Have you ever imagined a huge, Christopher Columbus type ship? In the sky? Flying through the air, cruising at about 40 to 50 mph? I did. Just today. Why, you may ask yourself. And “What the?”
I thought about this today given the fact that we are, once again, living in a prairie hurricane. I watched the clouds race by today and their shadows would just briefly touch the objects on the ground. They flitted by so fast that I could believe it was a figment of my imagination that just fooled me. Alas, my eyes to not deceive me. The clouds were making SUPER good time. I could race them. I have been known to have a lead foot.
The clouds pushed my mind to prairie schooners. You know, the covered wagons that our ancestors used to cross this vast, WINDY, state. And the image in my mind of a wagon with its canvas lashed tight against the baseboards transformed into a sort of Viking or a Columbus type vessel. Yet, this ship hovers above the ground, nothing holding it up but, but, . . . .but, hmmm. Magic. Or special magnetic thrusters that react to the Earth’s gravitational pull and the ore, which acts as a push/pull force keeping the ship approximately 100-300 yards off the ground. And instead of our civilization using automobiles that keep the tires on the ground, our transportation is an air ship fueled by Mother Nature’s whim.
I’m not sure what we’d use if it wasn’t windy but in my world I don’t have to worry about it. (I’m also positive that I will lie in bed to tonight to figure that obstacle out too.) I digress. The ship would look old, but would be full of high tech gadgets. Almost Star Trek advanced.
The travel would be awesome. It would be the equivalent of riding in the back of a pickup, but without all the out of control wind that whips your hair in ten different directions at the same time. There would be some kind of force field that blocked out the wind but would allow fresh air. You would be able to experience the beauty around you without the worry of smacking a deer. Because, if you smacked a deer in the air, well, you have more troubles than a dead deer. What about birds? That same force field that would cut down on the wind would gently displace the birds out of harms way.
Okay, okay, I’m done, I’m done. You have just experienced a walk in my mind. Scary, wasn’t it?
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Monday, April 26, 2010
The Sunday Spell
I don’t sing anymore like I used to. I’ve just been too busy. But yesterday in church, I could hear the different parts in all the music and the nostalgia kicked in.
When I was 15 or 16, my family started attending Blessed Sacrament Church. There were four parishes in our town, and this one seemed to fit us the best. I went to ten o’clock mass and that is when I heard them. They were a four part choir, singing in the front of the church, and singing beautifully.
I had been in high school choir, but we could not produce something like this. Our guys did not have the deep baritones that were required to produce this superior sound. Heck, half of them didn’t have facial hair. And our girls had nice voices, but they were just that, little girl voices. They weren’t the big power house voices you hear singing opera. They were light and airy, like gauze floating in the breeze.
I was sitting in one of the back pews so I couldn’t see over their heads to the choir. The only thing I could see was a petite lady who would occasionally climb up on a step so the choir could see her as she directed them. And I listened. And I ENJOYED church that morning. I, a high school student, a teenager, with an attitude and a smart ass mouth, had liked church. I had never experienced mass like that before and I was hooked.
I wanted to join. One simple phone call was all it took and I was in. When I showed up for practice, I was surprised. The choir I had heard singing was a hodge-podge of men and women, mostly older. And I was the only high school person. They welcomed me like I was a long, lost friend. There was no competition. They accepted me for who I was and our voices blended together in unison and later delved into their respected parts.
It was not always so Pollyanna either. Some of the music was tough. Some music didn’t have the parts written down. Most of the choir members who were there new all the parts by heart on the old hymns and they didn’t need the music. I quickly adapted and I learned the parts by heart.
I remember working and working and working on certain rhythms that the men in particular had trouble getting. Some of these songbirds were 70 plus years old. They just couldn’t get the beat sometimes. Or the notes. The choir director was fit to be tied some evenings. And then, like magic, on Sunday morning the whole choir would pull it off and the music would work.
Which brings me back to the present. The church we attend now sings many of the songs I learned way back when. I could hear all the parts. I could see my old choir director cueing us in when we needed to begin. I think to myself, “We would have sang this slower” or “I think we would have picked up the tempo a bit”. Regardless, that time in the church choir was a magical time.
P.S. I have learned a lesson the hard way. I had a childhood mentor die a few months ago and I didn’t get a chance to tell her how much she made a difference in my life. This blog is in honor of Myrna Sullivan, the now retired liturgical director at Blessed Sacrament. She may not know it, but she taught me to love music. Thank you Songbird!
When I was 15 or 16, my family started attending Blessed Sacrament Church. There were four parishes in our town, and this one seemed to fit us the best. I went to ten o’clock mass and that is when I heard them. They were a four part choir, singing in the front of the church, and singing beautifully.
I had been in high school choir, but we could not produce something like this. Our guys did not have the deep baritones that were required to produce this superior sound. Heck, half of them didn’t have facial hair. And our girls had nice voices, but they were just that, little girl voices. They weren’t the big power house voices you hear singing opera. They were light and airy, like gauze floating in the breeze.
I was sitting in one of the back pews so I couldn’t see over their heads to the choir. The only thing I could see was a petite lady who would occasionally climb up on a step so the choir could see her as she directed them. And I listened. And I ENJOYED church that morning. I, a high school student, a teenager, with an attitude and a smart ass mouth, had liked church. I had never experienced mass like that before and I was hooked.
I wanted to join. One simple phone call was all it took and I was in. When I showed up for practice, I was surprised. The choir I had heard singing was a hodge-podge of men and women, mostly older. And I was the only high school person. They welcomed me like I was a long, lost friend. There was no competition. They accepted me for who I was and our voices blended together in unison and later delved into their respected parts.
It was not always so Pollyanna either. Some of the music was tough. Some music didn’t have the parts written down. Most of the choir members who were there new all the parts by heart on the old hymns and they didn’t need the music. I quickly adapted and I learned the parts by heart.
