Yesterday I attended a ceremony of sorts. It wasn't a promotion ceremony (those are fun because it means someone is getting a pay raise!) or a retirement ceremony (those are fun because it means someone is getting out of the Army, which also means a pay raise!). It was an induction ceremony (and no, no one came home with prescription narcotics and a screaming infant). I'll get to the ceremony in a moment.
My family and my 2 college friends that read this blog know that my son has one teacher I really like, and one I could do without. For the purpose of this blog, we'll call the one I like Ms. T. Ms. T is the MOST WONDERFUL preschool teacher of all time. Why? Because she loves my son like he is her own, that's why. I drop my son off each morning knowing that if he can't be with me or his grandparents, she is the next best thing. Needless to say, she is very special to us.
So, when I heard that her 19 year-old son left for a year in Afghanistan last week I wanted to cry. This wonderful woman who gives so much to my son day after day, now has a son in what I consider to be the worst place on the face of the earth. I hate Afghanistan. (I hate Iraq too, but right now I hate Afghanistan more. Some of my favorite peeps are currently in Afghanistan, so I hate it more). However, now is not the time to cry (I cry when I read to my daughter's class or when I see that one coffee commercial when Peter comes home to surprise his parents on Christmas morning). Now is the time we rally and welcome Ms. T. into our fold.
Another mom, Ms. Awesome, suggested we put together a deployment basket for Ms. T. So four of us moms (who all happen to be Army wives, by the way) assembled a basket of goodies to get her through the next year.
The basket contained:
Blue star sticker for her car or window
Army travel mug
Coffee
Trashy beach read
Chocolate (duh)
Bottle of wine (double duh)
Stress-relief/relaxation tea
Handmade cards from our kids
Notes from us
380 marbles and 2 Ball jars (so she can transfer one a day until he is home)
Ms. Awesome wrapped it up in cellophane and tied it with a big yellow ribbon and bow. It was beautiful! (I SO wish I would have taken a picture).
Yesterday after school we, along with our children, presented it to her. She cried. We cried. We freaked out our kids. It was awesome. She was speechless, and thanks to our tears, so were we. I think we each hugged her 2 or 3 times before one of us (totally not me) composed ourselves enough to spit out how much we love her and will support her in any way we can.
Welcome to the sisterhood, Ms. T! May the year go fast, may you get many emails and phone calls from your soldier, may you not watch too much TV news coverage, and may you accept our thanks for raising such a fine young man. We love you!
25 February 2011
19 February 2011
The Fab Five
Earlier this week, a friend posted an article on Facebook about the 5 friends Oprah says every woman must have. You can read that article here. I thought it sounded interesting, so I read on. Truthfully, I read it to see if I had any of the friends that Oprah says I should have. I do, but as I do with any advice/self-help/opinion pieces I read, I try to decipher how this pertains to me as a military spouse. You know what's coming next, right? Without further ado, I present The Five Friends Every Military Spouse Should Have, according to Amy.
The Senior Advisor - No offense to all of you "senior" spouses out there, but you know who you are. I have been fortunate enough to have a handful of these in my almost 13 years as a military spouse and am even more fortunate that hardly any of them are on Facebook or blogger. I wouldn't want to have to admit that I consider them a "senior" anything. The senior advisors are your friends, but they are also your mentors. They usually have older kids, a higher-ranking husband, and really cool furniture they've gotten from their overseas duty stations. These ladies are never short on good advice, a calm demeanor and some sort of yummy baked good they just so happen to have made that morning (and seriously, HOW do they DO that?). Their door is always open and they always have time for a toddler-crazed stay-at-home mom with a quick question. If you don't have one of these in your military spouse arsenal...get one.
The Decorator - The decorator is one of those women that makes living in a different house every two years look easy. Her furniture ALWAYS fits and LOOKS GOOD where ever she puts it. She can pick up an ottoman at IKEA, a rug in Texas at a flea market, some curtains at Target and make them work in every house she lives in until they retire. And, painting? She makes it look like a breeze. The decorator will paint every room in every house they live in even if it means she has to paint it back before they move. The decorator most likely also has a husband that gives her semi-free reign to decorate as she pleases, thus making her even more valuable. Husbands frequently go along with decorating changes if some poor sap down the street has had to endure it too and they can share fabric shopping war stories. The decorator is always willing to come help you move a couch or give you her opinion on a new coffee table. I love a good decorator friend.
