Pumpkin Heads
A real, gory, blow by blow entry will happen later, but here's a preview of the red hot pumpkin action.
« September 2005 | Main | November 2005 »
October 31, 2005
October 28, 2005
In Case You Ever Wondered
Driving home from a theatre performance this evening with my six year old daughter and five year old son, we chatted about the show for a few minutes. It was a performance of Caillou, who is the whiniest child to ever hit the television, but the stage show was cute enough.
Anyway, we exhausted that topic in short order, and I bowed out of the conversation. My kids bickered about whether dinosaurs were 'living animals, nature made' or 'robot machines' and on whether a billion is a real number.
I know I said above that this took place while we were driving home. In fact, we were slowing inching our way, five feet at a time, out of the crowded parking lot at the arts center. I listened to the heated debate, and fought to control a sudden facial tic.
"You guys, sheesh. No one knows everything, and in fact, you guys still have a lot of learning to do. You actually learn more if you stop pretending you know everything already."
"Mom!" My oldest started up in a bossy tone. "M-O-M, who do you suppose invented underware?" She's started spelling out words, first and foremost my title. Em Oh Em.
I snickered. Why is underware funny?
"See, you don't know everything. Underware was invented by Tom Jr."
"Tom Jr., huh? Who is Tom Jr.?"
"Tom Jr. was a very wise man."
"Oh, I see. Why is underware so wise?"
"No, M-O-M. Underware isn't wise. Tom Jr. was wise. He also invented the sea."
"Uh huh."
"Long, long ago, Tom Jr. invented plain white underware. Just white. And it was good."
"Wow. That's great."
"Yes. He was wise. And then he died."
"Oh, that's sad."
"No! He DYED. He decided to make colored underware. And panties."
"Where'd he get the dye?"
"From Sarah Trawler."
"Um..."
"She had all the dyes. She was wise, too. So anyway, M-O-M, they made underpants of many colors."
"Tom Jr. and Sarah..."
"Trawler. They were just business partners. So then, they decided to make underpants with pictures on them."
"Pictures?"
"Yes. They got all the latest characters, and then had the workers in the factory design them. Then they sold them in Sarah's store. Her store was called Rainbow Panty Factory."
My son butted in at this point. "Did they make dinosaur underpants?"
"Yes." My daughter nodded soberly. "They are the reason you have dinosaurs on your butt."
My son beamed and blurted: "Are they robot dinosaurs, or nature made?"
Thank you, Tom Jr, for your wisdom, and for inventing white underware and the sea is pretty awesome, too. Thanks to you also, wise Sarah Trawler, for putting all the latest characters on underpants and for saving us from the monotony of solid white underware. You guys were visionaries. Really.
Ooookay, Then
You guys are awesome! So many great suggestions. Now, if I could just get y'all to come out here and make it happen...
Hah! I keed!
After my initial freakout, lots of other parents from both classes came forward offering to help. WHEW! Other responsible adults, willing to do my bidding.
I was all "Hi, you bring a game! Hi, you bring a snack! Hi, you bring a craft!"
I have an undiscovered talent for delegating, I think. Or maybe it is called passing the buck. Whatevah. I've got help, and I've got a bunch of great ideas from you guys, and I'm feeling less like a witch and more like... um... like... a room mother. Yeah, that's it.
lallerlallerlallerlallerlallerlallerlallerlallerlallerlallerlallerlaller
Yesterday, I got the chance to hang out with the lovely Elaine. We had ourselves a grand old time at Orff Lessons, where she, her husband and their darling daughters rolled around on the floor and rocked out with sparkly maracas to accordian music. Good times, people. We leaped over mini-pumpkins. And we made our bodies into see-saws.
We also enjoyed a brief visit to the park for a picnic lunch before I had to dash off to fetch and deliver, fetch and deliver. I really had a wonderful time hanging out with them.
On a side note: They are really tall! I'm always surprised when people aren't the same size as me. Why is that? I'm well below average height, it's not unexpected that people would tower over my garden gnomesque frame.
October 25, 2005
Huh?
I never fail to astound myself with my own stupidity. Oh sure, sometimes I'll have momentary flashes of brilliance, but then my true, lame-o reality comes back and takes a chunk out of my behind.
Not that there's anything wrong with that.
