A few weeks ago Abu had her turn as Star of the Week in her third grade classroom. This was something each student looks forward to...their chance to 'shine' and share with their classmates who they are.
They have to fill out a form of questions, such as 'what are your favorite books, movies, shows, etc.' It asks for hobbies and your favorite subject in school. They can also bring in photos and toys that they want to share. Think of it as a non digital Facebook.
She carefully read each question, concentrating hard as she wrote her answers. Then we went through my vast collection of digital photos and she picked out which ones she wanted made into prints. Finally she picked out three stuffed animals, not her absolute favorites but runner ups.
"Mom, I can't be without Candy Cane and Alaska for a week. A whole week. And they have to stay in that classroom all by themselves." She shudders, hugging her most favorite toys to her chest. They are both puppies and always in her arms when she falls asleep...or she doesn't go to sleep.
I nodded in complete understanding. "So you want to take two other puppies and Hanson?"
"Hanson is huge." She says, looking at the large tiger she won at last year's States Fair. Not only had this tiny eight year old won one of the biggest prizes at the Fair, she accomplished it in just two throws and three bucks.
If you want to see a carnival guy sweat...allow him to think that your sweet eight year is a protege in baseball. Don't tell him that the best two throws she has ever taken in her entire life, just happen to land in his - perfectly tilted buckets so the balls bounce out of them- ball game. Abu was ecstatic as she lugged that toy around, grinning every time the adults with their small prizes would stare at her or ask her how she won it.
Of course, we had to ignore the calls from the carnival guys...they kept trying to convince her to come play again and perhaps she would win a bigger prize...but she would have to risk losing the tiger.
Smart kid...she would hug her tiger really tight and tell them no.
On the day we were supposed to drop off the items, she desperately wanted me to make a sign for Hanson.
"Mom, we have to make a sign for around Hanson's neck." She's flying frantically around the living room, trying to convince me that we have time to do this in the one minute we had left until it time to leave for school.
The look on her face was pleading and sad and coming from Abu is always hard to resist.
"Oh, right. What does it need to say?" I asked, quickly digging some cardboard out of the recycling and cutting a piece down to a square. I found an extra piece of string and made a necklace so it would hang around his neck. Then I took out my Sharpie. It's amazing how fast a Mom can move when she has to.
"Write: Don't Touch the Tiger or He Would Bite You."
I laughed. "A warning, huh? Good idea. We don't want any of your classmates getting hurt."
She went to school with a huge smile on her face.
I helped her carry her items into the classroom. And then as I'm looking at them I realize what she has done.
Abu is many things. She's sweet and kind. She's smart but has to work hard to achieve it. She likes to have fun but is always concerned about other people.
And she has a quiet but creative sense of humor.
All the items she brought...I realized she picked to make other people laugh. To bring them joy. Her answers on her form were all on the funny side, like 'What is your favorite subject?'
"Recess." She answers.
Her photos were all about being funny. There's one with Bean making faces at the camera and wagging her finger at it. Another with Buddy howling with her Daddy. There's a photo with her pretending to attack Bean and another with her toothbrush sticking out her mouth.
She picked photos of having fun in the snow. And goofy photos with her cousins and her uncle. There's a photo of her wearing these huge glasses with wacky eyes painted on them.
And then of course, there's Hanson, the fierce tiger with a handmade sign hanging around his neck warning people not to touch him or he might bite.
"Did you pick the funny things on purpose, Abu?" I whisper quietly to her.
She grins at me. "Mom, I like to make people laugh."
Translation: I like to make people happy.
Hanson was quite the hit and every day for the entire week she was Star of the Week, she brought home stories of the other students making jokes about trying to touch the tiger and not getting bit. Each story was accompanied by an Abu grin. And apparently they all loved the wacky photos too. If her goal was to make people laugh, she certainty succeeded.
