S comes home with these little paper books from school to practice reading. She is about 90% with the words but this last week, she came home with a book entitled "The Fort". I hear her reading in the back seat and the "o" must have looked like an "a" because she rattled on and on about this "snow fart" that the characters were building. I was going to correct her but I have the sense of humor of a 10-year-old boy at times and still think the word "fart" is infinitely funny.
Meanwhile, K mixes up her Bs with Vs and her Ws with Rs so "red" comes out "wed" and "vehicle" comes out "bee-hickle". My favorite was this morning and she was flopping around in bed, she turns to me all of a sudden and says, "My undaw - rare (underwear) is widing (riding) up my butt (forbidden word by her dad - she is supposed to say "bottom") and givin' me a REGGIE (wedgie)!"
I'm off to build a snow fart right after I take care of this reggie.
Family
Monday, December 8, 2008
Monday, December 1, 2008
Why Online Shopping is King
Remind me of this post the next time I get romantic visions in my head of me and the girls shopping for a gift for Darren.
We went up to my hometown to see Beth, Lisa and Co. for Thanksgiving. High on my list of priorities was a chance to shop at my favorite mall. I thought the girls and I would have a lot of fun picking out gifts for Christmas for everyone.
I must have overdosed on crack to have such warped visions.
I should have realized that the messed up sleep schedule, the overstimulation, the excitement of the holiday, etc. would pave the path towards the day I decided the rest of my Christmas shopping would be done at night in my bathrobe with a laptop computer.
Perhaps it was the fact that they thought it was fun to race through the store or try to drive the cart (subsequently into SEVERAL displays) or when I tried rain boots on them and they took off running with the plastic ties tying the shoes together STILL attached.
Perhaps it was the fact that S thought everything she saw should be for her or that she threw a fit when I could only find one item for Darren in the store and it happened to be the one K picked out.
Perhaps it was the fact that S decided it would be funny to lag behind me so far ON PURPOSE while trying to hopscotch to the tile grid in the mall and when I would turn around and tell her to get up by me (as I am manuevering K and several bags), she would smirk at me and stay put until I went back to get her.
Timeouts don't work so well in a mall. I tried to find a place to give her one but it was Black Saturday, the mall was packed, and nary a bench to be found. Plus, I had to stay close enough to make sure no one took her (although at that point, I would have seriously considered PAYING someone to do so), so she ended up on the floor by a kiosk. She promptly turned around and started sorting through their sweatshirts as I stood a few feet away.
Then I grabbed S's hand to keep her up next to me and she went limp and shrieking to which point I tried to pull her back up again and tripped over her. I had HAD IT! I pulled both girls by the hand back to find my sisters to let them know this shopping experience was for the birds. Both girls were crying, slobbering, snot-dripping messes trying to wriggle out of my grasp but alas, I put my game face on and marched them out to the car, past many dismayed shoppers.
Within 15 minutes of buckling their shriekinesses into car seats (a challenge in Darren's two door car), they had fallen fast asleep.
Lesson learned. The next time I even THINK about attempting this again, someone please do me a favor and stage an intervention.
We went up to my hometown to see Beth, Lisa and Co. for Thanksgiving. High on my list of priorities was a chance to shop at my favorite mall. I thought the girls and I would have a lot of fun picking out gifts for Christmas for everyone.
I must have overdosed on crack to have such warped visions.
I should have realized that the messed up sleep schedule, the overstimulation, the excitement of the holiday, etc. would pave the path towards the day I decided the rest of my Christmas shopping would be done at night in my bathrobe with a laptop computer.
Perhaps it was the fact that they thought it was fun to race through the store or try to drive the cart (subsequently into SEVERAL displays) or when I tried rain boots on them and they took off running with the plastic ties tying the shoes together STILL attached.
Perhaps it was the fact that S thought everything she saw should be for her or that she threw a fit when I could only find one item for Darren in the store and it happened to be the one K picked out.
Perhaps it was the fact that S decided it would be funny to lag behind me so far ON PURPOSE while trying to hopscotch to the tile grid in the mall and when I would turn around and tell her to get up by me (as I am manuevering K and several bags), she would smirk at me and stay put until I went back to get her.
Timeouts don't work so well in a mall. I tried to find a place to give her one but it was Black Saturday, the mall was packed, and nary a bench to be found. Plus, I had to stay close enough to make sure no one took her (although at that point, I would have seriously considered PAYING someone to do so), so she ended up on the floor by a kiosk. She promptly turned around and started sorting through their sweatshirts as I stood a few feet away.
