His food today was pretty standard: Koala Krisp cereal, a ham sandwich, and water, so nothing unusual there. My first reaction was to think that he needs no gluten, no milk products, and a super clean diet. Then I realized that maybe it wasn't the type of food, but the lack of food that was the problem. Maybe his blood sugar was low. He ate Gorilla Munch from the box on the way home and his mood seemed to stabilize.
I continue to nearly torture the boys with enhanced schoolwork. And I am still trying to come to terms with Ollie's test scores. We have had some serious talks about how to take these tests, namely you don't quit just because you get to a question you can't answer. Even if you aren't getting a "grade" on the test there are people who might be looking at this test to see how much you know and how you are doing with your schoolwork, so it is a good idea to do your best. These are, believe it or not, concepts he needed to be explicitly told; he is a child who is punished by rewards. Today he took a subtest in math as part of our test prep, and he only missed one out of 16 problems, and as soon as I mentioned he had missed one, he knew exactly which one it was and what his answer should have been. This, the CAT, and his daily performance in his book tell me that something went pretty wrong with the test, probably the fact that he ended the section once he had a problem he wasn't sure about. I'm wondering if part of Walter's emotional control problems and behavioral regression are a result of the added stress of all of the extra work he has been doing this week. I've doubled the spelling words, doubled the Explode the Code pages (we're now done with book 6), added in two pages of handwriting practice, and am doing test prep on top of that. Despite my best efforts and dogged determination to keep him seated for an extended period of time, he hasn't quite been broken yet to the point where he can get through all of the work in a morning. We're dealing with a lot of tears and protests that there is too much work, but I keep my focus on how much he would be doing if he was in school, and this seems rather little to expect. I am already seeing greater facility with forming letters, so the liberal use of the eraser that I have been requiring so that letters are directly on the line and all lower case where needed has produced some fruit. Even Ollie is having an easier time with some lower case letters now, and it gives me hope that we will have progress and eventually it won't take him ten minutes to write something as short as, "I like candy."
Walter is my big question mark. What is he? Who is he? Will he ever really grow up and be like others his age, or will he always be young, eccentric, and quirky, with daily life seeming to be an unfamiliar chore to him. I wish that I could say that he will make it in the world on his own, but I go through phases where I have very serious doubts. Tonight he is curled up beside me in the bed and looking forward to tomorrow morning, when we'll go out together with Frances to the Waldorf School, the land of his beloved gnomes and craft supplies. The one thing you can say about him is that he is definitely special.
Tonight we spent about an hour at the prospective house, and I think Kerry and I both left feeling rather confident that even at a lower price, we're pretty lucky to have what we already do. It needs work. It looks lived in. New carpet would feel nice. Decent furniture would be extremely satisfying. A family room that we actually wanted to sit in would be welcome. But the basic bones of what we have are just fine. Enough space, but not too much. A useable layout. Nice features here and there. So many things to do all around us. As safe a place as you get these days for kids to play. Friends for them. There's really very little to complain about except the commute.
Tomorrow morning we are going to the Waldorf May Faire. Walter has a new book about Gnome Crafts, so we need some wool felt sheets to make our gnomes this coming week.
Today was a difficult day for Walter. I'm not sure what happened at the park this afternoon, but we left with him in the worst meltdown I have seen in probably three years. He was hysterically inconsolable, shrieking and crying for no clear reason, spewing out nonsense sentences and wailing that he was going to sell his bike. No, he was going to sell his bike for $25. No, for $1. Then for $.25. And finally he was giving it away. Something about how he didn't want us to bring his bike in the first place. I could figure out now precipitating event for his misery. I'm unsure what to make of this. His food today was pretty standard: Koala Krisp cereal, a ham sandwich, and water, so nothing unusual there. My first reaction was to think that he needs no gluten, no milk products, and a super clean diet. Then I realized that maybe it wasn't the type of food, but the lack of food that was the problem. Maybe his blood sugar was low. He ate Gorilla Munch from the box on the way home and his mood seemed to stabilize.
I continue to nearly torture the boys with enhanced schoolwork. And I am still trying to come to terms with Ollie's test scores. We have had some serious talks about how to take these tests, namely you don't quit just because you get to a question you can't answer. Even if you aren't getting a "grade" on the test there are people who might be looking at this test to see how much you know and how you are doing with your schoolwork, so it is a good idea to do your best. These are, believe it or not, concepts he needed to be explicitly told; he is a child who is punished by rewards. Today he took a subtest in math as part of our test prep, and he only missed one out of 16 problems, and as soon as I mentioned he had missed one, he knew exactly which one it was and what his answer should have been. This, the CAT, and his daily performance in his book tell me that something went pretty wrong with the test, probably the fact that he ended the section once he had a problem he wasn't sure about. I'm wondering if part of Walter's emotional control problems and behavioral regression are a result of the added stress of all of the extra work he has been doing this week. I've doubled the spelling words, doubled the Explode the Code pages (we're now done with book 6), added in two pages of handwriting practice, and am doing test prep on top of that. Despite my best efforts and dogged determination to keep him seated for an extended period of time, he hasn't quite been broken yet to the point where he can get through all of the work in a morning. We're dealing with a lot of tears and protests that there is too much work, but I keep my focus on how much he would be doing if he was in school, and this seems rather little to expect. I am already seeing greater facility with forming letters, so the liberal use of the eraser that I have been requiring so that letters are directly on the line and all lower case where needed has produced some fruit. Even Ollie is having an easier time with some lower case letters now, and it gives me hope that we will have progress and eventually it won't take him ten minutes to write something as short as, "I like candy."
