Two Rules

Taz loves to watch Spiderman cartoons. But not for the reason you would think.

That is to say, he does like them because Spiderman is a superhero, and there is lots of fighting with supervillains; however, his favorite part -- the real reason he likes Spiderman cartoons above all other superhero cartoons -- is the kissing.

I know. He's four. Yet every single time he thinks a kissing scene is coming he gets this shy little smile and tries to cover my eyes. Yup. I said my eyes, as if I'm the one who shouldn't be looking.

I ask him why he likes the kissing parts so much. He says, "I just do." Then that cute little embarrassed smile spreads across his face and I suddenly feel the need to remind him that kissing anybody besides mommy and daddy is NOT ALLOWED.

Now I realize this calls into question whose fault the whole kissing incident from school actually was, but I am still convinced he was telling me the truth; although, this does explain why he wasn't as upset about it as I thought he would be.

He does seem to know that it's a private matter though. Today he told me (as we were watching the Spiderman cartoons together) that if the kissing came on I was only supposed to work on my computer.

"There are two rules, Mom. Rule number one is 'You can't look.' Rule number two is 'I can.'" And just so there wouldn't be any lapses in my following of those rules, every time he anticipated a kissing scene, he would push my face toward my computer screen.

A little Romeo. Scary. :(

I Used Nice Words, But It Was Too Late

It seemed like a normal day when I finished up practice and headed to the day care to pick up Taz. He said he had a bad day, but he hadn't gotten in trouble (Something I always have to ask when I pick him up). We climbed into the car and drove over to the after school care room to get the other two kids.

When we walked in the door, the supervising teacher asked me if Taz had told me what happened today. Nope.

Apparently a little girl kissed him.

On the mouth.

Yeah.

The teacher wasn't sure who started it, so I had to do a little bit of interrogation, mommy-style. Which is, of course, asking him the same question over and over in different ways to see if his story changes. He's four. He hasn't figured out my system yet. (Mwa-ha-ha!)

This was his story, and for the record, it never changed:

"I was just watching a movie, and she kissed me. I said, 'Please stop.' And I used nice words, but it was too late because she already did it. But we both got in trouble before I could tell on her."

Of course, I had to tease him, because who could resist such an opportunity. I said, "Taliah isn't going to like it that Rilyn kissed you."

He looked at me for a second and said, "Let's not tell her."

Christmas Movies

One of my favorite things about Christmas is getting to watch all the Christmas movies. Hallmark always has a bunch I've never seen -- much to my husband's chagrin, he has to move upstairs to the other television. And, of course, there are the old standbys we have on DVD, so we can watch them every year.

The kids love the old Christmas classics like "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" and "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer". We've already watched "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" and "How the Grinch Stole Christmas" (animated version) twice this weekend.

My all-time favorite Christmas movie is "It's a Wonderful Life". It just doesn't seem like Christmas until I've watched it. What is your favoirte Christmas movie tradition?

Black Friday

I'm not much of a shopper, especially not on Black Friday. I tried it once. Got up early. Waited in a line. When the doors opened, I went to the toy section to find one of fifteen Little People airports for $15. By the time I got there, they were all gone.

Yeah.

I don't like getting up early in the first place, so the fact that I went through all that for nothing -- well, let's just say, that was the last time I did that. That was in 2001.

So, why am I writing about a day I have been boycotting for the last ten years?

*insert giant cheese-eating grin here*

My book comes out that day! Just got my cover art proof today. And even though I rarely exhibit physical evidence of excitement, I'm doing a little happy dance right now. And I don't mind saying, Hooray for Black Friday!

Brake Down

In a small town in northeast Montana, located squarely on a reservation, I spent my childhood years between six and eight. I'm guessing I was seven at the time -- too big for my little bike, and too small for my mom's -- but I loved to ride.

The day I discovered I could reach the pedals on my mother's bicycle while sitting on the seat, marked the day I was "grown up" -- nevermind that I couldn't reach the ground from that position. I couldn't tell you whether or not I had her permission, but it sort of seems that I did, so I took off on a cruise around the block encircling the Northside Elementary School, which lay just across the street from the church my dad pastored.