I remember working and working and working on certain rhythms that the men in particular had trouble getting. Some of these songbirds were 70 plus years old. They just couldn’t get the beat sometimes. Or the notes. The choir director was fit to be tied some evenings. And then, like magic, on Sunday morning the whole choir would pull it off and the music would work.
Which brings me back to the present. The church we attend now sings many of the songs I learned way back when. I could hear all the parts. I could see my old choir director cueing us in when we needed to begin. I think to myself, “We would have sang this slower” or “I think we would have picked up the tempo a bit”. Regardless, that time in the church choir was a magical time.
P.S. I have learned a lesson the hard way. I had a childhood mentor die a few months ago and I didn’t get a chance to tell her how much she made a difference in my life. This blog is in honor of Myrna Sullivan, the now retired liturgical director at Blessed Sacrament. She may not know it, but she taught me to love music. Thank you Songbird!
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Earth Day, Walmart and Laundry
I was watching the Weather Channel today to check out the local radar for John since he is trying to get all the corn planted between the rains. They had knocked the chance down to 40% for today, so he is breathing easier, which also means, he’s not too grumpy. I left the television on that channel because Josef, my two year old, wanted me to rock him to sleep and they usually have some good learning shows on. The Weather Channel did not let me down.
Today they had a special concerning Earth Day and Earth Week and how some huge corporations are turning green. One giant in particular caught my eye: Walmart. I shop there for almost everything. From cheap shoes for the kids to wear out to the farm to health and beauty items to groceries. Walmart figured they needed to be a leader in changing the way their shoppers feel about being green. The new stores that are in our area have skylights so when it is bright enough during the day, sensors shut off the artificial lighting in the store. They also changed their shopping bags and use the plastic left over from making disposable diapers. All of the plastic bags are made out of the leg holes that are punched out! They are also going to install doors on all open coolers to cut down energy costs and reduces their carbon foot print.
I had a clue but really no idea. Then, of course, I began to think, well IF THEY can do it—so can we. We already recycle all plastic and pop cans. I do not get the newspaper anymore, so no paper to recycle there. I make sure the kids don’t run the water when they brush their teeth. We use the dishwasher to conserve water (I know, I know, the sacrafices I make, right?). How else?
I suppose I could pull out the Fuuzy Buns I have for Joel. Those are cloth diapers with inserts so I don’t have to by disposables. He is big enough to wear them and school is starting to slow down enough that I can wash more diapers I guess. Not like the 20 loads I do a week is enough as it is. I just REALLY dislike it when he poops in them. I guess it is a small price to pay for the environment and he is my last baby. Okay. I can do that.
What else? We do throw soooooo much away! Even though I don’t get the newspaper anymore, I could set up another bin for paper. I could shred everything and use it as mulch out side in the flower garden—the fiberous paper would help hold moisture in. And, don’t get me wrong, I love my children dearly, but honestly, the amount of paper they bring home from school is in open defiance of the Paper Reduction Act. I can’t keep everything, but the special projects and super good grades I put into their memory bin. I can recycle all the papers from school. That will save forest in, oh, a week.
Okay. I have some other things I can do. I also think, in spirit of the week, we will shut off the television and lights all day on April 22, 2010, in celebration. I’m sure there will be grumblings, but we’ll get through it.
P.S. Earth Day was first conceptualized in 1969 and implement in 1970 by Senator Gaylord Nelson of Wisconsin. April 22 was the official day of recognition. Happy 40th Birthday, Earth Day!
Today they had a special concerning Earth Day and Earth Week and how some huge corporations are turning green. One giant in particular caught my eye: Walmart. I shop there for almost everything. From cheap shoes for the kids to wear out to the farm to health and beauty items to groceries. Walmart figured they needed to be a leader in changing the way their shoppers feel about being green. The new stores that are in our area have skylights so when it is bright enough during the day, sensors shut off the artificial lighting in the store. They also changed their shopping bags and use the plastic left over from making disposable diapers. All of the plastic bags are made out of the leg holes that are punched out! They are also going to install doors on all open coolers to cut down energy costs and reduces their carbon foot print.
I had a clue but really no idea. Then, of course, I began to think, well IF THEY can do it—so can we. We already recycle all plastic and pop cans. I do not get the newspaper anymore, so no paper to recycle there. I make sure the kids don’t run the water when they brush their teeth. We use the dishwasher to conserve water (I know, I know, the sacrafices I make, right?). How else?
I suppose I could pull out the Fuuzy Buns I have for Joel. Those are cloth diapers with inserts so I don’t have to by disposables. He is big enough to wear them and school is starting to slow down enough that I can wash more diapers I guess. Not like the 20 loads I do a week is enough as it is. I just REALLY dislike it when he poops in them. I guess it is a small price to pay for the environment and he is my last baby. Okay. I can do that.
What else? We do throw soooooo much away! Even though I don’t get the newspaper anymore, I could set up another bin for paper. I could shred everything and use it as mulch out side in the flower garden—the fiberous paper would help hold moisture in. And, don’t get me wrong, I love my children dearly, but honestly, the amount of paper they bring home from school is in open defiance of the Paper Reduction Act. I can’t keep everything, but the special projects and super good grades I put into their memory bin. I can recycle all the papers from school. That will save forest in, oh, a week.
Okay. I have some other things I can do. I also think, in spirit of the week, we will shut off the television and lights all day on April 22, 2010, in celebration. I’m sure there will be grumblings, but we’ll get through it.
P.S. Earth Day was first conceptualized in 1969 and implement in 1970 by Senator Gaylord Nelson of Wisconsin. April 22 was the official day of recognition. Happy 40th Birthday, Earth Day!
Monday, April 19, 2010
You are what you eat
I started watching Super Size Me a few weeks ago during one of my days as a substitute. I was only able to watch half of it in the classroom and I was finally able to finish it tonight. It was a documentary about a man who tried to eat McDonalds everyday for 30 days for every meal. He was in top shape when he started the project. He was a vegan and liked physical activity.
