Zoe explains just what goes on at our house.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Snowy Story
To answer a request for a snowy story:
Once upon a time there was a little family in a snowy place. One morning, Mom woke up and peeked out the windows to see ten inches of snow on the ground. She roused the kids and told them, "up and at 'em, kids! It's time for homeschool."
Although the kids usually attended public school, they knew they would enjoy a full curriculum of homeschool if it was a snowy day. Since this was the second snow day already, and Christmas hadn't even come, everyone knew that school was either going to run until June 25th, or that the school days would be lengthened by 10 minutes/day in the spring to make up for the lost time.
While the kids ate breakfast and did some morning exercises and games, Dad got as much work done at home as he could. He had a meeting at noon, however... and began to make a plan for escaping the snow-enclosed fortress. First, he used the snowthrower to clear off the driveway and sidewalks in front of the house. Then he came in to thaw out his hands and feet. Next, he attempted driving down the road backwards, really fast (which was how he managed to escape the unplowed road on the last snowy day).
His plan didn't work! The car was stuck fast in the deep snow at the end of the driveway. Dad didn't give up. He was determined to be punctual. He go the snowthrower out again and carved a path IN THE ROAD for TWO BLOCKS to the main road. He came in to thaw his hands and feet for a few minutes, then hopped in the car and successfully charged through the deep snow and made it to his meeting on time!
The kids did all their work and went sledding and shoveling for physical education. Mom made some hot bread for everyone to snack on afterward. The end.
Once upon a time there was a little family in a snowy place. One morning, Mom woke up and peeked out the windows to see ten inches of snow on the ground. She roused the kids and told them, "up and at 'em, kids! It's time for homeschool."
Although the kids usually attended public school, they knew they would enjoy a full curriculum of homeschool if it was a snowy day. Since this was the second snow day already, and Christmas hadn't even come, everyone knew that school was either going to run until June 25th, or that the school days would be lengthened by 10 minutes/day in the spring to make up for the lost time.
While the kids ate breakfast and did some morning exercises and games, Dad got as much work done at home as he could. He had a meeting at noon, however... and began to make a plan for escaping the snow-enclosed fortress. First, he used the snowthrower to clear off the driveway and sidewalks in front of the house. Then he came in to thaw out his hands and feet. Next, he attempted driving down the road backwards, really fast (which was how he managed to escape the unplowed road on the last snowy day).
His plan didn't work! The car was stuck fast in the deep snow at the end of the driveway. Dad didn't give up. He was determined to be punctual. He go the snowthrower out again and carved a path IN THE ROAD for TWO BLOCKS to the main road. He came in to thaw his hands and feet for a few minutes, then hopped in the car and successfully charged through the deep snow and made it to his meeting on time!
The kids did all their work and went sledding and shoveling for physical education. Mom made some hot bread for everyone to snack on afterward. The end.
Curls
So, at least one person looked at the Christmas picture and commented..."I didn't know you had curly hair."Yes, folks. Up until recently, I myself didn't know my natural curls were useful for anything. I followed my regular routine of carrying a snapshot of my favorite hair (taken from the head of a magazine star) to the chop shop, and I'd ask the girl to "please make me look like this!"
Well, apparently, ALL of the Hollywood starlets are using hot-irons to get straight hair. After my haircut, the cosmetologist would spend 15 minutes getting it straight and adding the necessary products to create my movie-hair vision. It was always great, but realistically...I only spend 2.5 minutes/day on hair, so it never looked like that again. I lived in the world of bad hair every day except beauty shop day.
So, up until October or so, none of the stylists had ever cracked up laughing or anything when I made my suggestions. But then I met Janice. I said, "this hairdo looks really nice," and she said, "yes, but you have curly hair. Why not cut it so you can wear the curls?"
Well, that was a novel idea so I went with it! Thank you Janice! Since then I've been letting my hair do it's thing and for the first time in my life thinking, "I'm really glad I have this hair!"
Well, I learned that they make products that you can put on your hair so it curls nicely. How long has that been going on!? Apparently I went to the wrong university (and high school) or was nerdy too long, because I missed all the late-night beauty shop parties where SOMEONE was supposed to explain this to me. Well, maybe I'll just host one of my own this weekend and invite all the 13 year-olds I know.
So, My tip to people who think they might have curls: don't brush your hair when you get out of the shower. Brushing = frizz. And my request to the rest of the world: Show me a Hollywood starlet with naturally curly hair, please.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Happy Christmas!
OH WOW! That's how I felt when I realized that Christmas had snuck up on me again, just as it does every year. First and foremost, I wish to send out a Christmas greeting to all my friends and acquaintances. My husband astutely pointed out to me that we should be focusing on that important little family from so long ago, perhaps, instead of giving an update about a cute little family in 2008. So, I will say that we are grateful for Christ's birth and the blessings of his gospel. We pray that everyone will embrace his offering and make it the focus of the season's celebration.