Then I grabbed S's hand to keep her up next to me and she went limp and shrieking to which point I tried to pull her back up again and tripped over her. I had HAD IT! I pulled both girls by the hand back to find my sisters to let them know this shopping experience was for the birds. Both girls were crying, slobbering, snot-dripping messes trying to wriggle out of my grasp but alas, I put my game face on and marched them out to the car, past many dismayed shoppers.
Within 15 minutes of buckling their shriekinesses into car seats (a challenge in Darren's two door car), they had fallen fast asleep.
Lesson learned. The next time I even THINK about attempting this again, someone please do me a favor and stage an intervention.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
X-Rated Play-Doh
So S's Sunday School teacher took me aside after church to tell me that during the time the class was working on a Play-doh project, the teacher had asked them what they were going to make. S told her she was going to make a boy and girl together in bed.
Oh grand, I thought, as fear lurched into my chest. I have no idea what S has been exposed to in previous placements. I know her mom had three kids in three years with two different men and is now married to another man. Who knows what she witnessed? Do I address it with her? Do I let it slide as natural curiosity?
I know when the time comes I want to be honest with her about sex. After all, the way I found out was from my friend's dad's X-rated videos and porno magazines. I was in the fourth grade and of course, X-rated movies are all the weird stuff - menage a trois and the like. It was quite an education for me. I was convinced that nice, Christian people didn't have sex. I asked my sister Susan and she laughed and me and said, "Christians have sex. Just ask Mom. How do you think you got here?" I was HORRIFIED! I would sit in church and look at different couples and think of them having sex. Talk about a stolen innocence.
As it turns out, I did choose to talk with S about it. I asked her where she had seen a boy and girl in bed together. She said, "At the hotel." Then it dawned on me! We had stayed overnight in a hotel last Friday before the high school football finals. She and K slept in one bed, and Darren and I in the other. She was going to make a Play-doh version of us, I guess. So we had a talk about how a boy and girl can share a bed if they are married and how to tell if someone is married. I know good and well she will eventually run across couples co-habitating and I'll have to answer that question for her but for now, she was content to know that she could only share her bed with her sister and not her boy cousins. Not even her cute, redheaded cousin Micah.
Oh grand, I thought, as fear lurched into my chest. I have no idea what S has been exposed to in previous placements. I know her mom had three kids in three years with two different men and is now married to another man. Who knows what she witnessed? Do I address it with her? Do I let it slide as natural curiosity?
I know when the time comes I want to be honest with her about sex. After all, the way I found out was from my friend's dad's X-rated videos and porno magazines. I was in the fourth grade and of course, X-rated movies are all the weird stuff - menage a trois and the like. It was quite an education for me. I was convinced that nice, Christian people didn't have sex. I asked my sister Susan and she laughed and me and said, "Christians have sex. Just ask Mom. How do you think you got here?" I was HORRIFIED! I would sit in church and look at different couples and think of them having sex. Talk about a stolen innocence.
As it turns out, I did choose to talk with S about it. I asked her where she had seen a boy and girl in bed together. She said, "At the hotel." Then it dawned on me! We had stayed overnight in a hotel last Friday before the high school football finals. She and K slept in one bed, and Darren and I in the other. She was going to make a Play-doh version of us, I guess. So we had a talk about how a boy and girl can share a bed if they are married and how to tell if someone is married. I know good and well she will eventually run across couples co-habitating and I'll have to answer that question for her but for now, she was content to know that she could only share her bed with her sister and not her boy cousins. Not even her cute, redheaded cousin Micah.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Good Morning, Insanity
I am not a morning person, as any of my former roommates can attest. I despise mornings. I can start a drywall project at 9 PM and go strong until 2 AM but getting up in the morning ranks right up there with wedgies and root canals. And the Lord, in His infinite sense of humor, paired me up with Mr. Morning (i.e. Darren). Darren gets up three days a week while it is still dark out to go play basketball. He leisurely drinks his coffee, showers, packs his lunch, gets devotional time in, and quietly (or sometimes not quite so quietly) slips off to work. The girls are still snuggled safe in their beds where thoughts of sugar (forget the plums) are still dancing in their heads.
Then within 15 minutes after he leaves, I get K crawling into bed with me, giving me morning breath kisses and poking her braids into my eyeballs. S hits the ground running and will read books while shifting from foot to foot and dancing. I lumber downstairs in my big white bathrobe so not ready to greet the day but I know I have a limited amount of time to get two squirrely girls through breakfast, teeth brushing, dressing, shoe finding, back packing, coat stuffing insanity in order to meet the bus.