The Fertile Myrtle - Everyone needs at least one Fertile Myrtle in their friend bank. The Fertile Myrtle has numerous children, numerous pets and an unlimited supply of patience. NOTHING fazes the Fertile Myrtle. Your toddler spilled milk on her rug? No biggie. It matches the spill one of her children placed there earlier this morning. You need someone to watch your two kids at the last minute because your babysitter canceled? Puh-lease! What is two more kids when you already have four or five of your own? The Fertile Myrtle is happy to oblige. Her theory is the more the merrier and she honestly believes that to be true. The Fertile Myrtle is who you thought you wanted to be, but 2 kids and a deployment later you realized there was no way that was going to happen without winning the lottery and hiring a full-time nanny. You might not aspire to be a Fertile Myrtle, but you need one as a friend. Trust me.
The Anti-Spouse - The Anti-Spouse is a different breed. She is the one that says things like, "I don't know what my husband does, because we don't talk about his job when he gets home." She may not even know what the inside of his office looks like, because she's never been there. To her the Army (or Navy, or Air Force, or Marines) is just HIS job, not THEIR way of life. He does his thing, she and the kids do theirs. It may seem strange to you, but it works for them. You can hold endless conversations about fashion, child-rearing, dieting, relationships, just about anything and the military will never enter the conversation. The Anti-Spouse always provides a good reality check if you find yourself using more acronyms than actual words in a sentence. Warning: Do not confuse The Anti-Spouse with The Angry Spouse. The Angry Spouse is a sad, bitter woman full of endless complaints about the military. The Angry Spouse is usually not happy with her marriage, her children or even the produce at the commissary, and she will find a way to work her discontent into every conversation. Stay away from The Angry Spouse. Or better yet, find another Angry Spouse and introduce them to each other.
The Battle Buddy - The Battle Buddy is by far the best friend for a military spouse to have. She is your go-to gal for all things, all the time. Need a pair of earrings to match your formal dress? She'll bring over her entire jewelry box. Think you might want to train for a 1/2 marathon? She'll lace up her running shoes and train with you. Need a good cry because you haven't talked to or gotten an email from your deployed husband in a week? She is at your door with a kleenex 3-pack and a movie to occupy the kids so the both of you can cry in peace. The Battle Buddy is worth her weight in gold. If you are extremely lucky, you may find a Battle Buddy at each duty station. If not, don't worry. There is an unwritten rule that once a Battle Buddy, always a Battle Buddy, even from thousands of miles away.
So there you have it. My unofficial guide to The 5 Friends Every Military Spouse Should Have. Thoughts? Comments? I'd love to hear them! Unless of course you think of ME as your senior advisor. You can keep that thought to yourself. :)
The Senior Advisor - No offense to all of you "senior" spouses out there, but you know who you are. I have been fortunate enough to have a handful of these in my almost 13 years as a military spouse and am even more fortunate that hardly any of them are on Facebook or blogger. I wouldn't want to have to admit that I consider them a "senior" anything. The senior advisors are your friends, but they are also your mentors. They usually have older kids, a higher-ranking husband, and really cool furniture they've gotten from their overseas duty stations. These ladies are never short on good advice, a calm demeanor and some sort of yummy baked good they just so happen to have made that morning (and seriously, HOW do they DO that?). Their door is always open and they always have time for a toddler-crazed stay-at-home mom with a quick question. If you don't have one of these in your military spouse arsenal...get one.
The Decorator - The decorator is one of those women that makes living in a different house every two years look easy. Her furniture ALWAYS fits and LOOKS GOOD where ever she puts it. She can pick up an ottoman at IKEA, a rug in Texas at a flea market, some curtains at Target and make them work in every house she lives in until they retire. And, painting? She makes it look like a breeze. The decorator will paint every room in every house they live in even if it means she has to paint it back before they move. The decorator most likely also has a husband that gives her semi-free reign to decorate as she pleases, thus making her even more valuable. Husbands frequently go along with decorating changes if some poor sap down the street has had to endure it too and they can share fabric shopping war stories. The decorator is always willing to come help you move a couch or give you her opinion on a new coffee table. I love a good decorator friend.
