I am SO not a morning person, waking up before 6:oo AM doesn't make me grumpy or anything,
because I'm. Not. Freaking. awake!
My schedule this week is 6:30 am to 5:00 pm, ackk!
So I asked the 65 year old lady training me, who wore a lime green suit with matching ear rings and shoes, what time she gets up in the mornings.
"3:30 AM"
What the...
I didn't even know there was a 3:30 AM
I'm off Friday, can't wait to catch up on every ones lives. Thanks for your comments!
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Love and, Uhh, Logic?
Love and Logic Parenting, I've never taken a course but am fairly sure love and logic describe my parenting. I always, except when I'm screaming like a fish wife, try to lovingly explain, in terms my boys can understand, why I do or ask them to do certain things.
Bathroom privacy is a big deal for my boys, I've never been able to potty train my laddies without giving them their space, for pooping that is, they'll pee anywhere. And, though they demand their pooping privacy, I've yet to figure out the logic that will convince them to offer me the same privilege.
Lately it's #7. I am sure he has a Mommy Potty Warning System, it goes off the minute I head for the bathroom. No matter where he is or how sneaky I try to be he's there, my little commode comrade.
So lovingly and logically I presented my request for privacy.
Boy Mom: #7, Mommy would like to be alone in the bathroom.
#7: Why?
Boy Mom: so I can poop in peace.
#7: Why?
Boy Mom: Do you like Mommy to stay out when you are pooping? (This is the logic part)
#7: Yes. (I think he's getting it)
Boy Mom: Well, Mommy likes to be alone in the bathroom too. (The logic bullet)
#7: Ohhh! (Comprehension dawns in his little face)
#7: I'm sorry Mom! (He pats me understandingly) You can come in when I poop.
Boy Mom: Wha???? Sigh!
Maybe I should take the Love and Logic Course.
Bathroom privacy is a big deal for my boys, I've never been able to potty train my laddies without giving them their space, for pooping that is, they'll pee anywhere. And, though they demand their pooping privacy, I've yet to figure out the logic that will convince them to offer me the same privilege.
Lately it's #7. I am sure he has a Mommy Potty Warning System, it goes off the minute I head for the bathroom. No matter where he is or how sneaky I try to be he's there, my little commode comrade.
So lovingly and logically I presented my request for privacy.
Boy Mom: #7, Mommy would like to be alone in the bathroom.
#7: Why?
Boy Mom: so I can poop in peace.
#7: Why?
Boy Mom: Do you like Mommy to stay out when you are pooping? (This is the logic part)
#7: Yes. (I think he's getting it)
Boy Mom: Well, Mommy likes to be alone in the bathroom too. (The logic bullet)
#7: Ohhh! (Comprehension dawns in his little face)
#7: I'm sorry Mom! (He pats me understandingly) You can come in when I poop.
Boy Mom: Wha???? Sigh!
Maybe I should take the Love and Logic Course.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Contagious Cuteness!
#5, my extremely emotional just turned 8 year old, came home from the neighbors last night in tears.
"Mom, I have the Chicken pox!" He sobbed, pulling his shirt up to prove it. "Cody told me to, GO HOME, because he doesn't want to get it!' More sobbing.
I was out in my flower bed finishing up a 9 hour yard work extravaganza. I sat down on my arbor bench and looked at the 10 or so suspicious spots on his belly. Sweetie, those aren't Chicken Pox, they are just hives from your cold and allergies" I reassured him.
"But Cody said they were CHICKEN POX and they're contagious!" Ha! These boys have hung out all week together, the contamination has already happened.
"You've had the Chicken Pox shot and all our boys get hives with colds, it's not Chicken Pox!"
" How can we be sure? I want to go to the DOCTOR!" Why pay a doctor when 12 year old Dr. Neighbor Boy has figured out the diagnosis.
"Go show Daddy your spots and ask him to cuddle you." OK, he goes off sobbing and I return to my gardening.