While every other time of the day, they run at 95 MPH, they run at molasses speed in the morning and test me at every turn. They can't decide on what kind of cereal, or what to wear, or would rather spread toothpaste as a coating in the sink then put the brush in their mouth. They can't find their other mitten and they forgot that they needed a garden pea costume for the school play on vegetables that they forgot to tell me about. All the while, I am checking the clock to make sure we don't miss the bus because S's driver runs like a Swiss train - always on time.
I know I'm not the only one out there...my mom still has nightmares that she is pushing, pushing, pushing to get her kids out the door (and there were eight of us) and we are moving like we are in slow motion. She wakes up in a cold sweat. I think that qualifies for post traumatic stress disorder.
I'd love to be a morning person - get up and do yoga, eat an egg white omelet with mushrooms and peppers, take a shower without ANYONE banging on the door telling me who touched who or who took their "makeup" (chapstick) and won't give it back. I'd love to look like a million bucks walking out the door instead of a shlumpa-dinka in flannel pants and an oversized pullover of Darren's. I wish I was awake enough in the quiet hours of the morning to really dig into the Word instead of getting interrupted five times and thinking, "I feel like I've read this verse before."
I've tried going to bed earlier, drinking coffee (laced with so much Coffeemate liquid creamer it can hardly qualify as coffee), etc. but I still hate mornings. So until they invent a conveyer belt that will wake, feed, dress, brush teeth, and do hair for kids, this lumbering, white robed, morning hater will keep on keepin' on.
Then within 15 minutes after he leaves, I get K crawling into bed with me, giving me morning breath kisses and poking her braids into my eyeballs. S hits the ground running and will read books while shifting from foot to foot and dancing. I lumber downstairs in my big white bathrobe so not ready to greet the day but I know I have a limited amount of time to get two squirrely girls through breakfast, teeth brushing, dressing, shoe finding, back packing, coat stuffing insanity in order to meet the bus.
While every other time of the day, they run at 95 MPH, they run at molasses speed in the morning and test me at every turn. They can't decide on what kind of cereal, or what to wear, or would rather spread toothpaste as a coating in the sink then put the brush in their mouth. They can't find their other mitten and they forgot that they needed a garden pea costume for the school play on vegetables that they forgot to tell me about. All the while, I am checking the clock to make sure we don't miss the bus because S's driver runs like a Swiss train - always on time.
I know I'm not the only one out there...my mom still has nightmares that she is pushing, pushing, pushing to get her kids out the door (and there were eight of us) and we are moving like we are in slow motion. She wakes up in a cold sweat. I think that qualifies for post traumatic stress disorder.
I'd love to be a morning person - get up and do yoga, eat an egg white omelet with mushrooms and peppers, take a shower without ANYONE banging on the door telling me who touched who or who took their "makeup" (chapstick) and won't give it back. I'd love to look like a million bucks walking out the door instead of a shlumpa-dinka in flannel pants and an oversized pullover of Darren's. I wish I was awake enough in the quiet hours of the morning to really dig into the Word instead of getting interrupted five times and thinking, "I feel like I've read this verse before."
I've tried going to bed earlier, drinking coffee (laced with so much Coffeemate liquid creamer it can hardly qualify as coffee), etc. but I still hate mornings. So until they invent a conveyer belt that will wake, feed, dress, brush teeth, and do hair for kids, this lumbering, white robed, morning hater will keep on keepin' on.
Monday, November 17, 2008
It All ADDs Up
We had our first parent teacher conferences for S & K last week. Socially, both seem to be doing well - playing with others, sharing, making friends. For the most part, they are on par for fine motor and academic progress.
The one area of concern was the S shows tendencies towards Attention Deficit Disorder (ADD). She has a very good teacher this year that doesn't mind that S stands up most of the day to do her work or wiggles around a lot.
Definitely not like the battle axes I had for teachers growing up. I had one who would check our fingernails daily to make sure they were clean. And we had to tell the class whether or not we had remembered to brush our teeth that morning. She had these fantastic long fingernails and wore sleeveless polyester shirts and everytime she wrote on the board, I would watch her upper arms swaying in the breeze. I was mesmerized! During cold and flu season, she would use and re-use the same handkerchief and tuck it into her sleeve when not in use. She was also the type that got her hair set every week and by the end of the week, it looked like she had rolled around in flannel.
But I digress...
