We want the facts. Just the facts, ma’am.

Posted on February 23, 2012 by

Last week my four year old daughter followed me around the house, carrying a clip board and pencil, and asked me questions.  She then proceeded to ‘write’ down my answers on her sheet.

First she very officially asked my name and when I answered ‘Ami’ she wrote down MOM.

Eden then asked me what my favorite food is.  I told her popcorn and her little pencil went POPKN.

We hit a small snag when she asked what I like to drink and I said ‘pink lemonade.’  My daughter looked at me as if to say “Seriously woman, I’m four.  You expect me to spell pink lemonade?”   Eden then made an executive decision and  announced, “You like water the best!” and wrote down WTR on her paper.

I was then interrogated about what type of furniture was my favorite.  I had never considered that question before so there was a small pause while I thought of  an answer.  Eden began to tap her pencil in an impatient gesture designed to speed up my thought process.  It worked, because hell hath no fury like a thwarted preschooler.  I quickly informed the small survey taker that I liked book shelves the best.  Before she could complain, I reminded her that the sound ‘shhhh’ was spelled with an S-H.  So she wrote down SHF on her paper.

Her last question was ‘Who is your best friend?’  Without waiting for my answer, my daughter quickly wrote EDEN on the line.

While I am thrilled beyond measure that my youngest child is making a connection between how words sounds and how they are written, what I loved best is that she is so confident in my love for her.  She has no doubts about where she lies in my heart.

As a mom I am constantly wondering if I read to my children enough, if I am teaching them enough, if I am challenging them enough.  But really the only question that I should worry about is if I’m loving my children enough.

If I can say yes to that question then anything else is just gravy.

Posted in Homeschooling, The Little Girl | 3 Comments

Random ramblings.

Posted on February 21, 2012 by

Gentle reader, I’m in need of a good chat again.  It’s too cold to imagine porch swings today, so I’m picturing us before a toasty fire on the couch drinking hot chocolate.  With marshmallows of course, I’m no philistine.

I’m picturing you in a classic cashmere sweater.  (Truth be told I’m in a Beverly Cleary Fifteen kind of a mood, where all the girls wore cashmere sweater sets and their boyfriends’ identification bracelets while going steady and driving around in convertible coupes.  I was obviously born in the wrong decade.  And if for some reason you haven’t read that book, don’t tell me.  Just check it out from the library even though you are a grown-up and it’s written for the younger set.  You won’t be sorry.)

There are lots of things on my mind today.  I read an article that claimed all parents have a favorite child.  The article rather ticked me off because a- I don’t have a favorite child, and b-I hate being lumped in with everybody else. I like to stand just slightly apart from the crowd.

While I say I don’t have a favorite child, I do have a child I am least likely to beat with a stick at any given moment.  That dubious title tends to swing back and forth among my offspring periodically throughout the day depending on who is getting on my nerves the least.

On the opposite end of the scale I have a child I am most likely to beat with a stick.  Lately that distinction has been bestowed upon my son.  I’m not sure if he is going through some stage all ten year old boys go through or if I am simply ruining my oldest child somehow, but my son has been driving me crazy.

If you happen to have access to or knowledge of ten year old boys will you let me know if the inability to remember two things at the same time is normal?  Also, is it customary for males this age to be small whirlwinds of destruction?  And do they really start consuming enough food to feed a third world country  at this age?  Additionally please tell me that the fascination with burps, belches, and passing gas goes away eventually.  Lie if you have to.

Let me take a moment to ask if you need any more marshmallows for your hot chocolate.  Look how I can be a good hostess and grouse about my life all at the same time.  Multitasking at its best.

Gentle reader have you been watching the new t.v. show Revenge?  I am hooked.  First of all it involves rich, lavish people being ruthlessly destroyed  because they are heartless creatures who deserve no pity.  Such an excellent premise.

Also, Revenge stars Madeleine Stowe who always makes me think of Last of the Mohicans.  Good heavens, I loved that movie in college.  My roommate and I would watch the scene where Daniel Day-Lewis tells Madeleine Stowe, “Stay alive!  No matter what occurs, I will find you.  No matter how long it takes, no matter how far.  I will find you!”  I firmly believe no sexier speech exists in all  of cinematography.  When I started dating my husband I discovered he owned this movie and that is when I lost my heart to him.

Speaking of husbands, this weekend friends of ours are watching our kids over night so that my husband and I can go out on an actual date.  Shocking, I know.  Even more exciting, the newer Sherlock Holmes movie is at the dollar theaters now.  Such excellent timing.  I’m thinking if I play my cards right we can even go out to dinner beforehand.  Dinner and a movie, I can’t wait.  I might even let my husband hold my hand during the show.

