If it is not a leap year, the last day of February now always belongs to Naomi, for me, and today really did. It was her birthday, and we had fun strawberry pancakes with whipped cream, a big fun birthday party (which deserves its own post, and shall have it, after the pictures exit the big camera), and general pandemonium. Ahh, and I am glad it is over.
Also over, though, is the month of daily blog posts. I am a little glad about that, although also a little sorry. I am seeing that it is really easy for me to make myself adhere to something strict if I know it is going to go away at some point. But does it stick? I have been somewhat less prone to buying stuff, since January's experiment, but I haven't exactly given it up. I did like the experience of making myself write every day. And I hope it will stick a little...
Before I forget, do you want to hear March's new month resolutions? I have two: 1. Eat three servings of vegetables every day. 2. Do thirty minutes of exercise every day. I have already thought of some rules around that- V8 only counts every other day. And walking counts. This boost of healthfulness is pretty timely, coming as it does at the end of the now historic week of cheesecake (capped off by the Saturday night of ice cream and whiskey). I was sick for half the month, so my recent decent record of regular exercise is now shot to heck. So yeah, a healthier month, where if I do post more regularly, you can bet there will be some discussion of vegetables or pleas for suggestions on how to be less bored on the treadmill.
Thanks for reading, February friends! I'll get some party pics up soon.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Friday, February 27, 2009
Friday Night
I just watched Cinderella with my princess-obsessed hours from being four year old. She stayed up WAY past her bedtime, and almost didn't make it to the end of the movie. Poor thing. To illustrate my insane Amish mother point about videos exposing her to things, even harmless, lovely Cinderella (one of my childhood favorites) stressed her out a little. Or maybe it was all in my head. Probably.
I genuinely wish I had the time right now to write more about the girl who turns four just after midnight (and since she was born in Central time, really, it's only an hour and twenty minutes away). How it was after so long being pregnant, finally knowing it was time to find out who was going to be joining our family. How long it took for her to be born. How surprised and shocked I was to learn that the baby I was so sure was a boy was, instead, Naomi. Two of her nurses were named Naomi- what are the chances? She was such a beautiful newborn, always had her eyes wide open, calmly looking around. And such a good baby- we always joked she was our practice kid. (I think we were right on that one...)
I just looked around for a picture to post and now I am weeping at the sight of her, so tiny and beautiful. Lucky for you guys I'm not going to post the placental picture. Yikes. But here she is, the birthday girl....
I genuinely wish I had the time right now to write more about the girl who turns four just after midnight (and since she was born in Central time, really, it's only an hour and twenty minutes away). How it was after so long being pregnant, finally knowing it was time to find out who was going to be joining our family. How long it took for her to be born. How surprised and shocked I was to learn that the baby I was so sure was a boy was, instead, Naomi. Two of her nurses were named Naomi- what are the chances? She was such a beautiful newborn, always had her eyes wide open, calmly looking around. And such a good baby- we always joked she was our practice kid. (I think we were right on that one...)
I just looked around for a picture to post and now I am weeping at the sight of her, so tiny and beautiful. Lucky for you guys I'm not going to post the placental picture. Yikes. But here she is, the birthday girl....
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Thursday Night, That's All
First of all let me say that Jim's sister in Singapore sent him (and Naomi, but don't tell her) a cake for his birthday. She wired him a cake. Actually, she found a bakery on the internet, and then emailed me, and I picked up the cake. But still, a cake all the way from Singapore! I sneaked out to pick it up on his birthday- I happened to know the bakery because it was in my beloved shopping plaza across the street from my beloved old office building. Sigh. So yeah, it was a white chocolate cheesecake, which had me a little skeptical at first, but since we have been slowly and methodically eating our way through it over the course of the week, I feel I can say with relative certainty that only a fool would turn down a white chocolate cheesecake from Hoffman's Fine Pastries. It is so good. I just had a sliver, because it is my nightly ritual now and I can't escape it. In celebration of Jim's birthday, I will gain four pounds! Excellent!
Second, I have completely sold my soul to whomever buys you out on the issue of caving to peer pressure regarding the right way to celebrate the birthdays of small children who attend pre-school. By which I mean I have just wasted forty minutes and the last of my margarita buzz stuffing cellophane bags with "goodies" for Naomi's classmates. Unfortunately, the vast majority of the novelty pencils with decorative eraser toppers I could find tend more girly, so hopefully only a small majority of the boys in the class have staked their claim on the island of unswerving gender identification. I mean, butterflies don't have an inherent quality of girliness, just because they're pretty, right? Right? Also, I didn't buy enough bags, so I had to add in four extras I found in the basement, which might be from...my wedding?
Here's what you would get if you were a classmate of Naomi's and showed up to school tomorrow: pencil, with novelty eraser topper, two Hershey's dark chocolate kisses (which are against code- not supposed to include food, but I am desperate for some filler) (also, dark only because I thought Naomi would like the purple foil wrappers), a small strip of smiley stickers in neon colors, and a tube of glitter glue.
Can you believe we're almost to the end of the once a day blog posting? Whew! Sighs of relief all around! In the meantime, see you tomorrow...
Second, I have completely sold my soul to whomever buys you out on the issue of caving to peer pressure regarding the right way to celebrate the birthdays of small children who attend pre-school. By which I mean I have just wasted forty minutes and the last of my margarita buzz stuffing cellophane bags with "goodies" for Naomi's classmates. Unfortunately, the vast majority of the novelty pencils with decorative eraser toppers I could find tend more girly, so hopefully only a small majority of the boys in the class have staked their claim on the island of unswerving gender identification. I mean, butterflies don't have an inherent quality of girliness, just because they're pretty, right? Right? Also, I didn't buy enough bags, so I had to add in four extras I found in the basement, which might be from...my wedding?
Here's what you would get if you were a classmate of Naomi's and showed up to school tomorrow: pencil, with novelty eraser topper, two Hershey's dark chocolate kisses (which are against code- not supposed to include food, but I am desperate for some filler) (also, dark only because I thought Naomi would like the purple foil wrappers), a small strip of smiley stickers in neon colors, and a tube of glitter glue.
Can you believe we're almost to the end of the once a day blog posting? Whew! Sighs of relief all around! In the meantime, see you tomorrow...
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
A Little of Each
I have already given an indication of one of Muriel's defining character traits, that of being unable to stop trying to eat things... and I was getting ready to discuss another one, when I realized that Naomi should be getting the press, this being her week and all. So, after the Muriel mention, we'll see if I can remember what I was going to say about the big one...
I think I have already mentioned this, maybe more than once, but Muriel is very, very, wait for it... IMPATIENT!! She cannot wait for anything. When she was a baby, and it was time to nurse, she would see that it was time, and then start to fuss and cry because things weren't moving fast enough for her. In the car now, when we are driving together, I offer to sing songs for her, and she agrees, and then once I start singing, she says, No! No! Not that one! And then she goes into one of her unintelligible but very earnest monologues, from which I attempt to suss out the song request, and I say, Itsy Bitsy Spider? ABCs? Doe, a Deer? The Bumblebee one? And no matter what she says she wanted, if I start to sing, she objects. Maybe she just doesn't like my singing?
It is on my mind because it happened again tonight, when I was reading her some stories before bed. I cannot turn the pages fast enough for her. And even though she picked the book, she is ready to quit the thing before it's done. The girl needs action! Constant action! I am loving this kid, she is so different from her sister, and so out of my range, so her own person.
So, the big sister? We went through a patch with her, a few weeks or more, where everything was a struggle, and we felt like we were yelling at her non stop, which we probably were. And now, just in time, with four years old in our sights, she is so grown up and agreeable. She is solicitous of her sister in a new way. She says OK when we ask her to do something, and then does it. She talks about her angry feelings in good ways - "I am so angry that I am going to stamp my foot at you!" She still threatens to tell on me, which I never get tired of. But overall, she's measuring up to four pretty well, I think.
Here's an anecdote that is too tortuous to post, so of course I'm going to. Jim gave the girls some applesauce, but only the tiniest trace. I insisted they have more- it's applesauce. He said, do you know how much sugar is in this stuff? I said, no, I buy the no-sugar kind. This is the kind of thing that passes for an argument in our house. Good stuff. We are getting deep into it about whether the kind of sugar in fruit is identical to just spooning it out the sugar bowl, and whether applesauce is basically the same as fruit, blah, blah, blah, and Naomi, who has been amusing us for weeks with this song about some raw food item sitting on the railroad tracks feeling this and that, and around the bend comes number ten, Choo Choo, processed food (tomato becomes spaghetti sauce, banana becomes banana split), pipes up with a verse- Apple sits on the railroad track, feeling lonely and lost (or something, I don't know- that sounds too depressing for a kids' song?), Around the bend comes the Number 10, Choo Choo! Applesauce! Then she says, See? No sugar! Just applesauce! She is totally on my side.
I think I have already mentioned this, maybe more than once, but Muriel is very, very, wait for it... IMPATIENT!! She cannot wait for anything. When she was a baby, and it was time to nurse, she would see that it was time, and then start to fuss and cry because things weren't moving fast enough for her. In the car now, when we are driving together, I offer to sing songs for her, and she agrees, and then once I start singing, she says, No! No! Not that one! And then she goes into one of her unintelligible but very earnest monologues, from which I attempt to suss out the song request, and I say, Itsy Bitsy Spider? ABCs? Doe, a Deer? The Bumblebee one? And no matter what she says she wanted, if I start to sing, she objects. Maybe she just doesn't like my singing?
It is on my mind because it happened again tonight, when I was reading her some stories before bed. I cannot turn the pages fast enough for her. And even though she picked the book, she is ready to quit the thing before it's done. The girl needs action! Constant action! I am loving this kid, she is so different from her sister, and so out of my range, so her own person.
So, the big sister? We went through a patch with her, a few weeks or more, where everything was a struggle, and we felt like we were yelling at her non stop, which we probably were. And now, just in time, with four years old in our sights, she is so grown up and agreeable. She is solicitous of her sister in a new way. She says OK when we ask her to do something, and then does it. She talks about her angry feelings in good ways - "I am so angry that I am going to stamp my foot at you!" She still threatens to tell on me, which I never get tired of. But overall, she's measuring up to four pretty well, I think.
Here's an anecdote that is too tortuous to post, so of course I'm going to. Jim gave the girls some applesauce, but only the tiniest trace. I insisted they have more- it's applesauce. He said, do you know how much sugar is in this stuff? I said, no, I buy the no-sugar kind. This is the kind of thing that passes for an argument in our house. Good stuff. We are getting deep into it about whether the kind of sugar in fruit is identical to just spooning it out the sugar bowl, and whether applesauce is basically the same as fruit, blah, blah, blah, and Naomi, who has been amusing us for weeks with this song about some raw food item sitting on the railroad tracks feeling this and that, and around the bend comes number ten, Choo Choo, processed food (tomato becomes spaghetti sauce, banana becomes banana split), pipes up with a verse- Apple sits on the railroad track, feeling lonely and lost (or something, I don't know- that sounds too depressing for a kids' song?), Around the bend comes the Number 10, Choo Choo! Applesauce! Then she says, See? No sugar! Just applesauce! She is totally on my side.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Party!!