She certainty reminded me that spreading joy and happiness is free and easy. You just have to find the goofy in life. It's all around us, we just have to find it. Just go back to the time when Recess was your favorite subject and wacky glasses were fun to wear.
Then you have it...spreading joy...Abu style. :)
Monday, May 21, 2012
Saturday, May 19, 2012
No More Lists
Before I was assigned to modified bed rest I had a very detailed plan of how I was going to organize my life before Baby Blueberry arrived. And when I say organized I mean obsessive compulsively organized. Beyond my usual 'everything has a place'. But to the next realm....everything has a place in it's place. It was going to be wonderful. The kitchen cupboards were going to win first place at a Martha Stewart contest. The bathroom cupboard was going to be so sleek, that if I told my husband where to find the Neosporin, he would actually be able to find it.
And even the junk drawer in the kitchen would be sorted and put away.
First, I had to sort my garage. But before I can explain my plan I have to share a little back story. My parents have lived in my downstairs for almost six years now. I have a split level house and originally when Hero Hottie and I moved in we were going to remodel the unfinished walkout basement into a daycare area. That way I could stay home with our girls and still make an income so we could actually make the house payment every month. We had applied for a loan during the times that mortgage loan companies were handing out loans like candy and only cared if you had a pulse to qualify. So we knew it would be easy to obtain a loan but we were smart enough to realize that we would need more money to pay it. Hence, a daycare.
But then I got sick. And then I rapidly rolled down hill into nearly dying. Luckily, I survived. But unfortunately the closer I get to labor the more I realize I have some horrible anxiety about going back into the hospital. Urggh. A few weeks ago because of my torn placenta I had to go to the lab at the hospital and have my blood drawn. I had managed the ER okay a few days before when the bleeding started but for whatever reason having to brave the fluorescent lit corridors of the hospital by myself made me feel just a bit dizzy and I had to force my feet to continue.
I was surprised by my reaction. In my childhood we were raised with the idea that you just pull up your boot straps, ignore whatever, and continue on. I think it's from my German stoic stubborn bullheaded side. And for the most part, that idea works. It would certainty make winning Fear Factor easier because it doesn't allow you the option of quitting.
But this anxiety, which I find I can ignore enough to find the lab, have my blood drawn and even joke and be friendly with the lab tech, is still there running like an underground river.
Enough about my anxiety though. After I was well enough to leave the hospital, I was still in a recovery stage for the next couple of years. Since my parents were having some financial problems and needed to sell their house, instead of making the downstairs a daycare area we made it a separate home and they moved in to help take care of me and have somewhere to live.
My upstairs is only two bedrooms and a bit small. So with Baby Blueberry on the way I had to do some serious organizing to find room for her.
And that's where the garage comes in at. Before the bed rest, I had twenty one Saturdays to get it straightened up. I needed it organized so I could move stuff from my bedroom to the garage to make room for Baby Blueberry. It wasn't exactly an ideal situation and I kept telling Hero Hottie that we just might have to make room for the baby in the living room rather than our bedroom but for now it was the plan.
For the first few Saturdays I accomplished my goals. Man, this making a plan and sticking to it was really working well for me. It was a great feeling to be so accomplished.
And then my placenta tore and all plans were blown to pieces.
Not only was I forbidden from stepping inside the garage but I couldn't even clean the house and fulfill my nesting urges.
My plans for the summer with my older girls...scrapped.
Plans with friends...put on hold.
Activities with the PTO...given to other people willing to help.
What are the sayings? Make a plan and God laughs. Or make a plan and it's a dare to the universe to see if you can actually accomplish it. Life happens when you're busy making plans.
So first I found out I was pregnant and all my plans for the next five years have dramatically changed from the plans I had.
And then I was put on modified bed rest. All plans were put on hold.
Now I'm excited about this little baby, what a wonderful gift to be given when I wasn't expecting another one ever. So most of my five years plans have lost their shine compared to having another child to love.