So! Guess what I did? I signed myself up to be the "Room Mother" for my son AND my daughter's classes this year. In my defense, no one else was signing up, and I was feeling magnanimous with the perceived lighter burden of having two children in school. Bwahahahaha!
So far, it had been groovy. All quiet on the Room Mother front. Smooth sailing. And then, last week's Wednesday letter to the parents mentioned that Mrs. Lauck is our room mother, and if you would like to help her throw the class halloween party, please give me your name.
The her that is throwing the party? That's me. I'm "her" and boy am I surprised. Aren't they supposed to throw the party for me? Jenny Month, remember? Man.
I am in deep here. I'm making sign-up sheets for the other parents to volunteer goodies and maybe to help with a craft or two.
One of my friends is the room mother of the room next door to my son's. She's all "Oh, and we're having them do the no-handed donut eating, and we've got a couple different crafts, and I've got mini-pumpkins to stuff with goodies...so, what are you doing?"
I'm, uh, laller laller lallering. Yeah.
One of the other mothers mentioned that I had less than a week to get everything put together, and what had I done, and why wasn't there a sign-up sheet and I seriously wanted to put my head between my knees and start Lamaze breathing.
Anyone got any ideas for super cute, cheap, and easy crafts that can be done in a classroom setting? Any great games for halloween? I am counting on you, people.
October 24, 2005
Trick Or Treat
I'm still off my normal glowing, robust health. I trust that I'll be back to my full strength and brain power by morning, but for now, I've got some little morsels to share.
Last Thursday was my son's first school field trip of his burgeoning elementary career. They hired two school buses and took 80 kindergarteners and all available parents to our favorite pumpkin patch. I'm not sure what was more exciting to my kid: the prospect of the field trip, or the riding on the bus. He's always dreamed of riding on that big yellow bus. He heard the stories from my oldest about how it's big, and bumpy and noisy, and that sounded pretty great to him.
I couldn't go along, because I had music classes with my youngest. At 2 1/2, she's full of baloney, and has decided that the classes are not merely to be called Orff Music. No, it must be barked. Orff! Orff! Orff orff orff! My son and oldest daughter participate with their group lessons without me, but parents are an integral part of the very young program.
We sat in a circle and danced and sang and made shapes with our bodies and galloped and then! The crowning moment of my parenting thus far! We interpretived danced to a medley of children's songs being played by the instructor on her accordian. Me, my kid, another mom and her kid, just doing whatever spastic moves were shot down our spines from our brain stems, who thought that this was all too much fun.
I danced to an accordian. While waving sparkly streamer clad maracas in both hands. And occasionally whooping.
Mother. Of. The. Year. I'm so getting a posh private care facility and a hot young male assistant to act on my senile whims.
Anyway. We rushed back to the school to meet the school bus.
*It has just now dawned on me that my daughter is going on her field trip to the pumpkin patch tomorrow... thank goodness I busted out some laundry today.*
**It has also just occurred to me that we haven't done our family trip to the pumpkin patch. Looks like we'll be doing a blitz on the weekend before the holiday. Joy!**
When the first busload of kids pulled up, they tumbled off the bus in good spirits, collected their shiny orange pumpkins from the curb outside the play yard, and then went home.
We waited.
And waited.
Finally, the second bus pulled up. The doors swung wide, but instead of a stream of chattering kindergarteners, the kids who tumbled from this bus were disheveled, grumbling and sweaty. When my son's teacher appeared, she was sporting a huge wet blotch on her tshirt. Behind her, my son finally stumbled down the bus steps, and burst into tears.
What happened to these children? What? I was flabbergasted. I turned to my son's teacher and she grinned. Apparently, they all fell asleep on the ride home, and were angry to be woken up from their nap. She had a drooling four year old draped all over her for the 45 minute ride, and my son was one of the many kids who dissolved into noisy, hiccuping sobs upon arrival.
Poor babes. But so cute.
My little drama king son is a big fan of making wild declarations and martyriffic statements. When we scold him, he is likely to say something like "I guess you don't love me!" or "I'm going to run away!"
I thought this wouldn't happen until puberty, but it's been going on since he could string two words together at 18 months.
Now, he's moved on to other phrases. "Just fire me!" he says, hand over his eyes. "Just vote me out of the family!"
What next? We can't even guess. Lucky for us, we scold him often enough that we won't have to wait long to find out.