Today's post will be shorter and more boring than usual. Reasons: I cut my finger and have a big dumb bandaid on it, which is making typing a little weird. Also, I have a party to prepare for! Naomi turns four this Friday, and I am totally over planning and overdoing things in an effort to accommodate her jones for princess crap without technically giving in and doing a full princess whatever. So we're leaning toward "fairy tales," which gave me a lot of ideas, all of which I am attempting to enact, and you know that means trouble. Yes, I am in for it. So I have to get back to painting the beanstalk. Ha. Am I kidding or not?
Oh, and for Lent, I will be giving up Freecell. That's all I have lined up so far. Wish me luck.
Oh, and for Lent, I will be giving up Freecell. That's all I have lined up so far. Wish me luck.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Five Things Muriel Has Attempted to Eat in the Last Day
5. Store receipt.
4. Uncooked rice.
3. Blue marker.
2. Small notebook.
1. Unidentified Super Gross Object from our backyard that may have been a garden tomato, vintage summer 2008.
4. Uncooked rice.
3. Blue marker.
2. Small notebook.
1. Unidentified Super Gross Object from our backyard that may have been a garden tomato, vintage summer 2008.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Oh Happy Day
First let me say that I cannot believe how good Jerry Lewis looks. Yes, I am watching the Oscars, only for a few minutes now, and not for much longer (Amazing Race, Amazing Race!). That is NOT what is making this a happy day...no. The happiness we feel today here in the Khooler household has everything to do with a certain guy who had... a birthday today! And since he is the only guy in the house, it's probably not hard to guess who I'm talking about.
In my family of origin, the birthday tradition, besides that you get to pick what Mom cooks for dinner and what kind of cake and ice cream you get, was my dad telling the story of when you were born. I like this tradition, and we have been doing it in our family, with the variation that I am likely going to be the storyteller, to save Jim from a thousand interruptions and interjections. So I asked about his birth story today, and here's what we got: he was born at 10 pm, or thereabouts, the doctor was British, and he popped out a moment after his mom got to the hospital. Come to think of it, I remember his mom telling me what an easy birth his had been.
In the morning, we went to Salty's for brunch with our friends. Yum! I let Naomi pick her own dessert (out of the ridiculous twenty choices), and she chose the chocolate mousse in a chocolate cup. It wasn't until she was halfway through the mousse that she realized the cup was also food, or, as she said, "Daddy, daddy, the cup is also for eating!" This was definitely the most chocolate she has ever had at one sitting. Woo!
I have to give myself a big hearty pat on the back for Jim's present. He is hard to buy for for two reasons. The main one is that he pretty much provides for himself. The secondary one is that he is an amazingly good guesser, so if I try to surprise him with something, for some reason, he manages to guess every time. Crazy making! This time I bought him a super rad retro track jacket with his favorite FIFA team- Deutschland! Hee. He didn't guess. Woo!
We are grateful Jim was born. Thanks, Universe! Anyway, it's his birthday, he wants the computer back, so, time to sign off. Have a great week!
In my family of origin, the birthday tradition, besides that you get to pick what Mom cooks for dinner and what kind of cake and ice cream you get, was my dad telling the story of when you were born. I like this tradition, and we have been doing it in our family, with the variation that I am likely going to be the storyteller, to save Jim from a thousand interruptions and interjections. So I asked about his birth story today, and here's what we got: he was born at 10 pm, or thereabouts, the doctor was British, and he popped out a moment after his mom got to the hospital. Come to think of it, I remember his mom telling me what an easy birth his had been.
In the morning, we went to Salty's for brunch with our friends. Yum! I let Naomi pick her own dessert (out of the ridiculous twenty choices), and she chose the chocolate mousse in a chocolate cup. It wasn't until she was halfway through the mousse that she realized the cup was also food, or, as she said, "Daddy, daddy, the cup is also for eating!" This was definitely the most chocolate she has ever had at one sitting. Woo!
I have to give myself a big hearty pat on the back for Jim's present. He is hard to buy for for two reasons. The main one is that he pretty much provides for himself. The secondary one is that he is an amazingly good guesser, so if I try to surprise him with something, for some reason, he manages to guess every time. Crazy making! This time I bought him a super rad retro track jacket with his favorite FIFA team- Deutschland! Hee. He didn't guess. Woo!
We are grateful Jim was born. Thanks, Universe! Anyway, it's his birthday, he wants the computer back, so, time to sign off. Have a great week!
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Get a Move On
Maybe it's because I feel like I have been sick for a hundred years (only two weeks), and haven't been exercising at all, and haven't been doing much of anything, but I have started to develop this notion that it is time for me to take on some new thing, some new physical activity. I have this feeling of yearning, almost, for that feeling when you are engaging your whole physical self in an activity, and your body is becoming conditioned to it, though still tired out by it. It can be a sport (though it's been a long time since I played any team sports- twelve years?), or a single-person activity, like going on a long bike ride, or even having one of those back-breaking yard work days (or Habitat for Humanity days, though it's been a while for that, too).
I don't know what it's going to be- more running, more yoga? Maybe. But I think it would be good to find something new to try. If you have something you do that you would like to recommend, I am all ears. When this cold is over, I am raring to go.
I don't know what it's going to be- more running, more yoga? Maybe. But I think it would be good to find something new to try. If you have something you do that you would like to recommend, I am all ears. When this cold is over, I am raring to go.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Doctor. Doctor. Doctor. Doctor.
If this movie quote sounds familiar to you, then maybe you were one of the many who watched Spies Like Us a hundred years ago. Or maybe you started watching it some recent forlorn weekend night on Netflix's "Watch Instantly" joint, until your husband fell asleep and the battery on your laptop ran out of juice. Not that I know anyone who falls into that category.
Today I went to the doctor, not to be outdone by my perfectly healthy (or, only slightly erkaeltet) (erkaeltet is a German word that means stricken by a cold- good word, right?) toddler. I have had a cold for a week and a half, but it has the unique feature of a super sore throat that will not go away. Usually that action abates after the first day or so. And we have health insurance, so why not prop up the economy with another co-pay?
The doctor I see regularly (though I wouldn't call it that) I chose based on the location of the office, which is not too far from our house. I kind of liked the first doctor I had there, but then after a long break from medical needs, when I went back, she was gone. So they shuffled me to a new one, who is actually a physician's assistant, but perfectly adequate for the kind of stuff I usually need to visit a doctor for. She seems nice enough. But today when I went in, and had my throat rather briskly swabbed by the nurse, the PA lady said, well, the rapid strep test was negative, but we'll send it off for culture, and in the meantime, I'll call in some antiobiotics.
Really? What could it be if it's not strep? She implied that it's some kind of bacteria, so I may as well get going on the treatment. Um, OK. I guess. The whole interaction with the doctor, or PA, was probably between forty-five seconds and two minutes. I am all for efficiency, but she asked me about my symptoms and then made me open my mouth for a look before I could finish talking. And she didn't tell me what looking at my tonsils made her think of. Leaving me to consider how I look if I say, tell me, Doctor, what do my tonsils make you think of? I never had the chance!
So, doctors of the world, I am on a two-post tear (I promise to let it go after this one)... I am very happy with my kids' doctor, but I am thinking it would not be such a bad thing if I could find a doctor for myself that I really like. I may be a little spoiled by the pediatrician experience, and for that matter the midwife experience, because when you see a doctor fairly regularly, you at least have the impression of some kind of relationship with them. Not so with the local antibiotic dispensary...
And because I keep hearing from my sisters, who, though older than I am, are not THAT much older than I am, about their many many rigorous checkups and ensuing follow up tests and what not. And if I am in line for that kind of stuff, which I guess I am, wouldn't it be best if I had a doctor on deck that I could at least pretend to have some kind of relationship with? Who wants to team with me to actively manage my health, or whatever is said on this subject? Or do I just have to wait until I'm in the nursing home for that?
Do you have a doctor for your own grown-up self that you like? One that at least pretends to remember you from previous visits? How did you find this doctor? Did you luck into it? Or do you have a method for finding a good primary care physician? Do tell...
Today I went to the doctor, not to be outdone by my perfectly healthy (or, only slightly erkaeltet) (erkaeltet is a German word that means stricken by a cold- good word, right?) toddler. I have had a cold for a week and a half, but it has the unique feature of a super sore throat that will not go away. Usually that action abates after the first day or so. And we have health insurance, so why not prop up the economy with another co-pay?
The doctor I see regularly (though I wouldn't call it that) I chose based on the location of the office, which is not too far from our house. I kind of liked the first doctor I had there, but then after a long break from medical needs, when I went back, she was gone. So they shuffled me to a new one, who is actually a physician's assistant, but perfectly adequate for the kind of stuff I usually need to visit a doctor for. She seems nice enough. But today when I went in, and had my throat rather briskly swabbed by the nurse, the PA lady said, well, the rapid strep test was negative, but we'll send it off for culture, and in the meantime, I'll call in some antiobiotics.
Really? What could it be if it's not strep? She implied that it's some kind of bacteria, so I may as well get going on the treatment. Um, OK. I guess. The whole interaction with the doctor, or PA, was probably between forty-five seconds and two minutes. I am all for efficiency, but she asked me about my symptoms and then made me open my mouth for a look before I could finish talking. And she didn't tell me what looking at my tonsils made her think of. Leaving me to consider how I look if I say, tell me, Doctor, what do my tonsils make you think of? I never had the chance!
So, doctors of the world, I am on a two-post tear (I promise to let it go after this one)... I am very happy with my kids' doctor, but I am thinking it would not be such a bad thing if I could find a doctor for myself that I really like. I may be a little spoiled by the pediatrician experience, and for that matter the midwife experience, because when you see a doctor fairly regularly, you at least have the impression of some kind of relationship with them. Not so with the local antibiotic dispensary...
And because I keep hearing from my sisters, who, though older than I am, are not THAT much older than I am, about their many many rigorous checkups and ensuing follow up tests and what not. And if I am in line for that kind of stuff, which I guess I am, wouldn't it be best if I had a doctor on deck that I could at least pretend to have some kind of relationship with? Who wants to team with me to actively manage my health, or whatever is said on this subject? Or do I just have to wait until I'm in the nursing home for that?
Do you have a doctor for your own grown-up self that you like? One that at least pretends to remember you from previous visits? How did you find this doctor? Did you luck into it? Or do you have a method for finding a good primary care physician? Do tell...
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Oh, for Pete's Sake
The last time I had Muriel in for a regular checkup, she had infected ears (of course), but not terribly so, and our beloved regular doctor told me that we should monitor her, and if she seemed worse, get her ears looked at again and maybe go for some antibiotics. We did, she didn't, we didn't.