All my plans for the rest of my Saturdays have finally lost their importance. Tons of time to think on bed rest have made me realize that I spend plenty of time of making lists and planning things I going to do. Or want to do. Or have to do.
And less time just living.
But planning to do things is safe. There's no fear to hold us back. Self doubt is quiet. How safe it is to make a Bucket List...how much more daring it is to live it.
I may not succeed at self publishing my stories but I won't know until I do it.
I may not succeed as the photographer I want to be until I try.
And I may not succeed at changing the world until I realize that it starts with moving tiny mountains, not thinking that if you're not doing something big and awesome that you're not doing any good.
And I'm not going to think about the little time I have left to have Bean as a child and let it eat at me. I'm going to enjoy every minute with her, so in the few short years before she's ready to spread her own wings I have no regrets about the part I played as her Mommy.
I love this song by Rob Thomas, it's called 'Little Wonders.' And part of it goes like this:
'Our lives are made in these small hours
These little wonders, these twists and turns of fate
Time falls away but these small hours
These small hours still remain'
No more self doubt. No more lists.
Just life.
Finally lived without regret.
And even the junk drawer in the kitchen would be sorted and put away.
First, I had to sort my garage. But before I can explain my plan I have to share a little back story. My parents have lived in my downstairs for almost six years now. I have a split level house and originally when Hero Hottie and I moved in we were going to remodel the unfinished walkout basement into a daycare area. That way I could stay home with our girls and still make an income so we could actually make the house payment every month. We had applied for a loan during the times that mortgage loan companies were handing out loans like candy and only cared if you had a pulse to qualify. So we knew it would be easy to obtain a loan but we were smart enough to realize that we would need more money to pay it. Hence, a daycare.
But then I got sick. And then I rapidly rolled down hill into nearly dying. Luckily, I survived. But unfortunately the closer I get to labor the more I realize I have some horrible anxiety about going back into the hospital. Urggh. A few weeks ago because of my torn placenta I had to go to the lab at the hospital and have my blood drawn. I had managed the ER okay a few days before when the bleeding started but for whatever reason having to brave the fluorescent lit corridors of the hospital by myself made me feel just a bit dizzy and I had to force my feet to continue.
I was surprised by my reaction. In my childhood we were raised with the idea that you just pull up your boot straps, ignore whatever, and continue on. I think it's from my German stoic stubborn bullheaded side. And for the most part, that idea works. It would certainty make winning Fear Factor easier because it doesn't allow you the option of quitting.
But this anxiety, which I find I can ignore enough to find the lab, have my blood drawn and even joke and be friendly with the lab tech, is still there running like an underground river.
Enough about my anxiety though. After I was well enough to leave the hospital, I was still in a recovery stage for the next couple of years. Since my parents were having some financial problems and needed to sell their house, instead of making the downstairs a daycare area we made it a separate home and they moved in to help take care of me and have somewhere to live.
My upstairs is only two bedrooms and a bit small. So with Baby Blueberry on the way I had to do some serious organizing to find room for her.
And that's where the garage comes in at. Before the bed rest, I had twenty one Saturdays to get it straightened up. I needed it organized so I could move stuff from my bedroom to the garage to make room for Baby Blueberry. It wasn't exactly an ideal situation and I kept telling Hero Hottie that we just might have to make room for the baby in the living room rather than our bedroom but for now it was the plan.
For the first few Saturdays I accomplished my goals. Man, this making a plan and sticking to it was really working well for me. It was a great feeling to be so accomplished.
And then my placenta tore and all plans were blown to pieces.
Not only was I forbidden from stepping inside the garage but I couldn't even clean the house and fulfill my nesting urges.
My plans for the summer with my older girls...scrapped.
Plans with friends...put on hold.
Activities with the PTO...given to other people willing to help.
What are the sayings? Make a plan and God laughs. Or make a plan and it's a dare to the universe to see if you can actually accomplish it. Life happens when you're busy making plans.
So first I found out I was pregnant and all my plans for the next five years have dramatically changed from the plans I had.