Having said that, I know it wouldn't be fair not to let you have a peek into our lives. The fall foliage in these photos belies the fact that we've already had 2 days of school cancelled for snow! Nevertheless, this is our most comfortable snow-removal season to date since we discovered the less-than-environmentally-friendly joys of snowblowing. (or snow throwing...depending on your phraseology.) I get a kick out of telling my kids, "when I was a girl...we didn't HAVE to wear snowpants to school every day, because the windchill never got to -20 F." I know that's a little backward...I should make up some stories about my trials to balance it out.
Well, the boys have interesting trials of their own. Guy, 5, loves his kindergarten class. I've seen the many friendly notes that he writes to his friends . One in particular read: Emma, do you want to play at my house? Have your mom call my mom. From Guy.Sadly, Guy related that when he gave the note to Emma, she showed it to her friend on the playground. They both giggled, crumpled it up, and ran away. I didn't know if I could honestly promise Guy that these problems would go away once they learned to read...or not.
Xander, 8, has enjoyed going to Boy Scouts this year. He especially enjoyed decorating his own raingutter regatta boat and pinewood derby car. He says Art is his favorite subject at school, although since they teach snowshoeing and rollerblading in P.E., that might come in at a close second. I'm thrilled to have a buddy to rollerblade with, and look forward to the near future when maybe I can have a buddy to swing dance with as well. (He hasn't agreed to that, yet!)Zoe, 3, enjoys her short moments as an only child. She has many opportunities to go places with me and plays with kids at every turn. One of her recent favorites is swimming (in the 91 degree warm pool) with her friend, also named Zoe. It's amazing that when one child is a bit nervous to try something, a little positive peer pressure is amazingly helpful! Now they're both doing amazing things. Zoe also reminds me that she's a unique person...I try not to get frustrated that she seems to be color blind, because at least she can really keep a beat.
Doug
whips the world of Biochemistry into shape each day, and then comes home to teach us all a bit of chess wisdom. The boys are quick learners and I'm sure they'll put their mama to shame sometime this next year.Doug also gets his kicks biking and running... we're resolving to get the boys involved in some races in 2009. Check back and see if we followed through!
I can tell you that I spend my time teaching swim lessons, teaching piano lessons, homeschooling on snow days, playing racquetball, and pursuing a variety of quirky pursuits. You don't need to read about it in this post, though, because I suspect you know my blog address. One of my quirky pursuits in 2009 will be frequent blogging, let's hope.
Merry Christmas, all! We treasure your friendships and hope our paths will cross soon!
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Doug's Bike Adventures: Col de L'Isaren
I climbed the col de L'Isaren today (Thur). 100 km in 4.5 hours, which is relatively slow but it was a really hard climb (about 30-35 km of non-stop uphill from where I started) and very steep and long. The descent was nuts. I road solo from Aussois to the col but I descended with a French guy that was also riding alone and we BOMBED down it. I didn't have a computer on my bike so I am not sure exactly how fast we went down but it was a VERY rapid descent. The thing that is unfortunate is that there are tons of motorcyclists that go touring and these people drive like crazy which makes it a little unsafe. Not to mention the three porsche's that flew by us as we were descending (the narrow road) going fast.
The tour crossed this col a few years ago. What blows me away is that on a typical day of climbing the pros will do two or three climbs like this in a row and at a much faster pace. I could never be a cyclist. You have to be so incredibly strong mentally to do this sort of thing. Good thing I am in academics.
There was snow on the summit (see photo) and it was very cold. I also didn't pack enough food and water (in part b/c I only had one bottle holder on the bike) and so by the time I returned, I was hypoglycemic and shaking and exhausted. I drank two cups of hot chocolate, two cups of instant soup, took a shower, and then a 1.5 hr nap. Now I feel terrific.
One funny thing happened to me. As I was nearing the summit and barely had any energy left (apparently not enough to smile in the photo) a trailer drove past me (coming toward me) and the guy driving was pumping his fist up and down like crazy yelling 'alle alle'. His window was up but it was loud enough I could hear it. That gave me some energy. The French have a passion for bicycles. I guess if you have beautiful mountains like these, and want to explore them all, a bicycle is a convenient way to do it. Probably even more so back in the day when cars were not as common and then the passion/culture stuck with them.
The second photo was about 1/10 of the way up. You can see where the road goes up between the peaks and then it disappears. It just keeps winding up. It is hard to get a perspective of the length scale from a photo. The peak is actually behind the center peak and to the left and back a bit (and is taller than the central peak in the photo).
