We do birthday parties for the kids every other year. This preserves my pocketbook as well as my sanity. This year is a party year, Rose's birthday is fast approaching, and I have no idea what to do. I was starting to stress. And then I found this little sheet of paper laying around.
Birthday Party Plan
1. Meet at my house and play games.
2. Goof off, hang out.
3. Drive to Sky Zone.
4. Jump for as long as possible at Sky Zone.
5. Back to my house.
6. Open present, eat cake/ice cream.
7. Have accessorize time
- paint nails
-hair dos
8. Fashion/show off time
- dress up
- walk runway
9. Pajamas, brush teeth, etc.
10. Sing off.
11. Get in bed.
12. Stay up until late talking about girly stuff and boys.
Guess I don't need to worry. Rose has got it all covered.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Friday, January 21, 2011
Doing it Right
S: Mom, can I ask you a question?
Me: Sure. What's up?
S: Did you and dad . . . do it . . . to get me?
Me: Do it?
S: You know.
Me: You mean sex?
S: MOM!
Me: Well, yes, of course we did.
S: . . . really?
Me: News flash, honey. Everyone in this world got here because people had sex.
S: MOM!
Me: What?
S: Don't say that word!
Me: Sex?
S: MOM!
Me: Sex, sex, sex, sex, sex.
S: (hands over ears) Stop it!
Me: Sweetie, you just learned one of life's little lessons.
S: What's that?
Me: You don't ever want to think about your parents having sex --
S: Ewww!
Me: -- and you don't want to think about your children having sex.
S: Mom, please say "doing it."
Me: That's why daddies often have trouble when their daughters come home after they've been married a while and announce they're pregnant. They can no longer ignore the fact that their daughter has, in fact, been having sex.
S: Well, my dad won't have that problem.
Me: Oh, really? Why not?
S: Because I'm adopting.
Me: But don't you plan on getting married someday?
S: Yes. But I'm sure we'll wait three or four years before we think about . . . you know.
Me: Sure. What's up?
S: Did you and dad . . . do it . . . to get me?
Me: Do it?
S: You know.
Me: You mean sex?
S: MOM!
Me: Well, yes, of course we did.
S: . . . really?
Me: News flash, honey. Everyone in this world got here because people had sex.
S: MOM!
Me: What?
S: Don't say that word!
Me: Sex?
S: MOM!
Me: Sex, sex, sex, sex, sex.
S: (hands over ears) Stop it!
Me: Sweetie, you just learned one of life's little lessons.
S: What's that?
Me: You don't ever want to think about your parents having sex --
S: Ewww!
Me: -- and you don't want to think about your children having sex.
S: Mom, please say "doing it."
Me: That's why daddies often have trouble when their daughters come home after they've been married a while and announce they're pregnant. They can no longer ignore the fact that their daughter has, in fact, been having sex.
S: Well, my dad won't have that problem.
Me: Oh, really? Why not?
S: Because I'm adopting.
Me: But don't you plan on getting married someday?
S: Yes. But I'm sure we'll wait three or four years before we think about . . . you know.
Side Effects May Include an Increased Tendency to be a Smart-Ass
David: Calvin, what happened to your face? You've got a really bad rash.
C: I don't know. The doctor said it was an allergic reaction to something.
Me: He's also been really lethargic all day. And he missed playing with his friends at school, so he seems a little depressed.
C: Cymbalta can help.
C: I don't know. The doctor said it was an allergic reaction to something.
Me: He's also been really lethargic all day. And he missed playing with his friends at school, so he seems a little depressed.
C: Cymbalta can help.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Can You Hear Me Now?
Sabrina is -- how shall I put this delicately? -- exuberant? Lively? Energetic? High-spirited? We have longed joked that she has two settings, Loud and Off, and Off is broken. But some days there is a limit to how much Rose can take of Sabrina's zest for life.
While driving in the car, Sabrina was expounding on something (loudly) from the backseat.
Rose: Sabrina! You're too loud!
Sabrina continued her story while whispering.
Rose: I can still hear you.
While driving in the car, Sabrina was expounding on something (loudly) from the backseat.
Rose: Sabrina! You're too loud!
Sabrina continued her story while whispering.
Rose: I can still hear you.
Saturday, December 25, 2010
The gift that keeps on giving
After seeing how much Calvin loved a golf class he took last summer, my dad got Calvin a kid-sized starter golf club set for Christmas. While Calvin was thrilled to have his own clubs, he was mightily disappointed when we forbid him from ever swinging them inside the house. Being unable to use the clubs, his attention, therefore, switched to the tube the clubs came in.
The tube was around four inches in diameter and three feet tall and was perfect for launching rockets from your shoulder. He spent the rest of the evening running around the house, poking the tube into people's faces, and firing an endless barrage of ammunition. Unwrapping presents suddenly became fraught with danger. I glared at David, my eyes sending the clear message that he had better handle this and soon. He finally spoke up:
David: (In a threatening tone) Calvin, if you ever point that bazooka at someone in this room . . . the explosion will kill you as well. Make sure you put more distance between you and your target.
That's parenting at its finest right there, folks.