And then I was put on modified bed rest. All plans were put on hold.
Now I'm excited about this little baby, what a wonderful gift to be given when I wasn't expecting another one ever. So most of my five years plans have lost their shine compared to having another child to love.
All my plans for the rest of my Saturdays have finally lost their importance. Tons of time to think on bed rest have made me realize that I spend plenty of time of making lists and planning things I going to do. Or want to do. Or have to do.
And less time just living.
But planning to do things is safe. There's no fear to hold us back. Self doubt is quiet. How safe it is to make a Bucket List...how much more daring it is to live it.
I may not succeed at self publishing my stories but I won't know until I do it.
I may not succeed as the photographer I want to be until I try.
And I may not succeed at changing the world until I realize that it starts with moving tiny mountains, not thinking that if you're not doing something big and awesome that you're not doing any good.
And I'm not going to think about the little time I have left to have Bean as a child and let it eat at me. I'm going to enjoy every minute with her, so in the few short years before she's ready to spread her own wings I have no regrets about the part I played as her Mommy.
I love this song by Rob Thomas, it's called 'Little Wonders.' And part of it goes like this:
'Our lives are made in these small hours
These little wonders, these twists and turns of fate
Time falls away but these small hours
These small hours still remain'
No more self doubt. No more lists.
Just life.
Finally lived without regret.
Monday, May 7, 2012
Oh, Mister Sandman...Send me a dream...
It's official. I'm watching too much day time television. Or at least I have it clicked on while I'm doing other stuff just for the noise. The distraction. Either way, the shows have invaded my subconscious and my dreams. What's a pregnant woman suppose to do? I rather be dreaming about Ryan Reynolds again but alas, no such luck. But that probably wouldn't be such a great idea since modified bed rest includes a lot of no-no's. And lets just say I'm not missing doing the laundry but there are other things I am missing...
Anyway, my dream last night starts in an English Pub with Chef Gordon Ramsey. Apparently watching the BBC and Kitchen Nightmares is not healthy for you. For one thing, the guy annoys me. Yes, he's right most of the time and the conditions he finds these kitchens in are deplorable.
And I'm not sure what a health inspector actually does because rotten meat sitting out on shelves in the freezer seems like it's probably breaking a huge health code. I could be wrong but my Mama taught me not to cook moldy food.
But the guy is rude, and drops the F-bomb like he thinks seasoning his sentences with it is going to make his words seem more important. Personally, I don't know why he bothers with most of these kitchens...if they aren't already cooking with fresh and safe food, don't you think they already failed Basic Cooking 101? Having an Englishman cuss the living daylights out of them makes for great ratings..I have my doubts if it makes for better kitchens.
Back to the dream...I'm in a busy English pub, listening to Gordon Ramsey cuss some poor cook out for their horrible food. Hero Hottie and I sitting at a table waiting for our food when it arrives as a greasy, English fry up. French fries dripping with oil and a sandwich that has taken a dip in a pot of boiling stale oil. I eat part of it and surprisingly wake up with heart burn. Man, those dreams are real.
The dreams continues with a walk with some English dude who is telling us bad jokes about why it only takes one Englishman to get a job done but it would take two Scotsman to do the same thing. Apparently, this guy wasn't a fan of Braveheart. I have both English and Scottish in me so asking me to take sides would be like starting a war with myself. And then if we added my Irish ancestry...
No offense to any of my international readers, I'm just retelling my dream. I'm such a mutt of cultures and I'm glad for it.
But then the dream goes down the way of Auction Hunters. If anyone hasn't seen that show I haven't either until I was stuck on bed rest. It follows these two guys who go around and buy the contents of storage units. It's a treasure hunt show really. And what amazes me is the quality of stuff they find. But in the dream Hero Hottie and I are buying these antique clocks or mirrors with picture frames on them. I was so excited because I won them from the other bidders but I'm frustrated when I can't pick them up because of my lifting restrictions and he has to hold them while he drives the motorcycle we're riding on.