Every parent needs to see this film. Morgan Spurlock was the man who participated this experiment and actually finished it, but the results were absolutely awful. On day 17 he had gained almost 20 pounds. By day 22, his liver was starting to fail MISERABLY! He also thought he was having a heart attack. His cholesterol went through the roof and other indicators were startling. He gained 25 pounds during the entire project. He went from 11% body fat to 18% body fat and his cholesterol rose 60 points during the experiment. It effected his sex life to point his fiancé said things had dramactically changed for the worse in the bedroom. In all, he ate 30 pounds of sugar and 12 pounds of fatl
At the beginning of the film when he was getting physical’s from three different physicians, they told him he was in such good shape that he shouldn’t be effected that much. They expected his cholesterol to rise a bit and essentially that was it. The doctors were surprise astounded how much things changed and advised him repeatedly after day 20 to stop the ridiculous project.
First—I’m not ready to swear off McDonald’s yet, but we will eat Subway more often if we are in town and need something to eat. Better yet, I think I will make it a point to eat at home before we go anywhere.
Also, Morgan had an interesting tidbit of information about school lunches that participate in the USDA school program. Remember this: The kids eat food that was purchased from the lowest bidder and most of the food is food that is reheated. I think I am going to start making my kids take their own lunches from now on too.
Wow. WOW. Wow.
Every parent needs to see this film. Morgan Spurlock was the man who participated this experiment and actually finished it, but the results were absolutely awful. On day 17 he had gained almost 20 pounds. By day 22, his liver was starting to fail MISERABLY! He also thought he was having a heart attack. His cholesterol went through the roof and other indicators were startling. He gained 25 pounds during the entire project. He went from 11% body fat to 18% body fat and his cholesterol rose 60 points during the experiment. It effected his sex life to point his fiancé said things had dramactically changed for the worse in the bedroom. In all, he ate 30 pounds of sugar and 12 pounds of fatl
At the beginning of the film when he was getting physical’s from three different physicians, they told him he was in such good shape that he shouldn’t be effected that much. They expected his cholesterol to rise a bit and essentially that was it. The doctors were surprise astounded how much things changed and advised him repeatedly after day 20 to stop the ridiculous project.
First—I’m not ready to swear off McDonald’s yet, but we will eat Subway more often if we are in town and need something to eat. Better yet, I think I will make it a point to eat at home before we go anywhere.
Also, Morgan had an interesting tidbit of information about school lunches that participate in the USDA school program. Remember this: The kids eat food that was purchased from the lowest bidder and most of the food is food that is reheated. I think I am going to start making my kids take their own lunches from now on too.
Wow. WOW. Wow.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Holiday Road
The recent GORGEOUS weather that we have been experiencing lately has given me an itch. This itch is not related allergies or a rash, but rather, an itch to go exploring and to leave all things familiar behind, to (pardon the cliché) revel in the open road.
The planning is the easiest and the most boring part of the entire vacation. It is also the most Pollyanna. Yes, I can make good time from point A to point B. The kids can take a bathroom break here and we can eat here and we should be HERE by this time. Snort. It NEVER works out the way. Unless you’re driving alone or the kid’s pants are hooked up to an instant port-a-potty. Your ten minute bathroom break gets extended to a half hour because Thing One and Thing Two decided they needed to P-O-O-P. Okay. No problem. One hour on the road and Thing Three needs to go pee and Thing Four needs to P-O-O-P.
But the best part of the trip itself is not the planning—it’s the going. It is the feeling of adventure that plays on your psyche that gets your engines revved. In the back of your mind (at least MY mind) the voice of Patrick Stewart (aka Jean Luc Picard) echoes as a voice over “Space, the final frontier. These are voyages of the starship Enterprise. Its continuing mission: To explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilizations, to boldly go were no one has gone before” then cue the trumpet and the theme song begins and your OFF! (This is the DORK in me coming out. Just wait. It gets better.)
I later turn into my father. “Hey kids, look over there! It’s the world’s biggest set of pliers.” Or “I swear, this is where Paul Bunyan slept. That sign over there said so.” Then, since he would stop the car and make us get out to take a dorky picture by the sign that says “Welcome to __________”, I stop the vehicle, make the kids get out and take their picture by the sign that says “Welcome to ___________.”
But isn’t it FUN? When my brother, sister and I were younger, we constantly asked if we were there yet and registered complaints with the supreme commander on a minute by minute basis. “He’s on my side of the car!” and “She touched me!” and “I’m hot!” or some other unfortunate malady that seemed to be the bane of our existence.
BUT NOW, NOW, we can taking the mind numbing DVD player and hook it up in our car! Newer automobiles come equipped with a screen or screens built into them and some have wireless internet! Coloring books with special markers, mp3 players and handheld video games help occupy the time too. Life on the road was made easier. And I almost forgot the most important additional luxury. AIR CONDITIONING! Oh good God. Faux leather seats, hot children in shorts. Hurts like hell when you peel your legs from the seat; or worse you land on your spot where the sun was roasting it just seconds before you plopped your weary rear end down for another five hours of driving in cramped quarters.
I’m not sure if I’m ready to tackle a trip to Yellowstone with my children yet. We did one to Minnesota two years ago and were a mere eighty-miles from Canada. But that trip was basically on flat land. Yellowstone is a bit more, um, hilly. I remember torturing my brother with every curve and drop off—he was so certain that we were going to fall down embankment or ravine. I’m betting that at some point in time during the trip my father was wishing we did, just to get us to be quiet.
P.S. Our trip this year I think will be in state, or maybe just across the border. This way my husband can participate too. It seems if he gets too far from home, everything stops working.
The planning is the easiest and the most boring part of the entire vacation. It is also the most Pollyanna. Yes, I can make good time from point A to point B. The kids can take a bathroom break here and we can eat here and we should be HERE by this time. Snort. It NEVER works out the way. Unless you’re driving alone or the kid’s pants are hooked up to an instant port-a-potty. Your ten minute bathroom break gets extended to a half hour because Thing One and Thing Two decided they needed to P-O-O-P. Okay. No problem. One hour on the road and Thing Three needs to go pee and Thing Four needs to P-O-O-P.
