Spelling Bees (aka another way for me to feel stupid)

Princess made the final cut to make it into her school's Spelling Bee. She had to be one of the top three in her class to compete. Yay! I remember my first Spelling Bee and how it was fun. At least it was fun until you got THAT word. For those that are losers like me and didn't complete the spelling bee, you know which word I'm talking about. THAT word, is the word that you will remember how to spell for the rest of your life. You will also remember the definition for the rest of your life. My word was oafish. It makes sense, it means stupid, uncultured or clumsy. Jerks! (shaking fist in the air).

Knowing the bad taste that spelling bee left, I wasn't about to pressure Princess and make her feel like she had to succeed. We were just happy making it to the competition.

Then the teachers sent out the practice lists for each grade. Evidently people practice for these things with a vigor that is comical. (If parents would take this much interest in the rest of their kid's education, we wouldn't be behind other countries in the value of education.) Princess decides she would like to practice, so I print off the 2nd grade lists which result in 30 pages of words! WTH? Yes, I have OCDs but seriously people, have you ever heard of Excel and using a spreadsheet? I got our list down to 6 pages, saved a couple trees in the process. I'm feeling great about myself.

Our practice routine is not what you would call "dedicated." When we remember, we practice. Today was the first time we actually sat down and practiced in a serious manner. I explained to her about why she needs to repeat the word, spell the word and then say the word again. I didn't even mention asking for the parts of speech, using it in a sentence or that whole where the word originated from thing. (Mostly because I couldn't tell her - my husband hasn't exactly banned me from discussing parts of speech, but it's coming.)

What I notice is my daughter is once again smarter than me. When we get to certain words, she asks for the definition, or for me to use it in a sentence. I'm proud of her, because she is thinking before she spells. Then she starts asking for these things on words that aren't as easy for me to define, or use in a sentence. I'm not the English/grammar person in this house; I am the math/science person. My husband could probably do this in his sleep, I need a lot of help and coffee. This results in a 20 minute break from practice, while I tear the house apart looking for ONE dictionary. I'm pretty sure we have three, but the best I could do was the Child's Dictionary. It was nice, it had pictures. It made me feel that this dictionary was appropriate, I felt it understood my problems and tried to help. They were really pretty pictures.

The spelling bee is in a couple of weeks, so wish Princess luck. She will need it since she has her mom and a Child's Dictionary helping her!

I have a dilemma

Little Dude is in a preschool that is very education driven and they learn through play activities. He is a pretty bright kid, so he needs to be challenged, otherwise he gets bored and I lose my patience. I'm not complaining, I am very happy to have two VERY bright kids that are genetically related to me! My problem comes when they get bored with my meticulously planned activities, because they aren't challenging enough! I consider myself a pretty smart woman, but when I'm learning new ways to do math (that would've made calculus WAY easier) because of my 2nd grader's homework, it's a little depressing.

Back to my story. Little Dude gets homework every month that goes along with the lesson plan they are working on. There is a math concept section and a reading/writing concept section. He gets one week to turn them in. The homework isn't that challenging in itself, it's getting Little Dude to sit down long enough to do it. Mostly the homework involves counting things, grouping things, cutting random things and gluing other things. (By the way, you should begin to stockpile "crap" magazines when your child reaches 4 years of age. There will come a time when they need to cut things out. I had to get over the horror of some of my cooking magazines being slaughtered.)

This week's homework is actually pretty simple and will be easy to get him to sit down and finish. Why am I having a dilemma? In the reading/writing section he has to choose his favorite song, write the title, explain what happens in the song and then draw a picture. I look back on my mothering and wonder at what point I went wrong, even though I enjoy that he likes my music.

Princess would love when I sang the lullabies and kid songs when she was younger. I think she still might enjoy hearing me sing them. Little Dude on the other hand, wasn't as appreciative of my singing abilities and wouldn't let me sing. I understand that I am not the next American Idol, but I'm not awful. You want awful? Walk on to any school yard and hum a few lines of "Let It Go" and just stand back and listen in horror. Some kids sound great, but the others...wow! Princess just happens to be one of the "others," so I know why Little Dude doesn't like us singing.

Every once in awhile though, the family can get together and belt a few songs out and not worry about how we sound. It's those songs we will blast in the car and sing as loudly as we can. Those songs happen to be from groups such as: Imagine Dragons, Fall Out Boy, Panic at the Disco and Katy Perry. (Yes, Katy Perry.)
Obviously I try very hard to play the radio edited versions of these groups, just because I swear enough for my own kids, they don't need to pick it up while singing.

While I am very happy that Fall Out Boy and Panic at the Disco were not chosen as the group of his favorite song, he did choose a song by Imagine Dragons that is the reason for my dilemma. If you have not heard or watched the video for "Radioactive," it is a pretty good song, with an even more entertaining video.