Well gentle reader, it’s your turn to chat.  What’s on your mind?

 

Posted in stream of conscious chats | 5 Comments

No rest for the wicked.

Posted on February 20, 2012 by

On Sundays I help oversee the children’s group, ages 3-11.  We call this ‘Primary’ in my church, and most Sundays I love my job.  I love how 55 kids call me “Teacher.”  I love knowing their dramas and triumphs.  Most of all, I love talking about the Lord in simple terms that children can understand.  It feels the most real to me.

However, it is not always rainbows and roses.

Today, for example, we were told that we could not use the two sets of bathrooms closest to our children’s section.  The sewer pipes were backed up so anyone wanting to use the facilities needed to trek across the church building to the far side where the only set of working toilets were located.

No big deal right?

Wrong, gentle reader, wrong.  It was no big deal when the first kid needed to go to the bathroom and it wasn’t a big deal when the second kid need to go to the bathroom.  However, by the time I was making what felt to be my 45th trip, it was beginning to feel like quite a big deal.

Whoever said Sundays are a day of rest obviously didn’t mean the Sundays  when I am forced to sprint over a hundred yards carrying a four year old who has procrastinated going to the bathroom until it was almost everlastingly too late.

Gentle reader, I admit I don’t know everything but I do know that when you are sweating profusely you are NOT resting.

And now if you will excuse me I need to go and pray that the bathrooms are fixed before next Sunday; because another day like today might be too much for my mortal frame to bear.

 

 

Posted in musings | Leave a comment

My favorite thing to do in the winter.

Posted on February 18, 2012 by

Gentle reader, it’s cold here in Indianapolis.  We’ve managed to have a few days with some sunshine, but it’s still downright chilly.  Alas, the winter blues are in full force.  I find myself wearing sweaters, eternally sniffling, and complaining about things like drafts and dry skin.  Not to mention I’ve almost forgotten what it feels like to be overheated and whine bitterly about humidity.

(That’s how my seasons go:  complain about the weather for months at a time, briefly enjoy the weather, complain about the weather for months at a time, briefly enjoy the weather, lather, rinse, and repeat.)

So barring a trip to a more tropical climate, there is only one way to beat the winter blues.  And that is to plan my garden!  

Planning my garden makes me so happy.  Like unicorns, sparkly rainbows, and glitter happy.  I forget about freezing temperatures and runny noses.  Instead I remember the feel of my hands in warm dirt and the taste of fresh strawberries.  Not to mention, planning the garden requires no sweat or mosquito repellent like the actual planting of the garden does.  It’s the perfect activity for a gloomy day while curled on the couch under a blanket.

This winter I’ve been perusing several garden catalogs.  It helps promote my self-delusion that I am a real farmer.  Not to mention there is something highly pleasurable about looking at glossy pictures of lettuces and tomatoes when it’s 22 degrees outside.  There are so many delicious looking vegetables in the world.

There in lies the rub.  So many vegetables and so little space.  This year I have four empty garden beds to fill, which is one more than last year.  I finally convinced my wonderful plumber to build me a new box after some serious negotiations (I think it goes without saying that these negotiations were rated PG-13 due to some brief nudity and mild sexual content.)

I have decided for sure that I am planting lettuce, spinach, and carrots in March.  I plant these every year, they are my spring gardening staples.  Then as the weather grows warmer, I will replace the lettuce and spinach with basil and cilantro.  As the summer begins to wane and I harvest the herbs, I will sow a second crop of the lettuce and spinach before the first frost.  In my head this is going to be an easy process with few hiccups.  In reality I will probably say a few curse words and try to find someone to take my excess lettuce so that I can get the basil seeds planted on time.

The rest of my garden is not as carefully planned.

Obviously I’m going to have some tomato plants, I am the tomato queen.  The question is how many tomato plants do I want.  Last year I filled two whole garden beds with baby tomato plants and harvested about 50 million tomatoes.  Approximately.  Give or take a dozen.

But this year I want to try growing tomatillos.  I found a recipe for homemade green enchilada sauce and it calls for green tomatillos and cilantro.  Since finding this recipe I’ve had dreams of making gallons and gallons of green enchilada sauce then using it to smother pork loins or chicken.

It would be like every day was Cinco de Mayo.  Imagine a world where one could enjoy Cinco de Mayo every day if one wanted to.  That’s a world I want to live in gentle readers.

So I need to find a nice compromise in my garden beds between the tomatoes and the tomatillos.  I’m not exactly sure what my final ratio will be, but I’m thinking somewhere along the lines of 10 tomato plants and 6 tomatillo plants.