The tube was around four inches in diameter and three feet tall and was perfect for launching rockets from your shoulder. He spent the rest of the evening running around the house, poking the tube into people's faces, and firing an endless barrage of ammunition. Unwrapping presents suddenly became fraught with danger. I glared at David, my eyes sending the clear message that he had better handle this and soon. He finally spoke up:
David: (In a threatening tone) Calvin, if you ever point that bazooka at someone in this room . . . the explosion will kill you as well. Make sure you put more distance between you and your target.
That's parenting at its finest right there, folks.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Pretty in Pink
I love getting pedicures -- the warm water, the foot massages, the pretty toes at the end. And since I neglected to write this important promise into my wedding vows (I promise to love you, honor you, and rub your feet whenever you desire), I pay to have some stranger do it.
Generally I walk out of the salon with my toenails painted red or a pretty pink. But last week I tried something different. It's fall. I don't need pink. Why not try an edgier color on my toenails? After consulting with my daughter, I chose a really dark purple.
Unfortunately, this dark purple actually looked black once applied. I wasn't sure I liked it, but thought it might grow on me. It hasn't. I think I have to face facts. I'm not edgy. I don't look down at my toes and think, "You're really rocking the biker chick look, Jen." I look down at my toes and think, "Mmm, licorice." I think I'll go see if the kids got any for Halloween. Excuse me while I go raid their secret stashes.
Generally I walk out of the salon with my toenails painted red or a pretty pink. But last week I tried something different. It's fall. I don't need pink. Why not try an edgier color on my toenails? After consulting with my daughter, I chose a really dark purple.
Unfortunately, this dark purple actually looked black once applied. I wasn't sure I liked it, but thought it might grow on me. It hasn't. I think I have to face facts. I'm not edgy. I don't look down at my toes and think, "You're really rocking the biker chick look, Jen." I look down at my toes and think, "Mmm, licorice." I think I'll go see if the kids got any for Halloween. Excuse me while I go raid their secret stashes.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
What Happened to Jennifer?
You never know what life's going to throw at you. I was happy, relatively speaking. Granted, my job was mind-numbingly boring. And yes, I was wasting money on shoes no one would ever see since there is really no need to wear sparkly blue heels when you wear your pajamas to work. But I was content . . . sort of. I certainly wasn't out searching for a big change. Change is scary. Change makes my stomach hurt.
But one day this summer, I received a phone call. Would I consider teaching music part-time to upper elementary students? I almost hung up on them, just like my brother (a virulent sports-hater) actually did when Major League Baseball called trying to recruit him to manage their websites. I stayed on the line, probably more out of shock than politeness, and sure enough, they were offering me a job.
What should I do? Up until this exact moment in my life, I had never considered teaching, EVER. Anyone who knows me knows I have steadfastly maintained that I hate children. Good grief, I can barely stand my own. Why would I willingly walk into multiple classrooms filled with dozens of children, none of whom were mine? I repeated this over and over to my husband, but he expressed the opinion that I obviously don't hate children that much considering the number of hours I've spent volunteering in the classroom at my kids' school. I countered that it was my duty, and I have always been a slave to duty. (Said while looking martyr-like and staring off into the distance, Pirates of Penzance music playing in my head.)
But there it was, a legitimate offer of a new job, one that wouldn't bore me to tears, one that would let me interact with the human race, and one in which I might be able to wear those blue sparkly heels. So after some consideration, I decided to jump. When that kind of opportunity lands in your lap, you would have to be a fool to turn it down, even if it does require an anxiety pill or two to cope with all the scary change.
So now I'm a teacher. God sure does have a funny sense of humor. And despite David's protestations to the contrary that he thinks I'm well-suited for this job, I found him chuckling and shaking his head the other evening. When I asked him what he was laughing at, he said, "I was just thinking if someone had told me five years ago that in the future my wife would be a teacher, I would have asked, 'What happened to Jennifer?' followed by, 'Is my new wife hot?'"
But one day this summer, I received a phone call. Would I consider teaching music part-time to upper elementary students? I almost hung up on them, just like my brother (a virulent sports-hater) actually did when Major League Baseball called trying to recruit him to manage their websites. I stayed on the line, probably more out of shock than politeness, and sure enough, they were offering me a job.
What should I do? Up until this exact moment in my life, I had never considered teaching, EVER. Anyone who knows me knows I have steadfastly maintained that I hate children. Good grief, I can barely stand my own. Why would I willingly walk into multiple classrooms filled with dozens of children, none of whom were mine? I repeated this over and over to my husband, but he expressed the opinion that I obviously don't hate children that much considering the number of hours I've spent volunteering in the classroom at my kids' school. I countered that it was my duty, and I have always been a slave to duty. (Said while looking martyr-like and staring off into the distance, Pirates of Penzance music playing in my head.)
But there it was, a legitimate offer of a new job, one that wouldn't bore me to tears, one that would let me interact with the human race, and one in which I might be able to wear those blue sparkly heels. So after some consideration, I decided to jump. When that kind of opportunity lands in your lap, you would have to be a fool to turn it down, even if it does require an anxiety pill or two to cope with all the scary change.
So now I'm a teacher. God sure does have a funny sense of humor. And despite David's protestations to the contrary that he thinks I'm well-suited for this job, I found him chuckling and shaking his head the other evening. When I asked him what he was laughing at, he said, "I was just thinking if someone had told me five years ago that in the future my wife would be a teacher, I would have asked, 'What happened to Jennifer?' followed by, 'Is my new wife hot?'"
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