I was going to climb again tomorrow on the col de madeleine (which is what I had planned for today before changing plans) but the weather is supposed to be rain. And it is hard enough without having to contend with poor weather. Instead I will spend a few hours in Geneva on my way to the airport looking for fun little gifts for the kids.
POSTSCRIPT--THe weather this morning was rainy and there was no chance to ride so I washed clothes and drove to the airport. On the way it got sunny but there wasn't enough time.
Quick Email Check
Still sorting photos...I found this funny one that pretty clearly illustrates what happens whenever one of us takes a break from the chores to sit down and "quickly check the email" before the kids notice.
Beach Vacation Memory
It was a long time ago, but I remember our delicious and lazy beachy days. We just cleaned the computer memory, which means sorting through old files and photos. It makes me smile to come across these.
My Clone
People sometimes refer to her as my little clone. I'm not sure I'm as cute as she is, but here are some pictures so you can decide.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Viruses (of a Floral Nature)
Guy spend a lot of time on the front steps catching beetles and checking out the flowers. When I'm busy bustling about cleaning up the breakfast dishes or whatever, he pops out front for a few minutes to see what has changed and count the number of pesky rabbits.
One morning recently he came bounding back into the house shouting, "MOM! MOM! Come look! The VIRUSES ARE IN BLOOM!"
Ha ha. While it's true that I reap what I sow, you'll notice from my earlier posts that I also reap tomatoes that I never sowed and did not reap any zinnias, tulips, or other delicious-tasting flowers (to the rabbit palate) that I DID sow.
A little logological thinking got me wondering if my IRISES were blooming a second round, but a quick and happy look let me know that in reality the flowers bursting forth with color were indeed the few uneaten gladiolas!
Nevertheless, I am pretty sure that I did NOT SOW VIRUSES out front. That sort of thing definitely belongs in the back.
P.S. To see just the sort of thing that Guy does in front of the house, go to google.com/maps and type in our address. Shift to the right to see my white house with green shutters... and a little surprise out front!
One morning recently he came bounding back into the house shouting, "MOM! MOM! Come look! The VIRUSES ARE IN BLOOM!"
Ha ha. While it's true that I reap what I sow, you'll notice from my earlier posts that I also reap tomatoes that I never sowed and did not reap any zinnias, tulips, or other delicious-tasting flowers (to the rabbit palate) that I DID sow.
A little logological thinking got me wondering if my IRISES were blooming a second round, but a quick and happy look let me know that in reality the flowers bursting forth with color were indeed the few uneaten gladiolas!
Nevertheless, I am pretty sure that I did NOT SOW VIRUSES out front. That sort of thing definitely belongs in the back.
P.S. To see just the sort of thing that Guy does in front of the house, go to google.com/maps and type in our address. Shift to the right to see my white house with green shutters... and a little surprise out front!
Saturday, July 19, 2008
My Morning Radio Show
Did you know I am a radio show personality? Well, at least that I have a morning show, of sorts?
Once a week I teach an Arthritis Foundation class in the warm 90 degree water at the health club. This is immediately before I teach swimming lessons in the same pool...so you see I have clients at the two extreme ends of the age spectrum.
I have the knack for working with the kiddies because I can act like a goof, sing silly songs, and help them feel comfortable. Perhaps I get along with my elderly friends for the same reasons! Then again, I have no reason not to respect them...my 80 year old racquetball pal, Rita, can kick my butt any day. More on that later.
So anyway, my hour-long class has arthritis-easing exercises and easy-to-move cardio exercises in the water. The students all know the routines pretty well and it leaves me plenty of time for chatting. Chatting and telling anecdotes and talking about the weather. I usually share the same types of thoughts and stories that show up on this blog, or I poll them about things I'm interested in. Hey, sometimes I even play a little music - this really does sound like a morning show, eh?
I don't have callers that phone in, but the class members do pipe up. And of course, someone is going to tell you about their hip replacement and then there's Joanie's stroke. This is breaking news, folks. This is the high quality exercise and entertainment that keeps 'em coming back.
It's rather fun being a celebrity of sorts. No one takes photos of me when I go out wihtout makeup on, which is usually, so I'm not MUCH of a celebrity, but I'll definitely take what I can get. I love the fact that after 2 short years in this town, when I'm at a bus stop or in the grocery store or walking to the library, I usually bump into someone that I know...from music or swimming or aerobics or church or PTA or something. It's nice! No one has asked for an autograph yet, but it's nice to be recognized!
(Maybe THEY are wondering why I didn't ask for THEIR autograph...)
Well, I think I know what I'll chat about on Monday...I'll tell everyone about my blogging exploits.
Once a week I teach an Arthritis Foundation class in the warm 90 degree water at the health club. This is immediately before I teach swimming lessons in the same pool...so you see I have clients at the two extreme ends of the age spectrum.