That leaves a final garden bed.  What exactly should I plant there?  It would be awesome to grow snow peas.  I’ve done it before and they were delicious.  Part of me would like to try growing regular peas, because they freeze better.

But there are a thousand other things I could grow or try.  I could plant zucchini and squash.  I could grow cucumbers.  I could grow more carrots than the few I squish in among the spinach and basil.  I could try sweet potatoes or pumpkins.

The possibilities are endless.  Endless.

This is where you come in.  Advise me gentle reader.  Tell me what I should grow.  It needs to be something that I like (so green beans are OUT) and preferably something that would good economic sense, because that’s how I roll.

Just leave your suggestion in the comments and you will have my undying gratitude.  And maybe a jar of homemade green enchilada sauce to go with that gratitude come harvest time.

 

 

Posted in gardening | 13 Comments

My compost brings all the cats to the yard. My compost is better than yours.

Posted on February 16, 2012 by

Lately for entertainment I’ve been watching the unfolding feline drama taking place out our window.

Evidently our backyard is the ‘it spot’ for all outdoor cats this winter season.  From my hours of observation (because I am now the Jane Goodall of the cat world), I have determined that there are two distinct gangs of cats that vie for possession of our compost pile.

Everyday these cats meet to hiss and stalk each other in between bouts of extreme grooming.  Occasionally there is some intense swatting, but mostly it is a bloodless, somewhat civilized feud.

It’s like watching the musical CATS mixed with some West Side Story.  One day I fully expect to find the cats snapping their paws and singing “When you a Jet you’re a Jet all the way from your first cigarette to your last dyin’ day!” as they circle each other.

The kids and I have given these cats names like Small Fluffy, Lady Trash-heap, Scaredy-Cat, and Big Rhonda.  Everyday when I do the dishes I invent some kind of cat dialogue in my head.  (Usually with Puerto Rican accents, because even thought the Jets get the best songs, in my heart I’m a Shark.)

“Litterboxes?!?  We don’t need no stinkin’ litterboxes Senora!”

“Lady Trash-heap, those gringo felines have stolen our catnip!  Awake and seek vengeance!”

You think if my husband knows I’m sitting around watching feral kitties in the backyard for fun, he’ll take pity on me and order us cable?

Yeah, me neither.

Posted in musings | 6 Comments

Girl meets boy.

Posted on February 14, 2012 by

Twelve years ago, in a dress size far far away from what she wears now, a girl met a boy.  Better yet, she met the boy.  The one who called when he said he would.  The one who listened to what she had to say and remembered it.  The one who bought her a Semisonic c.d. for her birthday because she loved the song “Closing Time,” even though he secretly hated it.  She met the boy who loved her heart and soul, for always and forever.

This girl had dated her fair share of lemons; guys who wouldn’t commit or couldn’t complete her.  So when this girl saw the real thing she didn’t play games.

That doesn’t mean she made it easy on the boy.  There was some moments of panic, some reasons for concern.  From the outside this boy and girl were so different.   She was five years older than he was, they moved in different circles, had different goals.

But she knew inside they were somehow right for each other.  By their fifth date she knew she was going to marry him and that it would all work out eventually.  So when he cupped her face with his hands and leaned toward her, she kissed him for the first time.

Six weeks later they were engaged and two months after that they were married.  Because she was right, they were two pieces of one whole.  They belonged together.

Twelve years later he still buys her music that he hates.  She still doesn’t always make it easy on him.  But they still belong together.  Even after three children, career changes, and countless disagreements this boy and this girl are two pieces of one whole.

So on this Valentine’s Day I’d like to tell my plumber that I love him the most out of all the things I love in this world.  And I’d like to just point out that I was right twelve years ago when I said you were the one for me.  But then again honey, as you know, I usually am.

 

 

Posted in my husband | 6 Comments

This is what happens when your Greek mythology obsessed kids argue.

Posted on February 13, 2012 by

I overheard this conversation on the way to church today.

8 year old girl furiously states:  ”I wish I was one of the Three Fates right now!  I would so snip your life thread!”  She then makes a scissor motion with her fingers.

10 year old boy retorts angrily:  ”Well I wish you were Prometheus and everyday I would watch a giant bird come down and eat your liver!”

I don’t know whether to be upset with them for fighting and arguing or to be proud because they’ve obviously learned their Greek mythology.  It’s a complete draw and I am left feeling ambivalent inside.

Oh well.  Just another day here at As the Greek Urn Turns.

Posted in The Big Girl, The Boy | 4 Comments