The block in question was situated on a hill, which was steep enough to have to stand up on the pedals to get enough push, but not steep enough to give up and walk the bike to the top. The ride on the way back down was fast enough to give a little thrill, but not so fast I'd go flying out of control as long as I rode the brakes at the appropriate times -- I was never much of a daredevil.

I must have made the round trip three or four times, gaining confidence with each passing lap. Of course, confidence leads to over-confidence, and over-confidence leads to carelessness -- and in a child riding a bicycle far too big for her frame, that is a dangerous formula.

My last time around, on the down hill stretch, I laid off the brake. I was grown up after all, and I could handle a little more speed. I sat back and coasted, gaining momentum with every revolution of the wheel, and soon I was going too fast -- the rush of excitement turned to panic. My frantic efforts to brake my speed were ineffectual -- my mother's bike had only hand brakes, and my hands were the small and weak hands of a seven-year-old child. The rushing air slapped my face, taking my breath away and making a scream impossible.

As the bicycle and I flew down the hill out of control, the church came rushing to meet me. I would be at the glass entry doors any second, but the building itself was my only hope to stop the mad cascade to the bottom of the hill and into the busy highway below.

Somehow I managed to aim for the church, and as the tires leapt the ramped curb, I turned the wheel ever so slightly and slammed full force into the rock wall, narrowly missing going through the glass doors. My inertia sent me flailing forward, but the slanted bar on the bike broke my momentum, and I came crashing down on my pelvic bone. The seat behind me dug into my back as I ricocheted off the bar and slid down to the ground.

The front wheel was badly bent, and the bicycle was no longer usable after that day, but my mom didn't yell at me. She bandaged my wounded back and my wounded pride while she comforted me on the couch until my whimpering subsided.

To this day the scar on my back can bear witness to exactly how high the bicycle seat reached when I stood my full height from the ground, the day I rode my mother's bike.

That's All There Is

There is an episode of Friends in which Rachel found out about a pros and cons list Ross had made about dating her. Anybody remember that one? He is trying to decide between Julie and Rachel and he lists all these things about Rachel: She's spoiled; She has big calves; She's just a waitress, etc. When Rachel finally starts talking to Ross again, she says, "Imagine the worst things you think about yourself and the person you care most about uses them as reasons not to be [friends] with you."

I'm going to risk being transparent right now. There are things about myself that I am sensitive about. Most of the time I can joke about them in order to cover how they make me feel, but sometimes... (yeah, I occasionally have feelings) Sometimes somebody says something about one of those things, and it just goes straight to my heart (yeah, I've got one of those too).

No, I'm not "just a waitress", and I actually have freakishly skinny legs. I'm definitely not spoiled. Rachel's issues aren't mine. Instead people say I am hard to read; I am unapproachable and intimidating; or (my personal favorite) I seem to have no personality.

You know what? I am quiet, reserved, and I can hide emotion like nobody's business -- especially if I think it's nobody's business. But I don't think it's fair to assume that that is all there is to me. If you're going to reject me, please at least...

Nevermind. If you're going to reject me like that, you probably weren't worth crying over anyway.

I'M THE WORST EVER!

I would say the title pertains to my blogging of late (say, about the last nine months or so), but -- yeah, it doesn't.

I took the kids to the roller rink on Friday night. One of my friends from work had told me about lessons they do on Fridays, so I figured it was a good time to take the kids. They have the rink almost completely to themselves, and someone is teaching them how to do it right. Pretty cool.

Lou had never been on skates before in his life. It took him about ten minutes to get down to the other end of the rink where they started the lesson. Half-way there he had a major break down. I could see him leaning up against the wall with his head buried in his hands. I could tell even from a distance that he was crying. I was trying to keep Taz afloat, but I left him floundering for a few minutes to go tend to Lou (Taz LOVED it).

When I got to Lou, I heard him sobbing. "What's wrong, Buddy?" I asked.

"I can't do this!" He hollered at me. "I'm the WORST EVER!" I tried to encourage him and tell him he couldn't expect to be perfect on the very first try. That's why he was in lessons, to learn how to do it. He didn't want to listen to any of that. So, in the end, I had to hold him under the arms and push him to the end of the rink for the class opening meeting. I left him sulking on the floor and went back to keep an eye on Taz.