Here is the video link, if you're interested.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ktvTqknDobU&feature=kp

If you just listen to the lyrics, it would be pretty difficult for a preschooler to explain what is going on. The problem is, Little Dude has seen the video several times, because honestly I find it amusing. If you haven't watched it, you should, for many reason that include a cameo by Lou Diamond Phillips. Basically it involves an underground Muppet/stuffed toy fighting ring. Mr. Phillips is the cage boss. Stuffed toys go up against this purple Muppet character and get annihilated.

If you follow my husband's blog about his journeys with Sweet Peach, Footy and Truman, my poor Truman is one of the unfortunate toys. My husband loves this because of our college rivalry and that fact my poor stuffed tiger is named Truman (college mascot's name). He's just sick, but that's his college's fault.

My dilemma is, do I let my preschooler write about, and draw images of Muppets and toy bears, fighting to the death? I can't think of any scenario in the video that he could draw without getting a "concerned note" or phone call about.

I'm hoping I can get him to come up with a second favorite song. My luck, he'll choose a Fall Out Boy or Panic at the Disco song. I guess I should be happy, at least neither one of my kids like Bieber, Cyrus or One Direction. Ha! I'll take a note home any day over them liking those "artists."

Pride

This morning started out like any other morning. Getting the kids ready for school and then driving Little Dude to preschool. On the way there we were discussing how much we haven't done for Christmas this year. 

Normally we decorate the tree and put up decorations around the house. Normally we make a chain that counts down the days until Christmas. 

Not this year. 

Why?

We have a kitten in the house. Loki became a part of our family in October. He is a furry little ball of energy, packed with some Siamese attitude. He rolls around on the floor with our 4 year old Rat Terrier like they are siblings. He has firmly entrenched himself in this family. 

The only exception being our 10 year old cat, Chu. (She has a Fu Man Chu white marking on her face, Chu sounded feminine). She is starting to not hiss at him after 2 months...slowly, but surely she may accept him.

When a kitten comes into your house, there is really nothing that is off limits to them. On that note, we completely forgot about Christmas decorations and the tree. 

He loves to climb the tree. He loves to chew on the light-bulbs. He loves to lay on the branches in the middle of the tree. (All that fluffing I did to the branches....erased, but only in the middle.)

Our plan was to put the tree out to give him a few days to get used to it. After a couple of days we would put decorations on. In other words, we would decorate the tree after he stopped playing in the tree. 

Since this is evidently not going to happen, we decided to make destructible ornaments. The kids and I made salt flour decorations and plan on decorating them this week. If they break, it won't bother us as much as losing those ornaments that are loaded with memories. 

SO back to the car and the discussion about ornaments...

Princess is silent for awhile. I assume she is getting depressed about everything we haven't done. I couldn't be more wrong. She starts this conversation:

P - Mom, what are cats afraid of?

M - (due to the conversation switch, I was momentarily stumped) Depends on the cat, I guess.

P - What are Siamese afraid of?

M - It isn't the type of cat. Some cats are afraid of dogs, but Loki isn't. It really depends on the cat. Loki isn't afraid of much.

P - He's afraid of Chu.

M - Yes, he is afraid of Chu. 

P - Can we paint the ornaments to look like Chu?

M - (this is her tying the whole conversation together, but I get lost) Um....that might be a little more detail than I was planning on. 

P - If we make the tree look like Chu, or have Chu faces all over, won't Loki be afraid of the tree?

M - (me laughing out loud, because my daughter is a freaking genius) Princess that is a wonderful idea!

Little Dude - Can't we just print out pictures of Chu and still paint the ornaments?

At this point, I am so proud of my kids! Not only did they come up with a wonderful plan for the cat to leave the tree alone, but they have a very sick sense of humor. I love it. I am so proud at this point, that I'm not even going to inform them on how animals can't see 2D images very well, so Loki won't be able to see the image of Chu.

If we actually do decorate our tree with Chu images, I will have to post a picture later. Some will think of this as a weird tribute to a cat with serious attitude. We will know that it is in fact a way for my kids to scare the crap out of the kitten, in order to salvage some Christmas decorations! I love my kids!

Decisions, decisions

I guess I'm continuing on with the craziness from yesterday. It may have opened a door that will increase my level (insert whimper here). I have a tough decision to make in the near future and I guess I would like some suggestions or help!

At the end of December our family is going to go visit some of our "besties" in DC. Yeah, yeah, December in DC does not excite me, since I am firmly entrenched as a Southern California girl. Also, my husband asked for ideas from people on his Facebook site as to where we should go for our 10 year anniversary. I threatened people who left remarks about Northern or (in general) COLD states for vacation destinations. Therefore, we are going to DC in the middle of winter, yay.