What???? I'm actually being careful in my dream of lifting heavy objects but I think it's okay to get on the back of a motorcycle? I'm sure my doctor would put that on my no-no list.
We're driving away from the auction place when we catch wind of the motorcycle gang riding ahead of us being caught by the cops. What show this is from I'm not sure but the scenery reminds me of the Bayou feeling from True Blood. Luckily, we didn't run into any vampires in my dream.
We verve off some side road, which is highly bumpy and dusty. At this point I start worrying that I shouldn't be on the back of a bike. Like, duh?? And some rich, young guy with enough attitude to makes you wish that he would lose all his money and have to shop at...Wal-Mart like the rest of us...rescues us just before the cops pull us over. Whew...but the dream doesn't stop there.
No, then I dragged into the plot of a LMN movie. Seriously, there's this sleazy guy with lame pick up lines that's almost handsome but there's just something a bit greasy about him so you know you shouldn't like him.
He's going around and marrying different women for their money. He starts out with women that hardly have anything, like a trailer and a junky car. And his pick up line always starts with a Rotisserie chicken from the grocery store deli and some excuse about not being able to cook. This somehow charms women into falling in love with him and after they marry and he steals everything he can he moves onto the next woman.
Moving up in the world until he marries some rich, heiress that has picture frames made out of real gold and gems in her bathroom. Of course, he's slowly having the real gems removed and replaced with copies as he steals from her. But then her teenage daughter from a previous marriage finds him flirting with some rich, Italian lady at the bank. And you know what pick up line he uses on this Italian lady with her heavy European accent...
yep, that's right..."I don't know how to cook. But I make a mean Rotisserie chicken. Let's eat." And he has her totally charmed with his fake American charm.
Luckily, the woman he's currently married to, figures out what's going on and the Rotisserie chicken man goes straight to jail. Thank goodness for the predictable justice of LMN movies.
At this point, the alarm wakes me up. It's not often I feel grateful for the most annoying sound in the world but since the chicken man had been brought to justice it was definitely time for that horrible collage of television to be turned off.
Now, of course I wouldn't be surprised if I saw this movie on next year's line up for an LMN movie but will I get credit for it...no, of course not. But that's okay. I'm giving this idea away for free.
In the mean time, I want to see the show where Gordon Ramsey takes on Bayou vampires and their kitchens, after all you should pick humans from the health food store and not McDonald's; with a side plot by the guys from Auction Hunters buying the storage units of vampires---because I bet they would have some good, old sh*t in there and perhaps we could have the greasy Rotisserie chicken man escape from prison just to be lured to his death by the Italian lady who is actually a vampire set out to rid the world of guys with lame pick up lines.
I wonder what I would dream if I started watching Bridezillas, Fear Factor and What Not to Wear?
Bed rest might just drive me crazy. :)
Anyway, my dream last night starts in an English Pub with Chef Gordon Ramsey. Apparently watching the BBC and Kitchen Nightmares is not healthy for you. For one thing, the guy annoys me. Yes, he's right most of the time and the conditions he finds these kitchens in are deplorable.
And I'm not sure what a health inspector actually does because rotten meat sitting out on shelves in the freezer seems like it's probably breaking a huge health code. I could be wrong but my Mama taught me not to cook moldy food.
But the guy is rude, and drops the F-bomb like he thinks seasoning his sentences with it is going to make his words seem more important. Personally, I don't know why he bothers with most of these kitchens...if they aren't already cooking with fresh and safe food, don't you think they already failed Basic Cooking 101? Having an Englishman cuss the living daylights out of them makes for great ratings..I have my doubts if it makes for better kitchens.
Back to the dream...I'm in a busy English pub, listening to Gordon Ramsey cuss some poor cook out for their horrible food. Hero Hottie and I sitting at a table waiting for our food when it arrives as a greasy, English fry up. French fries dripping with oil and a sandwich that has taken a dip in a pot of boiling stale oil. I eat part of it and surprisingly wake up with heart burn. Man, those dreams are real.