Anyhoo, I'm not entirely surprised by the ADD tendencies with S. She finds it virtually impossible to sit still during supper and will literally run laps around the table after school. If she is supposed to be doing homework and there is ANYTHING else going on, including a fly buzzing from 12 counties away, she cannot seem to concentrate enough to keep writing on the same line. She will start adding words to a sentence she previously completed on the page. She is constantly talking or humming and cannot seem to follow a list of directions but instead will get hung up on only one part of the directions. Or she won't listen at all. She's a bit like Hammie on "Over the Hedge".
I'm not going to go charging for the Ritalin bottle yet but there are days that it absolutely drives me batty. I asked her to please be quiet the other night at the dinner table and she said, "Why?" (her favorite word...) to which, being the supportive, encouraging, warm, nurturing mother that I am, I replied, "Because you are annoying the snot out of me." Little K pipes up beside me, "And you is snotting the snot outta me, too."
On second thought, a Ritalin drip may be in order.
The one area of concern was the S shows tendencies towards Attention Deficit Disorder (ADD). She has a very good teacher this year that doesn't mind that S stands up most of the day to do her work or wiggles around a lot.
Definitely not like the battle axes I had for teachers growing up. I had one who would check our fingernails daily to make sure they were clean. And we had to tell the class whether or not we had remembered to brush our teeth that morning. She had these fantastic long fingernails and wore sleeveless polyester shirts and everytime she wrote on the board, I would watch her upper arms swaying in the breeze. I was mesmerized! During cold and flu season, she would use and re-use the same handkerchief and tuck it into her sleeve when not in use. She was also the type that got her hair set every week and by the end of the week, it looked like she had rolled around in flannel.
But I digress...
Anyhoo, I'm not entirely surprised by the ADD tendencies with S. She finds it virtually impossible to sit still during supper and will literally run laps around the table after school. If she is supposed to be doing homework and there is ANYTHING else going on, including a fly buzzing from 12 counties away, she cannot seem to concentrate enough to keep writing on the same line. She will start adding words to a sentence she previously completed on the page. She is constantly talking or humming and cannot seem to follow a list of directions but instead will get hung up on only one part of the directions. Or she won't listen at all. She's a bit like Hammie on "Over the Hedge".
I'm not going to go charging for the Ritalin bottle yet but there are days that it absolutely drives me batty. I asked her to please be quiet the other night at the dinner table and she said, "Why?" (her favorite word...) to which, being the supportive, encouraging, warm, nurturing mother that I am, I replied, "Because you are annoying the snot out of me." Little K pipes up beside me, "And you is snotting the snot outta me, too."
On second thought, a Ritalin drip may be in order.
Papa Smurf and His Fan Club
This weekend was the state high school football semi-finals for my old alma mater. My nephew "Papa Smurf" (aptly named for the time his mom packed the wrong football socks and instead of white socks and a blue uniform, he was blue from head to toe...6'2", 275 lbs of blueness...) was playing on the line so we hauled the girls and my other nephew up to watch him. TJ Maxx had a clearance of old Halloween costumes where I was able to find two red and silver sparkly "Go Team" cheerleading uniforms for the girls.
They thought they were the cats' pajamas! My sister had bought face paints so both girls had paw prints on their face. We have already taught them to cheer for the mascot of their home school so had to teach them to cheer for the WILDCATS as well! My nieces were up there and they are "cool high schoolers" who bought the girls ice cream and let them take pictures with their cell phones. S came home thinking that she should really get a cell phone for Christmas. I told her Santa has a "no cell phone" policy until she is in 7th grade. To which she replied, "How about 2nd grade?" Fat chance.
My alma mater won - and are a really amazing team in that there are not one or two really showy players...they all pull together. Part of the reason is that one of their teammates was diagnosed with testicular cancer just a few weeks ago. The team shaved their heads when their teammate went in for chemo so he wouldn't be the only one without hair. This amazing young man then came back to play for the team POST-CHEMO...unbelievable! So they are playing for something bigger than themselves this time.
The team plays again on Saturday morning and Cheer Girl #1, Cheer Girl #2, Husband, Nephew, and me will haul up again to root the team on. Hopefully, I can teach Cheer Girl #1 how to cheer without flailing her pom poms into everyone's head. GO WILDCATS!
They thought they were the cats' pajamas! My sister had bought face paints so both girls had paw prints on their face. We have already taught them to cheer for the mascot of their home school so had to teach them to cheer for the WILDCATS as well! My nieces were up there and they are "cool high schoolers" who bought the girls ice cream and let them take pictures with their cell phones. S came home thinking that she should really get a cell phone for Christmas. I told her Santa has a "no cell phone" policy until she is in 7th grade. To which she replied, "How about 2nd grade?" Fat chance.