The Fertile Myrtle - Everyone needs at least one Fertile Myrtle in their friend bank. The Fertile Myrtle has numerous children, numerous pets and an unlimited supply of patience. NOTHING fazes the Fertile Myrtle. Your toddler spilled milk on her rug? No biggie. It matches the spill one of her children placed there earlier this morning. You need someone to watch your two kids at the last minute because your babysitter canceled? Puh-lease! What is two more kids when you already have four or five of your own? The Fertile Myrtle is happy to oblige. Her theory is the more the merrier and she honestly believes that to be true. The Fertile Myrtle is who you thought you wanted to be, but 2 kids and a deployment later you realized there was no way that was going to happen without winning the lottery and hiring a full-time nanny. You might not aspire to be a Fertile Myrtle, but you need one as a friend. Trust me.
The Anti-Spouse - The Anti-Spouse is a different breed. She is the one that says things like, "I don't know what my husband does, because we don't talk about his job when he gets home." She may not even know what the inside of his office looks like, because she's never been there. To her the Army (or Navy, or Air Force, or Marines) is just HIS job, not THEIR way of life. He does his thing, she and the kids do theirs. It may seem strange to you, but it works for them. You can hold endless conversations about fashion, child-rearing, dieting, relationships, just about anything and the military will never enter the conversation. The Anti-Spouse always provides a good reality check if you find yourself using more acronyms than actual words in a sentence. Warning: Do not confuse The Anti-Spouse with The Angry Spouse. The Angry Spouse is a sad, bitter woman full of endless complaints about the military. The Angry Spouse is usually not happy with her marriage, her children or even the produce at the commissary, and she will find a way to work her discontent into every conversation. Stay away from The Angry Spouse. Or better yet, find another Angry Spouse and introduce them to each other.
The Battle Buddy - The Battle Buddy is by far the best friend for a military spouse to have. She is your go-to gal for all things, all the time. Need a pair of earrings to match your formal dress? She'll bring over her entire jewelry box. Think you might want to train for a 1/2 marathon? She'll lace up her running shoes and train with you. Need a good cry because you haven't talked to or gotten an email from your deployed husband in a week? She is at your door with a kleenex 3-pack and a movie to occupy the kids so the both of you can cry in peace. The Battle Buddy is worth her weight in gold. If you are extremely lucky, you may find a Battle Buddy at each duty station. If not, don't worry. There is an unwritten rule that once a Battle Buddy, always a Battle Buddy, even from thousands of miles away.
So there you have it. My unofficial guide to The 5 Friends Every Military Spouse Should Have. Thoughts? Comments? I'd love to hear them! Unless of course you think of ME as your senior advisor. You can keep that thought to yourself. :)
02 February 2011
A (bittersweet) taste of freedom.
Today was truly a test. And by test, I really mean a nail-biting, gas-producing, check the phone every 5 minutes whopper of a test. Today was the first day I was going to leave my son at preschool past the normal pick-up time. He was going to be there a whole 5+ hours! Mind you, this was the PERFECT situation. He was staying in the same room. I packed his favorite lunch (dinosaur shaped pb&j is always a hit). My favorite teacher was going to be watching him. There were only 5 other kids staying. I say again...PERFECT.
So what was the test, you ask? It wasn't a test for him. It was for ME. What was I going to do for ALL.THAT.TIME? I have been a stay-at-home mom for almost 9 years. 9 years. Yes, we have done a weekend away from them here or there. I go out with the girls on occasion. I no longer have them attached at the hip. (Insert shout out to my sister-in-law, Sarah, here). But this was different. This time, I wasn't going to a movie with friends. I wasn't on a trip to watch my beloved Illini football team in the Rose Bowl. I wasn't spending an afternoon shopping for clothes. I was going to be home...alone.
I just so happened to have a brunch to attend, which took care of 2 hours. But, now what? I have dreamed of this day for YEARS! Those dreams have ranged from several hours in a row of sipping coffee and reading books at Barnes and Noble to meeting old friends for a long lunch (and, of course, wine). So, I started slow. I called an old friend and had a nice middle-of-the week chat. I kept the ball rolling and sent my sister-in-law a few (dozen) texts. Then I really got into it and stopped and got my husband the razor blade refills I kept forgetting to pick up (and why do those have to be SO expensive, I ask?). Just when I was hitting my stride, I unexpectedly ran into a good friend in the drug store parking lot.