Walter is my big question mark. What is he? Who is he? Will he ever really grow up and be like others his age, or will he always be young, eccentric, and quirky, with daily life seeming to be an unfamiliar chore to him. I wish that I could say that he will make it in the world on his own, but I go through phases where I have very serious doubts. Tonight he is curled up beside me in the bed and looking forward to tomorrow morning, when we'll go out together with Frances to the Waldorf School, the land of his beloved gnomes and craft supplies. The one thing you can say about him is that he is definitely special.
Saturday, December 2, 2006
We'll Always Remember
Tennis has been heavily on my mind the past few days. Well, actually, it has been on my mind heavily for the past week or so. I'm trying my hardest, without even holding my racket, much less being on a court with another human being, to figure out what my USTA rating would be. I want it to be 3.5. I hope it would be 3.5. 3.5 sounds like fun, it sounds challenging, it sounds like a nice skill set to be working in, and it sounds like I wouldn't be badly beaten every single time. 4.0 sounds on paper like where I might be (hey, I could even make a case for a 4.5...on paper, that is!), but I don't believe in paper. Paper doesn't play matches with real live opponents. So unless forced to do otherwise by someone with more experience identifying placement, I'm going to call myself a 3.5. I've settled on this idea that a pro is going to have to tell me what to do based upon watching me.
So while I've been on this tennis kick, I went to my closet and pulled out my high school yearbooks in hopes of seeing what my season records were my junior and senior year. Unfortunately, that information wasn't available, but I was able to pretty much mesh what information was there with what my brain remembers, which is that when I started, I lost two, and that seems correct--the team's season record was 7-2 that year. I also couldn't remember the names of all six starters that year. As I recalled, our only losses were to the usual suspects, Cox and First Colonial.
But meanwhile, I got lost in the voluminous writing on the back and front pages of my yearbook. I don't know if everyone's high school yearbook is similar, but I had at least one person, sometimes two, claim entire blank two page spreads for themselves. Donna's entry is a cacophony of text, drawing, a combination of the two (her name upside down and backwards written in words), and just sheer insanity. I laughed so hard reading it, although I can't say that I've read the entire thing because it is so non-linear. And here's the kicker: I can't remember what about half of this stuff she wrote means! What I do remember reading her entry and many of the others is that obviously my life in high school was comprised of one personal joke or reference after another with just about anyone I knew. We must have sounded like we were talking or writing in a secret code, because I sure as heck don't know what we were talking about! Here are some of the things that I can't remember:
* Nightmare on ice skates, Part 1 Bobby-obby-obby
* Hey, guess what? I played in the park, but I didn't hear Freddy in the bushes. (although I think I have a guess on this one...)
* Party at J-Man's House! Stay all night--Maki and Mary Frances did! (I don't know who J-Man, Maki, or Mary Frances are)
* The Mystic Order of the Holy Ham (this rings a bell, but what does it mean?)
* Bossy Cow Jokes
* something about SQUIDS from AP English class?
* Lichens. Several people mentioned something about lichens.
* Bitte klopfen and the sacred caterpillar (this was from creative writing class, it seems)
* More than one person asked if I was "naked or was I nude"
There are these hysterical pictures, too, including "A Rare Photo of HELL The Day You Graduated," drawings of Donna and I in our pickle costumes (we honestly had professional photos done with us wearing John Lennon sunglasses and wearing posterboard pickles), and a drawing of me waving my nose hairs at someone. Then there's the occasional totally "out there" comment from someone I knew very well, but I can't imagine making the particular comment they made. There's Joe Kennedy, with his odd little half-calligraphy blurb about incredible person blah, blah, blah stuff, and than at the end adds a "P.S. You really look good in a formal." What's that supposed to mean?! Then there was some joke about "Let me know when you get those sex-improvement video tapes you ordered," coming from Jason Bair. Huh?
Then my very amazing tennis partner, Kalpana, had all kinds of little gems that I can barely attach any meaning to. "Be a Woman." I definitely remember saying that, but not the context. And it seems I had a big thing about "Hit her where it hurts!"
Finally, Tricia left this entire treatise on silence. With a big blank space for it. Obviously, silence seems to have been a big problem between us. Why do I always end up spending time with people with whom this silence thing becomes an issue?
Other notable comments about high school based on my yearbook: I had longish hair, and it was still very naturally blonde. Trish Goodwin is on probably every other page. I seem to have missed getting in the picture for half of the activities I was in. I still picture everyone looking just as they did then.
Back to the present, Frances was fully recovered today. By the time she got up this morning, she was doing running flips onto the mattress in Rutledge's room and she was eating waffles. She tested negative for strep, which is not quite what I wanted to hear, since it means that this was probably a virus, but looking on the bright side of things, at least it was very short-lived. The vomiting phase lasted only 1.5 hours, even if it was a bit intense. And although she had an intermittent tummy ache all day, it didn't exactly slow her down. So I'm hoping that if I am similarly cursed with the illness that it will be as quick for me.
Ollie lost three of four matches today at the wrestling tournament. He was pinned in under 30 seconds by the first opponent, but steadily imrproved as the morning went on. The bye in the second round affected his momentum, I heard; too much time between his first and second match made him lose interest. And his nemesis from last year broke his arm today and will be out for the rest of the season. Not that it makes a difference to Ollie's season, since Ollie has moved on to Midget and Trey is still a Bantam. Since this is the tournament where Ollie broke someone's arm last year, it seems pretty clear that the referees need to be a little more on top of things as far as making it clear when the time is up so that no one shoots an unsuspecting person.