"Mom! What am I gonna do about these Chicken Pox?" He's baaack!
"Sweetie, go take a long, hot shower then all the spots will come out." And I'll be able to finish my flower bed.
"Why would I do that? I. don't. want. more. spots." So, I guess I'm done gardening? Sigh!
I take #5 into the bathroom and put him in the shower. Over the sound of the water he asks, "Does it sound like popcorn popping?" I strain my ears to listen for someone microwaving popcorn.
"Mom, does it sound like popcorn popping?" He asks again more urgently. I listen harder.
"I don't kno... Oh sweeetie! It's Chicken POX, not POPS."
It was hives!
"Mom, I have the Chicken pox!" He sobbed, pulling his shirt up to prove it. "Cody told me to, GO HOME, because he doesn't want to get it!' More sobbing.
I was out in my flower bed finishing up a 9 hour yard work extravaganza. I sat down on my arbor bench and looked at the 10 or so suspicious spots on his belly. Sweetie, those aren't Chicken Pox, they are just hives from your cold and allergies" I reassured him.
"But Cody said they were CHICKEN POX and they're contagious!" Ha! These boys have hung out all week together, the contamination has already happened.
"You've had the Chicken Pox shot and all our boys get hives with colds, it's not Chicken Pox!"
" How can we be sure? I want to go to the DOCTOR!" Why pay a doctor when 12 year old Dr. Neighbor Boy has figured out the diagnosis.
"Go show Daddy your spots and ask him to cuddle you." OK, he goes off sobbing and I return to my gardening.
"Mom! What am I gonna do about these Chicken Pox?" He's baaack!
"Sweetie, go take a long, hot shower then all the spots will come out." And I'll be able to finish my flower bed.
"Why would I do that? I. don't. want. more. spots." So, I guess I'm done gardening? Sigh!
I take #5 into the bathroom and put him in the shower. Over the sound of the water he asks, "Does it sound like popcorn popping?" I strain my ears to listen for someone microwaving popcorn.
"Mom, does it sound like popcorn popping?" He asks again more urgently. I listen harder.
"I don't kno... Oh sweeetie! It's Chicken POX, not POPS."
It was hives!
Friday, May 22, 2009
What The... Fridays
Sunday mornings at Boy House are a little stressed. No matter how organized and efficient I attempt to be on Saturday night, by Sunday morning at 8:00 am I'm in the drill Sargent mode, no one with in eye site is immune to my orders and commands.
"GET UP!" Teenagers.
"Did you shower?" What is it with 12 year olds, are they allergic to soap and water?
"Take your shoes to Daddy!" Shoes are Adorable Hubby's job.
" Help you brother find his shoes!" Every frickin' week!
"#6, shoes belong on your feet or in the shoe basket!" For the 10 billionth time!
"NO! white socks don't go with Sunday pants!" We're so classy.
"GET UP!" Teenagers, arghh!
"Put some toast in!" We eat a LOT of toast on Sundays!
"GETTTTTTTTTTTTTT UUUUUUUUUUUP!"
"Comb your hair!" What is it with 12 year old boys?
" Leaving in5 minutes, 5 minutes!" This is all Adorable Hubby, he's the self appointed time keeper. Only time I really want to smack him!
And somewhere in the middle of all this the lone female, me, is madly, showering, blow drying, make-uping, deodorizing, and dressing hoping to beat that, "Leaving in 5 minutes" deadline.
So, last Sunday morning was the first morning with our 17 year old foster son thrown into the mix. I'm shouting orders as per usual at him and everyone else, walk into the bathroom, look in the mirror to see what my next get ready step is.
WHAT THE...
And realize I'm wearing nothing but a towel!
It's for real, #8 is officially one of my sons! Poor Thing!
"GET UP!" Teenagers.
"Did you shower?" What is it with 12 year olds, are they allergic to soap and water?
"Take your shoes to Daddy!" Shoes are Adorable Hubby's job.