I have the knack for working with the kiddies because I can act like a goof, sing silly songs, and help them feel comfortable. Perhaps I get along with my elderly friends for the same reasons! Then again, I have no reason not to respect them...my 80 year old racquetball pal, Rita, can kick my butt any day. More on that later.
So anyway, my hour-long class has arthritis-easing exercises and easy-to-move cardio exercises in the water. The students all know the routines pretty well and it leaves me plenty of time for chatting. Chatting and telling anecdotes and talking about the weather. I usually share the same types of thoughts and stories that show up on this blog, or I poll them about things I'm interested in. Hey, sometimes I even play a little music - this really does sound like a morning show, eh?
I don't have callers that phone in, but the class members do pipe up. And of course, someone is going to tell you about their hip replacement and then there's Joanie's stroke. This is breaking news, folks. This is the high quality exercise and entertainment that keeps 'em coming back.
It's rather fun being a celebrity of sorts. No one takes photos of me when I go out wihtout makeup on, which is usually, so I'm not MUCH of a celebrity, but I'll definitely take what I can get. I love the fact that after 2 short years in this town, when I'm at a bus stop or in the grocery store or walking to the library, I usually bump into someone that I know...from music or swimming or aerobics or church or PTA or something. It's nice! No one has asked for an autograph yet, but it's nice to be recognized!
(Maybe THEY are wondering why I didn't ask for THEIR autograph...)
Well, I think I know what I'll chat about on Monday...I'll tell everyone about my blogging exploits.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Broken Foot: Attack by Toilet, Miraculous Healing
The guest bathroom toilet would just NOT flush well. The problem got worse and worse...you know the type when the water will go down agonizingly slowly. Toilet paper floats on the surface as the water level gets lower and lower and lower...and then, without much drama, the show is over, the paper remains, and the tank begins to refill.
Well, the LAST time we had these symptoms, the cause turned out to be a ball-point pen in the toilet. Although the plumber gave a valiant performance, the toilet was unsalvageable and we paid the plumber's $150 bill without having anything to show for his visit.
So, THIS time I was determined to HAVE a replacement toilet on hand, so that if the plumber diagnosed that our porcelain darling needed to retire, I could save him the extra trip back (including fuel surcharge...did you know there's a fuel surcharge!?).
I packed the kids into the car all around noon...as Doctor Rooter was coming at 1:00. We went to the local jumbo-gigantor-hardware-and-more store to pick out a new toilet.
Zoe was in my cart, but of course the boys were playing tag, giggling and peeking at each other across the aisles, consisting of palettes stacked with toilet-filled cardboard boxes. Stacked boxes always create interesting peek-holes and tempting hidey-holes and sneaky cubbies.
Guy came cruising around the corner and scrunched down by my knee, hiding from his brother in the next aisle. I was busy thumbing through pamphlets, determining if toilets need to pull a vacuum to get an effective flush, or if water pressure alone can do the job. As he stood up to peek over some boxes, he put his hands on one conveniently stacked to five-year-old eye-level and pulled up slightly to get a view over the top.
CRASH! The box was inconveniently wobbly, as well as being unfortunately four times heavier than Guy himself. The result would not have been so bad if it hadn't landed right on top of his flimsy red barefoot-filled galosh (singular of galoshes?). Yes, my kid wears galoshes in 90 degree sunny weather.
He gave me one of those panic-stricken looks before wrinkling into tears, that lets a mother know that it REALLY hurts. I put him in the cart and removed the boot...already the top of the foot was developing a bruise. The cardboard-enshrouded toilet didn't seem to be in pain (how could I know for sure?).
Amidst the sobs, I quickly chose a toilet and proceeded to check out. The employee who helped me treated me the same as she would most moms with a screaming child in a cart...that is, not abnormally.
I took him home, iced his foot, and administered bubble-gum flavored painkillers while he watched a video and we waited for the plumber. And waited. And waited. Guy fell asleep. The plumber FINALLY showed up at 4:00, snaked out a popsicle stick, and was out by 4:02. (for $100, that's $3,000/hour!).
We were in the car to instacare by 4:03 and had X-rays and broken-foot diagnosis by 5:00. Unfortunately, they didn't have the strappy-walking cast thingie in children's sizes, so the next morning we went to the awesome children's hospital to get one put on.
The kids had so much fun at the hospital, they were a little let down to learn that we won't be going back any time soon (according to my plans.) They have game boys and leap pads to check out at the front desk, free books to take home, a tree house to play in, nice rocking chairs, computers, and cute themed decor throughout. The entrance lobby has a movie theater, and the kids got free ice cream cones to eat while watching a show.