When Muriel woke up in the middle of the night last night, feverish and miserable, after a week of low-grade cold symptoms, it occurred to me that maybe it would be good to keep her home from school and take her in to get her ears checked, as our doctor is constantly advising us to do. I know I have written before about how normally I wait too long to take my sick kids to the doctor, such that when I get there the doctor gives me signs to look for that will mean I have to rush them across the big lake to the Children's Hospital. So this time, I decided to be a little more proactive.
Except that of course we didn't get our regular doctor, we got whatever doctor they had. And he looked in her ears and told me that she had a little fluid, which is consistent with having a cold. He said that if she had an ear infection, she would be waking up at all hours, miserable, etc. He didn't come out and say, seriously, why did you bring this perky, happy little child in to the doctor's office (she was busying around with the books, evincing not a trace of illness, naturally)? But it was hanging there in the air.
But! But! I am not the parent that brings a kid in for nothing! I have had ear infected kids! They don't always tug on their ears or say, ow, my ears, or wake up in the night crying from it. Both kids are champs at getting infected ears and just keeping mum. At which point, of course, the infection spreads to their lungs and the doctor instructs me to watch how their chest moves when they breathe to make sure they do not need to be rushed straight to the hospital. Wait, I already said that!
I know a lot of people would have plenty to criticize in the way I parent my kids. They are likely right about many things. And about others? Different strokes for different folks. It doesn't really bother me. But there is something about a doctor's opinion that gets to me, effortlessly. I wonder if it will be this way with teachers, too? I guess I am susceptible to authority figures?
This does reinforce for me that our regular doctor is as good as we think she is. Unfortunately, everyone else thinks so too, and getting an appointment with her is well-nigh impossible. I guess I'll have to start predicting illnesses months in advance...
When Muriel woke up in the middle of the night last night, feverish and miserable, after a week of low-grade cold symptoms, it occurred to me that maybe it would be good to keep her home from school and take her in to get her ears checked, as our doctor is constantly advising us to do. I know I have written before about how normally I wait too long to take my sick kids to the doctor, such that when I get there the doctor gives me signs to look for that will mean I have to rush them across the big lake to the Children's Hospital. So this time, I decided to be a little more proactive.
Except that of course we didn't get our regular doctor, we got whatever doctor they had. And he looked in her ears and told me that she had a little fluid, which is consistent with having a cold. He said that if she had an ear infection, she would be waking up at all hours, miserable, etc. He didn't come out and say, seriously, why did you bring this perky, happy little child in to the doctor's office (she was busying around with the books, evincing not a trace of illness, naturally)? But it was hanging there in the air.
But! But! I am not the parent that brings a kid in for nothing! I have had ear infected kids! They don't always tug on their ears or say, ow, my ears, or wake up in the night crying from it. Both kids are champs at getting infected ears and just keeping mum. At which point, of course, the infection spreads to their lungs and the doctor instructs me to watch how their chest moves when they breathe to make sure they do not need to be rushed straight to the hospital. Wait, I already said that!
I know a lot of people would have plenty to criticize in the way I parent my kids. They are likely right about many things. And about others? Different strokes for different folks. It doesn't really bother me. But there is something about a doctor's opinion that gets to me, effortlessly. I wonder if it will be this way with teachers, too? I guess I am susceptible to authority figures?
This does reinforce for me that our regular doctor is as good as we think she is. Unfortunately, everyone else thinks so too, and getting an appointment with her is well-nigh impossible. I guess I'll have to start predicting illnesses months in advance...
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Limbically Overprotective
It seems like maybe I have written here before about the thing I read a while back regarding parenting styles...but I can't remember. So I'll just write about it again. I read in this brain development book, the name of which did not stay lodged in my own personal brain, that how our parents parent us actually becomes part of the structure of our brains. The term "limbic system" lingers hazily- I think the style of parenting we get actually gets coded into this system. So when we in turn become parents, we have an inescapable tendency to do it exactly as it was done to us.
This can be terrible, in the case of kids who were treated badly, or it can be great, in the case of kids whose parents really had it right. Usually it's somewhere in between, of course. I love this anecdote in that section of the book, about how in France people are WILD about babies and kids, where instead of rolling their eyes when a family with kids enters the restaurant, they smile and go over and ask if they can hold the baby. Who knows if this is true. But the point was that it is reinforced in each generation by the parenting experiences, and community experiences, received by Les Enfants. And when you think about it, no matter how wrapped up American parents get in their own kids, the public at large over here does seem to have a fairly intolerant view of children. I know I did, before becoming saddled with them. Ha.
Anyway, this is a lot of front matter for the topic I have been thinking about this week, which may sound unrelated at first: videos. We are a family with very little video watching. Wait, that is patently untrue. We are a family in which the little ones do very little video watching. Almost none. They both watched the presidential and vice presidential debates (not closely, but you know). They have seen some of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade. They watched the inauguration, or a bit of it. They have seen many of the songs in The Sound of Music (when Naomi was smaller, she feared the goatherd puppets, but Muriel cannot get enough of them), and a few in The Little Mermaid. Naomi has seen The Wizard of Oz. They have seen probably two episodes of some PBS show or other. That's about it, I think. Oh, some youtube movies of old School House Rock cartoons, and the weird "Teaser and Firecat" video for Cat Stevens' Moonshadow. I think I have covered it all.
Now, occasionally, when we pick Naomi up from her preschool, which is "Montessori-inspired" and kind of all that, she and her homies are parked in front of a video. I am not all up in arms about this- I am sure they are not watching Friday the Thirteenth or anything. They watch movies that are ostensibly for kids, like the Rugrats something or other, and Ants, to name two recent ones. But I didn't expect, when I drifted into THE EXACT SAME EXTREME SHIELDING BEHAVIOR that my own mother practiced on me, that it would be her preschool that would offer the alternative. I thought we would work up to a healthy level of media consumption for her, and try to make it no big deal, but still have some say over what she sees.
What on earth am I trying to protect my precious little ones from? Lots, really, but straight up (yes, I have been watching AI): We try not to be mean and sarcastic in our house (er, in front of the kids). Frequently, kids in shows and characters in kids' shows are mean and sarcastic. Even the "heroes" of the shows. Even in little kids shows. And there HAVE to be bad guys. Which I get, that's the grand narrative, good vs. evil, but if you didn't know how to be mean or be bad, and then you got to watch a bunch of grasshoppers be mean and bad to a bunch of ants, well, now you do know!
I do not have to re-read that last paragraph to know I sound like a crazy person. There is plenty of good programming out there that is super kid-appropriate, and when Muriel clears the AAP no-screen-time recommended age, there will be much more relaxed attitudes about media consumption, I guess. I don't want them to be the TV-starved nerd I was, who would rather watch TV than do any other fun things when I visited friends with more lax viewership rules. It is on me to research some videos that they can enjoy without having their precious preciousness besmirched or whatever. But really, at preschool....maybe they could just put some Sesame Street in the DVD? Is that too much to ask? I'm thinking about asking.
This can be terrible, in the case of kids who were treated badly, or it can be great, in the case of kids whose parents really had it right. Usually it's somewhere in between, of course. I love this anecdote in that section of the book, about how in France people are WILD about babies and kids, where instead of rolling their eyes when a family with kids enters the restaurant, they smile and go over and ask if they can hold the baby. Who knows if this is true. But the point was that it is reinforced in each generation by the parenting experiences, and community experiences, received by Les Enfants. And when you think about it, no matter how wrapped up American parents get in their own kids, the public at large over here does seem to have a fairly intolerant view of children. I know I did, before becoming saddled with them. Ha.
Anyway, this is a lot of front matter for the topic I have been thinking about this week, which may sound unrelated at first: videos. We are a family with very little video watching. Wait, that is patently untrue. We are a family in which the little ones do very little video watching. Almost none. They both watched the presidential and vice presidential debates (not closely, but you know). They have seen some of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade. They watched the inauguration, or a bit of it. They have seen many of the songs in The Sound of Music (when Naomi was smaller, she feared the goatherd puppets, but Muriel cannot get enough of them), and a few in The Little Mermaid. Naomi has seen The Wizard of Oz. They have seen probably two episodes of some PBS show or other. That's about it, I think. Oh, some youtube movies of old School House Rock cartoons, and the weird "Teaser and Firecat" video for Cat Stevens' Moonshadow. I think I have covered it all.
Now, occasionally, when we pick Naomi up from her preschool, which is "Montessori-inspired" and kind of all that, she and her homies are parked in front of a video. I am not all up in arms about this- I am sure they are not watching Friday the Thirteenth or anything. They watch movies that are ostensibly for kids, like the Rugrats something or other, and Ants, to name two recent ones. But I didn't expect, when I drifted into THE EXACT SAME EXTREME SHIELDING BEHAVIOR that my own mother practiced on me, that it would be her preschool that would offer the alternative. I thought we would work up to a healthy level of media consumption for her, and try to make it no big deal, but still have some say over what she sees.
What on earth am I trying to protect my precious little ones from? Lots, really, but straight up (yes, I have been watching AI): We try not to be mean and sarcastic in our house (er, in front of the kids). Frequently, kids in shows and characters in kids' shows are mean and sarcastic. Even the "heroes" of the shows. Even in little kids shows. And there HAVE to be bad guys. Which I get, that's the grand narrative, good vs. evil, but if you didn't know how to be mean or be bad, and then you got to watch a bunch of grasshoppers be mean and bad to a bunch of ants, well, now you do know!
I do not have to re-read that last paragraph to know I sound like a crazy person. There is plenty of good programming out there that is super kid-appropriate, and when Muriel clears the AAP no-screen-time recommended age, there will be much more relaxed attitudes about media consumption, I guess. I don't want them to be the TV-starved nerd I was, who would rather watch TV than do any other fun things when I visited friends with more lax viewership rules. It is on me to research some videos that they can enjoy without having their precious preciousness besmirched or whatever. But really, at preschool....maybe they could just put some Sesame Street in the DVD? Is that too much to ask? I'm thinking about asking.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Tiny Little Thing
It is a bad idea to wait until the very end of the night and have absolutely nothing in mind when you sit down to try to fulfill your pledge. Yikes. All I can think of a story that is so sweet to me, yet will probably be right over the edge into the treacle pond for you. But whatever.
Naomi and I say the same prayer every night, where we think about what we are thankful for during the day that has just ended. I tend to contribute most of the things. Lately she has been saying weird stuff, like, thank you for all the people in wheelchairs (?). I think she's praying for them, not being thankful for them, but what do I know? Anyway, I am coming off a fairly bad cold, and just starting to feel better, and last night when we prayed, she said the thing she was thankful for was that I was feeling better. Aw!
I know it sounds like I am giving her an awful lot of credit for a small gesture, but it's more than just that she evinced some concern for me. She is thinking more, putting things together more. Watching little brains grow right before your eyes is definitely a perk of parenthood...
