life with WE

To dash or not to dash? That is the question.

Dined and dashed.  Have you ever done it?  Gone to two movies after only paying for one?  Done that?

Yeah, I haven't.  Am I a prude, or too honest?

And if I'm a prude, is it too late to dine and dash?  You know I would totally break down at the door, sobbing, admitting to trying to dine and dash and offer to pay for not only my food but everyone elses.  Because I have a guilty conscience like no other!

These are the questions that perplexed me on the way to the Cardinals game last night with Jason and Julie.  And by the way, Mike, Jason and Julie - they've all done these things.  I mean talk about peer pressure...

And my friends, have any of you dined and dashed while I was with you without my knowledge?  Because I am oblivious like that...

Awesome, as defined by a six year old

Things that are awesome, according to my son, Warren:

• being assigned a seat on the bus with your neighbor
• the bus seat number is five, which is the same number as Albert Pujols
• your first first grader homework assignment
• moving a step up each day because of your good behavior in the classroom
• Tony's cheese pizza for lunch day
• your mom making brownies for you to have after dinner
• the anticipation of the upcoming street Olympics
• the plan of going camping with friends in October

Things that are SO NOT awesome, according to my son, Warren:

• Mike going to the Cardinals game without us
• me going to a pampered chef party without him
• me going to work for my friend last night
• the limit of one pack of gushers fruit snacks per day
• having to take a shower every other night at a minimum
• getting a haircut, specifically, the neck part
• Elaine having friends over to play while he's at school
• Elaine and I running errands while he's at school

Kid Olympics

I'm sad the Olympics are over.  Even if there are some silly events that I'd rather not watch.  So, to combat my sadness, I decided next Sunday that I will host a kid Olympics for the kids on our street.  I had Warren deliver them letters yesterday, informing them of the time, order of events and whatnot.  I instructed each family to make a flag for the opening ceremonies, incorporating their last name into their country's name.  I've ordered make your own medals, and last night Warren and I created runner's bibs out of tvyek envelopes - using only scissors, markers, and number stickers.  Very MacGyver/MacGruber of us, don't you think?

If you were curious, there will be five competitions in our Olympics.  (Mainly because that's all you can fit in when you start at 7:30 pm.)

• the long jump
• shot put (where shot put = water balloon)
• basketball (where basketball = a shootout rather than a game)
• 50ish yard dash
• soccer (where soccer = a timed drill dribbling through cones)

I also told the kids that they will be setting street records for comparison in all future Olympics. If that isn't motivation, I don't know what is.

Also - preschool - starts next Wednesday!  Three mornings a week!  I CAN'T WAIT!

Pheeling like philosophically ditching an Olympic event...or two... or three...

We're knee deep in the summer Olympics.  So, today's Philosophical Phriday question pertains to these games.

I love me some Olympics.  Summer or winter, I don't care.  I love the little stories they tell with the sappy music as we get to know more about the athletes as people.  I love the triumphs, the heartbreak, the athleticism, the sportsmanship - all of it.  But I have to say, when I turn on the Olympics and it's something like handball, I get aggravated.  I'm not saying handball isn't a sport, but I'm saying, it's not why I watch the Olympics.  Diving is another one.  I'm good for about ten minutes, and then all the dives look the same and I can't understand the critique and the 'too big of a splash' and whatnot.  I mean I've never seen anyone belly-flop or can-opener or cannonball, so the splashes aren't that impressive.  (Although there's a new sport - Olympic can-opener champ.  We'll measure by how much water is displaced from the pool.  Points will also be awarded for proper form - pointed toes, a great knee grab and a slight lean.)

Anywho - there's A LOT going on in the summer Olympics.  But you have to admit, some things really shouldn't be Olympic competitions.  Perhaps you think they aren't true sports, or perhaps you find them boring.  But surely, there's something you would not miss if it was no longer part of the summer Olympics.

What is it?

For me, I'd say Shooting.  Because, well, it's shooting.  When I think of the Olympics, I think of athletes.  And while shooting requires great aim and strength in holding the gun and whatnot...I just think, um, no.  Nope.  It's not a true Olympic event.  Which I guess means I'm taking archery out as well.  And probably, although unrelated, synchronized trampolining.  That's just because I'm mean and for real - watching people jump on a trampoline isn't fun for me, and synchronized doesn't do it for me either.  Perhaps if they set that to music and they did interpretive synchro trampoline, I'd be in.

(If you need to reference a list of all the summer Olympic contests, there's a list on the left hand side of NBC's Olympic webpage here.)

Now I'm not dissing the athletes.  Clearly, they are all more dedicated, more disciplined and more talented in that way than I.  I couldn't do it, wouldn't dare dream of doing it.  Unless that can-opener thing makes it to the Olympics, then I've got a hell of a chance.  Mike and I could do synchronized can openers and we'd totally rule the pool.  Warren and Elaine would be so proud.