Over the next few days, Guy admitted to his friends that yes, his foot had been broken by a toilet. Since the cast was held on with velcro and easy to remove, he only wore it in situations when walking was essential, such as going to church, riding a scooter, or playing tag in the grocery store. The rest of the time, he opted to crawl or hop. The doctor had said he couldn't further hurt himself by walking on it...pain would prevent him from overdoing it.
Surprisingly, after only a couple of days, he started walking on his heel with no cast on, and after another day or two, it was hardly noticeable that he was favoring his "broken" toe. A miracle healing!! Bone regrows in two short days!!
And then, I wasn't too surprised when the Instacare called us back with the simple message, "the radiologist took another look at the X-rays, and the foot is actually NOT broken."
So the time came when I had to RETURN the happily unnecessary extra toilet in the back of my car. "Kids, DO NOT RUN AROUND in the store this time, or somebody is going to get a BROKEN BONE!" I implored. At least I can say this with meaning, and I hope the experience was not a total loss.
"C'mon, Guy, we'll be all right, as long as we run in an aisle that doesn't display TOILETS!" Xander smartly quipped as the two raced away.
Well, the LAST time we had these symptoms, the cause turned out to be a ball-point pen in the toilet. Although the plumber gave a valiant performance, the toilet was unsalvageable and we paid the plumber's $150 bill without having anything to show for his visit.
So, THIS time I was determined to HAVE a replacement toilet on hand, so that if the plumber diagnosed that our porcelain darling needed to retire, I could save him the extra trip back (including fuel surcharge...did you know there's a fuel surcharge!?).
I packed the kids into the car all around noon...as Doctor Rooter was coming at 1:00. We went to the local jumbo-gigantor-hardware-and-more store to pick out a new toilet.
Zoe was in my cart, but of course the boys were playing tag, giggling and peeking at each other across the aisles, consisting of palettes stacked with toilet-filled cardboard boxes. Stacked boxes always create interesting peek-holes and tempting hidey-holes and sneaky cubbies.
Guy came cruising around the corner and scrunched down by my knee, hiding from his brother in the next aisle. I was busy thumbing through pamphlets, determining if toilets need to pull a vacuum to get an effective flush, or if water pressure alone can do the job. As he stood up to peek over some boxes, he put his hands on one conveniently stacked to five-year-old eye-level and pulled up slightly to get a view over the top.
CRASH! The box was inconveniently wobbly, as well as being unfortunately four times heavier than Guy himself. The result would not have been so bad if it hadn't landed right on top of his flimsy red barefoot-filled galosh (singular of galoshes?). Yes, my kid wears galoshes in 90 degree sunny weather.
He gave me one of those panic-stricken looks before wrinkling into tears, that lets a mother know that it REALLY hurts. I put him in the cart and removed the boot...already the top of the foot was developing a bruise. The cardboard-enshrouded toilet didn't seem to be in pain (how could I know for sure?).
Amidst the sobs, I quickly chose a toilet and proceeded to check out. The employee who helped me treated me the same as she would most moms with a screaming child in a cart...that is, not abnormally.
I took him home, iced his foot, and administered bubble-gum flavored painkillers while he watched a video and we waited for the plumber. And waited. And waited. Guy fell asleep. The plumber FINALLY showed up at 4:00, snaked out a popsicle stick, and was out by 4:02. (for $100, that's $3,000/hour!).
We were in the car to instacare by 4:03 and had X-rays and broken-foot diagnosis by 5:00. Unfortunately, they didn't have the strappy-walking cast thingie in children's sizes, so the next morning we went to the awesome children's hospital to get one put on.
The kids had so much fun at the hospital, they were a little let down to learn that we won't be going back any time soon (according to my plans.) They have game boys and leap pads to check out at the front desk, free books to take home, a tree house to play in, nice rocking chairs, computers, and cute themed decor throughout. The entrance lobby has a movie theater, and the kids got free ice cream cones to eat while watching a show.
Over the next few days, Guy admitted to his friends that yes, his foot had been broken by a toilet. Since the cast was held on with velcro and easy to remove, he only wore it in situations when walking was essential, such as going to church, riding a scooter, or playing tag in the grocery store. The rest of the time, he opted to crawl or hop. The doctor had said he couldn't further hurt himself by walking on it...pain would prevent him from overdoing it.
Surprisingly, after only a couple of days, he started walking on his heel with no cast on, and after another day or two, it was hardly noticeable that he was favoring his "broken" toe. A miracle healing!! Bone regrows in two short days!!
And then, I wasn't too surprised when the Instacare called us back with the simple message, "the radiologist took another look at the X-rays, and the foot is actually NOT broken."
So the time came when I had to RETURN the happily unnecessary extra toilet in the back of my car. "Kids, DO NOT RUN AROUND in the store this time, or somebody is going to get a BROKEN BONE!" I implored. At least I can say this with meaning, and I hope the experience was not a total loss.