But the best part of the trip itself is not the planning—it’s the going. It is the feeling of adventure that plays on your psyche that gets your engines revved. In the back of your mind (at least MY mind) the voice of Patrick Stewart (aka Jean Luc Picard) echoes as a voice over “Space, the final frontier. These are voyages of the starship Enterprise. Its continuing mission: To explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilizations, to boldly go were no one has gone before” then cue the trumpet and the theme song begins and your OFF! (This is the DORK in me coming out. Just wait. It gets better.)
I later turn into my father. “Hey kids, look over there! It’s the world’s biggest set of pliers.” Or “I swear, this is where Paul Bunyan slept. That sign over there said so.” Then, since he would stop the car and make us get out to take a dorky picture by the sign that says “Welcome to __________”, I stop the vehicle, make the kids get out and take their picture by the sign that says “Welcome to ___________.”
But isn’t it FUN? When my brother, sister and I were younger, we constantly asked if we were there yet and registered complaints with the supreme commander on a minute by minute basis. “He’s on my side of the car!” and “She touched me!” and “I’m hot!” or some other unfortunate malady that seemed to be the bane of our existence.
BUT NOW, NOW, we can taking the mind numbing DVD player and hook it up in our car! Newer automobiles come equipped with a screen or screens built into them and some have wireless internet! Coloring books with special markers, mp3 players and handheld video games help occupy the time too. Life on the road was made easier. And I almost forgot the most important additional luxury. AIR CONDITIONING! Oh good God. Faux leather seats, hot children in shorts. Hurts like hell when you peel your legs from the seat; or worse you land on your spot where the sun was roasting it just seconds before you plopped your weary rear end down for another five hours of driving in cramped quarters.
I’m not sure if I’m ready to tackle a trip to Yellowstone with my children yet. We did one to Minnesota two years ago and were a mere eighty-miles from Canada. But that trip was basically on flat land. Yellowstone is a bit more, um, hilly. I remember torturing my brother with every curve and drop off—he was so certain that we were going to fall down embankment or ravine. I’m betting that at some point in time during the trip my father was wishing we did, just to get us to be quiet.
P.S. Our trip this year I think will be in state, or maybe just across the border. This way my husband can participate too. It seems if he gets too far from home, everything stops working.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Clean House
I love the show "Clean House". It makes me very grateful that my mother drilled into my head the obsessive urge to clean all the time. This urge is not present all the time like it was in my mom, but it does rear it's ugly head from time to time.
The last time the cleaning bug took over my life was right before I had Joel. I knew that I could go into labor at any time and so my house had to be ready AT ALL times. This is how anal I was: I had a typed out full page, 12 point, Times New Roman, hung in just the bathroom for the kid's bedtime routine. It gave in great detail what toothpaste to use, how much Smart Rinse, all the way down to how to wipe down the toliet seat and to wipe down the mirror. Oh wow I was a very pregnant, very hormonal, on the edge soon-to-be a new mother for the sixth time.
I vacuumed after every meal and I had all the laundry done all the time. If someone as so much dropped a crumb on the floor, oh man I as on it.
Another, not so enjoyable quality was the fact that I was HOT all the time. I wasn't hungry, but HOT. I would get up in the middle of the night and eat at least two or three popsicles and then go back to bed. I had the ceiling fan on high, no covers and the AC set on 68. John said that we could hang meat in the house. Personally, I don't think that it was that bad. But then again, it is probably not normal for kids to sit on the couch wrapped in a blanket when it is 90 degrees outside. Or your husband to ask you to feel his nose because he thinks there is an icicle hanging on it.
Eight months later, I have relaxed a lot. My floor gets vacuumed about once a day, not after every meal. Dishes are not always done at night. Laundry gets backed up once and a while. My bag is no longer packed. And I am grateful that I have Joel here.
As for "Clean House", I will be having a garage sale soon to clear out my "clutter".
The last time the cleaning bug took over my life was right before I had Joel. I knew that I could go into labor at any time and so my house had to be ready AT ALL times. This is how anal I was: I had a typed out full page, 12 point, Times New Roman, hung in just the bathroom for the kid's bedtime routine. It gave in great detail what toothpaste to use, how much Smart Rinse, all the way down to how to wipe down the toliet seat and to wipe down the mirror. Oh wow I was a very pregnant, very hormonal, on the edge soon-to-be a new mother for the sixth time.
I vacuumed after every meal and I had all the laundry done all the time. If someone as so much dropped a crumb on the floor, oh man I as on it.
Another, not so enjoyable quality was the fact that I was HOT all the time. I wasn't hungry, but HOT. I would get up in the middle of the night and eat at least two or three popsicles and then go back to bed. I had the ceiling fan on high, no covers and the AC set on 68. John said that we could hang meat in the house. Personally, I don't think that it was that bad. But then again, it is probably not normal for kids to sit on the couch wrapped in a blanket when it is 90 degrees outside. Or your husband to ask you to feel his nose because he thinks there is an icicle hanging on it.
Eight months later, I have relaxed a lot. My floor gets vacuumed about once a day, not after every meal. Dishes are not always done at night. Laundry gets backed up once and a while. My bag is no longer packed. And I am grateful that I have Joel here.
As for "Clean House", I will be having a garage sale soon to clear out my "clutter".
Monday, April 12, 2010
Tales of a First Grade Nothing
I subbed for first grade today, and to be honest with you I was a bit apprehensive. My endorsement is for 7-12 grade, specifically in History. However, I agreed to do it months ahead of time and I knew once I got there things would be okay. They were only first graders. How much work could they be? They COULD NOT possibly suck the life out of you like the kindergartners did. No way. Things would be fine.