October 23, 2005
Cooper And Emily's Parenting Book
The fabulous Cooper and Emily are hard at work on their parenting book, and need some feedback! If you can take a moment and help, they would appreciate it!
1) Describe a time (s) of great meaning that you experienced with your family (as a parent, as a child or both.) DETAILS, please!
2) What gets in the way - if anything - of truly being in the moment with your kids? What are the time drains? Is it hectic lives, too much to do, other parents/family? Please be specific, a story or two to describe would be wonderful.
3) Along those lines, what do you see as the greatest challenges to you in your parenting or in childrearing in general? What are the roadblocks? Again, specifics and anecdotes are encouraged!
4) Describe something (s) you and your family are doing well. What is it you are best at and why (communicating, having fun etc.)? Please describe with stories if possible.
Answers to all or one or a couple can be sent to Cooper and Emily at parentingbook@comcast.net
October 22, 2005
The French Say It Better
I have the flu.
"The Flu" is a stupid word. I know it's an abbreviation for influenza, but I like the French phrase - J'ai la grippe!
La grippe sounds more appropriate for that, oh, I don't know, feeling that your guts are being shredded.
So, in summary: Uhhhhgh.
I'm off to bed, once again. Hopefully my stomach will settle before I have to kill anyone and/or drink more Gatorade. Because that? Is also nasty.
I'll be back with sparkling, inspired words and a minty fresh scent as soon as I can sit upright for more than a few minutes at a time.
October 19, 2005
Yes! No! Yes! Uh... Yes!
This parenting gig. Sheesh.
See the problem is this: I know what I want. I simply keep changing my mind about what it is I need.
I remember nuzzling my oldest daughter's tiny head, and begging her to stay the same size forever. Five minutes ago, I rolled my eyes up into my skull and demanded that she grow up and lay off with the whining.
Wiping my son's chin after a messy meal of pureed sweet potato, I looked forward to the days where he could feed himself. I didn't anticipate (in fact, I think I openly mocked the parenting gods and am now being smited) that self-feeding would lead to almost no food consumption by my picky eater.
The push to potty train. The realization that young children in big girl panties require 9000 stops at bathrooms, and no trip to the grocery store will ever occur again without abandoning a half-full cart and shlepping three squirrelly children into the restroom, where one will have to produce not only pee, but an epic poop, one will lay on the floor in his/her new outfit that Grandma bought somewhere expensive and become one with the grout, maybe treating a neighboring stall occupant to a good ogling, and one will discover the echo-y goodness that is an empty bathroom, and celebrate this newfound knowledge with shrieks that loosen asbestos from the stained ceiling tiles.
The momentary celebration that takes place when a kid shows a solid command of the English language. The horror that dawns when that same kid doesn't stop with the endless talking, most of which centers around what you should be doing for them, NOW, RIGHT NOW!
The pride in those first independent steps. The heartbreak when they run straight into class without a backwards glance.
The concealed delight when a kid utters something cheeky. The embarrassment when you realize they got the cheeky behavior from you, and Grandma/Teacher/Perfect Neighbor knows it, too.
The desire to have a television-free home. The desire to have a moment of peace to drink a cup of coffee without being strafed by questions and demands.
The guilt that you are not doing enough for them. The guilt that you are doing too much for them.
Enrichment activities! Time to just be a kid!
See, the thing is, I know parents who seem to balance all this stuff. They are clear on what they want. Me? I'm all over the road.
I want happy, bright, robust, and inquisitive children and yes, a little bit cheeky is expected. I also want kind, sensitive, polite and orderly children. Hah! Hahahahaha! Has anyone met their mother? I mean, we're giving that whole nature vs. nurture thing a workout over here.
I am entranced by them, at once so familiar and so foreign. I want to freeze them and learn to love all their current quirks, before they rush on and develop new ones. Some of the tough stages feel like they last forever, but then you blink, and it's been a year since you've sliced the skin off an apple, or carried an extra pair of underpants and jeans in every purse. You wake up one day and discover that funny little baby-name your daughter calls her umbrella has been replaced by the real word.
Go! Stop!
Wait!
Come back and let me look at you once again. Give me a kiss!
Go.
Putting One Foot In Front Of The Other
My grandma and your grandma
Were sittin' by the fire.
My grandma told your grandma:
"I'm gonna set your flag on fire."