An hour later, I called to Lou that it was time to go. "Just one more time around, Mom! This is FUN!" he responded to me as he flew by the rink gate.

So much for being the worst ever!

That's 0% Funny

I think most of us have experienced this. If not as a parent, at least as a child. You're trapped in a small enclosed space with your worst enemy (a sibling). It's a road trip. And it doesn't matter if they are trying to bug you or not -- they BUG you. At some point during the trip, you will hear someone say, "MO-OM! SHE'S LOOKING AT ME!"

We had a similar experience recently. We were in the car, which is much more crowded than the van. We were on a short trip... just to church. Lou and QB were rubbing elbows -- literally -- and that is NOT a good thing. Lou was tired and not in the mood to be trifled with, plus he was going to church -- not his favorite.

After the usually bickering about which seatbelt belonged to whom and who was touching whom(to which, of course, I had wisely replied, "Keep your hands to yourselves"), QB committed one final crime which could not be tolerated in even the worst of torture chambers:

"MO-OM!!! Her doll is LOOKING at me!"

Well, I'm sorry, but it was so funny I just had to laugh. I mean, her doll? That was one I had never heard. However, my laughing was also not to be tolerated (I probably did overdo it a bit-- but, dang it, that was funny!).

In utter exasperation, Lou turned his anger on me, "MOM, THAT IS ZERO PER CENT FUNNY!"

End of an Era

Yeah, that's right. School is out. Eighth graders have moved on. I have three days left to be at work, and I will have officially completed my first year at the new school. Put the kids out in the wading pool for the first time of the season today. I have all my grading done, so the only thing left to do is plan for the summer vacation.

First thing on the agenda is to go pick up our new puppy. We acquired her at the end of March, but left her with family until we could be home with her full time for training purposes. We'll do that next weekend. Should be an adventure... and I must admit I'm a little nervous. I haven't had to train a puppy for thirteen years.

Next thing will be to switch the kids' rooms and put the baby in his toddler bed. That usually requires my complete attention and all my energy for a few days. However, yesterday at nap time he climbed out of his crib, dumped a whole shelf of videos on the floor, crawled back into his crib and went to sleep without anyone noticing. I think he's ready to handle the responsibility.

With the switching rooms two new paint jobs are required. Anybody up for some painting? The boys (for some strange reason) refuse to sleep in a pink room. And as long as we're talking about painting, I have about half a dozen murals to finish too. I find it's much more amusing to paint with company than by myself (hint-hint).

Aside from that, I'd like to lose about 50 pounds. So obviously, I'm not expecting much from my summer. How about you?

I Was Wrong

... it's the paperwork.

Occupational Hazard

I've had a day.

Scratch that.
I've had a week.

I realized today that being an English teacher is far too risky for us non-confrontational types. No matter what I have on my bookshelves someone is going to complain about it. I may as well fill the shelf with Dr. Seuss and Mother Goose. Perhaps those are benign enough not to raise eyebrows.

Forget about how much more paperwork English teachers naturally incur. Forget about the widely varied curriculum we have to cover. Forget about the absolutely execrable essays we have to read on a daily basis. Forget about the behavior issues even. The worst thing about teaching English -- bar none -- is the ridiculously over-sensitive people who cannot, for the life of them, take responsibility for what their own children CHOOSE to read, so they have to blame the teacher.

At least that's how I'm feeling today... tomorrow I may think it's the paperwork.

You're a Beaut!

Leave it to Lou to brighten my day...

On Monday I was wearing a black shirt and black pants with a bright pink blouse over the top. When I got home from work, I was bombarded by a messy baby, so I took off my blouse and draped it over the ledge by the stairs. As I was walking out into the hallway, Lou was coming up the stairs. He saw my shirt lying there, so he picked it up and handed it to me. "You look great in this, Mom. Put it back on." I did. Then he said with a smile, "You're a beaut!"

For a second I thought, "What does he mean by that? Do I look bad in just my black pants and t-shirt?" Then I realized -- he's six. If he thinks I look bad, he just tells me. I don't have to read his mind.

DO YOU KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS!?