Naomi and I say the same prayer every night, where we think about what we are thankful for during the day that has just ended. I tend to contribute most of the things. Lately she has been saying weird stuff, like, thank you for all the people in wheelchairs (?). I think she's praying for them, not being thankful for them, but what do I know? Anyway, I am coming off a fairly bad cold, and just starting to feel better, and last night when we prayed, she said the thing she was thankful for was that I was feeling better. Aw!
I know it sounds like I am giving her an awful lot of credit for a small gesture, but it's more than just that she evinced some concern for me. She is thinking more, putting things together more. Watching little brains grow right before your eyes is definitely a perk of parenthood...
Monday, February 16, 2009
I Am a Pizza
Naomi learned a song at school that seems to be stuck in her head but good, and she's been singing it for two weeks (when she's not singing "A You're Adorable"). It goes a little something like this: I am a pizza, I am a pizza, with extra cheese, with extra cheese, rock tomatoes, rock tomatoes, sausage please, sausage please.
I am not sure what the real line is for the rock tomatoes part. Anybody know this song? The best part is that she'll be minding her own business, playing around in the other room, whatever, and all of a sudden I'll hear a resounding chorus... "I AM A PIZZA, I AM A PIZZA!"
I was telling my friend the other day that I am thinking of having a t-shirt made for Muriel that says "I Do That!" That is her big sentence, which I like for a few reasons. One, check her out with her complete sentence, more or less. Two, check her out with her pronoun or whatever that is in that sentence. Third, she says it all the time, I mean fifty times a day, because she wants to do EVERYTHING. Whatever she sees someone doing, she is ready to to give it a go. I envision us having that lecture with some future her where we say "If the cool kids all said they were going to jump off a cliff, would you do it?" and having her say, "I do that! I do that!"
Although my friend pointed out that if we are lucky, Naomi will be a big giant nerd of some variety or other, and Muriel will trail along behind her joining the marching band and going to poetry slams or whatever. I am a pizza with extra cheese! Fingers crossed!
I am not sure what the real line is for the rock tomatoes part. Anybody know this song? The best part is that she'll be minding her own business, playing around in the other room, whatever, and all of a sudden I'll hear a resounding chorus... "I AM A PIZZA, I AM A PIZZA!"
I was telling my friend the other day that I am thinking of having a t-shirt made for Muriel that says "I Do That!" That is her big sentence, which I like for a few reasons. One, check her out with her complete sentence, more or less. Two, check her out with her pronoun or whatever that is in that sentence. Third, she says it all the time, I mean fifty times a day, because she wants to do EVERYTHING. Whatever she sees someone doing, she is ready to to give it a go. I envision us having that lecture with some future her where we say "If the cool kids all said they were going to jump off a cliff, would you do it?" and having her say, "I do that! I do that!"
Although my friend pointed out that if we are lucky, Naomi will be a big giant nerd of some variety or other, and Muriel will trail along behind her joining the marching band and going to poetry slams or whatever. I am a pizza with extra cheese! Fingers crossed!
Sunday, February 15, 2009
A Squared Plus B Squared...
I know you have been wondering how my gig as the head Sunday school teacher went. What? You weren't? You haven't been thinking about it all weekend?
Well, it went OK. I read through the lesson plan about fifty times Saturday night. This month the theme is parables, and this week's parable is the one where the woman loses a coin, searches her whole house, lights a lamp, sweeps the floor, finally finds it, then calls her friends and has a party. There are always art project type activities, and I went with the coin rubbing option (fun, right?) and didn't do any preparation for the alternative (the coin headband), because it involved glitter glue, which I don't have, and punching out the coins from the class materials, which I didn't have, because they're in the Sunday school room.
But the coin rubbing thing did NOT go well. The kids barely got circles out of their rubbings. They thought it was boring. And because I didn't get there early enough, I didn't get to punch out and assemble the other class materials. So the cute little booklet they normally get didn't go home with them.
On the plus side, the assistant brought excellent snack: slices of cheddar cheese, apple slices, and Ritz crackers. That took the kids a good long time to eat. The part where I read them the actual story, with coin counting went well. We sang a song with movements (lighting a lamp, sweeping a floor, finding the coin, calling our friends), then we all passed the coin around and whoever had it, we said their name and said they were important to God.
Of course, this is the kind of tricky part. The whole point of the coin story is that even though there are billions of people, when even one turns to God, or returns to God, there is celebration in Heaven. We are each that special to God. And this is a sticky point in my own admittedly shaky theology. This is not the space to untangle things, no doubt, and I don't feel weird telling three and four year olds that they are important to God. I don't know. It kind of reminded me of when I was substitute teacher in a math class and taught a bunch of high school students the pythagorean theorem. It wasn't my specialty, but we worked it out.
Happy Presidents Day!
Well, it went OK. I read through the lesson plan about fifty times Saturday night. This month the theme is parables, and this week's parable is the one where the woman loses a coin, searches her whole house, lights a lamp, sweeps the floor, finally finds it, then calls her friends and has a party. There are always art project type activities, and I went with the coin rubbing option (fun, right?) and didn't do any preparation for the alternative (the coin headband), because it involved glitter glue, which I don't have, and punching out the coins from the class materials, which I didn't have, because they're in the Sunday school room.
But the coin rubbing thing did NOT go well. The kids barely got circles out of their rubbings. They thought it was boring. And because I didn't get there early enough, I didn't get to punch out and assemble the other class materials. So the cute little booklet they normally get didn't go home with them.
On the plus side, the assistant brought excellent snack: slices of cheddar cheese, apple slices, and Ritz crackers. That took the kids a good long time to eat. The part where I read them the actual story, with coin counting went well. We sang a song with movements (lighting a lamp, sweeping a floor, finding the coin, calling our friends), then we all passed the coin around and whoever had it, we said their name and said they were important to God.
Of course, this is the kind of tricky part. The whole point of the coin story is that even though there are billions of people, when even one turns to God, or returns to God, there is celebration in Heaven. We are each that special to God. And this is a sticky point in my own admittedly shaky theology. This is not the space to untangle things, no doubt, and I don't feel weird telling three and four year olds that they are important to God. I don't know. It kind of reminded me of when I was substitute teacher in a math class and taught a bunch of high school students the pythagorean theorem. It wasn't my specialty, but we worked it out.
Happy Presidents Day!
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Let Me Call You Sweetheart...
For any readers that were not also high school compatriots of mine, did your high school also have that thing where on Valentine's day the choir kids came around and delivered singing telegrams? You could get "Let Me Call You Sweetheart," or "Friendship, Friendship, Such a Perfect Blendship," (I don't actually know if there's a title to that one, but I know it was on "I Love Lucy") and then one for the teachers that maybe was an original composition. The teacher one was kind of insulting, mentioned the teacher being stupid and mean, and dressing badly. Classy!
I can't remember now whether the carnations were a separate deal- I think they were. I think you could buy a carnation for a dollar or something like that, and you got to write the tag, and someone (Interact? The Letterman's Club? Student Council?) bought and delivered the measly carnations. I'm sure the teachers LOVED Valentine's Day, what with all the singing telegrams and carnation deliveries and insane mylar balloons (I'm looking at you, T. B.!). I loved it, that's for sure. I always managed to squeak out a carnation. What's not to love?
When I was a kid, I remember being amazed when I would get up on Valentine's Day and find some kind of very unexpected decorations, and at dinner, a cake! With pink frosting! It wasn't a big deal, but it was sweet. I think it is thanks to my mom that I have always liked Valentine's Day, and I think of it as a fun day to let everyone you love know it. Not that I haven't exerted undue pressure on actual sweethearts of long ago to stage a proper display. But you know, for the most part, it's not like that.
So, our Valentine's Day? Last night Jim made me a wonderful dinner, after the girls went to bed. It was tasty, and fun, and thrilling to eat food entirely with utensils, not having to share it and not having sticky fingers. We should do that more often! Today I gave the girls these heart owl pillows I made (the design for which I totally ripped off from Target- I would have bought them, Target, but you only had them in January and I wasn't allowed to buy anything that month!), and we had heart-shaped muffins. And tonight we went to our dear friends' house for some pizza and heart shaped jello jigglers. If you haven't had jello in a while, I recommend the strawberry banana...
Anyway, Happy Valentine's Day! And love to you from the Khoolers...
I can't remember now whether the carnations were a separate deal- I think they were. I think you could buy a carnation for a dollar or something like that, and you got to write the tag, and someone (Interact? The Letterman's Club? Student Council?) bought and delivered the measly carnations. I'm sure the teachers LOVED Valentine's Day, what with all the singing telegrams and carnation deliveries and insane mylar balloons (I'm looking at you, T. B.!). I loved it, that's for sure. I always managed to squeak out a carnation. What's not to love?
When I was a kid, I remember being amazed when I would get up on Valentine's Day and find some kind of very unexpected decorations, and at dinner, a cake! With pink frosting! It wasn't a big deal, but it was sweet. I think it is thanks to my mom that I have always liked Valentine's Day, and I think of it as a fun day to let everyone you love know it. Not that I haven't exerted undue pressure on actual sweethearts of long ago to stage a proper display. But you know, for the most part, it's not like that.
So, our Valentine's Day? Last night Jim made me a wonderful dinner, after the girls went to bed. It was tasty, and fun, and thrilling to eat food entirely with utensils, not having to share it and not having sticky fingers. We should do that more often! Today I gave the girls these heart owl pillows I made (the design for which I totally ripped off from Target- I would have bought them, Target, but you only had them in January and I wasn't allowed to buy anything that month!), and we had heart-shaped muffins. And tonight we went to our dear friends' house for some pizza and heart shaped jello jigglers. If you haven't had jello in a while, I recommend the strawberry banana...
Anyway, Happy Valentine's Day! And love to you from the Khoolers...
Friday, February 13, 2009
We Have Something To Say
Ah, Fridays. After a long week, the girls are always a little raggedy. Naomi had a crisis when Muriel wanted to share lap space with her (and, to be fair, tore her little red Valentine bag), and there was a brief interlude of wailing. Her cheap seasonal clothing item was coming apart on only the second wear, and she insisted on wearing her heart sweatpants that are still too big for her. And then Muriel- her teachers think it's fun to let the kids play in flour, so occasionally when we pick her up, her scalp is well-floured, and she looks like a high school drama student with the gray spray, playing an elderly cast member in "Our Town."
That's the setup for this clip - Naomi has a clear message for you all, and Muriel clearly knows what she is saying, even if we don't...
That's the setup for this clip - Naomi has a clear message for you all, and Muriel clearly knows what she is saying, even if we don't...
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Charmingly Childlike Sloppy Spatula Work
I am trying hard not to just post any old thing to meet my daily dose of posting, but it is not looking too good for Thursday night here. I am sick, it is late, I am way behind in my over-ambitious Valentines sewing project (I know!) for some little Valentines of mine, and really, you get what you get.