Talkin' 'bout: Hey now! Hey now!
Iko, Iko, unday
Jockamo feeno ai nané.
Jockamo fee nané
There! Now you too can have iko iko stuck in your head all day. Something about lyrics with trash talkin' grandmas is just the perfect motivation for me today. Hah.
HEY NOW! HEY NOW!
It's 9 am, and I've taken two kids to school, returned home to find the dog has chewed her bandage off. Again. For the third time. Rather than call the vet (again) for a rebandage, I decided to do it myself. I got some gauze and medical tape and made her a giant lollipop looking bandage. It is equal to the crap job I do when I wrap presents. Unfortunately, a gift bag version of bandages does not exist.
Perhaps I could market that. Just slip it over the paw, and add some tissue! Done!
Ahem.
I'm feeling the beginnings of busy brain coming on again, which means I have to get the house clean today, because I want to use that manic energy for something creative, rather than just bouncing off the walls. So for today, it's just a matter of putting one foot in front of the other, and another load of laundry in the washer.
My youngest is standing next to me, doing some very wild butt-shaking moves and fingerpointing to Iko Iko. You'll have to excuse me, I must join in. Hey now! Hey now! Iko iko unday!
October 18, 2005
Telling It Like It Could Be
Okay, I also just finished reading The MomsTown Guide to Getting It All
Damn you, Mary Goulet and Heather Reider! You make me think I can and should and most likely will get my act together! You make it all so simple with your plan! You are so empowering! Gah!!!!
After a week like this last one, it seems that if I would just follow the good advice of these lovely ladies, I, too could Have It All. I mean, I initally scoffed a bit, because I am not really a good plan-follower and prefer complacent chewing-of-the-cud on the couch than all this aspiring and achieving of goals stuff.
Even so, I have been chastising myself for not taking the steps to keep the funk at bay. (My son overheard me saying I was in a funk, and he performed a "funky chicken" dance just for me, to a rocked out version of Ode To Joy on the keyboard. How can I be in a funk with that kind of action?)
The steps? They are all neatly organized in The MomsTown Guide to Getting It All
Telling It Like It Is
I've recently finished reading Amy Scheibe's hilarious book What do you do all day?
It is a fresh, honest, sometimes snarky take on the life of a SAHM. At first, I had a bit of trouble connecting with the main character, Jennifer. As the story continued, the common threads of joy and frustration that run through every mother's life pulled it all together for me. The humor is sharp and witty. Ms. Scheibe has written a smart story that mothers everywhere will enjoy. Go get yourself a copy!
October 17, 2005
Messing With My Schtick
I'm feeling rather unfunny right now.
I am usually upbeat, cheerful even, but this last week has seriously been messing with my mojo. That is against the rules for The Month of Jenny.
But really, I've been in a funk. I feel about as funny as one of my kids' knock-knock jokes. Knock, knock. Who's There? Peanut. Peanut, who? Peanut on the diaper head!
See? I keep hoping the school librarian will slip them a joke book. They need some professional material.
Anyway, even riding my (awesome!) bike yesterday didn't manage to lift my spirits. Well, it did for the first part of the ride. Let me explain...
I surprised my husband with this little (awesome!) set of wheels.
He's loving it. As well he should.
Anyway, we headed out for a family bike ride yesterday. My oldest on her bike, my son on his, complete with training wheels, me on my (awesome!) bike pulling the trailer with my youngest inside, and my husband on his bike. A happy little band of travellers!
We enjoyed the late afternoon sunshine, and toodled through the neighborhood and down the creekside path. All was well until we hit the turn-around point, whereupon my son decided that no, he was done. Limp. Finito.
Great.
"Please just ride your bike. I'll ride with you, as slow as you want!"
"No."
"Please?"
"No."
"Just. Get. On. Your. Bike. Please."
"No." He kicked the bike twice for emphasis, and stuck his lip out so far it wrapped around his chin.
While my husband and daughter rode in circles, being obnoxious, I scooted the now sleeping toddler over in the trailer, buckled my son into the second seat, and attempted to figure out how we were going to get the extra bike home.
Much bobbing and weaving later, I managed to wedge the front wheel of his bike into the back of the trailer, leaving the back tire and half a training wheel in contact with the pavement. Okay then.
I requested that the hubs ride behind me, in case the bike I had crammed into my trailer's rear decided to shake itself loose onto the trail. (Um...)