" Help you brother find his shoes!" Every frickin' week!
"#6, shoes belong on your feet or in the shoe basket!" For the 10 billionth time!
"NO! white socks don't go with Sunday pants!" We're so classy.
"GET UP!" Teenagers, arghh!
"Put some toast in!" We eat a LOT of toast on Sundays!
"GETTTTTTTTTTTTTT UUUUUUUUUUUP!"
"Comb your hair!" What is it with 12 year old boys?
" Leaving in5 minutes, 5 minutes!" This is all Adorable Hubby, he's the self appointed time keeper. Only time I really want to smack him!
And somewhere in the middle of all this the lone female, me, is madly, showering, blow drying, make-uping, deodorizing, and dressing hoping to beat that, "Leaving in 5 minutes" deadline.
So, last Sunday morning was the first morning with our 17 year old foster son thrown into the mix. I'm shouting orders as per usual at him and everyone else, walk into the bathroom, look in the mirror to see what my next get ready step is.
WHAT THE...
And realize I'm wearing nothing but a towel!
It's for real, #8 is officially one of my sons! Poor Thing!
Monday, May 18, 2009
Mondays Muttered Mumblings
What? I started it yesterday... it seems that my leisurely life of the past 18 years has made me soft. I come home from work with fried brain cells and tired, tired bones.
Some of you have asked what I'm doing. I'm an imaging clerk at a large local hospital. I can be called to work in the many parts of the hospital where radiology, X-Rays, ultra sounds MRI, for those of you who, like me, thought imaging was imagining spelled wrong. For a second or to I thought I would be working for Disney as an imagineer, uhh, not so much.
It's going to be a fun job, my managers and the co-workers I've met are great, I love interfacing with the public, I'll learn many different areas so no boredom, and it's great pay for someone who hasn't worked a day in 18 years and 7 children. No, I'm not the least bit bitter about 18 years of motherhood and all it's joys not being a qualification for work.
I must hold on to my Priorities, and we all know that blogging is way more of a priority for me then say, money, or paying bills, buying food. So have no fears I'll figure out a schedule that includes blogging. And think of all the great What The... stories I'll come across.
We also moved our foster son in this last week, now we're only 48 hours of parenting classes away from being fully licensed. Good thing were finally getting some help in the parenting department. Heavens only knows we have no practical experience. No, not bitter at all. I do find it a tad bit ironic that we have to let them parent themselves while we're at class. Hmmm! Somebody thought that through.
Thanks for all your prayers and concerns.
Some of you have asked what I'm doing. I'm an imaging clerk at a large local hospital. I can be called to work in the many parts of the hospital where radiology, X-Rays, ultra sounds MRI, for those of you who, like me, thought imaging was imagining spelled wrong. For a second or to I thought I would be working for Disney as an imagineer, uhh, not so much.
It's going to be a fun job, my managers and the co-workers I've met are great, I love interfacing with the public, I'll learn many different areas so no boredom, and it's great pay for someone who hasn't worked a day in 18 years and 7 children. No, I'm not the least bit bitter about 18 years of motherhood and all it's joys not being a qualification for work.
I must hold on to my Priorities, and we all know that blogging is way more of a priority for me then say, money, or paying bills, buying food. So have no fears I'll figure out a schedule that includes blogging. And think of all the great What The... stories I'll come across.
We also moved our foster son in this last week, now we're only 48 hours of parenting classes away from being fully licensed. Good thing were finally getting some help in the parenting department. Heavens only knows we have no practical experience. No, not bitter at all. I do find it a tad bit ironic that we have to let them parent themselves while we're at class. Hmmm! Somebody thought that through.
Thanks for all your prayers and concerns.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
What The...Friday (on Saturday)
Adorable Hubby and I have been attending a family relations class at church each Sunday. The class is small consisting of three couples, who have 5 or more children ranging from 4 to 21 years, two couples with 1 or 2 very young children, one young couple with no children and one older couple with several grown children.