I suppose between not having approrpriate BRAT diet items in our house during a possible stomach virus and just needing food in general, we somehow ended up overdoing the grocery shopping today. We went three separate places, spending a rather large amount at each, resulting in an even more staggering grand total. But now we have so much food that our fridge can barely hold it, and even the garage fridge is feeling the pain. Both Frances and I are highly interested in protein, so we have many nuts and trail mixes and cheeses. Hopefully this will help both of us stay on a more even keel. And I engaged in a rather naughty clandestine shopping expedition of my own, which was probably not the best idea on a day of major grocery shopping and when I haven't checked the balance in our checking account recently. The truth is going to come out sooner or later (I vote sooner), so I hope that my lovely new tennis clothes make Kerry smile as much as they made me. I never did find my missing white skirt, so I had to do something, right?! Now I just have to figure out the answer to this burning question of tennis etiquette: if my skirt is orange/salmon, what color should my shorts/bloomers or whatever you call them be? I hope that white is an appropriate answer!
So while I've been on this tennis kick, I went to my closet and pulled out my high school yearbooks in hopes of seeing what my season records were my junior and senior year. Unfortunately, that information wasn't available, but I was able to pretty much mesh what information was there with what my brain remembers, which is that when I started, I lost two, and that seems correct--the team's season record was 7-2 that year. I also couldn't remember the names of all six starters that year. As I recalled, our only losses were to the usual suspects, Cox and First Colonial.
But meanwhile, I got lost in the voluminous writing on the back and front pages of my yearbook. I don't know if everyone's high school yearbook is similar, but I had at least one person, sometimes two, claim entire blank two page spreads for themselves. Donna's entry is a cacophony of text, drawing, a combination of the two (her name upside down and backwards written in words), and just sheer insanity. I laughed so hard reading it, although I can't say that I've read the entire thing because it is so non-linear. And here's the kicker: I can't remember what about half of this stuff she wrote means! What I do remember reading her entry and many of the others is that obviously my life in high school was comprised of one personal joke or reference after another with just about anyone I knew. We must have sounded like we were talking or writing in a secret code, because I sure as heck don't know what we were talking about! Here are some of the things that I can't remember:
* Nightmare on ice skates, Part 1 Bobby-obby-obby
* Hey, guess what? I played in the park, but I didn't hear Freddy in the bushes. (although I think I have a guess on this one...)
* Party at J-Man's House! Stay all night--Maki and Mary Frances did! (I don't know who J-Man, Maki, or Mary Frances are)
* The Mystic Order of the Holy Ham (this rings a bell, but what does it mean?)
* Bossy Cow Jokes
* something about SQUIDS from AP English class?
* Lichens. Several people mentioned something about lichens.
* Bitte klopfen and the sacred caterpillar (this was from creative writing class, it seems)
* More than one person asked if I was "naked or was I nude"
There are these hysterical pictures, too, including "A Rare Photo of HELL The Day You Graduated," drawings of Donna and I in our pickle costumes (we honestly had professional photos done with us wearing John Lennon sunglasses and wearing posterboard pickles), and a drawing of me waving my nose hairs at someone. Then there's the occasional totally "out there" comment from someone I knew very well, but I can't imagine making the particular comment they made. There's Joe Kennedy, with his odd little half-calligraphy blurb about incredible person blah, blah, blah stuff, and than at the end adds a "P.S. You really look good in a formal." What's that supposed to mean?! Then there was some joke about "Let me know when you get those sex-improvement video tapes you ordered," coming from Jason Bair. Huh?
Then my very amazing tennis partner, Kalpana, had all kinds of little gems that I can barely attach any meaning to. "Be a Woman." I definitely remember saying that, but not the context. And it seems I had a big thing about "Hit her where it hurts!"
Finally, Tricia left this entire treatise on silence. With a big blank space for it. Obviously, silence seems to have been a big problem between us. Why do I always end up spending time with people with whom this silence thing becomes an issue?
Other notable comments about high school based on my yearbook: I had longish hair, and it was still very naturally blonde. Trish Goodwin is on probably every other page. I seem to have missed getting in the picture for half of the activities I was in. I still picture everyone looking just as they did then.
Back to the present, Frances was fully recovered today. By the time she got up this morning, she was doing running flips onto the mattress in Rutledge's room and she was eating waffles. She tested negative for strep, which is not quite what I wanted to hear, since it means that this was probably a virus, but looking on the bright side of things, at least it was very short-lived. The vomiting phase lasted only 1.5 hours, even if it was a bit intense. And although she had an intermittent tummy ache all day, it didn't exactly slow her down. So I'm hoping that if I am similarly cursed with the illness that it will be as quick for me.
Ollie lost three of four matches today at the wrestling tournament. He was pinned in under 30 seconds by the first opponent, but steadily imrproved as the morning went on. The bye in the second round affected his momentum, I heard; too much time between his first and second match made him lose interest. And his nemesis from last year broke his arm today and will be out for the rest of the season. Not that it makes a difference to Ollie's season, since Ollie has moved on to Midget and Trey is still a Bantam. Since this is the tournament where Ollie broke someone's arm last year, it seems pretty clear that the referees need to be a little more on top of things as far as making it clear when the time is up so that no one shoots an unsuspecting person.