Things were working out quite well until 9:45 a.m. Chaos rolled around when one little girl from a neighboring class needed a time out and sat in my room for a while to think over her naughty behavior (she just wanted to color--on herself). No sooner had I got her settle in, another little girl began the bathroom dance, and rather unfortunately, did not make it quite in time. Then, a third little girl, whom I sent to the nurse earlier because she felt warm, quietly began vomiting all over the floor. Whoa. Okay. I guess I lied to myself.
Was I teaching or was I at home? LOL. I eventually got things smoothed over. I was able to get the sick girl cleaned up enough for her to return to the nurse's office (for good, I might add), finish with the other child's time out, and convinced the other little one to stroll down to the nurse's office for a fresh change of clothes. This was all done by 10:00 a.m. The wonderful maintenance man was able to clean things up rather quickly and soon everyone forgot about the vomit, until, oh, five minutes later, when another class joined us. "Yes, right there! That is where she puked!" "Yeah, it was ALL OVER the floor." "I'm not sure what color it was. Teacher wouldn't let us look." I am so mean.
It gets better--I perused quietly later on during the day that children are quite fascinating creatures. I observed this even more so later in the day when I had recess duty. As I followed the first grade class to the playground, I was oddly reminded of moving a herd of cattle to a new pasture. There were two of of us teachers, one leading, and one catching all the stragglers. There were a few students who tried to bolt from side to side, but there were enough natural boundaries to keep them confined until we reached the playground. Oh yeah, and don't forget the dust. Sixty little first graders make quite a bit of dust. Then, the stampede happens. The lead cattle, I mean, children, smell the freedom that the playground offers and they toss up their heads and belt for the equipment. Just like cows after a few miles march to fresh water. I swear. You should watch it sometime. Just don't get caught in the path of the students. There is a good possibility you could get trampled.
After the day ended, I thought "Yes, home! I survived first grade!" But then, my own children reminded me that I was falsely lured into a sense of tranquility. The third grader and the second grader immediately begin arguing whether or not there was in fact such a thing as a strawberry crab. One insisted there was while the other took great pride in the torture they inflicted by insisting it doesn't. Two kids want to take baths while five of them need to bathe, and only one decided to take a shower without a fight. Later, after bed time, when all are in bed for at least thirty seconds, the two-year emerged from the bedroom without his pajamas on. Or his pull-up. Naked as a jay-bird. Great.
This was my Monday. It was eventful. It was--excuse me--is scary right now. My two year old just got out of bed. For the twenty-third time. With a blanket over his head saying "Oooooooo! I am ghost! I scared-da you, Mommy?" Yes. Yes you did, little boy. Good night. Again.
P.S. The strawberry crab is real. It is AKA the Hawaiian Strawberry Crab or the red boxing crab. It is usually pink in color with white spots, making it oddly reminiscent of a strawberry.
Things were working out quite well until 9:45 a.m. Chaos rolled around when one little girl from a neighboring class needed a time out and sat in my room for a while to think over her naughty behavior (she just wanted to color--on herself). No sooner had I got her settle in, another little girl began the bathroom dance, and rather unfortunately, did not make it quite in time. Then, a third little girl, whom I sent to the nurse earlier because she felt warm, quietly began vomiting all over the floor. Whoa. Okay. I guess I lied to myself.
Was I teaching or was I at home? LOL. I eventually got things smoothed over. I was able to get the sick girl cleaned up enough for her to return to the nurse's office (for good, I might add), finish with the other child's time out, and convinced the other little one to stroll down to the nurse's office for a fresh change of clothes. This was all done by 10:00 a.m. The wonderful maintenance man was able to clean things up rather quickly and soon everyone forgot about the vomit, until, oh, five minutes later, when another class joined us. "Yes, right there! That is where she puked!" "Yeah, it was ALL OVER the floor." "I'm not sure what color it was. Teacher wouldn't let us look." I am so mean.
It gets better--I perused quietly later on during the day that children are quite fascinating creatures. I observed this even more so later in the day when I had recess duty. As I followed the first grade class to the playground, I was oddly reminded of moving a herd of cattle to a new pasture. There were two of of us teachers, one leading, and one catching all the stragglers. There were a few students who tried to bolt from side to side, but there were enough natural boundaries to keep them confined until we reached the playground. Oh yeah, and don't forget the dust. Sixty little first graders make quite a bit of dust. Then, the stampede happens. The lead cattle, I mean, children, smell the freedom that the playground offers and they toss up their heads and belt for the equipment. Just like cows after a few miles march to fresh water. I swear. You should watch it sometime. Just don't get caught in the path of the students. There is a good possibility you could get trampled.
After the day ended, I thought "Yes, home! I survived first grade!" But then, my own children reminded me that I was falsely lured into a sense of tranquility. The third grader and the second grader immediately begin arguing whether or not there was in fact such a thing as a strawberry crab. One insisted there was while the other took great pride in the torture they inflicted by insisting it doesn't. Two kids want to take baths while five of them need to bathe, and only one decided to take a shower without a fight. Later, after bed time, when all are in bed for at least thirty seconds, the two-year emerged from the bedroom without his pajamas on. Or his pull-up. Naked as a jay-bird. Great.
This was my Monday. It was eventful. It was--excuse me--is scary right now. My two year old just got out of bed. For the twenty-third time. With a blanket over his head saying "Oooooooo! I am ghost! I scared-da you, Mommy?" Yes. Yes you did, little boy. Good night. Again.
P.S. The strawberry crab is real. It is AKA the Hawaiian Strawberry Crab or the red boxing crab. It is usually pink in color with white spots, making it oddly reminiscent of a strawberry.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Kids are like dogs, Sometimes
Thursday's beautiful weather in mid-Nebraska had many of us shedding our winter coats and long-sleeved shirts for something a bit risque for this time of the year. Why? Because we finally hit above 60 degrees and the wind wasn't blowing more than 30 mph.