He gave me a blank stare, and shot off down the path after my daughter, annoyingly in viewing range, but not hearing range, apparently.
With a *harrrrruuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrgggggggghhhhhh* that would have made an olympic weightlifter proud, I strained to get 70 pounds of kids plus 20 odd pounds of trailer and extra, cling-on bike moving forward. After a quarter mile or so, I was mumbling nonsense oaths under my breath.
"Fuzzle shiza mugga hunner gah!"
Just like that.
Anyway, we finally made it home, and as I struggled to get the trailer through the gate, Mr. Hot Bike Husband stood there and blinked at me while I asked for help a third time.
And that made me not so happy. There's a lesson here somewhere.
Like, freaking help me when I ask or prepare to feel my wrath.
But! Something that made me REALLY HAPPY is my new memory foam mattress pad, which makes my bed way too comfortable, and tempts me to stay there to indulge in a good wallowing. Wallowing isn't really festive but for Jenny Month it is ALL ABOUT ME. Or meh. Whatever.
Okay, I'm snickering over the visual of the bike hanging out the back of the trailer. Feeling a bit funny again. But still pissy. So watch yourselves.
October 15, 2005
The Top Of The List
I winced towards home after school on Thursday, my oldest peppering the van with a barrage of ideas. She's got a lot to say, this six and a half year old girl of mine. While I can appreciate her enthusiasm, not to mention her singlemindedness, I have been over talking about her next birthday party plans for months.
Considering her birthday isn't until March 2006, I don't know if I'll survive the itemization of the party theme du jour. I mean, first it was all about having a "Mexican Fiesta" featuring themed costumes for all of us, and the guests, cacti in terra cotta planters, a troupe of ballet folklorico dancers, a mariachi band, and a pinata shaped like a unicorn, and let us not forget lots of sombrero shaped chip and salsa bowls. Oh! And my husband and son will be dressed in "Mexican Waiter" outfits circulating among the guests with "tid-bits" on big platters so that the guests get plenty to eat. (Presumably, I will be in the kitchen cranking out the tidbits. Joy.)
Then we had the whole swimming party theme. Personalized towels for each guest, anyone? Synchronized swimmers? I didn't think that was over the top at all, do you? Snacks would be served in plastic baggies to minimize splashing damage to crunchy snacks. Clever, huh? Huh?
Now we've moved onto a slumber party event.
Nanananananananana I can't hear you nanananananananananana
This same level of detail and planning is currently going into her future plans. Naturally, she's going to be a farmer, so that she can have a whole shiny fleet of animals that I currently won't allow her to have, because I am irrationally against farm animals and also cruel.
Yes, she's going to be a farmer, and a veterinarian, which will be handy, what with all those animals she's going to have. She's also going to be a horse trainer, and kids are going to pay her $300 a lesson to learn to ride on her farm. She is going to be WORLD FAMOUS for her mad horse teachin' skills.
Anyway, I knew about all this, and about how her brother is going to own the land across the road from her, and he's going to have a general store, feed store and horse emporium right there, so she doesn't have to go far to get her horses or supplies. This is all her idea, by the way. He's still into the paleontologist thing. I say to him, "Run, my son. Run to the regions where dino bones may be found! Run like the wind, lest you find yourself a shopkeeping slave to your sister!"
We live in the suburbs, but are surrounded by farm areas. Every vacant lot of land, or long driveway with a for sale sign that we pass, my girl is on me. "Let's buy it! That looks perfect for my ranch!"
nanananananananananana I can't hear you nananananananananananana
So, anyway, she launched into the whole "when I grow up" thing in the car, but this time, she added "I'm going to be a famous movie star, and so many people are going to come out to my ranch to interview me and see me ride my horses!"
"How are you going to take care of all your animals if you are so busy being a famous movie star?" I hid my smile.
"Obviously, I'm going to hire my brother to come over with his construction trucks to take care of all the animals." I looked into the rear view mirror, to see my son nodding along with this plan.
"His construction trucks?" I am curious.
"Yes, because first he's going to build the ranch, and then he's going to take care of the animals while I'm being interviewed. I'll make him a big list. First thing: Shovel the pig poop."
Run, boy. Run.