The dreams continues with a walk with some English dude who is telling us bad jokes about why it only takes one Englishman to get a job done but it would take two Scotsman to do the same thing. Apparently, this guy wasn't a fan of Braveheart. I have both English and Scottish in me so asking me to take sides would be like starting a war with myself. And then if we added my Irish ancestry...
No offense to any of my international readers, I'm just retelling my dream. I'm such a mutt of cultures and I'm glad for it.
But then the dream goes down the way of Auction Hunters. If anyone hasn't seen that show I haven't either until I was stuck on bed rest. It follows these two guys who go around and buy the contents of storage units. It's a treasure hunt show really. And what amazes me is the quality of stuff they find. But in the dream Hero Hottie and I are buying these antique clocks or mirrors with picture frames on them. I was so excited because I won them from the other bidders but I'm frustrated when I can't pick them up because of my lifting restrictions and he has to hold them while he drives the motorcycle we're riding on.
What???? I'm actually being careful in my dream of lifting heavy objects but I think it's okay to get on the back of a motorcycle? I'm sure my doctor would put that on my no-no list.
We're driving away from the auction place when we catch wind of the motorcycle gang riding ahead of us being caught by the cops. What show this is from I'm not sure but the scenery reminds me of the Bayou feeling from True Blood. Luckily, we didn't run into any vampires in my dream.
We verve off some side road, which is highly bumpy and dusty. At this point I start worrying that I shouldn't be on the back of a bike. Like, duh?? And some rich, young guy with enough attitude to makes you wish that he would lose all his money and have to shop at...Wal-Mart like the rest of us...rescues us just before the cops pull us over. Whew...but the dream doesn't stop there.
No, then I dragged into the plot of a LMN movie. Seriously, there's this sleazy guy with lame pick up lines that's almost handsome but there's just something a bit greasy about him so you know you shouldn't like him.
He's going around and marrying different women for their money. He starts out with women that hardly have anything, like a trailer and a junky car. And his pick up line always starts with a Rotisserie chicken from the grocery store deli and some excuse about not being able to cook. This somehow charms women into falling in love with him and after they marry and he steals everything he can he moves onto the next woman.
Moving up in the world until he marries some rich, heiress that has picture frames made out of real gold and gems in her bathroom. Of course, he's slowly having the real gems removed and replaced with copies as he steals from her. But then her teenage daughter from a previous marriage finds him flirting with some rich, Italian lady at the bank. And you know what pick up line he uses on this Italian lady with her heavy European accent...
yep, that's right..."I don't know how to cook. But I make a mean Rotisserie chicken. Let's eat." And he has her totally charmed with his fake American charm.
Luckily, the woman he's currently married to, figures out what's going on and the Rotisserie chicken man goes straight to jail. Thank goodness for the predictable justice of LMN movies.
At this point, the alarm wakes me up. It's not often I feel grateful for the most annoying sound in the world but since the chicken man had been brought to justice it was definitely time for that horrible collage of television to be turned off.
Now, of course I wouldn't be surprised if I saw this movie on next year's line up for an LMN movie but will I get credit for it...no, of course not. But that's okay. I'm giving this idea away for free.
In the mean time, I want to see the show where Gordon Ramsey takes on Bayou vampires and their kitchens, after all you should pick humans from the health food store and not McDonald's; with a side plot by the guys from Auction Hunters buying the storage units of vampires---because I bet they would have some good, old sh*t in there and perhaps we could have the greasy Rotisserie chicken man escape from prison just to be lured to his death by the Italian lady who is actually a vampire set out to rid the world of guys with lame pick up lines.
I wonder what I would dream if I started watching Bridezillas, Fear Factor and What Not to Wear?