I'm a beaut! :)

My Latest Projects

I haven't been able to write much this month. Here's why:

That's four down, two more to go. The next one is a boy quilt, so I get a change of scenery. The verdict's still out on the one after that. Certainly by that time, I'll have another couple to add to the 'to do' list. I didn't quilt this one. I tied it. It took like ten minutes to tie. I always feel a little guilty when I tie a quilt. Seems like cheating.

Photo Meme

If you want to play along, here are the rules: 1. Choose the 4th folder where you store your pictures on your computer 2. Select the 4th picture in the folder 3. Explain the picture 4. Tag 4 people to do the same. NO CHEATING! (no cropping, editing, etc...). If you want to play, join in the fun! Sounds good but I don't know how to Tag someone.
QB's soccer team during the tournament this past spring. It was VERY hot, so a lot of people had shade structures up.

Just Ignore Me . . . Everyone Else Does

Late last night I finished a baby quilt for my youngest sister's new baby. Brand-spankin' new. Born December 10th. I think I was pretty timely on this one, considering the last two nieces' blankets (I worked on them concurrently) were a year in the making. I posted a picture and a heartfelt plea for some slack (see the last post). I mean, I still have two more baby quilts to go before I am officially caught up. And while I enjoy making the baby quilts, I'm only human... Yeah, a human with five sisters!

So, today after work, I stopped by my oldest sister's house (we'll call her Sapworth) because one of my younger sisters (we'll call her Amithea) was visiting there with her family on the way back from a long holiday trip -- just passing through, you know. My kids wanted to see their cousins, so we stopped in. I handed Amithea the two new quilts I had finished and asked her to deliver them to the appropriate sisters when she gets home. It's all good; don't have to pay for shipping that way. :)

"You know," she said. "You have to make another one."

"Oh no," I sighed. "I just wrote a special blog asking people to stop having babies, so I could catch up!"

"I'm afraid she didn't get the memo," Sapworth retorted with an evil grin.

I hope it's a boy. After four girly quilts in a row, I'm ready for a change of pace... and color schemes.

Three Down, Two to Go

A dragonfly quilt

I respectfully request people stop having babies, so I can catch up.

We Are Not a 'Sometimes' Family

As usual, my best stories come from Lou:

We were driving home from the store -- way past lunch time, if you know what I mean. The kids were hungry, and they rarely deal well with that. QB started to tease Lou about the baby growing up to be taller than him. She gets ornery... He gets fussy. Not a good combination, but we deal with it.

I was driving, so I listened to the argument in the back seat for a couple of minutes just to see if they would work it out.

"The youngest one is always the tallest. Mom said so."

"No they're not! Stop saying that!"

It went on like that for a while. Clearly they weren't going to work it out on their own. I stepped in. "I said, 'sometimes,' QB. 'Sometimes the youngest is the tallest.'"

Lou must have spied some kind of hope in the words. Adamantly, he informed his sister, "This is NOT a sometimes family!"

The World is All About Girls

The other night as I sat on the couch, I could hear the melodious sound of my children arguing and fussing upstairs (a typical evening). I called them both down and made them sit on the couch next to me -- one on one side, one on the other. They began quickly to air their grievances with one another so I would know who really was at fault. Eventually the fingerpointing came back to an incident which transpired three months ago that my daughter still felt was unsettled:

It was her birthday, the boys wouldn't play with her and consequently, smashed her fingers in the door. She cried. They apologized. She cried more. They got sick of it and said, "Waa-waaa! That's all you ever do!"

It's been three months, and she is still bringing it up every chance she gets. With great frustration, my son entreated me, "SHE ALWAYS TALKS ABOUT THAT!"

I figured this is as good a time as any to let him in on the little known secret. "That's what girls do. If you don't want her to talk about the bad things, don't do anything mean to hurt her feelings."

All right... it's not Biblical, but you have to admit it's true.

He gritted his teeth, held his hands out helplessly and bellowed, "IS THE WORLD ALL ABOUT GIRLS!?" I felt his pain -- his heartfelt frustration, but I had to tell him, "Yes, it is. And the sooner you realize it, the better off you'll be."

He glowered at me silently for a moment, then burst out with, "I DON'T LIKE IT!"

A Couple More

Winnie the Pooh -- Not my favorite

Valentine's Snoopy quilt

Finding Nemo/Fish Bowl quilt