October 13, 2005
Spooky
I've been watching a show called "Most Haunted" on the Travel Channel the last couple of weeks. I tuck the kids in bed, and curl up on the couch, watching with rapt attention as a crew of 'paranormal investigators' emotes their way through a night in a 'haunted' location. It doesn't matter to me if the show is a little hokey. The reactions of the people to the environment and the 'events' are fun to watch.
My fascination with the supernatural has a long history, stretching back into my first, self-aware memories. From an early age, I devoured ghost stories. First came children's books like Georgie
The irony here (and there is always irony with me, isn't there?) is that I hate being scared. HATE. I cannot appreciate slasher films, for both the gore and the jumpy moments. I don't like things jumping out at me, and I don't like the feeling of my skin crawling or the hairs on the back of my neck standing up.
Of course, I happened to give birth to three people who think that leaping out at me and/or making sudden noises is the height of hilarity. At least twice a week I am launched through the roof by some random sound or shocking visual. At least I'm not ticklish. I can totally trump them on that.
Anyway, back to the whole "Most Haunted" thing. I love the psychic guy the best, because he always throws out these little random things that crack me up. Come to think of it, so does that John Edwards guy. The spirits apparently have very specific, very trivial information that they insist the medium share.
Makes me wonder what sort of spirit I might become. I mean, assuming that I become a spirit. What banalities will I feel compelled to share from beyond the grave? Gymbucks are expiring! It's PSL time! Change the air freshener cartridge! Make a dental appointment! Oooooh!
I'm cracking myself up here.
I've only once had what could be described as an 'experience.' I was staying overnight at a house that was across the street from a graveyard. As I lay in bed, I saw a white light that moved across the room in a very deliberate way. There was no source for this light, none that I could see. Hairs on the back of my neck? Way, way up.
But that was it.
I had a point somewhere back when I started this entry, but I've lost it.
Further proof that I'll be the most boring ghost ever, just hanging around rambling, killing time until I remember what the heck was so important I was compelled to make contact in the first place.
*editing to add* I just remembered! Okay, not what I was talking about in the first place, but I just remembered the old record we had growing up of "Halloween Sounds" on one side and on the other, it was a "Tale of Horror" or something. It involved a guy inheriting an old mansion, and a broken down car, and a ghost who repeated "Have you seen my baby? Has anyone seen my baby?" in a really bad, fake southern drawl. Ahahahaha! "Ha-ays yannie one see-un mah-yuh bayeebee?" Oh man.
We used to listen to the story and mock it, and then flip it over and listen to the sound effects. Screaming! Sobbing! Screeching! Falling Screaming!
The piece de resistance was the groan, which sounded like someone who was really trying to take a giant poop. That was the favorite, and the most played 'effect' on the record.
Good times.
***Edited again to add*** Oh Happy Day! They still make it! Halloween Horrors
October 12, 2005
This Week On Emergency Vet
In the middle of our dating years, the hubs and I adopted a small cat from the local pound. She had been there for a year. We took her home and named her Mabel. After about 24 hours, she became Maybolio. Poor thing.
When we lived in different cities, I kept the cat. When we found out that I was pregnant, I sent Mabel to live with my parents. Our Sunnyvale apartments forbid pets, and in the insane housing market of the late 90s, we didn't want to move.
In my parent's rural home, Mabel thrived. She bonded with my mom and when we returned to this area, my parents opted to keep Mabel. Mabel spent most of her time sleeping in my mom's desk drawer, or on the kitchen counter, basking in the sun. She loved living in the country.
For the last week or so, she'd seemed 'off.' My mom took her to the vet yesterday, and discovered that she was suffering from advanced kidney disease. Yesterday afternoon, she stayed with her as she was put to sleep. It was the right decision, but an emotional one.
While all this was going on, I was volunteering in my son's class. When I returned home, I found that Donna the dog had managed to slice open the back of her front leg, from elbow to wrist. Blood everywhere. With my youngest asleep on my shoulder, I returned her to the car, grabbed a beach towel and placed the dog on top of it in the car and drove straight to the vet.
I parked outside and violated 90,000 of my parenting laws by leaving the baby asleep in her carseat while I carried the bleeding, squirming dog into the reception area. I kept trying to get someone to take Donna so I could go get the baby, but it was crazy busy and every time I opened my mouth and stuck the leash out, the person rushed away. Aaaaah! I could see the van from the exam room window, and I spent a total of about five minutes inside, but I was in a full scale panic, none of it over the dog.