Speaking of Valentines goodies, tonight after dinner Naomi and I made some slice and bake cookies into roll, cutout, and bake cookies. It was mildly disastrous; the dough was sticky, we used a really big heart-shaped cookie cutter, and rolled the dough too thin. The cookies were goopy and several of them disintegrated on the way from pan to cooling rack. On the plus side, when Naomi tells her teachers that she helped her mom make cookies for them for Valentine's day, they are going to think I am a super mom who lets her kid really participate, when in fact her job was spooning more flour onto the rolling pin in an effort to keep the giant clumps of dough from sticking and sprinkling way too much red sugar on the top before they went into the oven. The charmingly childlike sloppy spatula work is all Mom, ladies.
Oh well. I am for once genuinely too sick to go to work, I think, and I am still going to go tomorrow so I don't miss out on DITA training! DITA DITA DITA! Yeah! I was just thinking about how rare it is for me to have fun at work, but now, DITA training! Whee! Alright, good night. Tomorrow will be better, I promise.
Speaking of Valentines goodies, tonight after dinner Naomi and I made some slice and bake cookies into roll, cutout, and bake cookies. It was mildly disastrous; the dough was sticky, we used a really big heart-shaped cookie cutter, and rolled the dough too thin. The cookies were goopy and several of them disintegrated on the way from pan to cooling rack. On the plus side, when Naomi tells her teachers that she helped her mom make cookies for them for Valentine's day, they are going to think I am a super mom who lets her kid really participate, when in fact her job was spooning more flour onto the rolling pin in an effort to keep the giant clumps of dough from sticking and sprinkling way too much red sugar on the top before they went into the oven. The charmingly childlike sloppy spatula work is all Mom, ladies.
Oh well. I am for once genuinely too sick to go to work, I think, and I am still going to go tomorrow so I don't miss out on DITA training! DITA DITA DITA! Yeah! I was just thinking about how rare it is for me to have fun at work, but now, DITA training! Whee! Alright, good night. Tomorrow will be better, I promise.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Change is Good
I don't have a good framing device for this one, but I really have to remark on two Very Good Changes that we have experienced this week. I will be knocking on wood for the rest of the day, of course, because I don't want to disrupt said changes.
The first is Naomi. The last week or more has been a weird one for us, because Naomi has been...difficult, I guess. Specifically, she enjoys ignoring what we say to her, or returning our requests for her actions or our refusals of her unreasonable requests for our actions with zany threats and declarations of how we have broken her heart or (my favorite) hurt her feelings 100! She likes to put ratings on things. Then suddenly, Monday, the Naomi we know returned, and was sweet and funny and copiously complimentary of our cooking (she is so funny with her compliments to the chef, where does that come from?). She complies with our requests, she's excited about everything. Ahhhh.
When she was a baby, one of my coworkers told me about her theory that when a baby goes through a really fussy patch, it's because their brain is changing, and it's tough for them to deal with. They might be ready to roll over or even just understand more of what's going on. I loved that piece of wisdom, true or not, because it always seems to apply. There's a rough patch, and then the child burns a little brighter on the other side. We just have to be more ready for the rough patches, and keep in mind the reward.
Second, and much more simply, we have Muriel, who was not eating anything at all for days and days. She had a little cold, so perhaps that was affecting her appetite? But no matter what we gave her, even sure fire winners like cheese and bananas and scrambled eggs (no, not all together), she would consume no more than a bite or two. Of the whole meal! She cleverly planned this hunger strike to occur directly after her 18 month checkup, at which we learned her low low weight numbers, thereby ensuring that we would not only notice, but feel mildly panicked.
And then, there was the night of the tortellini. Which I see from reading a previous post in my own blog, was Friday. I don't know what it was about Friday, but the girl ate a LOT of tortellini. Since then, she has had a couple of big meals, and a number of very average-sized ones. Which to worried parents seem like delightfully hearty ones. Huzzah!
One final funny note about Muriel (who is kind of a laugh riot all the time, truth be told). She knows a lot of her body parts, and enjoys, as toddlers do, labeling them, having them labeled for her, and so forth. She LOVES to say "elbow." Who doesn't? And she thinks elbows are generally good fun. The other night on the changing table, she had her arms straight up and was becoming increasingly distressed as she pushed the sleeve of one arm further and further toward her shoulder. Elbow! Elbow! When she is not getting what she wants or expects, Muriel lets you know it! Except that it took me a minute to figure it out- she couldn't find her elbow because her arm was straight. And she wouldn't let me bend it so she could find it. Hee. I can't remember how we finally resolved the case of the missing elbow, but she did eventually bend her arm, and the elbow was found, and there was good cheer all around. Elbow! Elbow!
The first is Naomi. The last week or more has been a weird one for us, because Naomi has been...difficult, I guess. Specifically, she enjoys ignoring what we say to her, or returning our requests for her actions or our refusals of her unreasonable requests for our actions with zany threats and declarations of how we have broken her heart or (my favorite) hurt her feelings 100! She likes to put ratings on things. Then suddenly, Monday, the Naomi we know returned, and was sweet and funny and copiously complimentary of our cooking (she is so funny with her compliments to the chef, where does that come from?). She complies with our requests, she's excited about everything. Ahhhh.
When she was a baby, one of my coworkers told me about her theory that when a baby goes through a really fussy patch, it's because their brain is changing, and it's tough for them to deal with. They might be ready to roll over or even just understand more of what's going on. I loved that piece of wisdom, true or not, because it always seems to apply. There's a rough patch, and then the child burns a little brighter on the other side. We just have to be more ready for the rough patches, and keep in mind the reward.
Second, and much more simply, we have Muriel, who was not eating anything at all for days and days. She had a little cold, so perhaps that was affecting her appetite? But no matter what we gave her, even sure fire winners like cheese and bananas and scrambled eggs (no, not all together), she would consume no more than a bite or two. Of the whole meal! She cleverly planned this hunger strike to occur directly after her 18 month checkup, at which we learned her low low weight numbers, thereby ensuring that we would not only notice, but feel mildly panicked.
And then, there was the night of the tortellini. Which I see from reading a previous post in my own blog, was Friday. I don't know what it was about Friday, but the girl ate a LOT of tortellini. Since then, she has had a couple of big meals, and a number of very average-sized ones. Which to worried parents seem like delightfully hearty ones. Huzzah!
One final funny note about Muriel (who is kind of a laugh riot all the time, truth be told). She knows a lot of her body parts, and enjoys, as toddlers do, labeling them, having them labeled for her, and so forth. She LOVES to say "elbow." Who doesn't? And she thinks elbows are generally good fun. The other night on the changing table, she had her arms straight up and was becoming increasingly distressed as she pushed the sleeve of one arm further and further toward her shoulder. Elbow! Elbow! When she is not getting what she wants or expects, Muriel lets you know it! Except that it took me a minute to figure it out- she couldn't find her elbow because her arm was straight. And she wouldn't let me bend it so she could find it. Hee. I can't remember how we finally resolved the case of the missing elbow, but she did eventually bend her arm, and the elbow was found, and there was good cheer all around. Elbow! Elbow!
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
The Honeymooners
We have been trying to do a better job of using our health club/pool membership, and have been heading over of a Sunday afternoon for a swim. They don't usually last long, as even in the temperate heat of the new natatorium (isn't that a fun word?), little zero percent body fat Muriel gets the quivering blue lip malady after about thirty five minutes. It's fun, though, and Naomi is getting braver with every swim (she hasn't had lessons yet- I think this is the year to start).
Anyway, we were in the tiled hallway outside of the family changing rooms, and I pulled my jeans out of a cubby. My necklace was in the pocket, and it fell out, landed on the hard tile, and shattered. No no no! This was the necklace that Jim bought for me on our honeymoon in Italy. It was glass, a little picture of a tree in a gold ring. I loved it, and I wore it probably three or four days a week. I am genuinely sad about breaking it.
But it did get me thinking about our honeymoon. We couldn't go right after we got married because of some idiotic passport nonsense with a certain country that will remain nameless. So we didn't have our honeymoon until almost a year later. By that time I was already in a family way, which means I didn't get to enjoy the vino, and theoretically wasn't supposed to eat the charcuterie either, but I did bend the rules on that one a little (and on the tiramisu...). And what we lacked in vino, we made up for in gelato. Mmmm.
Anyway, here's a few time travel photos back to 2004...
This is the bridge in Florence where Jim bought me the necklace. Awww.
In Venice Jim went out before sunrise to take some pictures from the water bus. I don't think I went along. This is not the water bus trip where we got cited for not having a current ticket, and had to pay a huge bunch of euros. Grr. It was also not the water bus that we were on when I felt Naomi move for the first time ever. Lots going on in the Venice water bus...
I will never forgive myself for not buying my friend this "hot priests" calendar they were selling at a newsstand in the Rome train station. Sorry!
Ah, carefree travel. See you in retirement.
Anyway, we were in the tiled hallway outside of the family changing rooms, and I pulled my jeans out of a cubby. My necklace was in the pocket, and it fell out, landed on the hard tile, and shattered. No no no! This was the necklace that Jim bought for me on our honeymoon in Italy. It was glass, a little picture of a tree in a gold ring. I loved it, and I wore it probably three or four days a week. I am genuinely sad about breaking it.
But it did get me thinking about our honeymoon. We couldn't go right after we got married because of some idiotic passport nonsense with a certain country that will remain nameless. So we didn't have our honeymoon until almost a year later. By that time I was already in a family way, which means I didn't get to enjoy the vino, and theoretically wasn't supposed to eat the charcuterie either, but I did bend the rules on that one a little (and on the tiramisu...). And what we lacked in vino, we made up for in gelato. Mmmm.
Anyway, here's a few time travel photos back to 2004...
This is the bridge in Florence where Jim bought me the necklace. Awww.
In Venice Jim went out before sunrise to take some pictures from the water bus. I don't think I went along. This is not the water bus trip where we got cited for not having a current ticket, and had to pay a huge bunch of euros. Grr. It was also not the water bus that we were on when I felt Naomi move for the first time ever. Lots going on in the Venice water bus...
I will never forgive myself for not buying my friend this "hot priests" calendar they were selling at a newsstand in the Rome train station. Sorry!Ah, carefree travel. See you in retirement.
Monday, February 09, 2009
The Importance of Play
Although this is not one of my February new month resolutions, I have been thinking that I need to be a little more judicious with the ways in which I waste my time. For example, if I am going to prevent myself from getting ahead at my job because I'm too busy whiling away the hours on the Interwebs, at the very least I should be broadening my horizons, instead of visiting the same four bus stops over and over and over.
Also, because you know I am all about the back story, I should mention that I am particularly drawn to stories about brain science. Fascinating! Did anyone read that story in the New Yorker last year about the "eureka" moment, and how it often happens after you have backed off from trying to puzzle out an answer? (This happened to me the other day, when for no good reason I was trying to recall the name of this cute little town in southern Minnesota where Jim and I had gone to ride bikes and go tubing and read old magazines in the attic room of the sort of charmingly cheesy bed and breakfast one might expect to encounter in southern Minnesota, and I could not remember the name for the life of me, and three hours later, when I was washing someone's compartmentalized dinner plate, it hit me- Lanesboro!) Or the one in the free magazine you get for joining a science museum, about "mirroring" behavior? I wish I could find that magazine. Anyway...