Since the weather has decided to act like spring, the vehicles are decidedly warmer than before with the heat beating through the windows. Personally, I would like to act like a cat and curl up in the sun. Not my kids though. I unrolled the windows and they stuck their heads out like a Labrador retriever, minus the slobber. There is something about wind rushing around your face and the free feeling it gives you. It is different from letting the 30mph wind whip around you when you are standing in the yard. In the car, you choose to let the wind whip through your hair like fingers. You gasp for a delighted bit of breath that gives you thrills in the pit of your stomach as it feels like you are drinking the air. It simply feels wonderful.
It doesn't matter to the kids that they get wind blown, that they could be scrapping bugs off their teeth (or worse, swallow one). The kids are free for those brief seconds with their heads out the windows. No worries about school or homework or chores to be done. This experience is a pure moment of childhood that a person needs to experience some time.
SO, I did it. It was fun. Regardless that I dried out my contact's and had my curly hair in knots, I did enjoy it. The best part was that my kids were laughing with me.
Since the weather has decided to act like spring, the vehicles are decidedly warmer than before with the heat beating through the windows. Personally, I would like to act like a cat and curl up in the sun. Not my kids though. I unrolled the windows and they stuck their heads out like a Labrador retriever, minus the slobber. There is something about wind rushing around your face and the free feeling it gives you. It is different from letting the 30mph wind whip around you when you are standing in the yard. In the car, you choose to let the wind whip through your hair like fingers. You gasp for a delighted bit of breath that gives you thrills in the pit of your stomach as it feels like you are drinking the air. It simply feels wonderful.
It doesn't matter to the kids that they get wind blown, that they could be scrapping bugs off their teeth (or worse, swallow one). The kids are free for those brief seconds with their heads out the windows. No worries about school or homework or chores to be done. This experience is a pure moment of childhood that a person needs to experience some time.
SO, I did it. It was fun. Regardless that I dried out my contact's and had my curly hair in knots, I did enjoy it. The best part was that my kids were laughing with me.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Clean Your Plate
I remember as a child my folks made me drink my milk with my meal, particularly my supper meal. Back then, drinking it was like choking down chalk. Now, I have no problem with it and I could drink milk with every meal if I wanted to. I also remember having to clean off my plate before I was dismissed from the table. Before the meal, my ritual consisted of washing my hands prior to eating.
Twenty some odd years later, some people apparently have added another step to the routine. Do any of you have a camera? One on your phone? A small digital one in your purse or front pocket? Do you take that camera out and take a picture of your food BEFORE you eat it? This is the new step that I have not incorporated into my routine and I am not thinking about it either.
Did you know there are people out there that take a picture of every meal they eat during the day? Breakfast, dinner, lunch, supper and any snacks in between. WHAT? WHY? I have heard of some dieters writing down every bite they have had to eat during the day, but to take pictures and then post it all day, everyday? That takes committment and also lands on my "Yes-that-is-unusual-But-really?" meter.
This is an example of my attempt: Here is a photo of my cereal. Quick, before it turns soggy and my two-year old decides that my breakfast looks better than his; though, his IS the exact same thing. You want to see what my PB&J looks like? Okay, but I cut it into a shape of a dinosaur in case my boys decide they want to eat it before I do and they don't eat the crust.
I am sure that there are beautiful dishes out there to photograph--especially if there are a lot of bright vegetables in the dish or how the chef plates it too. Cooking shows have made us aware that food not only should taste good, but it should look good too.
Yet,I don't think that I will be jumping on that bandwagon any too soon. I would run out of things to photograph. Seriously, I would. Eating out very often is not something we do a lot and my children do not have the sophisticated palate their mother has. Translation: we recycle the menu quite often at our house because my kids are picky. Gasp! Their idea of a good meal is having Mom or Dad forget about the vegetables and/or fruit. My idea of a good meal is covering all the food groups and making sure that the kids have had at least one bite of everything on their plate. Also, the meal is a success if we can get through without a "Disgusting" or "Gross!" or any gagging noises. My monkey's must also wash their hands prior to eating and clean their plate if they want something sweet afterwards, otherwise, they don't get to satisfy their sweet tooth.
Saying "Cheese" is something my kids will be saying, followed by "Please" because they are asking for it instead of taking out their camera to take a picture of it.
Twenty some odd years later, some people apparently have added another step to the routine. Do any of you have a camera? One on your phone? A small digital one in your purse or front pocket? Do you take that camera out and take a picture of your food BEFORE you eat it? This is the new step that I have not incorporated into my routine and I am not thinking about it either.
Did you know there are people out there that take a picture of every meal they eat during the day? Breakfast, dinner, lunch, supper and any snacks in between. WHAT? WHY? I have heard of some dieters writing down every bite they have had to eat during the day, but to take pictures and then post it all day, everyday? That takes committment and also lands on my "Yes-that-is-unusual-But-really?" meter.
This is an example of my attempt: Here is a photo of my cereal. Quick, before it turns soggy and my two-year old decides that my breakfast looks better than his; though, his IS the exact same thing. You want to see what my PB&J looks like? Okay, but I cut it into a shape of a dinosaur in case my boys decide they want to eat it before I do and they don't eat the crust.
I am sure that there are beautiful dishes out there to photograph--especially if there are a lot of bright vegetables in the dish or how the chef plates it too. Cooking shows have made us aware that food not only should taste good, but it should look good too.
Yet,I don't think that I will be jumping on that bandwagon any too soon. I would run out of things to photograph. Seriously, I would. Eating out very often is not something we do a lot and my children do not have the sophisticated palate their mother has. Translation: we recycle the menu quite often at our house because my kids are picky. Gasp! Their idea of a good meal is having Mom or Dad forget about the vegetables and/or fruit. My idea of a good meal is covering all the food groups and making sure that the kids have had at least one bite of everything on their plate. Also, the meal is a success if we can get through without a "Disgusting" or "Gross!" or any gagging noises. My monkey's must also wash their hands prior to eating and clean their plate if they want something sweet afterwards, otherwise, they don't get to satisfy their sweet tooth.
Saying "Cheese" is something my kids will be saying, followed by "Please" because they are asking for it instead of taking out their camera to take a picture of it.