I suppose between not having approrpriate BRAT diet items in our house during a possible stomach virus and just needing food in general, we somehow ended up overdoing the grocery shopping today. We went three separate places, spending a rather large amount at each, resulting in an even more staggering grand total. But now we have so much food that our fridge can barely hold it, and even the garage fridge is feeling the pain. Both Frances and I are highly interested in protein, so we have many nuts and trail mixes and cheeses. Hopefully this will help both of us stay on a more even keel. And I engaged in a rather naughty clandestine shopping expedition of my own, which was probably not the best idea on a day of major grocery shopping and when I haven't checked the balance in our checking account recently. The truth is going to come out sooner or later (I vote sooner), so I hope that my lovely new tennis clothes make Kerry smile as much as they made me. I never did find my missing white skirt, so I had to do something, right?! Now I just have to figure out the answer to this burning question of tennis etiquette: if my skirt is orange/salmon, what color should my shorts/bloomers or whatever you call them be? I hope that white is an appropriate answer!
Friday, December 1, 2006
What Do You Do All Day?
Amazing...I skipped an entire day of blogging, didn't even write part of a post to finish on another day. It's the first time since probably the very beginning of September, and possibly before. The world did not come to an end.
Yesterday's sinus headache was finally eradicated with a shot of espresso and three more ibuprofen, and perhaps an improvement in weather. I really got around yesterday. Home in the morning, out to Ashland and the park in the early afternoon (though I forgot skateboards when we were going to the skate park, and by the time I realized it we were too far along to turn around), back to Midlothian to gymnastics, out to Target, around the bend to refuel the car, back to gymnastics for a while, out to run three more errands, then to tennis out in the other direction again. Overall, though, it was an invigorating day. Way too much equipment and special clothing to keep track of, though, considering we had to leave the house around noon and cover three sports with special needs.
I should probably spare both any potential readers and myself any extended tennis rapture. Suffice it to say that although I am physically very out of shape and I counted myself fortunate to still be standing up and not lying flat on my back staring at the lights as I came to with the smelling salts, I had a great time. Running is okay in my book, and I suppose it has some purpose to someone at some time, but I just like to hit the ball. A lot. I think I need some special alone time with the ball machine. I may have completely lost my edge, but it's still as much fun as ever, and just like any of the last few times I've played, I can't stop thinking about how I'm going to make this a regular thing again. Embarrassing confession: I laboriously wrapped the grip of my racket while I was at the park, and I couldn't figure out which side of the tape was supposed to face the outside. I made the best choice I could, and at the end there was this sticky piece of adhesive something on a little point, and it was the wrong side out. I ignored it and stuck tape right over top of it. Hmmm....
I just had the funniest conversation with Rutledge. He doesn't speak a lick of English, which is a lot of why it is amusing to chat with him. He has so very much to say, and it's not difficult to figure out what he means, but you can go back and forth for ten minutes with him and not notice a single, recognizable word. He was pleased with himself for coming up with a play on words with the way he pronounces "no" and "nurse." He couldn't stop laughing about that. Then the wind started blowing while the windows were open, and he had shut the bedroom door, and the door started rattling. At first he was concerned about what was happening. I told him about the wind, and he chattered at me for a while about it, then got off the bed, went to the door, and started shaking it and saying the same gibberish there, then laughing. He just can't get enough of his own jokes. And it's always interesting to be having these odd little discussions with someone in nothing but a Christmas t-shirt, a diaper, his massive, chunky thighs and ankles, and pink Care Bears slippers.
Walter is playing Timez Attack, which is the math game that I have been dreaming about and describing as my ideal for reinforcing math facts--enough appearance like a familiar video game, but no excess narrative to wade through and plenty of practice. Many, many thanks to Christi M. for sharing the link. Since it's Friday, we're going to call this math for today. He even asked on the way home from wrestling tonight whether he could play it again at home. Definitely! Ollie and I are catching up on the GeoBee challenges that we have gotten behind on this week. And a couple of minutes ago I came downstairs to hear some woman moaning on the television, Ollie about three inches away from it (he needs those glasses!), and then a very slimy-looking baby. Of course, this woman was draped from head to toe, as was everyone else in the room, in scrub green, and the commentator said something afterwards like, "There was little injury." Can I say how much I just hate shows like A Baby Story or that other one that is even more medical-disaster oriented? All of those shows give me flashbacks to how no one would leave me alone when I was pregnant with the twins, everything signified impending doom and necessitated a trip to some medical office halfway across town or some invasive diagnostic test that needed to repeated at two or three different locations. Do you know how many types of ultrasound wands there are?!
Frances is shirtless, painting on a piece of wood that she has pierced little stars into with the tip of a philips head screwdriver. Rutledge was eating yogurt, and while I was putting a different color of paint into a pot for Frances, he took the yogurt into another room and dropped it all over the floor and then it seems to have exploded forward about four feet in blobs all over a sisal rug. Nice. And of course his body is covered in yogurt, and then he proceeded to scream for ten minutes because I took the yogurt away from him. Frances has just wiped brown and yellow paint down her chest because she couldn't find a paper towel fast enough. And when I told her to go into the downstairs bathroom to wash her hands now that she is done, she became belligerant in saying, "But we ARE downstairs." Yes, I said, that's why I said use the downstairs bathroom. "But we already ARE downstairs." Just go into the bathroom and wash your hands! Don't touch anything on the way! I'm waiting for the third load of laundry to finish up, managed to fold two other loads from last night, put away toys in Rutledge's room, including tossing a bunch in a bag to take to the attic. And I have been irritatingly single-minded about searching for the missing tennis skirt. I remember where I was last time I had it--it was right before that poop disaster in the hallway last Saturday, and I thought I was going to be playing tennis at any minute and was ready; then I decided that this white skirt was not the appropriate attire for this level of cleaning. Now I've been through all of my drawers, my closet, all of the clean laundry, sorted the dirty laundry, and now I'm on to searching in other poeple's dressers, their dress-up bins. I am rather frustrated. I need it.