"C'mon, Guy, we'll be all right, as long as we run in an aisle that doesn't display TOILETS!" Xander smartly quipped as the two raced away.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
I Like Weeds
The first summer we lived in this house, I let all the plants grow uninhibited. I had no idea what would come up, so I just watched and waited. Lots of nice plants came up, and lots of mysterious things as well (is that a weed or was it planted on purpose??).
So, this past spring, knowing fairly well what I was dealing with, I began to move things around in a progressive step toward my dream garden. For example, I moved all the peonies and decorative perennials from the back yard to the front steps.
The back yard, I'm convinced, is for vegetables and edible plants only. We probably get more traffic through our back yard than the average suburban family, so we SHOULD have some decorative plants back there, but then again, ALL of the traffic consists of the 13-15 year old boys from the neighborhood hanging out on our basketball court. So vegetables should be fine.
Chances that the ballers are going to eat our zucchini are slim to none, but chances that the rabbits will have a go are astronomically high. When I go jogging in the morning, I may pass as many as 30 rabbits, lounging near the sidewalk I'm running on. They lazily look at me as I pass, and I can't help but wonder how many cousins are distributed throughout the rest of the yards, and how many of my plants they've all eaten.
I was a bit slow in getting my rabbit fence up this year, and the aforementioned vegetable garden suffered. ALL of the peas, beans, and broccoli were killed, as well as a tomato and pepper plant or two. Now, even though I whined unceasingly about the small dimensions of my plot, there is a big weed-filled rabbit-cleared space. At least I can look forward to my fall plantings of spinach for that spot.
Those crazy rabbits also went after HOSTAS! I've never seen that before. While beautifying the front yard, I divided some of my great hostas and searched for cheap sources for more. While attending a BBQ of one of Doug's colleagues, I got to chatting with the next-door neighbor. She was an older lady well endowed with hostas and happy to chat away about her garden. She helped me identify some of the plants that I have in my yard and also donated a couple of hostas to my efforts.
I divided her generous gifts as aggressively as possible in order to create my "ring of glory!". That is, I have a giant pine tree on the front corner of the property that isn't very exciting and I've always wanted a ring of hostas all around the base of the pine (20 foot diameter) like I've seen some of my neighbors do. So, my ring is made up of spindly single-leaf baby hostas, but I'm sure that in future years they will fill in for a lovely sight.
That is, if the rabbits don't repeat this year's performance. They ate all the leaves off the hostas! I'm just praying that the plants will come back next spring without being much worse for the wear.
Okay, so in addition to the plants I recognize, I've kept my eye on several weeds, since I've learned that sometimes a nice flower blooms from what I thought was a weed. (Don't you think poppies look like weeds before they bloom?). Out along the front steps, I saw some plants that looked suspiciously like squash.
AND THEY ARE! I realize that the pumpkins from last Halloween were left so long on the porch that some seeds found purchase out front. It's not hard to accidentally leave your decorative pumpkin too long...when the first snow falls in early November, I think, "I'll rescue that pumpkin as soon as the snow melts." But then... the snow doesn't melt until some time in April and the pumpkins are germinating.
The other surprise is the wild TOMATO plants springing up down by the curb and lawn. Was someone eating a sandwich down there and dropped a tomato? More likely the very mobile cherry tomatoes from the back yard were traveling via toddler fist and were delivered all over the property. I've also got a bumper crop of wild tomatoes in the back yard, not far from where they were planted last summer...I'm curious to see if they yield.
So, that's why I say I like weeds...they sometimes yield a pumpkin. I also like weeds after reading our organic CSA newsletter explaining that it's not necessary to kill every weed to grow a good crop. Sometimes those weeds provide a home for insects who then don't feel inclined to move into the vegetables.
On that note, I think I plant some clover for the rabbits and be sure to keep it far from the broccoli and hostas.
So, this past spring, knowing fairly well what I was dealing with, I began to move things around in a progressive step toward my dream garden. For example, I moved all the peonies and decorative perennials from the back yard to the front steps.
The back yard, I'm convinced, is for vegetables and edible plants only. We probably get more traffic through our back yard than the average suburban family, so we SHOULD have some decorative plants back there, but then again, ALL of the traffic consists of the 13-15 year old boys from the neighborhood hanging out on our basketball court. So vegetables should be fine.
Chances that the ballers are going to eat our zucchini are slim to none, but chances that the rabbits will have a go are astronomically high. When I go jogging in the morning, I may pass as many as 30 rabbits, lounging near the sidewalk I'm running on. They lazily look at me as I pass, and I can't help but wonder how many cousins are distributed throughout the rest of the yards, and how many of my plants they've all eaten.