Prairie Hurricanes
The weather here seems to dictate our conversation. It is a safe bet to talk about, most the time, unless you make a mistake and start a conversation about it with a classic pessimist. Then you are screwed. Because what was once a safe subject just turned into the perfect opportunity for that person to unload WHAT THEY REALLY FEEL about the subject. And then, since they are on a roll, they decide to move on to bigger and better things, such as the minute details of their love life and you are silently screaming in your head, "TMI!TMI! Lalalalala! Get THAT mental picture out of my mind!" and "I am WAY TOO NICE to pretend I care." But on the exterior, you smile and nod and say, "Oh, that's nice" and try not to sound too interested because the Pessimist can sense if they have a sucker that might actually care about what is going on in their life.
So, back to the weather. Today's forecast is a prairie hurricane. Don't bother fixing your hair. Don't bother with hairspray. Don't even bother. Pony it up and resign yourself to the fact that everyone else will look as wind blown as you do. And beware of the Pessimist if your looking to start a conversation.
So, back to the weather. Today's forecast is a prairie hurricane. Don't bother fixing your hair. Don't bother with hairspray. Don't even bother. Pony it up and resign yourself to the fact that everyone else will look as wind blown as you do. And beware of the Pessimist if your looking to start a conversation.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Crime and Punishment
Tonight I was a single parent again. Since my husband is a farmer, there are often times that I am on my own when it comes to taking care of the kids after school. Today was one of those days. It is April, and with April comes warmer temperatures which also means my husband is planting corn or moving cows around. Add picking corn to the list for this year.
Last year was particularly weird because, normally, we are finished picking corn by November 1st. Yet, we didn't finish until three days before Christmas. Then the Christmas blizzard of 2009 hit and there were a few rows of corn that had to be left out in the field. Needless to say, my husband is busy this spring now with trying to finish picking corn from last year and then plangting corn for this year.
Since we have 6 children, there is often never a moment's peace in the house until bedtime. I took a moment to change the baby and boy number 2 (John) decided to clean boy number 3's clock (Jack). Granted, Jack perhaps may have egged it on (this is the case in most situations), but John layed him out flat on the floor. The consequence--immediate supper and then to bed with no television.
Claire and James (boy number 1) also had lost their television privileges because they decided to watch the satellite this morning instead of getting ready for school. Those two were in bed early too because they argued the no television consequence.
I know I have grown harsher with punishments, but the nice punishments were not teaching them anything at all. I figure, if I get them were it really hurts (watching their fun shows) maybe their behavior will change. We have a time out or naughty bench, but honestly, it only works so long. I have one son who sat there for three hours (he gets his stubborn streak from his father). Super Nanny did teach me a few tricks.
I'll have to let you know if it works. Tomorrow will be the first test. They don't need to leave for school until a little before 8, so things will not be so rushed like they are on Tuesday's and Thursday's, so we will consider it a practice run.
I kind of wish life was like a practice run. You could have so many redo's per year or something like that. I'm liking that idea a lot. Just push the reset button if there is a glitch.
Last year was particularly weird because, normally, we are finished picking corn by November 1st. Yet, we didn't finish until three days before Christmas. Then the Christmas blizzard of 2009 hit and there were a few rows of corn that had to be left out in the field. Needless to say, my husband is busy this spring now with trying to finish picking corn from last year and then plangting corn for this year.
Since we have 6 children, there is often never a moment's peace in the house until bedtime. I took a moment to change the baby and boy number 2 (John) decided to clean boy number 3's clock (Jack). Granted, Jack perhaps may have egged it on (this is the case in most situations), but John layed him out flat on the floor. The consequence--immediate supper and then to bed with no television.
Claire and James (boy number 1) also had lost their television privileges because they decided to watch the satellite this morning instead of getting ready for school. Those two were in bed early too because they argued the no television consequence.
I know I have grown harsher with punishments, but the nice punishments were not teaching them anything at all. I figure, if I get them were it really hurts (watching their fun shows) maybe their behavior will change. We have a time out or naughty bench, but honestly, it only works so long. I have one son who sat there for three hours (he gets his stubborn streak from his father). Super Nanny did teach me a few tricks.
I'll have to let you know if it works. Tomorrow will be the first test. They don't need to leave for school until a little before 8, so things will not be so rushed like they are on Tuesday's and Thursday's, so we will consider it a practice run.
I kind of wish life was like a practice run. You could have so many redo's per year or something like that. I'm liking that idea a lot. Just push the reset button if there is a glitch.
Tornado Awareness Week
I am watching the Weather Channel and the Tornado Week special again today. Yes, my family lives in tornado alley and I've seen a few of the twisters myself. I made the mistake of letting my 8 year old daughter watch it with me yesterday, though. When it came to bed time, she kept coming downstairs, fretting about tornadoes. I didn't deny the fact that we could have one, but I told her too that we would be safe as long as we were in the basement if one happened to visit our area. The house we live in is over 100 years old and has yet to be struck with a disaster such as a tornado. It survived the Dust Bowl years during the Dirty Thirties (there was still dirt in the original wall structures when the house was remodeled in 1995), several hail storms, straight line winds, and numerous blizzards.
When I was younger, I used to love going out to look for the tornados in the storms. Now, as a mother, they terrify me. Now I have little lives that depend on me to keep them safe because I am the mommy. Yet, there is still something inside me that thrives on the adrenaline rush I experience when you have the chance to see something violent from Mother Nature. Your heart doesn't necessarily pound, but it does speed up. You have a heightened state of awareness that makes you notice every little thing. There is also a little bit of the nerd in you that shines through as you race to pull the information from your brain that you learned from watching tornado specials, weather casts and movies. Then your kids frantic pleas to stop watching the clouds reach through the fog in your brain and you act like the adult you are supposed to be.
I am as ready as we can be. I have an emergency tote downstairs for tornado occasions. I have a blanket to throw over us if need be, as well as two gallons of distilled water, plus bottled water, dried fruit, beef jerky, diapers, wet wipes, a radio, a flash light and fresh batteries for both. Sometimes we practice going downstairs, but at least one time a year we all head for the basement because the threat is very real.