After a quick exam, Donna was led to the back to get sutures, and I sprinted to the car to find the baby sleeping peacefully. I'm NEVER doing that again. Gaaaaah! I did love that the vet said to my dog "Let's get you checked into your suite, and get you a margarita, sweetheart."
Donna's arm is now encased in gauze, and she's rather pissy about it. Luckily, the damage was large superficial. Also lucky was the rust colored shirt I was wearing yesterday.
As if that wasn't enough animal trauma, this morning, I blearily made coffee and listened as my youngest chirped a good morning greeting to the hamster. And then I noticed that the freakin' hamster was sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor. Uh...
The hamster cage sits on top of my 5' high desk. Apparently, the top hatch on the cage wasn't closed perfectly, and the hamster was able to ram it open, and then climbed (leaped?) down and spent the night roaming around.
THE HELL?
The hamster was unharmed, but if the dog hadn't been still half drugged, I shudder to think what scene we might have stumbled upon this morning.
Again, I say: The HELL?
Makes me think I should stock up on earthquake supplies.
October 10, 2005
They Get It From Me
In the hours between school pickup and dinner, chaos reigns around here. I offer snacks and open the front door, making shooing motions with my hands. I encourage the kids to decompress after their day of learning. I suggest that they go outside, to march briskly around the grounds, breathing deeply and rhythmically. Or something like that. Capt. Von Trapp would approve, I assure you.
They seem to prefer vegging in front of the TV, and picking fights with one another. When I send them outside, invariably, someone ends up wet, someone ends up stripped down to underpants and/or covered in dirt (and I mean COATED from head to toe) and someone ends up crying.
Today, however, I had my A-game on. Once the outside "play" turned dirty and not-so-fun, I marched my little monsters inside and turned their new keyboard on. That sucker is programmed with 100 favorite tunes, and by golly, we were going to dance and sing. It worked for Fraulein Maria, and that is good enough for me.
We started off with a little Jingle Bells. Oh-ho! That was excellent! We scream-sang Jingle Bells fifteen times until we got bored, and then we moved on to Yankee Doodle. I forgot a lot of the words, but made up for it with interpretive dancing.
My son then requested something uptempo. Living La Vida Loca, the crazy muzak version, proved to be a butt-shaking, arm-flailing, white-man-overbiting good time.
I decided coffee would be a good idea, and left the kids to it. I kid you not - they sang and banged on the keyboard, and performed interpretive dances for a good two hours.
I would have never guessed that a polka would inspire choreography like we had going down in my living room. I laughed myself sick watching my kids perform a manic version of La Cucaracha. I would like to know who in the hell considers "Sakura Sakura" a top 100 favorite? It did inspire some good tai chi-style katas.
There was some raging, unbridled dorkitude going on, and I loved every minute of it. Watching my son, skinny chest heaving with exertion as he rocked out around the living room, I sent out a silent wish that these kids of mine never feel ashamed of expressing themselves, and that they always have this kind of joy and fearless invention.
October 9, 2005
Stay Off The Sidewalks
Attention residents of Northern California:
Be warned. Jenny Lauck has just bought herself a new bicycle. It is a large white and pink cruiser with flames and a giant cushy seat. If you see her coming down the sidewalk, please remove yourself from her path. She has not ridden a bike in years and cannot be held responsible for the safety of nearby pedestrians.
Best. Birthday. Present. Ever.
It took all my restraint to not get streamers for the handlebars and a little ringie-dingie bell. Hee!
October 6, 2005
My Life Missed The Memo
Hello, Life? Remember, it's The Month-O-Jenny? Stop interfering with my need to par-DEH har-DEH. So demanding, Life...didn't anyone teach you any patience, or, I don't know, MANNERS?
Oh, that's right. We're talking about MY Life. I've been lax on enforcing social niceties.
So! Thank you for all the birthday wishes! I'm midway through a king-sized mudslide, and feeling rather swoopy and grandiose. I have to restrain myself from pretend-conducting the orchestra in my head.
My morning started off slowly...because sometime in the middle of the night, our entire neighborhood lost power. I drifted awake and realized that it was light outside. Too light. Uh-oh.
There was flapping. There was laller lallering. There were exactly 35 minutes until our scheduled departure to school. My son announced that "the machines were taking a nap." The machines, including all the appliances, including my coffee maker. Yeah.