I was a bit slow in getting my rabbit fence up this year, and the aforementioned vegetable garden suffered. ALL of the peas, beans, and broccoli were killed, as well as a tomato and pepper plant or two. Now, even though I whined unceasingly about the small dimensions of my plot, there is a big weed-filled rabbit-cleared space. At least I can look forward to my fall plantings of spinach for that spot.
Those crazy rabbits also went after HOSTAS! I've never seen that before. While beautifying the front yard, I divided some of my great hostas and searched for cheap sources for more. While attending a BBQ of one of Doug's colleagues, I got to chatting with the next-door neighbor. She was an older lady well endowed with hostas and happy to chat away about her garden. She helped me identify some of the plants that I have in my yard and also donated a couple of hostas to my efforts.
I divided her generous gifts as aggressively as possible in order to create my "ring of glory!". That is, I have a giant pine tree on the front corner of the property that isn't very exciting and I've always wanted a ring of hostas all around the base of the pine (20 foot diameter) like I've seen some of my neighbors do. So, my ring is made up of spindly single-leaf baby hostas, but I'm sure that in future years they will fill in for a lovely sight.
That is, if the rabbits don't repeat this year's performance. They ate all the leaves off the hostas! I'm just praying that the plants will come back next spring without being much worse for the wear.
Okay, so in addition to the plants I recognize, I've kept my eye on several weeds, since I've learned that sometimes a nice flower blooms from what I thought was a weed. (Don't you think poppies look like weeds before they bloom?). Out along the front steps, I saw some plants that looked suspiciously like squash.
AND THEY ARE! I realize that the pumpkins from last Halloween were left so long on the porch that some seeds found purchase out front. It's not hard to accidentally leave your decorative pumpkin too long...when the first snow falls in early November, I think, "I'll rescue that pumpkin as soon as the snow melts." But then... the snow doesn't melt until some time in April and the pumpkins are germinating.
The other surprise is the wild TOMATO plants springing up down by the curb and lawn. Was someone eating a sandwich down there and dropped a tomato? More likely the very mobile cherry tomatoes from the back yard were traveling via toddler fist and were delivered all over the property. I've also got a bumper crop of wild tomatoes in the back yard, not far from where they were planted last summer...I'm curious to see if they yield.
So, that's why I say I like weeds...they sometimes yield a pumpkin. I also like weeds after reading our organic CSA newsletter explaining that it's not necessary to kill every weed to grow a good crop. Sometimes those weeds provide a home for insects who then don't feel inclined to move into the vegetables.
On that note, I think I plant some clover for the rabbits and be sure to keep it far from the broccoli and hostas.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Stolen Memories
Audiences everywhere are pining for more photos from me. You're really going to be disappointed....
The Weibel camera has been stolen!
Either that or I can't find it. My ipod shuffle is also in the same black hole as the camera. Although the ipod is a tiny thing and could be around the house, the camera is sort of clunky in its case...and not something I've ever been able to misplace before.
For a whole week I kept passing the ipod on a bookshelf (or was it the kitchen windowsill?) and thinking, "ah, yes, I really need to charge that up so I can enjoy it again." And then one day, when I had the charger, I realized I could no longer find the ipod. Hm.
As for the camera, I used it at Xander's birthday and at Guy's tee-ball game. I know I brought it home from tee-ball, and at least once I left it in the back of the car while I was swimming with the kids (I remember saying, "oh shucks, I was going to take photos of you swimming, but I left the camera in the car.") but I don't recall ever seeing it again....of course it was several days before I THOUGHT about it. Maybe I moved it? Or maybe it was stolen from my car (without breaking any windows?).
There was a time, for about the first year that we owned this volvo, that the passenger door didn't lock. The little stick would go down, but if you tried to open the door, surprise!, it would open anyway. I sort of liked the convenience of knowing that my keys would never get locked in the car (this quirk did save me a few times), and I locked the glove box with anything worth locking.
But alas, my husband convinced me to upgrade to the traditional locks that work. So, maybe that camera is just lost and not stolen? Did I set it down somewhere and misplace it? (how do you misplace something as large as a pumpkin?) Either way, I apologize for the lack of photos while I shop for a new camera and continue to tear the house apart.
Maybe the next one I buy will be a teeny little thing, encouraging me to take it along on adventures and use it more. And get lost more easily too.
UPDATE: I have since found the ipod, but am convinced the camera was stolen from the back of my car while it was parked in my garage. My next-door neighbor had a tacklebox stolen from the car, and another neighbor actually saw a prowler in his garage when the door had been left open! He went to investigate thinking it was an animal, and a teenage boy ran off. Ugh. I hate having to increase security.
The Weibel camera has been stolen!