This morning I was late to work because I thought I was going to have to work from home in the morning, because of a snow-related school delay, and just as I drove into the parking ramp, the mid-morning radio show had started. Someone named Jonah Lehrer was the guest, and he was talking about his new book about what happens in our brains when we make a decision, something like that. I didn't hear much of it, but I did hear that he has a blog and also writes for the brain-related arm (what now?) of the online Scientific American magazine. So when I got to work, I branched out a bit and looked up these two sites. Neato!
I have probably written here before about relishing articles that talk about the importance of imaginative free-play, since they are the most affirming thing in the world for lazy parents like myself. I found another one while poking around the Scientific American site: http://www.sciam.com/article.cfm?id=the-serious-need-for-play
I love how one of the experiments gave kids things like three paper clips and a pile of paper towels. If I didn't think Muriel would immediately ingest one of the paper clips, my kids would be performing that experiment tomorrow.
Because I am a little woozy and too lazy to just read what I have already written to see if I might be making the points I think I am making, I am just going to state my points here and now:
Point 1: Please send me any websites you enjoy, preferably with content that will not get me busted at work (one of the mag's blog entries discussed research about homophobic straight men and their response to gay porn; clinical tone aside, there were some danger words on that page!). I need to branch out a bit from Slate, Cuteoverload, CNN, and the occasional foray into Television Without Pity.
Point 2: How do adults participate in imaginative free play? No, for real? I couldn't even imagine myself experiencing any kind of play, but that Lanesboro trip, with the cycling and the tubing and the leisurely strolling, that was some awesome grown up play. I don't think it was imaginative free play, though...
I'm going to have to keep thinking about that one. In the meantime, Happy Monday.
Also, because you know I am all about the back story, I should mention that I am particularly drawn to stories about brain science. Fascinating! Did anyone read that story in the New Yorker last year about the "eureka" moment, and how it often happens after you have backed off from trying to puzzle out an answer? (This happened to me the other day, when for no good reason I was trying to recall the name of this cute little town in southern Minnesota where Jim and I had gone to ride bikes and go tubing and read old magazines in the attic room of the sort of charmingly cheesy bed and breakfast one might expect to encounter in southern Minnesota, and I could not remember the name for the life of me, and three hours later, when I was washing someone's compartmentalized dinner plate, it hit me- Lanesboro!) Or the one in the free magazine you get for joining a science museum, about "mirroring" behavior? I wish I could find that magazine. Anyway...
This morning I was late to work because I thought I was going to have to work from home in the morning, because of a snow-related school delay, and just as I drove into the parking ramp, the mid-morning radio show had started. Someone named Jonah Lehrer was the guest, and he was talking about his new book about what happens in our brains when we make a decision, something like that. I didn't hear much of it, but I did hear that he has a blog and also writes for the brain-related arm (what now?) of the online Scientific American magazine. So when I got to work, I branched out a bit and looked up these two sites. Neato!
I have probably written here before about relishing articles that talk about the importance of imaginative free-play, since they are the most affirming thing in the world for lazy parents like myself. I found another one while poking around the Scientific American site: http://www.sciam.com/article.cfm?id=the-serious-need-for-play
I love how one of the experiments gave kids things like three paper clips and a pile of paper towels. If I didn't think Muriel would immediately ingest one of the paper clips, my kids would be performing that experiment tomorrow.
Because I am a little woozy and too lazy to just read what I have already written to see if I might be making the points I think I am making, I am just going to state my points here and now:
Point 1: Please send me any websites you enjoy, preferably with content that will not get me busted at work (one of the mag's blog entries discussed research about homophobic straight men and their response to gay porn; clinical tone aside, there were some danger words on that page!). I need to branch out a bit from Slate, Cuteoverload, CNN, and the occasional foray into Television Without Pity.
Point 2: How do adults participate in imaginative free play? No, for real? I couldn't even imagine myself experiencing any kind of play, but that Lanesboro trip, with the cycling and the tubing and the leisurely strolling, that was some awesome grown up play. I don't think it was imaginative free play, though...
I'm going to have to keep thinking about that one. In the meantime, Happy Monday.
Sunday, February 08, 2009
In Which We Fight Our Natural Inclinations in the Interest of Parenting, like every other single day
Stupid Jane Austen Masterpiece Theater movies! Always coming on when I have other things to focus on, like my as-yet entirely unformed blog entry. Drat! Doesn't matter that I have seen this version of "Sense and Sensibility" three or four times- I still can't resist it. gaaaah.
This morning, caught in the creative throes of making valentines (which I would have liked to just post a picture of- they were pretty cool, maybe I will still), Naomi declared that she wanted to skip church. My heart leaped a little. Yea! My embarrassing admission: we really like to skip church. But we don't really do it anymore, or rarely do. Which leads me to another, less embarrassing admission, and one that I perhaps should have included in my Facebook 25 random things list (and even that clause has now become an embarrassing admission, considering the amount of scornful press that meme is getting, prominently featuring the word "narcissistic," though, I am writing this in a blog about myself, so, get over it, already, Khooler....): I am a Sunday school teacher. So far, actually, just an assistant Sunday school teacher; I don't lead the lessons, I just serve the snack and chase after the one kid who doesn't dig the mainstream or whatever. Next Sunday I have to be the leader, which means coming up with supplies and getting the activities going and the whole bit. Dread! I mean, Excitement!
So, right, we are now on the hook to go to church more often. And because I miss the sermon on the days we HAVE to be there, I actually kind of want to get back into the pew and hear a little sermonizing on the days I have off from the gig I have weirdly found myself in. Most importantly, of course, is that we would be foolish parents indeed to introduce to Naomi and Muriel our resurgent life philosophy of lazy half-way action. Not that they haven't met it, but you know, church is hardly the thing to treat as a when-convenient occurrence.
I wasn't at Sunday school, but they talked about the Good Samaritan, and role played (yeah!), and Naomi got to pretend she was injured (hence the sweet Cinderella band-aid she was wearing when church was over) and no one would stop to help. Which reminds me that she is convinced that she should be making valentines for sick people, or people in wheelchairs or something (?), and I have to think that was from a lesson at Sunday school too. Hee.
So anyway, the sermon today was something like...maybe you should stop answering the phone and turn off the computer and stop checking your facebook and just be willing to hear whatever other kind of call might be coming for you. Once in a while. This of course is in direct conflict with my new month resolution. There's always next month, though.
This morning, caught in the creative throes of making valentines (which I would have liked to just post a picture of- they were pretty cool, maybe I will still), Naomi declared that she wanted to skip church. My heart leaped a little. Yea! My embarrassing admission: we really like to skip church. But we don't really do it anymore, or rarely do. Which leads me to another, less embarrassing admission, and one that I perhaps should have included in my Facebook 25 random things list (and even that clause has now become an embarrassing admission, considering the amount of scornful press that meme is getting, prominently featuring the word "narcissistic," though, I am writing this in a blog about myself, so, get over it, already, Khooler....): I am a Sunday school teacher. So far, actually, just an assistant Sunday school teacher; I don't lead the lessons, I just serve the snack and chase after the one kid who doesn't dig the mainstream or whatever. Next Sunday I have to be the leader, which means coming up with supplies and getting the activities going and the whole bit. Dread! I mean, Excitement!
So, right, we are now on the hook to go to church more often. And because I miss the sermon on the days we HAVE to be there, I actually kind of want to get back into the pew and hear a little sermonizing on the days I have off from the gig I have weirdly found myself in. Most importantly, of course, is that we would be foolish parents indeed to introduce to Naomi and Muriel our resurgent life philosophy of lazy half-way action. Not that they haven't met it, but you know, church is hardly the thing to treat as a when-convenient occurrence.
I wasn't at Sunday school, but they talked about the Good Samaritan, and role played (yeah!), and Naomi got to pretend she was injured (hence the sweet Cinderella band-aid she was wearing when church was over) and no one would stop to help. Which reminds me that she is convinced that she should be making valentines for sick people, or people in wheelchairs or something (?), and I have to think that was from a lesson at Sunday school too. Hee.
So anyway, the sermon today was something like...maybe you should stop answering the phone and turn off the computer and stop checking your facebook and just be willing to hear whatever other kind of call might be coming for you. Once in a while. This of course is in direct conflict with my new month resolution. There's always next month, though.
Saturday, February 07, 2009
Ladies' Night
I have been meaning to write something about how much I like a particular aspect of Muriel's school. We like Naomi's preschool because the women who teach there are seasoned, trained professionals. They have early childhood education degrees, they know what they're about, and they absolutely know the appropriate way to interact with preschoolers (no sarcasm, just loving, fun, sincere, kind- good good good).
Muriel's school (where Naomi also went as a younger youngster) is a daycare, and employs mostly young people, in a lot of cases young mothers who also have their kids at the center. The aspect I mentioned before has something to do with this- the attitude among these young women seems to be so friendly and supportive. It feels like a really healthy workplace, with a fun camaraderie.
So...it was surprising (and funny!) the other day to hear one of the teachers on the front phone when I was on my way out after dropping off Muriel yesterday. She said, "Right, but last night was ladies' night, and she always goes to ladies' night on Thursday nights. So she calls this morning to say she can't come in because she has pink eye..." (two cases have shown up in the room next to Muriel's) "...and now she knows she can't even drop in, because she knows we will know she doesn't have pink eye."
Ha! I guess not everyone is feeling the love (they're not all young mothers, just to be clear, some of them are just young women). It also made me smile to imagine planning my week, and taking into account which bar had ladies' night on which night of the week. Hmm, let's see, there's Monday night football, then White Wednesdays, Ladies' Night on Thursdays, Funky Fridays, Saturday, obviously, partying, so yeah, that leaves Sunday, or Tuesday. For whatever. Somewhere in there I have to leave time to get married, have kids, and get old. Oh, wait, check check check.
As you probably know, every night is Ladies' Night around here. Yeah, and sometimes things get crazy on Saturday nights at our house.
This would be a sweeter scene if you didn't know that Naomi had already had her yogurt and was being very friendly to Muriel to try to help her little sister learn more about sharing.
Muriel's school (where Naomi also went as a younger youngster) is a daycare, and employs mostly young people, in a lot of cases young mothers who also have their kids at the center. The aspect I mentioned before has something to do with this- the attitude among these young women seems to be so friendly and supportive. It feels like a really healthy workplace, with a fun camaraderie.
So...it was surprising (and funny!) the other day to hear one of the teachers on the front phone when I was on my way out after dropping off Muriel yesterday. She said, "Right, but last night was ladies' night, and she always goes to ladies' night on Thursday nights. So she calls this morning to say she can't come in because she has pink eye..." (two cases have shown up in the room next to Muriel's) "...and now she knows she can't even drop in, because she knows we will know she doesn't have pink eye."