My husband ran out and bought us some weak-ass coffee from someplace, and as I loaded the kids into the van for a mad dash to school, the dog leaped up and spilled my entire cup all over the sidewalk. Hee hee hee, hoo hoo hoo - those Lamaze breathing techniques are useful after all!
I dropped the two bigguns off at school (which was also without power, apparently) and returned home to my powerless, pioneer-style hovel.
Crippled. I was completely stymied by the lack of electricity. Toast? No. Dora The Explorer? No. Email? No.
You wanna know what hit me the hardest? THIS IS DAY ONE OF GYMBUCKS REDEMPTION. I had online shopping to do, and I was off. line.
Distraction in the form of helping my mom shop for a laptop for my sister came up during our morning phone call, which I made via my husband's cell phone, since our house phone is a cordless that needs electricity. So, so sad.
We shopped, and shopped and finally ended up with a nice little computer. So, yay!
Then, I began the Orff Shuffle. See, last week I signed the kids up for Orff music classes. They love them, I'm really excited about it, and all three kids are doing it. At three different times. So, normally I take my youngest from 10:30 to 11:30. I pick my son up at school at 1:20, take him to his Orff lesson at 2:15, and rush back to pick up my daughter at 2:30, returning to pick up my son and drop off my daughter at 3:15. At 4:15, we would normally be on our way home.
I will be smoldering ever so slightly and may appear charred. This is normal.
So today we did that, too. Except I blew off the baby class because I was a-shoppin'. But instead of going home, I went over to my mom's house, where I helped set up the new 'pooter while the kids romped in her yard.
Finally, I loaded the kids up and stumbled back into my brighly lit (thank GOD) house to a husband with a big chocolate cake, several crusty baguettes, brie, and the world's largest bottle of mudslide mix alcohol included! We blew out candles, cut the cake, and had ourselves a little party.
Now, I'm getting ready to watch some Survivor and swill the rest of this drink, and perhaps demand a foot rub. I mean, it IS my actual birthday and all.
You see? This is why I claim the whole month. Thursdays are just WRONG for birthdays.
October 5, 2005
Singing For Her Supper
My older sister is headed off to Europe next week to audition for a number of opera agents in Austria, Germany and a few other places! I'm so excited for her - this trip has been on her agenda for a long time, and it is only in the last week or so that it has become a reality.
She is fluent in German (albeit a very proper version) and has a few friends scattered around, however, she is going to be largely on her own - does anyone have connections in Austria and/or Germany that may be able to help with tips on affordable accomodations and getting from point a to point b?
I'm certain she'll handle it all just fine (and I'm jealous of the wonderful experiences she'll have!!!) but any help would be appreciated.
The Circus on Safari
Man, we had a great time! I'll be uploading some of the ninety thousand photos we took later today. Let's just ignore my extra chins and crazy hair in this one, so you can appreciate my dad's efforts to commune with nature:
October 2, 2005
It's Jenny Month!
Welcome, people! We are now offically in what I like to call "The Month of Jenny." Sure, other people were born in October, but let's face it, are THEY brassy enough to claim the whole month? No, I don't think so.
This is actually the major festival week of Jenny Month, since the actual day of my birth falls on the 6th. Fantastic! And I will be 33 this year, which is wonderful, too. Odd numbered years are always momentous for me. Plus I love the number 33 for its duplicate digits and curves. I have curves! See! It's a good sign!
Really, since I had a cold this weekend, Jenny Month got off to a slow start. But! Monday evening, I'm taking a jaunt with my children and parents to Safari West, where we will embark on a Three Hour Tour. (Did you sing that like Gilligan's Island? I did.)
I say a wild animal safari is an excellent plan for Festival Week of The Month of Jenny. We will also be celebrating my dad's birthday, since we (begrudgingly) share our birth month. And then we will tempt fate and go out to dinner with the munchkins and my siblings and my husband. I'm a little bummed the hubster won't be able to safari with us, but we can always go again.
Anyhoo, if I get attacked by a rhino, it will be an interesting start to Jennyfest 2005. I'm going to have to read up on what not to wear so as to avoid inciting animal rioting. I'm thinking my zebra print skirt is probably the wrong answer. Yes, it is probably ALWAYS the wrong answer.