Frances is talking to me now about whether she is ever an "orphalin," which I think is an orphan. It is not a very comforting conversation. I think she wants to be a partial orphalin, like when Kerry and I both aren't home and she is with a sitter or great grandmother, but when I said that orphan usually means that your parents are not coming back, she got that furrowed brow look of hers and walked away.
Because we had slipped into a spiral of mess-making with Frances painting, Rutledge getting too close to her, Rutledge eating lots of messy food and carrying it around with him (spaghetti, yogurt, drinks in open cups) and I could see us breaking down into naptime, I figured we might as well descend on someone else's house and take our madness elsewhere. Sure enough, Rutledge stayed asleep for about an hour and half, and the other kids played together for once without major incident. Frances is SUCH a girl now--everything is about holding hands, going to the bathroom with a friend along for company, trying on other people's clothes. Ugh. Not, of course, that I was being terribly much better, sitting on the floor in this friend's upstairs hallway fluffing out Christmas wreaths and attaching bows, climbing out the window onto her roof or manning the 9-1-1 phone just in case she fell off, and sharing my most recent outrageous a-bit-too-personal story, and how I should turn this into a book, which we unanimously agreed must be written under a pseudonym. And then worse yet, it was on to trying on formal dresses, not that I have any reason to wear one or would normally care, but by the time I left I was trying to figure out where I might go dressed like this. I was reminded that I have no concrete New Years Eve plans, too, which was either a comforting or appalling prospect, depending on how I was looking at it from minute to minute. Anyway, this dress trying-on was its own little comic session. There was the blue dress we both tried on (okay, I only held it up to me and some glob of skin fell out of this part cut out of the front and it was obvious this was one kind of dress that would never happen for me...) and we both had plenty of commentary about what is wrong with us post-children. Then there was the dress that was working, but which I got trapped in the sleeves of while I was taking it off and ended up stuck sitting shirtless with no bra on for about five minutes trying to undo very difficult buttons while a large number of children were passing in and out of the room. And of course there's the mortifying fact that if I were to wear it, some serious alteration would have to happen because I am facing the truth that I have, without question now, dropped two cups sizes in as many months. And that this is going to be the state...forever. Of course, I don't want to remedy the situation, really. Which led to my favorite recent discussion topic: Should I get an IUD? No one is saying what I want to hear. No one. The responses have ranged from, "Why would YOU need one of those?!" to "What do you mean? You don't want to have my dark-haired babies?!" Sigh....
But on to more appropriate topics.... Today was weigh-in for the Richmond Rumble, and not only did we manage to get extremely lost after being forced to take a detour at the River/Cary intersection, but Ollie weighed under the minimum for Midget, which doesn't bode well. Perhaps we should have kept his fingernails on. This was one serious weigh-in. He was in his singlet, but before getting on the scale three people strip-searched him for signs of fungus and lingered a bit too long on the burn scar on his arm (which admittedly does look a little suspicious for recovery from ringworm), then declared that he could not be weighed until his fingernails were cut and shoved a nail clipper at us. Even more foreboding is the fact that as we were slowly making our way through the parking lot, Trey, his underweight nemesis pulled up. If only Ollie could have made 50 pounds, he might have had a fighting chance of wrestling against someone else. It seems that Kerry and Debbie and Mark have a deal with Ollie that when he beats Trey, we will have a big pizza party for him. So Ollie asked, "Will both Marks be there?" Yes. "Could Trace and Zane come?" Sure. "What about Marty and Peter?" Yes. Then Frances asks about Lainey. Sure. Unfortunately, the reality of this happening is incredibly slim. So we might as well invite everyone we know!
Okay, bad end to the day. Frances threw up while we were watching The Polar Express, and four times again before the movie was over. Hey, it's only 5 or so times this year she has had something like this :( And most of the rest of us usually come along for the ride, eventually. Out of character for myself, I'm almost hoping that my turns comes quickly so that I know it's over with and I can move on with my life. This is so very much not fun, and one of the bad times for having a large family.
Yesterday's sinus headache was finally eradicated with a shot of espresso and three more ibuprofen, and perhaps an improvement in weather. I really got around yesterday. Home in the morning, out to Ashland and the park in the early afternoon (though I forgot skateboards when we were going to the skate park, and by the time I realized it we were too far along to turn around), back to Midlothian to gymnastics, out to Target, around the bend to refuel the car, back to gymnastics for a while, out to run three more errands, then to tennis out in the other direction again. Overall, though, it was an invigorating day. Way too much equipment and special clothing to keep track of, though, considering we had to leave the house around noon and cover three sports with special needs.