Ha! I guess not everyone is feeling the love (they're not all young mothers, just to be clear, some of them are just young women). It also made me smile to imagine planning my week, and taking into account which bar had ladies' night on which night of the week. Hmm, let's see, there's Monday night football, then White Wednesdays, Ladies' Night on Thursdays, Funky Fridays, Saturday, obviously, partying, so yeah, that leaves Sunday, or Tuesday. For whatever. Somewhere in there I have to leave time to get married, have kids, and get old. Oh, wait, check check check.
As you probably know, every night is Ladies' Night around here. Yeah, and sometimes things get crazy on Saturday nights at our house.
This would be a sweeter scene if you didn't know that Naomi had already had her yogurt and was being very friendly to Muriel to try to help her little sister learn more about sharing.
Friday, February 06, 2009
Friday Night!
I had no time to foment today- it was a crazy workathon day, as work is intended to be, I imagine. We are learning about our big conversion to DITA, and if that interests you, you might be a big giant nerd! Come and speak nerd (markup) language with me! I mention this only because a meeting related to this resulted in my being in the same room with a few coworkers (if you knew how infrequently this happened, in the land of the telecon meeting, you would be astounded), which led to actual chit chat, which led to departmental scuttlebut, and wow, nothing too amazing, really, but it was exciting to experience work gossip in the first person, instead of just as an abstract concept you read about in articles on careerbuilder dot com or whatever.
For home gossip I would like to announce that our little robot dancer was a bad robot last night, in ways that involved a lot of "sass" as our grandmothers might say, a lot of dramatic crying (and that was just from us, ha), and an early bedtime. Tonight, she was a super fantastic robot, kind to her sister, hopping right up to make her grandparents a valentine with no help nor prodding from me, eating a gigantic, nourishing dinner, and feeding the dog on the first request. Must be Friday night, or something. Muriel doesn't know her calendar, so she went about her normal business, spitting out meatballs and throwing zucchini on the ground for the dog to experiment with.
Speaking of Fridays and having no reason whatsoever to complain, I had a glass of wine with my tortellini, and am now sitting on the couch eating the world famous chocolate covered cherry Blizzard from DQ, and getting ready to watch "Burn After Reading," which my Blizzard lackey and life partner thoughtfully brought home from the video rental kiosk at the grocery store during his whole milk run. I think the word you are looking for is "awesome." Yeah, baby.
For home gossip I would like to announce that our little robot dancer was a bad robot last night, in ways that involved a lot of "sass" as our grandmothers might say, a lot of dramatic crying (and that was just from us, ha), and an early bedtime. Tonight, she was a super fantastic robot, kind to her sister, hopping right up to make her grandparents a valentine with no help nor prodding from me, eating a gigantic, nourishing dinner, and feeding the dog on the first request. Must be Friday night, or something. Muriel doesn't know her calendar, so she went about her normal business, spitting out meatballs and throwing zucchini on the ground for the dog to experiment with.
Speaking of Fridays and having no reason whatsoever to complain, I had a glass of wine with my tortellini, and am now sitting on the couch eating the world famous chocolate covered cherry Blizzard from DQ, and getting ready to watch "Burn After Reading," which my Blizzard lackey and life partner thoughtfully brought home from the video rental kiosk at the grocery store during his whole milk run. I think the word you are looking for is "awesome." Yeah, baby.
Thursday, February 05, 2009
Dad, Interrupted
Jim has been known to gently chide me for a repeat social faux pas that is pretty specific to my relationship with him (I hope), which is cutting off a conversation with him several times to acknowledge something one of the kids is saying or doing. This is a bad habit for two big reasons, of course. The first reason is that it is rude to poor Jim, who after all deserves to have a few moments of conversation with his co-adult during a meal, for example. The second reason is that it means I am not teaching the kids (and in particular Naomi) that interrupting is not polite, and that while they are, for all practical purposes, the center of our universe, they still need to wait their turn to speak.
This isn't easy for me, because some channel in me is automatically super-tuned in to the transmitters in both kids. I am always half listening and half-watching them, no matter what I am doing. But I know he's right, so lately I have been making a real effort, when I remember.
The other night we were eating dinner at another vintage mall near us (Bellevue was one of the early bedroom communities/suburbs in the West, and has its share of small, early malls) that features a kind of international food court on steroids. We like the pad see ew from the Thai place (the kids love this noodley dish, and it is full of broccoli), and the "dragon roll" from the sushi place. We start eating, Jim starts telling me an anecdote about work, and Naomi starts talking about something else. I had that ridiculous self-congratulatory moment where I intentionally focused on what Jim was saying, and didn't turn to listen to the kid. Grownups - 1, Kids - 0! But my chanel is only turned down, not off, and it's still picking up the transmission...wait, wha wha what? What did she just say?
I apologized to Jim, turned up the Naomi channel, and asked her to repeat what she had just said. Sure enough! "Today at school we learned the robot dance!" Talk about getting your preschool tuition money's worth, baby! She got down from the chair to demonstrate for us. Robot Dance in the food court! She has done it a few times since then, sometimes with a robot voice saying (how original), "I - am - a - ro - bot." Hee!
Now I'm picturing her teacher thinking, you know, I'm feeling a little stressed out, a little down. The economy is taking its toll. The news isn't good. But you know what would cheer me up? Watching a dozen four-year-olds ROBOT DANCING! Everybody on your feet!
This isn't easy for me, because some channel in me is automatically super-tuned in to the transmitters in both kids. I am always half listening and half-watching them, no matter what I am doing. But I know he's right, so lately I have been making a real effort, when I remember.
The other night we were eating dinner at another vintage mall near us (Bellevue was one of the early bedroom communities/suburbs in the West, and has its share of small, early malls) that features a kind of international food court on steroids. We like the pad see ew from the Thai place (the kids love this noodley dish, and it is full of broccoli), and the "dragon roll" from the sushi place. We start eating, Jim starts telling me an anecdote about work, and Naomi starts talking about something else. I had that ridiculous self-congratulatory moment where I intentionally focused on what Jim was saying, and didn't turn to listen to the kid. Grownups - 1, Kids - 0! But my chanel is only turned down, not off, and it's still picking up the transmission...wait, wha wha what? What did she just say?
I apologized to Jim, turned up the Naomi channel, and asked her to repeat what she had just said. Sure enough! "Today at school we learned the robot dance!" Talk about getting your preschool tuition money's worth, baby! She got down from the chair to demonstrate for us. Robot Dance in the food court! She has done it a few times since then, sometimes with a robot voice saying (how original), "I - am - a - ro - bot." Hee!
Now I'm picturing her teacher thinking, you know, I'm feeling a little stressed out, a little down. The economy is taking its toll. The news isn't good. But you know what would cheer me up? Watching a dozen four-year-olds ROBOT DANCING! Everybody on your feet!
Wednesday, February 04, 2009
The Office
Although it is now clearly an insult to some unfortunately giant percentage of the country to complain about my employment situation, I did want to update the previous post about the move. The move is complete. I am cozily ensconced in my new office, where my new office mate busily clacks away on her keyboard some four feet to my left. And although, on a go-forward basis, as people used to like to say in the sorts of meetings that made attendees pantomime suicide methods to each other, I will make every effort to not complain about my job, I will say that the first week in the new digs was really pretty difficult. There were so many changes, all at once, and none of them felt like good changes.
Our free coffee went away (Wah, I know, but you get used to things...). Our kitchens (four of them) are now one teeny kitchen, with one tiny microwave. The parking ramp near our building is too full, so some of use have been assigned to the one at the very farthest end of the office park (or whatever these places are called). Naturally, I am one of the fortunate far-parkers. I could never find the bathroom, and I spent the first week walking all the way around the outside of the building (2/3 of the circumference) to get to the kitchen, when in fact, it was only 1/3 the circumference away from me in the other direction.
Our office was horribly clogged with the furniture from our previous offices, and the overhead flourescent tubes were not that cheery. Finally, and pathetically, the disparity between the good offices and the bad offices is GIANT. The good offices have windows, and are large and laid out in such a way that it is possible to have two distinct work areas. The bad offices are internal, and often have a post on one wall that makes it impossible to arrange furniture in any logical way. I was feeling bad for being such a baby, then a coworker asked how I was doing with the move, and when I said, "Ehn...", he said, "Yeah, I really felt like crying. The good offices are so much better than the bad offices!" Just knowing I wasn't the only one who felt like shedding some tears about my sucky office made me feel ever so much better.
OK, so, now the good: I have gotten rid of ALL of my furniture with the exception of one corner table and a rolly file cabinet. We have both plugged in our lamps, and no longer rely on the tubes to light our little cave. Now that I know the right way to the kitchen, I no longer have to walk past the REALLY good window offices, the ones that look across Lake Washington to Seattle. (The ones on my side give the much more boring view of the rest of this swanky office park.) The new toaster is SO MUCH BETTER than the old one. And there is a new coffee machine that is fifty cents a cup, which is reasonable. I had my first two cups today- not bad. Oh- and I figured out how to enter the top floor of the parking ramp (which is where we are instructed to park upon pain of death or something) directly from the street, bypassing the fifty office park crosswalks and endless slow driving through the bottom parts of the ramp. It's like the secret Batman entrance, except it's the nice, out in the open one...
Also, my office mate is really nice. She talks to herself as much as I do (though she does it in Chinese, which livens things up). And she brought me a white turnip cake for Chinese New Year (she made it herself), which, in case you find the name troubling, is actually a savory treat that you fry up in a pan and eat with chili sauce, not a desserty, frosting type of cake. She changes her cell phone ring all the time- first it was Mission Impossible, now it's some tropical island music. Fun! Also, someone finally got the joke that it was two Jennys in one office, though of course our temporary signage says Jennifer and Kwok, which kind of kills the humor a bit.
Last but not least, the new office is right on the shore of Lake Washington, and it is not for nothing that this is where the filthy rich in the area choose to inhabit their fantastically beautiful homes. Thanks to the lengthening days, when I leave the far flung parking ramp on days that aren't completely cloudy (two or three since the move), I get to enjoy the sunset over the sailboats in the marina. It's pretty nice. And just yesterday a belligerent raccoon kept me waiting to get across the street to my office (I am not willing to mess with a raccoon that wanders around in broad daylight) in the morning, so, yeah, a nice, natural setting. No raccoons in the building thus far, I'm happy to report.
I'm settled in. I'm done complaining. I am super grateful that I have a job. Amen.
Our free coffee went away (Wah, I know, but you get used to things...). Our kitchens (four of them) are now one teeny kitchen, with one tiny microwave. The parking ramp near our building is too full, so some of use have been assigned to the one at the very farthest end of the office park (or whatever these places are called). Naturally, I am one of the fortunate far-parkers. I could never find the bathroom, and I spent the first week walking all the way around the outside of the building (2/3 of the circumference) to get to the kitchen, when in fact, it was only 1/3 the circumference away from me in the other direction.