I wouldn't give up living where we do. I love this place and the weather, for the most part.
On a closing somber note, I would like to extend my condolences to the family members and friends that have been effected by the mining blast in West Virginia. To lose anyone to death is difficult enough to handle, but to have people you know and love taken away from you unexpectedly in a tragedy such as this is terrible. I hold you all in my heavy heart today.
When I was younger, I used to love going out to look for the tornados in the storms. Now, as a mother, they terrify me. Now I have little lives that depend on me to keep them safe because I am the mommy. Yet, there is still something inside me that thrives on the adrenaline rush I experience when you have the chance to see something violent from Mother Nature. Your heart doesn't necessarily pound, but it does speed up. You have a heightened state of awareness that makes you notice every little thing. There is also a little bit of the nerd in you that shines through as you race to pull the information from your brain that you learned from watching tornado specials, weather casts and movies. Then your kids frantic pleas to stop watching the clouds reach through the fog in your brain and you act like the adult you are supposed to be.
I am as ready as we can be. I have an emergency tote downstairs for tornado occasions. I have a blanket to throw over us if need be, as well as two gallons of distilled water, plus bottled water, dried fruit, beef jerky, diapers, wet wipes, a radio, a flash light and fresh batteries for both. Sometimes we practice going downstairs, but at least one time a year we all head for the basement because the threat is very real.
I wouldn't give up living where we do. I love this place and the weather, for the most part.
On a closing somber note, I would like to extend my condolences to the family members and friends that have been effected by the mining blast in West Virginia. To lose anyone to death is difficult enough to handle, but to have people you know and love taken away from you unexpectedly in a tragedy such as this is terrible. I hold you all in my heavy heart today.
Monday, April 5, 2010
Sanity Break, at last!
I am a mother of six, plus I am married to a farmer. Throw in a bucket calf that refuses to grow, a few dogs that bark only at night and cats that refuse to catch mice and you get Crazy Eight's. We live in rural Nebraska, on the edge of the Midwest and insanity. We grow corn, alfalfa and children. I am a substitute teacher when I need a break from my own kids and the whirlwind schedule at home.
Needless to say,our lives our busy, but I managed to survive another Easter weekend with my beloved children. From in-laws to out-laws, temper tantrums, missed naps, loose teeth and new teeth, and Easter Mass, I am READY for school to start back on Tuesday.
My almost 8th month old, Joel, had decided to set a record breaking teeth cutting marathon with 8 new teeth in less than one month. All my other children were considerate to wait until they were one year old--well past the weaning stage for breastfeeding. The poor kid. You can tell he is so miserable, but he still smiles his cute double-dimpled grin whenever I flash a smile at him. My mother-in-law is thrilled because she sees it as an invitation to sneak food to him when I'm not looking. (I don't like this).
John, my almost 6-year old, lost his FIRST tooth just this morning. Which reminds me--I need to play the part of the tooth fairy. There have been times with my other children that the tooth fairy was "too busy to visit--but she said she would swing by later". They accept the explanation and forget about the coin prize being late. Whew.
And correct as usual, King Friday, my family found way to much Easter candy. I also figured out that I have been going about Easter all wrong the past few years. If we hit every local Easter Egg hunt within a 20 mile radius, I could recycle all the candy they recieved and use it for our own Easter Egg hunt and they would never know the difference. They get the joy of looking and I get the joy of not spending any money on candy and only need to find a small treasure per child. Also, if I don't have excess candy in the house before the big holiday, the less apt I am to eat it. And my pants and my children thank me.
Josef, the two and a half year old, was the last one to give up tonight. He and Joel were neck in neck for fighting sleep, but Josef held out. I do need to relay that Joel has learned the trick of shaking his head back and forth to try and keep himself awake. Wonderful. It seems this is a genetic trait that all of the kids have.
As I write this, peace and quiet has ensued over the household. That is, until the sky cleared up and the dogs started their night serenade. Again. I need to go play tooth fairy. She had room in her schedule tonight.
Needless to say,our lives our busy, but I managed to survive another Easter weekend with my beloved children. From in-laws to out-laws, temper tantrums, missed naps, loose teeth and new teeth, and Easter Mass, I am READY for school to start back on Tuesday.
My almost 8th month old, Joel, had decided to set a record breaking teeth cutting marathon with 8 new teeth in less than one month. All my other children were considerate to wait until they were one year old--well past the weaning stage for breastfeeding. The poor kid. You can tell he is so miserable, but he still smiles his cute double-dimpled grin whenever I flash a smile at him. My mother-in-law is thrilled because she sees it as an invitation to sneak food to him when I'm not looking. (I don't like this).
John, my almost 6-year old, lost his FIRST tooth just this morning. Which reminds me--I need to play the part of the tooth fairy. There have been times with my other children that the tooth fairy was "too busy to visit--but she said she would swing by later". They accept the explanation and forget about the coin prize being late. Whew.
And correct as usual, King Friday, my family found way to much Easter candy. I also figured out that I have been going about Easter all wrong the past few years. If we hit every local Easter Egg hunt within a 20 mile radius, I could recycle all the candy they recieved and use it for our own Easter Egg hunt and they would never know the difference. They get the joy of looking and I get the joy of not spending any money on candy and only need to find a small treasure per child. Also, if I don't have excess candy in the house before the big holiday, the less apt I am to eat it. And my pants and my children thank me.
Josef, the two and a half year old, was the last one to give up tonight. He and Joel were neck in neck for fighting sleep, but Josef held out. I do need to relay that Joel has learned the trick of shaking his head back and forth to try and keep himself awake. Wonderful. It seems this is a genetic trait that all of the kids have.
As I write this, peace and quiet has ensued over the household. That is, until the sky cleared up and the dogs started their night serenade. Again. I need to go play tooth fairy. She had room in her schedule tonight.
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