I should probably spare both any potential readers and myself any extended tennis rapture. Suffice it to say that although I am physically very out of shape and I counted myself fortunate to still be standing up and not lying flat on my back staring at the lights as I came to with the smelling salts, I had a great time. Running is okay in my book, and I suppose it has some purpose to someone at some time, but I just like to hit the ball. A lot. I think I need some special alone time with the ball machine. I may have completely lost my edge, but it's still as much fun as ever, and just like any of the last few times I've played, I can't stop thinking about how I'm going to make this a regular thing again. Embarrassing confession: I laboriously wrapped the grip of my racket while I was at the park, and I couldn't figure out which side of the tape was supposed to face the outside. I made the best choice I could, and at the end there was this sticky piece of adhesive something on a little point, and it was the wrong side out. I ignored it and stuck tape right over top of it. Hmmm....
I just had the funniest conversation with Rutledge. He doesn't speak a lick of English, which is a lot of why it is amusing to chat with him. He has so very much to say, and it's not difficult to figure out what he means, but you can go back and forth for ten minutes with him and not notice a single, recognizable word. He was pleased with himself for coming up with a play on words with the way he pronounces "no" and "nurse." He couldn't stop laughing about that. Then the wind started blowing while the windows were open, and he had shut the bedroom door, and the door started rattling. At first he was concerned about what was happening. I told him about the wind, and he chattered at me for a while about it, then got off the bed, went to the door, and started shaking it and saying the same gibberish there, then laughing. He just can't get enough of his own jokes. And it's always interesting to be having these odd little discussions with someone in nothing but a Christmas t-shirt, a diaper, his massive, chunky thighs and ankles, and pink Care Bears slippers.
Walter is playing Timez Attack, which is the math game that I have been dreaming about and describing as my ideal for reinforcing math facts--enough appearance like a familiar video game, but no excess narrative to wade through and plenty of practice. Many, many thanks to Christi M. for sharing the link. Since it's Friday, we're going to call this math for today. He even asked on the way home from wrestling tonight whether he could play it again at home. Definitely! Ollie and I are catching up on the GeoBee challenges that we have gotten behind on this week. And a couple of minutes ago I came downstairs to hear some woman moaning on the television, Ollie about three inches away from it (he needs those glasses!), and then a very slimy-looking baby. Of course, this woman was draped from head to toe, as was everyone else in the room, in scrub green, and the commentator said something afterwards like, "There was little injury." Can I say how much I just hate shows like A Baby Story or that other one that is even more medical-disaster oriented? All of those shows give me flashbacks to how no one would leave me alone when I was pregnant with the twins, everything signified impending doom and necessitated a trip to some medical office halfway across town or some invasive diagnostic test that needed to repeated at two or three different locations. Do you know how many types of ultrasound wands there are?!
Frances is shirtless, painting on a piece of wood that she has pierced little stars into with the tip of a philips head screwdriver. Rutledge was eating yogurt, and while I was putting a different color of paint into a pot for Frances, he took the yogurt into another room and dropped it all over the floor and then it seems to have exploded forward about four feet in blobs all over a sisal rug. Nice. And of course his body is covered in yogurt, and then he proceeded to scream for ten minutes because I took the yogurt away from him. Frances has just wiped brown and yellow paint down her chest because she couldn't find a paper towel fast enough. And when I told her to go into the downstairs bathroom to wash her hands now that she is done, she became belligerant in saying, "But we ARE downstairs." Yes, I said, that's why I said use the downstairs bathroom. "But we already ARE downstairs." Just go into the bathroom and wash your hands! Don't touch anything on the way! I'm waiting for the third load of laundry to finish up, managed to fold two other loads from last night, put away toys in Rutledge's room, including tossing a bunch in a bag to take to the attic. And I have been irritatingly single-minded about searching for the missing tennis skirt. I remember where I was last time I had it--it was right before that poop disaster in the hallway last Saturday, and I thought I was going to be playing tennis at any minute and was ready; then I decided that this white skirt was not the appropriate attire for this level of cleaning. Now I've been through all of my drawers, my closet, all of the clean laundry, sorted the dirty laundry, and now I'm on to searching in other poeple's dressers, their dress-up bins. I am rather frustrated. I need it.
Frances is talking to me now about whether she is ever an "orphalin," which I think is an orphan. It is not a very comforting conversation. I think she wants to be a partial orphalin, like when Kerry and I both aren't home and she is with a sitter or great grandmother, but when I said that orphan usually means that your parents are not coming back, she got that furrowed brow look of hers and walked away.
Because we had slipped into a spiral of mess-making with Frances painting, Rutledge getting too close to her, Rutledge eating lots of messy food and carrying it around with him (spaghetti, yogurt, drinks in open cups) and I could see us breaking down into naptime, I figured we might as well descend on someone else's house and take our madness elsewhere. Sure enough, Rutledge stayed asleep for about an hour and half, and the other kids played together for once without major incident. Frances is SUCH a girl now--everything is about holding hands, going to the bathroom with a friend along for company, trying on other people's clothes. Ugh. Not, of course, that I was being terribly much better, sitting on the floor in this friend's upstairs hallway fluffing out Christmas wreaths and attaching bows, climbing out the window onto her roof or manning the 9-1-1 phone just in case she fell off, and sharing my most recent outrageous a-bit-too-personal story, and how I should turn this into a book, which we unanimously agreed must be written under a pseudonym. And then worse yet, it was on to trying on formal dresses, not that I have any reason to wear one or would normally care, but by the time I left I was trying to figure out where I might go dressed like this. I was reminded that I have no concrete New Years Eve plans, too, which was either a comforting or appalling prospect, depending on how I was looking at it from minute to minute. Anyway, this dress trying-on was its own little comic session. There was the blue dress we both tried on (okay, I only held it up to me and some glob of skin fell out of this part cut out of the front and it was obvious this was one kind of dress that would never happen for me...) and we both had plenty of commentary about what is wrong with us post-children. Then there was the dress that was working, but which I got trapped in the sleeves of while I was taking it off and ended up stuck sitting shirtless with no bra on for about five minutes trying to undo very difficult buttons while a large number of children were passing in and out of the room. And of course there's the mortifying fact that if I were to wear it, some serious alteration would have to happen because I am facing the truth that I have, without question now, dropped two cups sizes in as many months. And that this is going to be the state...forever. Of course, I don't want to remedy the situation, really. Which led to my favorite recent discussion topic: Should I get an IUD? No one is saying what I want to hear. No one. The responses have ranged from, "Why would YOU need one of those?!" to "What do you mean? You don't want to have my dark-haired babies?!" Sigh....