We chatted for a few minutes, and when she realized I was alone she asked, "What are you doing? Where are your kids?" Trying not to do my best Sammy Hagar kick and run around the parking lot in circles, I explained that I was alone. Both kids were at school. "This is what my life will be like in August when everyone is in school full time!" She smiled, but it was a half-smile. She shrugged her shoulders and said, "What I wouldn't give to have all of mine little and home with me again. Now, it's just me and the dog."
I think you could actually hear the air deflate out of my lungs. She went on to say how her youngest had left to go back to college today and her husband was on yet another government sponsored vacation, so it was literally just "her and the dog." How depressing is that? I started to rethink things then and there.
My life for the last 9 years has been all about them. Feed them. Diaper them. Dress them. Heal them. Teach them. Tickle them. Play with them. Read with them. And the truth is, I have loved every minute of it (ok, not every SINGLE minute, but you get my drift). These kids are the reason I am who I am. They make me laugh, they make me feel needed, they are my shopping buddies, they keep me company during deployments and they teach me to be more patient (they teach their dad that too, by the way).
Don't get me wrong, I still plan on enjoying my alone time with friends or volunteering at school without a toddler pulling paper out of the teacher mailboxes. I still can't fathom a time when my children won't be in my house. It seems like ages from now, but I know it's not. And I know it will be here before I know it. So from now on if you run in to me in the drug store parking lot, my Sammy Hagar kick may not be as high. I may only do one lap around the parking lot instead of two. I have to be careful, you know. I wouldn't want to injure myself and not be able to take care of the dog.
So what was the test, you ask? It wasn't a test for him. It was for ME. What was I going to do for ALL.THAT.TIME? I have been a stay-at-home mom for almost 9 years. 9 years. Yes, we have done a weekend away from them here or there. I go out with the girls on occasion. I no longer have them attached at the hip. (Insert shout out to my sister-in-law, Sarah, here). But this was different. This time, I wasn't going to a movie with friends. I wasn't on a trip to watch my beloved Illini football team in the Rose Bowl. I wasn't spending an afternoon shopping for clothes. I was going to be home...alone.
I just so happened to have a brunch to attend, which took care of 2 hours. But, now what? I have dreamed of this day for YEARS! Those dreams have ranged from several hours in a row of sipping coffee and reading books at Barnes and Noble to meeting old friends for a long lunch (and, of course, wine). So, I started slow. I called an old friend and had a nice middle-of-the week chat. I kept the ball rolling and sent my sister-in-law a few (dozen) texts. Then I really got into it and stopped and got my husband the razor blade refills I kept forgetting to pick up (and why do those have to be SO expensive, I ask?). Just when I was hitting my stride, I unexpectedly ran into a good friend in the drug store parking lot.
We chatted for a few minutes, and when she realized I was alone she asked, "What are you doing? Where are your kids?" Trying not to do my best Sammy Hagar kick and run around the parking lot in circles, I explained that I was alone. Both kids were at school. "This is what my life will be like in August when everyone is in school full time!" She smiled, but it was a half-smile. She shrugged her shoulders and said, "What I wouldn't give to have all of mine little and home with me again. Now, it's just me and the dog."
I think you could actually hear the air deflate out of my lungs. She went on to say how her youngest had left to go back to college today and her husband was on yet another government sponsored vacation, so it was literally just "her and the dog." How depressing is that? I started to rethink things then and there.
My life for the last 9 years has been all about them. Feed them. Diaper them. Dress them. Heal them. Teach them. Tickle them. Play with them. Read with them. And the truth is, I have loved every minute of it (ok, not every SINGLE minute, but you get my drift). These kids are the reason I am who I am. They make me laugh, they make me feel needed, they are my shopping buddies, they keep me company during deployments and they teach me to be more patient (they teach their dad that too, by the way).
Don't get me wrong, I still plan on enjoying my alone time with friends or volunteering at school without a toddler pulling paper out of the teacher mailboxes. I still can't fathom a time when my children won't be in my house. It seems like ages from now, but I know it's not. And I know it will be here before I know it. So from now on if you run in to me in the drug store parking lot, my Sammy Hagar kick may not be as high. I may only do one lap around the parking lot instead of two. I have to be careful, you know. I wouldn't want to injure myself and not be able to take care of the dog.