Our office was horribly clogged with the furniture from our previous offices, and the overhead flourescent tubes were not that cheery. Finally, and pathetically, the disparity between the good offices and the bad offices is GIANT. The good offices have windows, and are large and laid out in such a way that it is possible to have two distinct work areas. The bad offices are internal, and often have a post on one wall that makes it impossible to arrange furniture in any logical way. I was feeling bad for being such a baby, then a coworker asked how I was doing with the move, and when I said, "Ehn...", he said, "Yeah, I really felt like crying. The good offices are so much better than the bad offices!" Just knowing I wasn't the only one who felt like shedding some tears about my sucky office made me feel ever so much better.
OK, so, now the good: I have gotten rid of ALL of my furniture with the exception of one corner table and a rolly file cabinet. We have both plugged in our lamps, and no longer rely on the tubes to light our little cave. Now that I know the right way to the kitchen, I no longer have to walk past the REALLY good window offices, the ones that look across Lake Washington to Seattle. (The ones on my side give the much more boring view of the rest of this swanky office park.) The new toaster is SO MUCH BETTER than the old one. And there is a new coffee machine that is fifty cents a cup, which is reasonable. I had my first two cups today- not bad. Oh- and I figured out how to enter the top floor of the parking ramp (which is where we are instructed to park upon pain of death or something) directly from the street, bypassing the fifty office park crosswalks and endless slow driving through the bottom parts of the ramp. It's like the secret Batman entrance, except it's the nice, out in the open one...
Also, my office mate is really nice. She talks to herself as much as I do (though she does it in Chinese, which livens things up). And she brought me a white turnip cake for Chinese New Year (she made it herself), which, in case you find the name troubling, is actually a savory treat that you fry up in a pan and eat with chili sauce, not a desserty, frosting type of cake. She changes her cell phone ring all the time- first it was Mission Impossible, now it's some tropical island music. Fun! Also, someone finally got the joke that it was two Jennys in one office, though of course our temporary signage says Jennifer and Kwok, which kind of kills the humor a bit.
Last but not least, the new office is right on the shore of Lake Washington, and it is not for nothing that this is where the filthy rich in the area choose to inhabit their fantastically beautiful homes. Thanks to the lengthening days, when I leave the far flung parking ramp on days that aren't completely cloudy (two or three since the move), I get to enjoy the sunset over the sailboats in the marina. It's pretty nice. And just yesterday a belligerent raccoon kept me waiting to get across the street to my office (I am not willing to mess with a raccoon that wanders around in broad daylight) in the morning, so, yeah, a nice, natural setting. No raccoons in the building thus far, I'm happy to report.
I'm settled in. I'm done complaining. I am super grateful that I have a job. Amen.
Tuesday, February 03, 2009
Target Night
I have referred to Target night once or twice, and since I am cutting it so close, I may as well admit that the reason I haven't posted yet this fine Tuesday (besides that Jim is using the computer to watch back episodes of "Fringe") is that I have been out participating in my now weekly ritual. Here's how it works: we eat dinner, Jim and I get the kids to bed, and then I drive to Target, where I ritualistically search the kids' clothing section, occasionally the dollar bin, often the toiletries, and so forth. Also, my shopping partner almost always needs dogfood and diapers, so, another couple of stops along the way. Of course, the past month this part of the evening was significantly truncated, even skipped altogether. Not buying anything at all makes shopping somewhat less productive and interesting.
This Target store is in a super vintage eighties mall in Bellevue, and in the parking lot of said mall is a Mexican place we will call Torero's, because that is actually its name. This is the real reason for Target night (besides, you know, the diapers and the dogfood). The good people at Torero's know exactly what to bring us- two "small" blended margaritas, one with salt, one without, the chips, the cheese dip. Lately we have also ordered a spinach quesadilla, because a bowl of molten cheese with fried tortilla chips is not myocardially infarcting enough.
And that's it. We drink margaritas, eat chips and cheese, and discuss current events. Our own current events, usually, but whatever.
Tonight I bought a puzzle of the United States for a certain soon-to-be-four-year-old's birthday present, and a couple of scrappy sticker/pen-ish Valentiney gifts for both girls. At Torero's I managed to spill not one but two glasses of water (hic), one squarely in my lap for the classic wet crotch look (sweet). Even the waiter could not resist suggesting I had maybe had too much to drink (this despite knowing exactly how much I had to drink?). But, as always, hooray for Target night!
See you tomorrow!
This Target store is in a super vintage eighties mall in Bellevue, and in the parking lot of said mall is a Mexican place we will call Torero's, because that is actually its name. This is the real reason for Target night (besides, you know, the diapers and the dogfood). The good people at Torero's know exactly what to bring us- two "small" blended margaritas, one with salt, one without, the chips, the cheese dip. Lately we have also ordered a spinach quesadilla, because a bowl of molten cheese with fried tortilla chips is not myocardially infarcting enough.
And that's it. We drink margaritas, eat chips and cheese, and discuss current events. Our own current events, usually, but whatever.
Tonight I bought a puzzle of the United States for a certain soon-to-be-four-year-old's birthday present, and a couple of scrappy sticker/pen-ish Valentiney gifts for both girls. At Torero's I managed to spill not one but two glasses of water (hic), one squarely in my lap for the classic wet crotch look (sweet). Even the waiter could not resist suggesting I had maybe had too much to drink (this despite knowing exactly how much I had to drink?). But, as always, hooray for Target night!
See you tomorrow!
Monday, February 02, 2009
Vermicious K(n)id!
Remember in Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator, when all the elevator doors in the space hotel opened, and the Vermicious Knids spelled out the word "Scram?" Who could forget? For some reason, this series of Naomi performing an improvised gymnastics floor routine in her "kitty corner" made me think of that.
Of course, she's not at all like the bloodthirsty alien life forms in the space hotel. She's actually really nice most of the time.
Her Knid sister had her eighteen month appointment, nearly a month late, last week. She finally broke the twenty pound mark (woo hoo) but is still firmly in the bottom seven percent of weight. She is taller than three quarters of babies, has a bigger head than three quarters of babies, but practically all of them weigh more than her. Jim and I are trying hard not to just give her whatever food we think she will eat, especially because Naomi is so razor sharp these days, we can't put anything over on her (more on this in another post). She will not let us get away with heaping "treats" (like graham crackers) on her sister if she's not getting any. This despite enjoying many slightly more grown-up treats herself that Muriel doesn't get. Although, come to think of it, a Byerly's Killer Brownie would probably fatten Muriel right up! It worked for me.
Of course, she's not at all like the bloodthirsty alien life forms in the space hotel. She's actually really nice most of the time.
Her Knid sister had her eighteen month appointment, nearly a month late, last week. She finally broke the twenty pound mark (woo hoo) but is still firmly in the bottom seven percent of weight. She is taller than three quarters of babies, has a bigger head than three quarters of babies, but practically all of them weigh more than her. Jim and I are trying hard not to just give her whatever food we think she will eat, especially because Naomi is so razor sharp these days, we can't put anything over on her (more on this in another post). She will not let us get away with heaping "treats" (like graham crackers) on her sister if she's not getting any. This despite enjoying many slightly more grown-up treats herself that Muriel doesn't get. Although, come to think of it, a Byerly's Killer Brownie would probably fatten Muriel right up! It worked for me.
Sunday, February 01, 2009
Happy New Month!
I decided (defaulted) this year that I would not so much make a bunch of New Year's resolutions (because I had so many in mind), but just line up one or two, and then try everything else out for a month. January's thing was not buying anything new. Groceries don't count, toiletries don't count. Everything else was off limits. Jim also joined in the fun, so for a month, the only thing we bought besides food stuff was diaper ointment and dental floss. And in the interest of full disclosure, gum. I was going to give him an exemption when he flew to Minnesota for a few days last week and couldn't find his gloves, but he didn't end up buying a pair for whatever crazy reason.
It was a good exercise for us. We are not zillionaires, but we have enough money that we don't think too much about a myriad of minor purchases (which goes a long way to prevent us from reaching our goal of becoming zillionaires). One month is not long enough, of course, to start figuring out how to go all out, buying solely thrift store clothes (which used to be my favorite thing to do) and joining the local freecycle group. Doing it for a month means you just wait out anything that seems like a need until you are "allowed" to buy stuff again. It doesn't help that the message the media is sending is that we are hurting the economy by saving our money ("Loud and clear!" says Jim). So while I will actually go to Target on Target nights now, instead of straight to Torero's for margaritas and cheese dip, I am a lot less likely to go in with no list and come out with a full cart.
What is February's resolution? It's not a not-do, it's a do. There are some things that I am going to try to do every single day. One of those things is putting up a blog post. Every day! So the usual questionable quality of these posts is guaranteed to plummet. Whatever. I am looking forward to seeing if just resolving on a short term basis is enough to make me take action, as it was when my goal was stopping action. Wish me luck.
And now, with the audacity of Hemmingway in "The Snows of Kilimanjaro," I will waste a perfectly good distinct post topic by adding here that I will also be needing a lobotomy to get a song out of my head that has been helpfully taught to my child by her well-trained educators. Do you know this song? "A, you're adorable. B, you're so beautiful. C, you're a cutie full of charms..." It is a cloying song of the sort sung by an irritating child in a cinematic small-town talent show. Nevertheless, if I can get a video of Naomi singing the whole thing, and can somehow shrink that video down small enough where I can actually post it, you WILL be joining me at the lobotomy shop.
It was a good exercise for us. We are not zillionaires, but we have enough money that we don't think too much about a myriad of minor purchases (which goes a long way to prevent us from reaching our goal of becoming zillionaires). One month is not long enough, of course, to start figuring out how to go all out, buying solely thrift store clothes (which used to be my favorite thing to do) and joining the local freecycle group. Doing it for a month means you just wait out anything that seems like a need until you are "allowed" to buy stuff again. It doesn't help that the message the media is sending is that we are hurting the economy by saving our money ("Loud and clear!" says Jim). So while I will actually go to Target on Target nights now, instead of straight to Torero's for margaritas and cheese dip, I am a lot less likely to go in with no list and come out with a full cart.
What is February's resolution? It's not a not-do, it's a do. There are some things that I am going to try to do every single day. One of those things is putting up a blog post. Every day! So the usual questionable quality of these posts is guaranteed to plummet. Whatever. I am looking forward to seeing if just resolving on a short term basis is enough to make me take action, as it was when my goal was stopping action. Wish me luck.
And now, with the audacity of Hemmingway in "The Snows of Kilimanjaro," I will waste a perfectly good distinct post topic by adding here that I will also be needing a lobotomy to get a song out of my head that has been helpfully taught to my child by her well-trained educators. Do you know this song? "A, you're adorable. B, you're so beautiful. C, you're a cutie full of charms..." It is a cloying song of the sort sung by an irritating child in a cinematic small-town talent show. Nevertheless, if I can get a video of Naomi singing the whole thing, and can somehow shrink that video down small enough where I can actually post it, you WILL be joining me at the lobotomy shop.
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