But on to more appropriate topics.... Today was weigh-in for the Richmond Rumble, and not only did we manage to get extremely lost after being forced to take a detour at the River/Cary intersection, but Ollie weighed under the minimum for Midget, which doesn't bode well. Perhaps we should have kept his fingernails on. This was one serious weigh-in. He was in his singlet, but before getting on the scale three people strip-searched him for signs of fungus and lingered a bit too long on the burn scar on his arm (which admittedly does look a little suspicious for recovery from ringworm), then declared that he could not be weighed until his fingernails were cut and shoved a nail clipper at us. Even more foreboding is the fact that as we were slowly making our way through the parking lot, Trey, his underweight nemesis pulled up. If only Ollie could have made 50 pounds, he might have had a fighting chance of wrestling against someone else. It seems that Kerry and Debbie and Mark have a deal with Ollie that when he beats Trey, we will have a big pizza party for him. So Ollie asked, "Will both Marks be there?" Yes. "Could Trace and Zane come?" Sure. "What about Marty and Peter?" Yes. Then Frances asks about Lainey. Sure. Unfortunately, the reality of this happening is incredibly slim. So we might as well invite everyone we know!
Okay, bad end to the day. Frances threw up while we were watching The Polar Express, and four times again before the movie was over. Hey, it's only 5 or so times this year she has had something like this :( And most of the rest of us usually come along for the ride, eventually. Out of character for myself, I'm almost hoping that my turns comes quickly so that I know it's over with and I can move on with my life. This is so very much not fun, and one of the bad times for having a large family.
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
I am always amazed that I can remember the various passwords I have everywhere. My heart flutters a bit every time something asks for either my user name or password because there are so very many. There are the places that want something longer than 6 characters. The ones that positively require some numbers. And I feel like a fool beyond all foolishness when I can't accurately fill in something that asks for my "name." I've been so many names--NancyCl2001 (yes, that's one that insisted I have some numeric figures in there), nantwins, my real name, my name with an underscore, my email handle, some past email handle. It's frustrating. I'm stunned I'm actually on this site and able to compose something after not remembering my own identity.
Today was one of those relatively lovely days, made all the more lovely by the fact that the phone rang early and I was out of bed and functional at 8 a.m., something I wish I was every morning but that doesn't always work out the way I planned because I stay up too late or sleep poorly and try to make up for it by sleeping late in the morning. Such is the luxury of my life. But the very best days, to me, are the ones spent lingering at the park. Especially after having productive schoolwork done. We were on a roll this morning. Everything intended was covered. Cheerfully, even. I'm not sure when we turned that corner to not having the struggle or groans when I say it's time to get our work done. Now if only I could get them to pay attention to whether there is a plus or a minus sign in the problem, we'd be cruising right along with everything done in about 45 minutes or fewer. How does a person spend four hours at the park, though?! But it was charming. Relaxing.
Quantity time has been on my mind lately. Whatever that means. I'm into quantity time at the moment, maybe because I'm too lazy to move around doing a bunch of different things. With the twins, I'm trying to figure out how I can combine some quality and quantity with them while not bumping into that continual frustration of where Rutledge is. I badmouth poor Mr. Rutty all the time lately, and I'm ignoring the fact that increasingly he is playing with Frances or better yet, by himself in his bedroom. Count the blessings of the later child, right? Walter and Ollie couldn't do anything without me being right in sight; Rutty probably craves the occasional quiet, alone spot.
Our cat is rather sweet. It's a shame that I never, ever think about her. I forget we even have a cat most of the time. She has been my good buddy for the past few nights, although I can't seem to get through to her that watching her licking herself makes my skin crawl. Right now she is curled up in a rather strange manner on her back with her legs in the air and is sleeping against me. I had never been a cat person before we found Minou, and I'm still probably never going to truly be a cat person (all that licking! Those nasty dead moles!). Which reminds me that tonight I will, no matter what, get out of the Tiki Room. It's like a magnet for me. I have a million excuses why I'm here. Not the least tonight because I have an intimidating mountain of laundry in my bedroom; I can't relax or sleep when there is clutter in my space.