My alma mater won - and are a really amazing team in that there are not one or two really showy players...they all pull together. Part of the reason is that one of their teammates was diagnosed with testicular cancer just a few weeks ago. The team shaved their heads when their teammate went in for chemo so he wouldn't be the only one without hair. This amazing young man then came back to play for the team POST-CHEMO...unbelievable! So they are playing for something bigger than themselves this time.
The team plays again on Saturday morning and Cheer Girl #1, Cheer Girl #2, Husband, Nephew, and me will haul up again to root the team on. Hopefully, I can teach Cheer Girl #1 how to cheer without flailing her pom poms into everyone's head. GO WILDCATS!
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
The Best Gifts
My seven cents on the best gifts I have received to pass on for those of you who have friends who adopt - especially older children from foster care:
1) UNDERSTANDING. Give an adoptive mom time to get used to instant parenthood without expecting them to be instantly gushy about the experience. You had nine months to anticipate the arrival of your baby. We may have had two weeks.
2) PLAYDATES. Invite our adopted child over to play with your children, understanding that our child needs positive adult and child role models in their life - and we may need a break!
3) USED ITEMS. We may have no idea of exactly what age child we are getting - and very much appreciate even the temporary lending of clothes, toys, and books. I have had two people (outside of my awesome sisters) be especially generous in this area and I was overwhelmed...so thanks, Heather S. and Tracy H.!
4) FOOD. Just because we are not recovering from child birth doesn't mean we wouldn't appreciate a meal. Your newborn sleeps fourteen hours a day. Our kids eat as much as an adult and came with boundless energy. Please don't take this as a shameless plug for me - just bless the next person who adopts an older child.
5) DISCRETION. Don't talk about their status in foster care or adoption status in front of our child. You'd be amazed how much they internalize and act out on, even if they don't fully understand the conversation. They may still be healing from the goodbyes of their last placement and not ready to hear about adoption.
6) PATIENCE & PERSPECTIVE. Be tolerant of our kids behavior not always being age appropriate or appropriate in general. They may have moved every year of their life, said hello and goodbye to multiple parental figures, been beaten, sworn at, neglected, and worse. Most have some kind of attention deficit disorder and trouble with impulse control. They haven't been told how special, how beautiful, how loved, and how important they are from birth like your kids.
7) A SOFT PLACE TO LAND. Don't ask us how we are doing unless you REALLY want to know...and the truth may not be pretty. And we may do the "ugly cry". Just because we really wanted to be parents and have anticipated this time longer than most doesn't mean that the adjustment is any easier. It will get better...just give us chocolate and a hug until it does.
1) UNDERSTANDING. Give an adoptive mom time to get used to instant parenthood without expecting them to be instantly gushy about the experience. You had nine months to anticipate the arrival of your baby. We may have had two weeks.
2) PLAYDATES. Invite our adopted child over to play with your children, understanding that our child needs positive adult and child role models in their life - and we may need a break!
3) USED ITEMS. We may have no idea of exactly what age child we are getting - and very much appreciate even the temporary lending of clothes, toys, and books. I have had two people (outside of my awesome sisters) be especially generous in this area and I was overwhelmed...so thanks, Heather S. and Tracy H.!
4) FOOD. Just because we are not recovering from child birth doesn't mean we wouldn't appreciate a meal. Your newborn sleeps fourteen hours a day. Our kids eat as much as an adult and came with boundless energy. Please don't take this as a shameless plug for me - just bless the next person who adopts an older child.
5) DISCRETION. Don't talk about their status in foster care or adoption status in front of our child. You'd be amazed how much they internalize and act out on, even if they don't fully understand the conversation. They may still be healing from the goodbyes of their last placement and not ready to hear about adoption.
6) PATIENCE & PERSPECTIVE. Be tolerant of our kids behavior not always being age appropriate or appropriate in general. They may have moved every year of their life, said hello and goodbye to multiple parental figures, been beaten, sworn at, neglected, and worse. Most have some kind of attention deficit disorder and trouble with impulse control. They haven't been told how special, how beautiful, how loved, and how important they are from birth like your kids.
7) A SOFT PLACE TO LAND. Don't ask us how we are doing unless you REALLY want to know...and the truth may not be pretty. And we may do the "ugly cry". Just because we really wanted to be parents and have anticipated this time longer than most doesn't mean that the adjustment is any easier. It will get better...just give us chocolate and a hug until it does.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)