Bed rest might just drive me crazy. :)
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
Life on Hold but Changes Keep a Coming
First of all, how am I suppose to keep up with all the changes in my life from my comfy spot on the couch? I feel like a spectator at this point instead of a participant---and it's only day thirteen of my modified bed rest.
I should at least have a concession stand close by to purchase popcorn. :)
I'm managing my life by phone, email and Facebook. It's a chaotic mess. I'll like to say I have it all under control. I'm sitting in the command seat with my computer, my phone and my schedule book and it all looks rosy.
Oh, boy. Can kids survive off French fries every night for dinner for a month or two? It's a veggie right? I'll even buy the 'healthy' fries. Maybe we should switch to carrot sticks at least.
Bean and Abu need brand new tights for their upcoming dance recital and of course I haven't figured out a way to get down to the dance wear store and purchase them. I could probably send Hero Hottie if he wasn't working so much but will he come back with the correct tights? Their dance school is picky. They have to wear a certain shade of pink or they won't be setting foot on that stage. Sounds strict and it is. Their teacher isn't crazy like the "dance teachers" on that stupid 'Dance Moms' show. She just a professional ballerina. She expects her students to be just as professional. And that's why Bean and Abu are enrolled there. I want them to reach for high (but not ridiculously soul crushing) expectations and they receive that at their dance studio.
But I'm diverting from my original point.
The problem I could have by waiting too long- they will run out of the sizes I need. Since they're the only place that sales exactly what I need you can see where this might cause a small problem.
Countdown to two weeks before the show and I decide that I better call the store and see if they will put them to the side if I explain my problem. One great thing about living in a small town and dealing with a local business store is that they're usually super helpful and it was no problem at all to put the tights aside until someone can pick them up.
Try doing that at Wal-Mart or Target. :)
At least PTO stuff is easy to accomplish. I write a check and either send it in the mail, have someone pick it up, or give it to Bean to take to school and give to a teacher.
Another thing I needed help with; clothes shopping. Bean and Abu desperately needed new swimsuits for a field trip next week and since I can't walk around that long trying to find the perfect suit I called my mother in law to take them around for the afternoon. I sent them money and hoped for the best.
Word of advice though. If you allow a ten and eight year to take their own money to the mall and Grandma is already paying for extra clothes beyond what Mom sent with them- they probably won't spend it on what you want them to. Of course, it's their money and I understand that but with that being said I don't want them spending twenty bucks of their money at the CANDY STORE.
They came back with zombie brain soda (is this made out of zombie brains or will it turn you into a zombie?), gummy sharks and gummy peachy penguins. Abu came back with a giant orange gummy bear as big as the palm of her hand. It will take her a month to eat it.
They are thrilled. Never have they had so much candy in their possession at one time. They can't stop talking about the candy store. I think they have asked every kid they know if they have been to the candy store at the mall. It's their fascination, their obsession, their favorite thing right now. I suppose they think I kept them candy deprived all these years.
Which I have because it's not great for them and Abu is diabetic. But it's not to say we don't buy candy and we have even brought candy at the mall before. But it's not the same as spending over twenty bucks on big bags of candy at one time.
Oh, well. I've read in financial columns that you should allow your kids a bit of money they can waste so they learn by the time they're adults that perhaps spending twenty bucks at the candy store is not a smart financial decision.
But on the plus side of the shopping trip- the girls had a wonderful time with Grandma. I had a chance to rest without dealing with bored and bickering kids because we couldn't go do anything on a nice day and they had a chance to pick out outfits that maybe I would have steered them away from. Usually I show them which shelves or stands we can afford and let them pick from there. It's a nasty budget thing. But their Grandma is great and she tends to make a big sweeping motion of the entire store and say, "Lets shop."
The outfits the girls came back are so grown up and stylish. And they are happy to have such delightfully new clothes for summer. And they're looking so grown up.
All and all, we're surviving the chaos. I'm bored, the girls are a bit poorer and we will be tired of French fries and breakfast items by the time the baby's born.