I finished the book I was reading last night, the one April recommended. It was chick lit, for sure, but there's most certainly a time and place for it, and this one was better than most. The ending was so-so, as I guess was the book. What is it lately with books tying up so very neatly at the end? The Kite Runner did this is a major and rather annoying way. This book also did it, but because it was so much lighter in tone and was goofy for the most part anyway, it was less bothersome. And the protagonist was some combination of really funny and freaky--in that sense that she made me think, please tell me I'm not as insane as her. No one I share this crazy idea of mine with agrees with me at all, and forgive me if I've written it in this venue before (do we ever really think any new thoughts?), but my belief is that true friendship is predicated on a belief that your friend is crazier than you are. And that the feeling has to be mutual: "I'm the normal one, and you are not!" I know, that's awful! And worse than awful was that I kept thinking, oh my, this character in this book is so much like Donna (down to the red hair...). I am a bad, bad girl. It is perhaps time for a Jane Austen fix.
When, oh when, is this odd throat thing at night going to end? Could I be developing an allergy to the Tiki Room? I hate to repeat my favorite line lately, but maybe this is another case of "Here's your sign."
Now it's morning, and wow, what a sinus headache. My normal attack plan is to sleep it off, but that's a little out the winsow when you wake up with the problem. On to caffeine, methamsudafed (the kind you need to show I.D. for now...sigh), and it's still there. Starbucks might be the next plan. Or crazy amounts of water, though that sounds like a questionable plan seeing as we're going to be at a park with nothing but a Porta-John for the better part of today.
Mission accomplished with school again, too, today. Now the remains of the day can take shape, with no guilt. Plans: continue systematic cleaning (I'm doing the ADD version right now...), mop kitchen floor, remember to feed the children lunch today, Pufferbelly Park, get to gymnastics on time for once, try not to spend any money while I wait during gymnastics, wrestling, and bed. And make the headache go away.
Today was one of those relatively lovely days, made all the more lovely by the fact that the phone rang early and I was out of bed and functional at 8 a.m., something I wish I was every morning but that doesn't always work out the way I planned because I stay up too late or sleep poorly and try to make up for it by sleeping late in the morning. Such is the luxury of my life. But the very best days, to me, are the ones spent lingering at the park. Especially after having productive schoolwork done. We were on a roll this morning. Everything intended was covered. Cheerfully, even. I'm not sure when we turned that corner to not having the struggle or groans when I say it's time to get our work done. Now if only I could get them to pay attention to whether there is a plus or a minus sign in the problem, we'd be cruising right along with everything done in about 45 minutes or fewer. How does a person spend four hours at the park, though?! But it was charming. Relaxing.
Quantity time has been on my mind lately. Whatever that means. I'm into quantity time at the moment, maybe because I'm too lazy to move around doing a bunch of different things. With the twins, I'm trying to figure out how I can combine some quality and quantity with them while not bumping into that continual frustration of where Rutledge is. I badmouth poor Mr. Rutty all the time lately, and I'm ignoring the fact that increasingly he is playing with Frances or better yet, by himself in his bedroom. Count the blessings of the later child, right? Walter and Ollie couldn't do anything without me being right in sight; Rutty probably craves the occasional quiet, alone spot.
Our cat is rather sweet. It's a shame that I never, ever think about her. I forget we even have a cat most of the time. She has been my good buddy for the past few nights, although I can't seem to get through to her that watching her licking herself makes my skin crawl. Right now she is curled up in a rather strange manner on her back with her legs in the air and is sleeping against me. I had never been a cat person before we found Minou, and I'm still probably never going to truly be a cat person (all that licking! Those nasty dead moles!). Which reminds me that tonight I will, no matter what, get out of the Tiki Room. It's like a magnet for me. I have a million excuses why I'm here. Not the least tonight because I have an intimidating mountain of laundry in my bedroom; I can't relax or sleep when there is clutter in my space.
I finished the book I was reading last night, the one April recommended. It was chick lit, for sure, but there's most certainly a time and place for it, and this one was better than most. The ending was so-so, as I guess was the book. What is it lately with books tying up so very neatly at the end? The Kite Runner did this is a major and rather annoying way. This book also did it, but because it was so much lighter in tone and was goofy for the most part anyway, it was less bothersome. And the protagonist was some combination of really funny and freaky--in that sense that she made me think, please tell me I'm not as insane as her. No one I share this crazy idea of mine with agrees with me at all, and forgive me if I've written it in this venue before (do we ever really think any new thoughts?), but my belief is that true friendship is predicated on a belief that your friend is crazier than you are. And that the feeling has to be mutual: "I'm the normal one, and you are not!" I know, that's awful! And worse than awful was that I kept thinking, oh my, this character in this book is so much like Donna (down to the red hair...). I am a bad, bad girl. It is perhaps time for a Jane Austen fix.
When, oh when, is this odd throat thing at night going to end? Could I be developing an allergy to the Tiki Room? I hate to repeat my favorite line lately, but maybe this is another case of "Here's your sign."
Now it's morning, and wow, what a sinus headache. My normal attack plan is to sleep it off, but that's a little out the winsow when you wake up with the problem. On to caffeine, methamsudafed (the kind you need to show I.D. for now...sigh), and it's still there. Starbucks might be the next plan. Or crazy amounts of water, though that sounds like a questionable plan seeing as we're going to be at a park with nothing but a Porta-John for the better part of today.
Mission accomplished with school again, too, today. Now the remains of the day can take shape, with no guilt. Plans: continue systematic cleaning (I'm doing the ADD version right now...), mop kitchen floor, remember to feed the children lunch today, Pufferbelly Park, get to gymnastics on time for once, try not to spend any money while I wait during gymnastics, wrestling, and bed. And make the headache go away.
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