And don't worry, I'm quite sure no Olympic athletes read my blog.  And if they do, then holla - you are bad ass and you could totally beat me up I'm sure.  You are way more athletic than me, however, I stand by my decision to ditch the three contests mentioned above.

So suck it up and answer.  What would you remove from the summer Olympics and why?

Rain makes for antsy kiddos

Today it's raining.  And I'd like to lay in bed all day and do nothing.  But um, Elaine and my new 20 month old BFF require more entertainment.  So, I made a tent.  And we ate a snack under it.  True story.

And now we have to poke babydolls in the eyes.  We're very busy!

A difficult, confusing lunch

23.  Twenty-three people.  23 people were in my eighth grade class.  These were the same 23 people (give or take about 3) that I had been with since the first grade.  My elementary school had only one classroom per grade.  First through fourth were on the first floor, and fifth through eighth were on the second floor.  Fifth grade was a landmark - we began switching classes for morning subjects.  This was the same year girls got to change from jumpers to skirts.  Which meant it was the same year girls started wearing bras.  If you haven't figured out by now, I went to a small Catholic elementary school.  It was the same school my dad and his siblings had attended.

Anywho, my school was small.  There was no longer a functioning cafeteria when I attended.  No daily hot lunch.  To work around that, and I guess to keep things interesting, every Wednesday the school found a way to offer a hot lunch.  The menu was set a month in advance and it was things like pizza, or McDonalds burgers (no fries, chips).  And that was our excitement.  And of course, we walked to school both ways uphill in the snow, our recess was on the blacktop church parking lot (that part is true), and a paper cost a nickel.  Whatever.

Warren's school is one of the largest elementary schools in our district.  They do manage to keep the class sizes to 20 or just under, however, there are 6 or 7 of each grade.  I do know that there are seven first grade classes.  SEVEN.  His school houses kindergarten through fifth grades, and I basically freaked the first time I was there.  It was designed back in the day of open classrooms, so there are "pods" where groups of classrooms are, connected by random hallways with offices along the way.  Somehow this school manages to make itself seem small and welcoming, which is awesome.

But I'm rambling.  My point is, that kindergarten was half days, so first grade is W's first opportunity to buy a lunch.  We got the menu the day we dropped off our supplies.  I told him the choice for Monday and he passed - so I packed a lunch.  Yesterday, he decided to buy his lunch.  I hyped it up as a fun adventure meanwhile thinking that if it was me back in first grade there is NO WAY I could have managed to buy my own lunch and consume it with 140 other first graders in the alloted twenty minutes.  I knew from other parents that the teachers help the kids get through the line and handle the prepaid lunch cards, so I was confident Warren could manage.

When he got home, I asked about his day.  And per my handout from the school, I asked specific questions, "how was art class?  Did you have music or PE
today?  Who did you sit by at lunch?  What was your favorite part of the day?"  Then I asked about lunch.

Me: How was buying your lunch for the first time?
W: Um, it was sort of difficult.  (For real, difficult.  It's one of his new choice words.)
Me: What was difficult about it?
W: Well, it wasn't pepperoni pizza, it was cheese.  And I couldn't pick my sides, and it was cooked carrots and I don't like those, and an orange but no peeler, and I don't even know how to do that.  And I couldn't open my milk, so I raised my hand and someone came to help me.  But it was just confusing.
Me: It sounds like you did pretty well for your first time.  Do you want to do it again?
W:
W:
W: Yeah.  But let's just pack a lunch for a few days.
Me: That's fine.
W: You could just read me the choices and if I like ALL of the food, then I'll buy my lunch.

That's a fair deal, or at least I think so.  I don't care, I'm proud of him.  I know it's not a major milestone by any means, but for an anxiety ridden kid like myself Warren, I'm proud.  And in case you were wondering, he'll be buying again on Thursday when it's tacos, mexican rice and corn.  "I like ALL THOSE THINGS," he said.  Ditto that my man, ditto that.

My first born goes to first grade!

This is the kid who started first grade yesterday.

 
My first born.  My War-T. 

And I'm no longer a cryer (zoloft is just right thankuverymuch), but I got misty while making his lunch.  I had one of those, "I can't believe this is my life" moments.  Do you ever have those?  Where everything you wanted you now have, and you can't believe your luck? 

Yeah, yesterday I had one of those moments.  I love my boy.

An open letter to the neighborhood kids

Dear Children in my neighborhood,

Hi.  It's me, Jenny.  You know, Warwhen and Lainey's mom.  Yeah, I need to set a few ground rules as many of you are, well to be quite frank, getting on my nerves.

Rule #1 - Mi casa IS NOT su casa.  Yeah, that's right.  Neither is mi yard su yard.  So you have to ask me and your parents if you can come in my house or play in my backyard.  That's the way it works.

Rule #2 - If I say no, that's that.  So quit asking/whining/begging.  Also, if you can help teach Elaine this rule, perhaps I'll say yes to you all now and then.

