Most of my stuff is slightly altered to create fiction out of what would otherwise be embarrassing reality. I want my kids to still speak to me when they're adults. Some of the crafting of stories for blog entrees are hard to polish. Others are easy. Then there are those that quite literally, get dropped into your...
My nearly two year old often mistakes me for a chair. Being a toddler, she considers herself the Queen of my lap.
I am her favorite spot to think.
She also is considering the prospects of testing pottying. More than once, she has "tested" the seat in imitation of her older sister.
Today, she sat on me and after giving a fierce hug, said, "Spssssssst." "Spssssssst."
Then she got up and toddled off.
"I think she was pretending." I said as I got up in a hurry.
"So do I." My husband responded.
"I may substitute for a throne but not that kind."
"Cheer up, at least it was number 1."
Long live the Queen.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Friday, April 3, 2009
Catharsis
The other day, my adolescent daughter came to the car and her whole body screamed "Miserable." I asked her what was wrong. (Classic mistake of Rookie Moms to teen girls everywhere). I thought it signaled concern, love, a desire to know what made my child sad.
Based on the reaction, I thought "F" or "Detention" or a major blow out with a friend."Humph." was all I got. Over the drive home, I pestered her, trying to make her laugh, get angry at me instead, anything. "What would make you happy?" I asked. I'd offered chocolate. I offered computer time. I offered time with a friend. Nothing.
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
Finally I mentioned I'd be happy with chocolate, computer time and a visit with friends. The chorus in the back of the car now viewed chocolate, computer time and play dates as an oral contract and was singing the "We Love Mom" chorus all the way home, making the unhappy person even more unhappy.We got home. Fortunately, the distractions of raising 9 children prevented a long nagging investigation. She was allowed to sulk in peace for the bulk of the afternoon.
The thing is, sulking doesn't feel nearly as satisfying if it's done in isolation. There must be a audience pained by the expressed silent angst of the sulkee. So she followed around the rest of us participating in life via snacks, cleaning, homework, all the time occasionally letting forth a moan to signal her deep pain. Gentle "Do you want to talk about it?" prods brought scornful stares.
Finally after dinner, I was hooked. I wanted to know what happened. After I'd bathed the babies, fed them all and done the bed time routine for the non sentients, I demanded an audience. (She had skulked to her room to angrilly sit and read). The music was loud and sad.
"Tell me what happened or knock it off." My bedside manner is a cross between Dr. Laura and Olympia Dukakis in Moonlight, sort of a Moral and intelligent Rosanne if such a thing can be imagined. She blinked, as if surprised that anyone would find her behavior of the past four hours out of the ordinary.
"Oh, I got the king spot in kickball and then it landed on a line and I got voted out."
..."That's it?"
"Well, I really like four square."
For those of you looking for a reason for this story, it's tax time and the reminder of how lovely adolescence is, should make even the most swamped procrastinator addressing 1040's feel just...oh, so much better.
For those being audited, I have seven more to go.
Based on the reaction, I thought "F" or "Detention" or a major blow out with a friend."Humph." was all I got. Over the drive home, I pestered her, trying to make her laugh, get angry at me instead, anything. "What would make you happy?" I asked. I'd offered chocolate. I offered computer time. I offered time with a friend. Nothing.
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
Finally I mentioned I'd be happy with chocolate, computer time and a visit with friends. The chorus in the back of the car now viewed chocolate, computer time and play dates as an oral contract and was singing the "We Love Mom" chorus all the way home, making the unhappy person even more unhappy.We got home. Fortunately, the distractions of raising 9 children prevented a long nagging investigation. She was allowed to sulk in peace for the bulk of the afternoon.
The thing is, sulking doesn't feel nearly as satisfying if it's done in isolation. There must be a audience pained by the expressed silent angst of the sulkee. So she followed around the rest of us participating in life via snacks, cleaning, homework, all the time occasionally letting forth a moan to signal her deep pain. Gentle "Do you want to talk about it?" prods brought scornful stares.
Finally after dinner, I was hooked. I wanted to know what happened. After I'd bathed the babies, fed them all and done the bed time routine for the non sentients, I demanded an audience. (She had skulked to her room to angrilly sit and read). The music was loud and sad.
"Tell me what happened or knock it off." My bedside manner is a cross between Dr. Laura and Olympia Dukakis in Moonlight, sort of a Moral and intelligent Rosanne if such a thing can be imagined. She blinked, as if surprised that anyone would find her behavior of the past four hours out of the ordinary.
"Oh, I got the king spot in kickball and then it landed on a line and I got voted out."
..."That's it?"
"Well, I really like four square."
For those of you looking for a reason for this story, it's tax time and the reminder of how lovely adolescence is, should make even the most swamped procrastinator addressing 1040's feel just...oh, so much better.
For those being audited, I have seven more to go.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Played
Every day before I pull out of the parking lot at school, I ask everyone if they have everything they need and if they need anything we don’t have at home that I must get from the store.
Today, my kids got in, started chattering away and I asked the questions. Half way home, one of my children remembered that he forgot a paper that is due the next day. I dutifully turned the car around. We got to school. The classroom was locked. I spotted the teacher in the hallway and flagged her down. My son then added that he needed to ask the teacher a question about the assignment, that the page she had prescribed didn’t exist in the workbook when he checked. This is a kid that sometimes does his work in the car and as such, I didn’t question his concern. He's meticulous about his work.
We returned to the classroom and the teacher asked about the incorrect page. The little imp grinned. “April Fools.”
It took a lot of convincing to make me stop at the CVS on the way home for some markers.
Today, my kids got in, started chattering away and I asked the questions. Half way home, one of my children remembered that he forgot a paper that is due the next day. I dutifully turned the car around. We got to school. The classroom was locked. I spotted the teacher in the hallway and flagged her down. My son then added that he needed to ask the teacher a question about the assignment, that the page she had prescribed didn’t exist in the workbook when he checked. This is a kid that sometimes does his work in the car and as such, I didn’t question his concern. He's meticulous about his work.
We returned to the classroom and the teacher asked about the incorrect page. The little imp grinned. “April Fools.”
It took a lot of convincing to make me stop at the CVS on the way home for some markers.
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