21 December 2010
Mrs. Trimble, guest reader
A note came home from school the second week of December. Mind you, notes have been coming home on what seems like a daily basis. Everything from picture retake reminders to requests for donations for the mitten tree. But this one was "special," my daughter said. This one was asking for parents to come in and share a favorite Christmas book or tradition. With big blue eyes my daughter handed it to me and asked, "so what book are you bringing, mom?" Fine. If this will make her happy, I can certainly find 20 minutes out of my Christmas season to go sit and read a book or talk to her class. No problem. Add it to my list of things to do. I got it covered.
I checked the "yes" box and sent the form back to school. But that was on December 10. I told myself I would worry about what I was actually going to read or share later. Well, later was yesterday. Suddenly it was time to go to school. I grabbed the first book I saw, dropped JT off at the neighbors house and raced to school. I got to her classroom on time to find 18 3rd graders sitting in a perfect semi-circle on the floor. I saw what was obviously the teacher's chair perfectly placed in the middle of the semi-circle. And then I saw it. THE BOOK. The book I bought for Natalie 4 years ago when her dad was deployed for Christmas. The book she had obviously picked for me to read and brought with her to school in her backpack. The book I cannot make it through without crying. This was not going to end well.
I said a little prayer that went something like this, "Lord, please don't let me scare these children by boo-hooing all over the pages of this book," picked up The Soldier's Night Before Christmas and started reading. Little giggles erupted every now and then and things were just peachy until page 10. You see, page 10 is where the Santa of Soldiers stands back, takes a look at the soldiers asleep in their racks, and renders a salute. It gets me every time. This time was no exception. Except this time I had 18 pairs of eyes on me. I couldn't hide the fact that my voice was breaking with a cough. I couldn't pass off my tears as "something in my eye." They were on to me.
I summoned the courage to look at them and what I saw surprised me. I saw one little girl with her head down, crying. One little boy was up on his knees trying to crane his neck to look at me from under the book, tears in his eyes. And I saw my daughter wiping away the tears from the corners of her eyes too. I was expecting them to think I was nutty. Why was this mom in here crying while reading us a book? What's her deal? I expected a bunch of, "what's wrong with your mom, Natalie?" "Hey, Mrs. Trimble, why are you crying?" However, that was not the case. These kids were WAY more mature than I gave them credit for.
I made it through the rest of the book without too many more stumbles. I closed the book, took a deep breath and said, "Raise your hand if your mom or dad has ever been deployed during the holidays." What followed was one of the most moving conversations I have ever been a part of. I wish I had a video recording of it. So many stories. So much pride in their voices talking about their moms and dads. These little people have endured so much in their mere eight or nine years on this earth. And they do it over and over again. They do it with grace. They do it with courage. They do it without even knowing they do it. That's what makes them so very special.
As I was leaving the classroom, I heard a little girl whisper to Natalie, "Natalie, your mom is cool." I smiled. Little does that girl know, I think she is the cool one. I would tell her myself, but it would probably make me cry. Again.
I checked the "yes" box and sent the form back to school. But that was on December 10. I told myself I would worry about what I was actually going to read or share later. Well, later was yesterday. Suddenly it was time to go to school. I grabbed the first book I saw, dropped JT off at the neighbors house and raced to school. I got to her classroom on time to find 18 3rd graders sitting in a perfect semi-circle on the floor. I saw what was obviously the teacher's chair perfectly placed in the middle of the semi-circle. And then I saw it. THE BOOK. The book I bought for Natalie 4 years ago when her dad was deployed for Christmas. The book she had obviously picked for me to read and brought with her to school in her backpack. The book I cannot make it through without crying. This was not going to end well.
I said a little prayer that went something like this, "Lord, please don't let me scare these children by boo-hooing all over the pages of this book," picked up The Soldier's Night Before Christmas and started reading. Little giggles erupted every now and then and things were just peachy until page 10. You see, page 10 is where the Santa of Soldiers stands back, takes a look at the soldiers asleep in their racks, and renders a salute. It gets me every time. This time was no exception. Except this time I had 18 pairs of eyes on me. I couldn't hide the fact that my voice was breaking with a cough. I couldn't pass off my tears as "something in my eye." They were on to me.