But, I do have to say, Bean bought me a chocolate bar with her own money. And I can't complain about chocolate. :)
I should at least have a concession stand close by to purchase popcorn. :)
I'm managing my life by phone, email and Facebook. It's a chaotic mess. I'll like to say I have it all under control. I'm sitting in the command seat with my computer, my phone and my schedule book and it all looks rosy.
Oh, boy. Can kids survive off French fries every night for dinner for a month or two? It's a veggie right? I'll even buy the 'healthy' fries. Maybe we should switch to carrot sticks at least.
Bean and Abu need brand new tights for their upcoming dance recital and of course I haven't figured out a way to get down to the dance wear store and purchase them. I could probably send Hero Hottie if he wasn't working so much but will he come back with the correct tights? Their dance school is picky. They have to wear a certain shade of pink or they won't be setting foot on that stage. Sounds strict and it is. Their teacher isn't crazy like the "dance teachers" on that stupid 'Dance Moms' show. She just a professional ballerina. She expects her students to be just as professional. And that's why Bean and Abu are enrolled there. I want them to reach for high (but not ridiculously soul crushing) expectations and they receive that at their dance studio.
But I'm diverting from my original point.
The problem I could have by waiting too long- they will run out of the sizes I need. Since they're the only place that sales exactly what I need you can see where this might cause a small problem.
Countdown to two weeks before the show and I decide that I better call the store and see if they will put them to the side if I explain my problem. One great thing about living in a small town and dealing with a local business store is that they're usually super helpful and it was no problem at all to put the tights aside until someone can pick them up.
Try doing that at Wal-Mart or Target. :)
At least PTO stuff is easy to accomplish. I write a check and either send it in the mail, have someone pick it up, or give it to Bean to take to school and give to a teacher.
Another thing I needed help with; clothes shopping. Bean and Abu desperately needed new swimsuits for a field trip next week and since I can't walk around that long trying to find the perfect suit I called my mother in law to take them around for the afternoon. I sent them money and hoped for the best.
Word of advice though. If you allow a ten and eight year to take their own money to the mall and Grandma is already paying for extra clothes beyond what Mom sent with them- they probably won't spend it on what you want them to. Of course, it's their money and I understand that but with that being said I don't want them spending twenty bucks of their money at the CANDY STORE.
They came back with zombie brain soda (is this made out of zombie brains or will it turn you into a zombie?), gummy sharks and gummy peachy penguins. Abu came back with a giant orange gummy bear as big as the palm of her hand. It will take her a month to eat it.
They are thrilled. Never have they had so much candy in their possession at one time. They can't stop talking about the candy store. I think they have asked every kid they know if they have been to the candy store at the mall. It's their fascination, their obsession, their favorite thing right now. I suppose they think I kept them candy deprived all these years.
Which I have because it's not great for them and Abu is diabetic. But it's not to say we don't buy candy and we have even brought candy at the mall before. But it's not the same as spending over twenty bucks on big bags of candy at one time.
Oh, well. I've read in financial columns that you should allow your kids a bit of money they can waste so they learn by the time they're adults that perhaps spending twenty bucks at the candy store is not a smart financial decision.
But on the plus side of the shopping trip- the girls had a wonderful time with Grandma. I had a chance to rest without dealing with bored and bickering kids because we couldn't go do anything on a nice day and they had a chance to pick out outfits that maybe I would have steered them away from. Usually I show them which shelves or stands we can afford and let them pick from there. It's a nasty budget thing. But their Grandma is great and she tends to make a big sweeping motion of the entire store and say, "Lets shop."
The outfits the girls came back are so grown up and stylish. And they are happy to have such delightfully new clothes for summer. And they're looking so grown up.
All and all, we're surviving the chaos. I'm bored, the girls are a bit poorer and we will be tired of French fries and breakfast items by the time the baby's born.
But, I do have to say, Bean bought me a chocolate bar with her own money. And I can't complain about chocolate. :)
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