Rule #3 - Mi groceries are not su groceries.  Have you seen the price of food these days?  Yeah, I didn't think so.  I can't afford to feed my family and you kiddos.  So when you demand a Capri Sun or soda and a bag of chips, and I say no but offer you water, say thanks and take it.  Also, I'm betting you have those type of drinks and snacks in your house, so GO HOME and get one.

Rule #4 - You are not the boss of my dog.  He lives here, not you.  I cannot and will not move him out of the backyard so you can play in my  backyard nor will I put him in the backyard so you can play in my house.  Yes, I know he's large and black, but he's also very stupid and friendly.  So get over it.

Rule #5 - I also will not scoop the poop at your command.  Again, don't play in my yard if it bothers you and as a matter of fact I am scooping just about daily with my new little daycare ward being here playing.  So seriously, are there like two turds bothering you?  Deal with it.

Rule #6 - What is with the NONSTOP doorbell ringing?  Stop it.  For real.  Ring or knock and then wait.  And when the kids say they are coming out but they have to get their shoes, DO NOT stand there with the door open and then hurry to slam it on my dog's face.

Rule #7 - Quit asking me why and what I'm doing.  K?  I hate those questions.  And don't be so darn nosy.  "The kids can't play right now", is a sufficient answer.  You don't need to know that they are in trouble, or what they did to get in trouble.  Similarly, when we are backing out of the driveway, you don't need to know where we are going and when we'll be home.  It's probably nowhere cool anyway.

I think that's it for now.  But I'm sure that I can add more if I think about it long enough.  I really didn't want to be the crabby neighbor, but I think I have to, because y'all are taking advantage of me and not necessarily the other parents. 

Peace out,
Jenny

PS - Unrelated to this letter, it's Warren's first day of first grade today!  WOO HOO!

This morning, over a breakfast of poptarts...

W:  Mommy, how long ago were you a baby?

Me:  Um, 1974

W and E: WOAH!

Me: Yeah, I guess to you that was a long time ago, but you should know that mom is not old.  M'kay?  She's a young...

W:  Grammie was born before that because you were a baby in her belly.

Me: Yes, that's right.

E:  Then were you a baby in daddy's belly?

Me: NO!  Dad's don't have the babies.  They help make them, the mom carries the baby in her belly and then that's that.  (Wondering to self - why start sex education now?  What is wrong with you woman?  Drink your coffee and shut up!)

W:  Right.  The moms have the babies and the dads raise them.

Me: Oh that's the funniest thing I've ever heard! 

In need of a nap

You know what is great about a 20 month old?  They nap.  They take a gloriously long afternoon nap - like 2 1/2 hours!  Oh how I miss that.  Especially with the amount W and E have been fighting.  These last days of summer are definitely the most challenging, and for once, the weather is cooperating.  Usually August around here is about 100 plus degrees with 200 percent humidity.  The weather has been great - barely in the upper nineties, and the humidity has remained in control.  The downfall is that the grass keeps growing, but that's a sacrifice I'm willing to make.  And still my kids fight.

And fight and fight and fight.

And I know that's all I keep blogging about, but that's seriously all that keeps happening. 

I requested a book from the library last night - 1 2 3 Magic - which is some way to discipline your kids.  However, I'm not sure it'll work with Elaine and I hate counting, but I'm willing to give it a try.  The reviews were good and a friend of mine says it totally worked with her oldest girl, who's now 6.  It's hardest to find Elaine's currency - you know, what motivates her to behave well, or what can be used as punishment.  She's just indifferent.  And dramatic.  Not a good combo.

Then there's Warren, who in the past year has sharpened his sarcasm, which is great, yet he doesn't know when to stop.  When he's being disrespectful versus funny.  He threw a for real two year old tantrum yesterday throwing himself down, kicking his feet, and screaming.  I just walked away.  He looked hilarious - a giant 6 year old acting like that.  The day ended with his crying on our front porch because he'd lost a game of baseball and thus decided to quit and shout "I DON'T LIKE LOSING."  Can we say sore losers?

I know these actions are part of the average development, but it doesn't make me handle them any better.  And add in, their usual issues - me being in another room, me being upstairs while they are downstairs (gasp, shock, horror), me not taking them swimming the moment they demand it - and you have one tired, frazzled family by bedtime.  Which oh yeah, they'll find one more fight in them to complain about how mean we are making them go to bed at 9 o'clock - clearly we are the meanest.

It all makes me feel like crap.  Like my parenting license should be revoked.  Like I've wasted a day yelling nonstop at my kids.  Wondering what I've done wrong, will they be okay, do they know I love them, is it me, am I crazy?  ARRRRRRRRGGGGGGG!  Add in an annoying cough and it makes for a crabby Jenny.

If only we all could take a 2 1/2 hour nap each day.  Perhaps it would help.

On a good note, is that Michael Phelps impressive or what?  I am in awe.  And dude, if his arms get any longer,  he's going to have to drag them alongside him on the floor!