I summoned the courage to look at them and what I saw surprised me. I saw one little girl with her head down, crying. One little boy was up on his knees trying to crane his neck to look at me from under the book, tears in his eyes. And I saw my daughter wiping away the tears from the corners of her eyes too. I was expecting them to think I was nutty. Why was this mom in here crying while reading us a book? What's her deal? I expected a bunch of, "what's wrong with your mom, Natalie?" "Hey, Mrs. Trimble, why are you crying?" However, that was not the case. These kids were WAY more mature than I gave them credit for.
I made it through the rest of the book without too many more stumbles. I closed the book, took a deep breath and said, "Raise your hand if your mom or dad has ever been deployed during the holidays." What followed was one of the most moving conversations I have ever been a part of. I wish I had a video recording of it. So many stories. So much pride in their voices talking about their moms and dads. These little people have endured so much in their mere eight or nine years on this earth. And they do it over and over again. They do it with grace. They do it with courage. They do it without even knowing they do it. That's what makes them so very special.
As I was leaving the classroom, I heard a little girl whisper to Natalie, "Natalie, your mom is cool." I smiled. Little does that girl know, I think she is the cool one. I would tell her myself, but it would probably make me cry. Again.
08 December 2010
03 December 2010
It's Hip to be Square.
When my children were younger, say about 5 years ago, I vaguely remember my mother telling me something like, "just wait till they're older." Maybe it was, "this doesn't get easier, it only gets harder." Either way, at the ripe old age of 31, I thought she was crazy. What does she know about single parenting during a deployment? She had me in the 70's, it's nothing like that now. I even remember thinking that it would not be that way for me, because I was bound and determined NOT to be like her! That's right, I thought I knew everything. I thought nothing could be harder than the physical demands put on you by being a stay-at-home mom to two children while your husband was out collecting stamps for his government-issued passport . I was wrong.
That being said, I can always tell what kind of day my daughter has had from her expression the moment she steps off the bus. Yesterday was no exception. She stepped off the bus, rounded the corner and I saw the tell-tale signs of a bad day. Splotchy cheeks (thank you, Aunt Sissy) and tears in the corner of her eyes (I'll take the blame for those). She hung her head, waddled up to me thanks to the weight of her backpack and cumbersome violin case, and said, "Mom, someone called me a name today." Mind you, I was still reeling from our conversation earlier in the week about "the bad words in the dictionary those men gave us," but that is a whole other post. I have not quite recovered from that one, and I'm not sure I ever will. (I will tell you that "those men" are members of the Rotary Club that handed out dictionaries to all of the 3rd graders at her school. "Those men" sounds bad no matter how you phrase it, so I felt the need to explain).
We got back to the house and the dam broke. So many tears. After much coaxing and a bribe in the form of a piece of apple pie she told me that a girl in her class called her....wait for it....wait for it....square. Yep. She called her "square." I choked down a chuckle behind a fake cough and asked my daughter if she even knew what "square" meant. Of course she did. She looked it up in the aforementioned dictionary! (I swear I'm going to burn that thing)!
I then did what I do best, and dug deep into my Cosby Show memory bank. Wasn't there an episode about Rudy getting called a name at school? What did Cliff say to make her feel better? Before her piece of apple pie was finished I had paraphrased Heathcliff Huxtable so well she was drying her eyes on her napkin and belly laughing like the 8-year-old I know and love. Crisis averted.
After the week I've had, I wonder what the 41-year-old mom I will become has in store for me. On second thought, no I don't. But if I ever do want to know, I should probably just ask my mom.
That being said, I can always tell what kind of day my daughter has had from her expression the moment she steps off the bus. Yesterday was no exception. She stepped off the bus, rounded the corner and I saw the tell-tale signs of a bad day. Splotchy cheeks (thank you, Aunt Sissy) and tears in the corner of her eyes (I'll take the blame for those). She hung her head, waddled up to me thanks to the weight of her backpack and cumbersome violin case, and said, "Mom, someone called me a name today." Mind you, I was still reeling from our conversation earlier in the week about "the bad words in the dictionary those men gave us," but that is a whole other post. I have not quite recovered from that one, and I'm not sure I ever will. (I will tell you that "those men" are members of the Rotary Club that handed out dictionaries to all of the 3rd graders at her school. "Those men" sounds bad no matter how you phrase it, so I felt the need to explain).