This past week the class was discussing the concept of being an influence on your children. We talked about how many influences children face and how we need to be there with them to share each experience as a formative influence. Then Adorable Hubby talked about the need to, "cut the apron strings" those times when you have to hand them the keys and let them go alone, "That's when you and they find out how much of an influence you really are" he said. The class nodded in agreement, well, the Dad's did.
Then, the older husband, who moved from a life as a rancher two or three years ago to our little Suburban Soccer Mom neighborhaven (insert the slightest sarcastic snort), spoke up. "Well, there's just some things you can't do for your kids, for instance, inseminating a cow." At this point both of his hands came up pantomiming the process, one obviously holding the tail aside while the other moved into the position that strikes cold fear in the hearts of heifers everywhere.
As he finished his comment his hand mimicked the, er, insertion process, " You just have to tell them to stick their hand in there till they feel the right thing, if they don't feel it you tell them, well, go a little futher till you do." At this point I started glancing at the faces of other couples in the room.
What the...
Yep, there's sum things ya jist can't do fer yer kids!
I can't wait for class next week, I'm hoping we learn how they collect the seminal fluid from the bulls, that seems more applicable to my life ;0
This past week the class was discussing the concept of being an influence on your children. We talked about how many influences children face and how we need to be there with them to share each experience as a formative influence. Then Adorable Hubby talked about the need to, "cut the apron strings" those times when you have to hand them the keys and let them go alone, "That's when you and they find out how much of an influence you really are" he said. The class nodded in agreement, well, the Dad's did.
Then, the older husband, who moved from a life as a rancher two or three years ago to our little Suburban Soccer Mom neighborhaven (insert the slightest sarcastic snort), spoke up. "Well, there's just some things you can't do for your kids, for instance, inseminating a cow." At this point both of his hands came up pantomiming the process, one obviously holding the tail aside while the other moved into the position that strikes cold fear in the hearts of heifers everywhere.
As he finished his comment his hand mimicked the, er, insertion process, " You just have to tell them to stick their hand in there till they feel the right thing, if they don't feel it you tell them, well, go a little futher till you do." At this point I started glancing at the faces of other couples in the room.
What the...
Yep, there's sum things ya jist can't do fer yer kids!
I can't wait for class next week, I'm hoping we learn how they collect the seminal fluid from the bulls, that seems more applicable to my life ;0
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Inspired By You Wednesday
The last weeks of school are upon us, tonight was #1's choir concert. I had a hard time keeping my eyes dry and I think I injured my right index finger holding down the record button on my digital camera.
Its been 6 years of choir for this boy. As I watched his last performance I couldn't help but be overwhelmed with emotions. #1 is graduating from the same high school I graduated from 26 years ago. I wonder if he has regrets, things he wishes he'd done differently? That makes me realize that the past eighteen years of my parenting, now stands on its own to face the world, ready or not!
I'm sure that he'll need years of therapy to get over some of my parenting ;) But, regret is a damning emotion, getting caught up in the shoulda's detracts from the joy of this beautiful son of mine singing his heart out, meeting the world head up, hopes high. So, I'm going with... no regrets, well one, I wish I had a better camera.
Enjoy some amazing High School Choir.
Its been 6 years of choir for this boy. As I watched his last performance I couldn't help but be overwhelmed with emotions. #1 is graduating from the same high school I graduated from 26 years ago. I wonder if he has regrets, things he wishes he'd done differently? That makes me realize that the past eighteen years of my parenting, now stands on its own to face the world, ready or not!
I'm sure that he'll need years of therapy to get over some of my parenting ;) But, regret is a damning emotion, getting caught up in the shoulda's detracts from the joy of this beautiful son of mine singing his heart out, meeting the world head up, hopes high. So, I'm going with... no regrets, well one, I wish I had a better camera.
Enjoy some amazing High School Choir.
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