To make it even more exciting, I sprained 3 ligaments in my ankle in October by stepping off of a chair. Yes, stepping down. There may have been a small pile of cords on the floor, that I may or may not have stepped on successfully. To hear Little Dude explain my situation to doctors, I was viciously attacked my a 30 foot cord monster and broke my leg. Unfortunately, his story is incorrect. I stepped off the chair and landed wrong on my left ankle. It did hurt badly enough to warrant an ER trip; I thought I broke something. X rays and torture aside, I was advised to use crutches and stay off my foot.

A month goes by and I ditch the crutches and convince myself that I'm fine. (For those wondering, yes this did include me trying to walk my 2-3 miles a day. I was unsuccessful).

After my follow-up appointment with another doctor the conversation about not using crutches didn't end well for me. Now I'm in a walking boot, which I admit is much easier on the armpits and knees. However it is really making warm toes and the thought of buying new shoes, difficult. I was due for new running shoes, but they have been put on hold since my alignment is off, so-to-speak.

Here is part of my dilemma. I'm going to travel to a cold place with a walking boot. There will likely be rain, snow, or some ungodly mixture of both. How do I keep my poor Southern California toes warm AND dry?

Next issue is, my husband and I plan on celebrating our 10 year anniversary, so I assume there will be nice clothing worn. I can't wear heels because then my boot would be unbalanced. I can't wear heels without the walking boot either, because that is some awful amount of pain. (I tried it for a wedding in October - it ended with me wearing sensible flats.) My question is, do I pack both shoes or just the right-sided ones?

Serious answers please! My husband mentioned something about having more packing space. He also mentioned something about me taking it easy so I wouldn't need to USE the boot. (That last comment made it seem like we haven't been married for 10 years, however he knows me better than most.)

I would love suggestions! You may even offer unhelpful, but ultimately funny ones; my husband will appreciate the humor.

Levels of Crazy

During most dinners that involve wine, our conversations either get deep or funny.
I really can't remember how it started, but I do remember the embarrassing points of the last one. Therefore, I thought I would share.

It all started with me saying, "I'm not THAT crazy!'"

My husband (Military Dad) responded by saying: How do you define THAT crazy?
Me: There are levels.
MD: How many levels?
Me: 5
MD: (Silence)
Me: (Silence)

MD: So, is this an arbitrary number or did you take your time and consider this?
Me: (Silence)
MD: (Silence)

Me: Arbitrary?
MD: So is 1 crazy or is 5?
Me: Level 1 is fun at a party.
MD: You've thought this out. I'm intrigued, please continue.
Me:
Level 1 - Fun at a party, but nothing really "wrong" with your mind
Level 2 - You have some OCDs but they don't control your life
Level 3  -Your OCDs may require medication, but otherwise you are functional.
Level 4 - You need medication on a daily basis to function
Level 5 - You are hospitalized

MD: Wow, so....what level are you?
Me: 2.3
MD: Two Point Three?
Me: Yes, 2.3. I have some OCDs that don't control my life, but some days they can interfere.
MD: Wow, I would have put you at a 1.
Me: You're so sweet!

MD: What level am I?
Me: 1.8
MD: How am I a 1.8? I'm not fun at a party!
Me: (After considering that this is the only thing he has a problem with, I go with it.) You make fun of yourself.
MD: Yes, but that's not fun at a party level.
Me: I have an apron hidden in the cupboard that has a hairy chested man behind a sheep with an tongue ring that proves otherwise. (This was given to him as a result of Military Dad making fun of himself. His friends thought it would be a blast to give him a sheep fornication apron.)
MD: So....next conversation....

(After reflecting on this conversation I'm thinking that I may need to downgrade my level a little.)

MD: ?
Me: You want to ask, how did I come up with this scale?
MD:  A little
Me: I wanted to establish a set of guidelines where I knew I was okay and what point I needed to seek help.

For my friends out there, please don't ask me what level you are. Yes, I have assigned everyone levels, but that's a part of my problem, not yours. That's where the 0.3 comes in on my crazy scale.

Animal Observations

As I sit here, I am currently listening to my cat clean up a mess she made. I am blessed with a cat who eats so fast, her stomach actually forces it back out. Kind of, "Wow, that's a lot of food all at once. Why don't we try that again in slow motion."

So after binging, then hoarking her kibble, she is now methodically eating it again. I've gotten over many things that would make a normal person squeamish, however I'm still a sympathetic puker.  Yes, even with animals. Only when I was pregnant did I actually throw up. Now I just dry heave a little; things are looking up!

Not that all this isn't disgusting enough, she has now re-eaten her fill and left the area. Cue dog...yep, here she comes, right on time.

There is no more methodical eating, just one big disgusting, bile-raising, slurp. Quick. Efficient. Done. (Insert dry heave)

This raises a couple, thought provoking questions.