We got back to the house and the dam broke. So many tears. After much coaxing and a bribe in the form of a piece of apple pie she told me that a girl in her class called her....wait for it....wait for it....square. Yep. She called her "square." I choked down a chuckle behind a fake cough and asked my daughter if she even knew what "square" meant. Of course she did. She looked it up in the aforementioned dictionary! (I swear I'm going to burn that thing)!
I then did what I do best, and dug deep into my Cosby Show memory bank. Wasn't there an episode about Rudy getting called a name at school? What did Cliff say to make her feel better? Before her piece of apple pie was finished I had paraphrased Heathcliff Huxtable so well she was drying her eyes on her napkin and belly laughing like the 8-year-old I know and love. Crisis averted.
After the week I've had, I wonder what the 41-year-old mom I will become has in store for me. On second thought, no I don't. But if I ever do want to know, I should probably just ask my mom.
17 November 2010
Some fun stats
My sister-in-law, Sarah and I were talking today about our blogs and she asked if I had ever checked the "stats" section of my blog profile. I had only ever checked it once and I'm pretty sure that was by accident, but I went ahead and checked it again today. It told me that 123 people that have read this blog did so using Internet Explorer. Huh. It also told me that someone from Alaska read my blog today. Huh. And, my stats also say that 1% of people that read my blog do so from an iPad. Huh. I'm not sure exactly how or why eblogger knows that, but I thought I would give you some actual stats about us that might be a tad more interesting.
*On average, I make 4-5 "special meat" sandwiches a week. (For those of you wondering what in the world "special meat" is, it is what Natalie calls liverwurst. My mom got her to try it once when she was little by calling it "special meat" and Natalie fell in love. She now takes it on bread almost every day for lunch. Don't judge. It's protein.).
*Twice a day JT tells me he "so misses me." Once when I drop him off at preschool and once when I pick him up. I love that boy.
*JT has not had a timeout at school in the last 8 days. That is our longest streak yet. (I hope I am not jinxing him).
*Natalie reads at least 5 books a week, usually more. The girl is almost never without a book in her hand. The only thing that slows her down is her tendency toward motion sickness. She said today, "Mommy, sometimes I think if I had one wish, it would be that I could read in the car." I love that girl.
*I have used my pressure cooker 6 times in the last 2 weeks. It has now earned a coveted spot on the kitchen counter. That is high praise! (And thanks to Sarah for the awesome gift).
*My brother-in-law, Sean (wife is aforementioned Sarah), left this month for a year in Afghanistan. By the time he returns, he will have officially missed 1/4 of his daughter's life, not to mention the vast majority of his 8 month-old son's. Some statistics really really suck. This is one of them.
*Joshua's Blackberry went off at 4:52am this morning, and since I couldn't go back to sleep, I have been up for 18 hours. Statistics say I should go to bed.
Good Night!
*On average, I make 4-5 "special meat" sandwiches a week. (For those of you wondering what in the world "special meat" is, it is what Natalie calls liverwurst. My mom got her to try it once when she was little by calling it "special meat" and Natalie fell in love. She now takes it on bread almost every day for lunch. Don't judge. It's protein.).
*Twice a day JT tells me he "so misses me." Once when I drop him off at preschool and once when I pick him up. I love that boy.
*JT has not had a timeout at school in the last 8 days. That is our longest streak yet. (I hope I am not jinxing him).
*Natalie reads at least 5 books a week, usually more. The girl is almost never without a book in her hand. The only thing that slows her down is her tendency toward motion sickness. She said today, "Mommy, sometimes I think if I had one wish, it would be that I could read in the car." I love that girl.
*I have used my pressure cooker 6 times in the last 2 weeks. It has now earned a coveted spot on the kitchen counter. That is high praise! (And thanks to Sarah for the awesome gift).
*My brother-in-law, Sean (wife is aforementioned Sarah), left this month for a year in Afghanistan. By the time he returns, he will have officially missed 1/4 of his daughter's life, not to mention the vast majority of his 8 month-old son's. Some statistics really really suck. This is one of them.
*Joshua's Blackberry went off at 4:52am this morning, and since I couldn't go back to sleep, I have been up for 18 hours. Statistics say I should go to bed.
Good Night!
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