1. Why won't the damn cat slow down? Seriously, almost every night we go through this binge, hoark, eat routine. Yuck! (Yes, we've tried feeding her less, but more often. We've even put obstacles in her food dish - doesn't seem to slow her down at all.)

2a. Why does the cat eat her own puke?

It's disgusting on so many levels. When humans hoark, we usually figure out that something went wrong between the eating and the digesting posts. After we finally quit reversing natural physiology, we go lie down somewhere to wallow in self-pity.

2b. This is somewhat the same question. Why do dogs eat nasty stuff? Trash, tissue paper, diapers, anything rotting, the list goes on.

They have super noses, so they should be able to figure out, by smell alone, that they are about to eat something normally considered inedible. Unless their super noses can pick up on subtle nuances that we can't?!

Most days I'm happy when I can actually smell or taste the things I'm supposed to taste when drinking wine. I always thought having a nose capable of picking up the things a dog can smell would be extremely helpful; now I'm not so sure. Anything that may lead me down the road to eating my own puke doesn't seem like a good thing...and that's just a cat's nose. A dog's nose would evidently make someone else's vomit a delicacy. No thank you.

The H Word

I've decided I'm going to do it, I'm going to dedicate an entire blog post to one awful, horrendous word. This word is actually so awful that it is up there with the number one word I hate to hear: "moist." Ugh, I hate hearing that word, though not as much as the one this post will be about. I'm also not going to use it in this post, so unless you have kids, you may not get it. If you have kids, don't be ashamed, you really aren't alone in this!

If you have children, it doesn't matter how many, you deal with this word on a rather consistent basis. You also think you are the only one that suffers, but then when it finally gets to where you think you are dying, you make that embarrassing doctor's appointment. You are so ashamed you whisper your affliction on the phone to the receptionist.

When it is finally time for your appointment, you walk in, head hung in shame because you feel diseased in a way. When the nurse calls your name, you have hit your low point and you question whether you can just walk out and not deal with it for another few weeks. You decide you have to deal with it sooner or later so you walk past the waiting room door so the nurse can take your vitals.

Once you reach the inner sanctum, the nurse turns to you and begins the embarrassing questions part: how long, how bad, etc. You answer in a hushed shame. Then something weird happens, you are transported to a different world, (if you have a female nurse that has kids). The nurse begins to tell you how awful she had them and how often she gets them.....wah?

Then the doctor comes in and explains how she gets them all the time too....wah? I have a wonderful doctor who likes to explain in details, so at a point I become uncomfortable again, but I do find comfort that I'm not the only one.

What I come to find out, is that once you have a child, this becomes rather a regular problem. No one speaks of it, so everyone thinks they are the only one. My issue is WHY? Why does this happen all of a sudden after having a kid?

My first thought was because everything gets stretched, torn, and all sorts of awful things that are considered "natural." However, I had two cesareans, so on the stretching/tearing aspect, I got off pretty easy, so that rules that out for some people.

It can't be hormones, because I think after your first child (definitely after your second), your hormones stop saying, "Hey! Let's have kids!" Now they are saying, "Sleep woman!" or if your husband gives you that look, "Don't even think about it buddy!"

So WHY?!

I came to the realization yesterday, that I think it is mostly time. Yes, that wonderful concept that as a mother, you don't really have any left, or to yourself. If you are a stay-home mom, your world is compressed into timed segments of where and when your kids have to be, homework, dinner, baths and bedtime. I'm ashamed to admit this, but I think my kids get more showers/baths than I do, in a given week. (When my husband isn't deployed, I come out ahead, or at least even, with the kids.) If you have a career, your time is compressed into spending the few hours left during the week into homework, dinner and bedtime.

Also, for some strange reason, when a dad goes to the bathroom, he is LEFT ALONE. What the...? Why?

The kids can be on a different floor than I am; they could even be sleeping or watching a movie. It's like they have this switch, "hey, mom went into the bathroom, let's go check on her." I don't even have to be using the restroom, I could be cleaning it (ha ha!) and they come find me.

Even if you lock and barricade the door, they find away to bother you. Constant knocking, or the ever-creepy fingers-under-the-door trick, when you just want a minute of peace. So unlike a dad who gets 20-30 minutes of peace (they can read chapter books!), moms get: strange conversations/questions, knocking, fingers under the door (or objects), barging in (forgot to lock the door), crying, kids fighting, stuff breaking, etc...

I tried to "bother" the kids while they go to the bathroom, hoping to teach them respect and privacy...that didn't go well. They actually enjoyed the company, I think. Therefore, I think I may start a new bathroom policy when Military Dad comes home. For every minute, I'm bothered in the bathroom, the kids will be required to bother him in the bathroom! Either, MD will help enforce a "don't bother mom" code, or I won't be the only person in the house with the H word.