Either that or I can't find it. My ipod shuffle is also in the same black hole as the camera. Although the ipod is a tiny thing and could be around the house, the camera is sort of clunky in its case...and not something I've ever been able to misplace before.
For a whole week I kept passing the ipod on a bookshelf (or was it the kitchen windowsill?) and thinking, "ah, yes, I really need to charge that up so I can enjoy it again." And then one day, when I had the charger, I realized I could no longer find the ipod. Hm.
As for the camera, I used it at Xander's birthday and at Guy's tee-ball game. I know I brought it home from tee-ball, and at least once I left it in the back of the car while I was swimming with the kids (I remember saying, "oh shucks, I was going to take photos of you swimming, but I left the camera in the car.") but I don't recall ever seeing it again....of course it was several days before I THOUGHT about it. Maybe I moved it? Or maybe it was stolen from my car (without breaking any windows?).
There was a time, for about the first year that we owned this volvo, that the passenger door didn't lock. The little stick would go down, but if you tried to open the door, surprise!, it would open anyway. I sort of liked the convenience of knowing that my keys would never get locked in the car (this quirk did save me a few times), and I locked the glove box with anything worth locking.
But alas, my husband convinced me to upgrade to the traditional locks that work. So, maybe that camera is just lost and not stolen? Did I set it down somewhere and misplace it? (how do you misplace something as large as a pumpkin?) Either way, I apologize for the lack of photos while I shop for a new camera and continue to tear the house apart.
Maybe the next one I buy will be a teeny little thing, encouraging me to take it along on adventures and use it more. And get lost more easily too.
UPDATE: I have since found the ipod, but am convinced the camera was stolen from the back of my car while it was parked in my garage. My next-door neighbor had a tacklebox stolen from the car, and another neighbor actually saw a prowler in his garage when the door had been left open! He went to investigate thinking it was an animal, and a teenage boy ran off. Ugh. I hate having to increase security.
Monday, June 2, 2008
Photoshoot by Xander
My sister, Dacy, recommended that I let the kids take photos (the idea is that they will improve with time, and maybe I can convince them that taking my photo is as interesting as photographing the individual pokemon cards.) 
Even though Xander still hasn't got the concept of capturing his subject on film (but he can definitely capture him in a headlock), I think the photo shoot turned out to be rather artistic.
This shoot captures the essence of Guy's attitudes on the evening of his birthday.
Sunday, June 1, 2008
5th Birthday
Guy recently turned five. We invited 8 friends over for a car-themed party. Here are the uber-fun games we played:Buying car tires: kids took turns jumping on the trampoline, which resembles a giant tire.
Car-detailing: actually, child-detailing (with toy Hotwheels tatoos).
Finding a gas-station: pretty similar to finding Easter eggs....we just said the candy inside was fuel. The main difference was we didn't charge the kids $4 for each egg they found.
Carwash: The Hokey-pokey, with car-parts! You put your door (elbow) in, or perhaps your bumper (knees), headlights (eyes), or even trunk (figure that one out), and you wash it all about before doing the hokey pokey. Everyone liked this one!
Car-park: Toss the tennis balls into the many different garages and parking spaces (cardboard boxes with divisions and cubbies). The first photo shows Guy after making a nice shot.
Driving school: An obstacle course through the basement...no crashing allowed!Relay races: After about 30 seconds, I realized several of my guests were too occupied or immature to understand the relays, so we canceled them.
Road making: At the table, the kids spun a wheel to see what kind of road piece they could add. Then they got to stick it on and drive their cars. Here's a photo of the kids at the table.
And after cake-n-ice cream, it was present time. I was exhausted! You can see Guy and Xander both went nuts over a Where's Waldo book from Gramma CJ, and he gleefully celebrated the $5 bill someone sent (it was later spent on Pokemon cards at a yard sale.)
And after cake-n-ice cream, it was present time. I was exhausted! You can see Guy and Xander both went nuts over a Where's Waldo book from Gramma CJ, and he gleefully celebrated the $5 bill someone sent (it was later spent on Pokemon cards at a yard sale.)Now in Technicolor
Okay all you hecklers. You know who you are. I got the emails requesting PHOTOS! MORE PHOTOS! You want to see those Weibel kids, I know it.So, I'm making an effort to insert photos into my blog entries.
I take photos once in a while... You know I'm not the BEST at whipping the camera out, and I'm also a little slow to get pictures uploaded, but at the end of the day, there DO EXIST a few photos of my kids.
The really rare and priceless find, however, is a photo of ME. I want to know if anyone has been emailing my husband and kids demanding, "We want you to send some photos of your wife!"
The really rare and priceless find, however, is a photo of ME. I want to know if anyone has been emailing my husband and kids demanding, "We want you to send some photos of your wife!" I have taken a few self-portraits in the past (Always extreme close-ups...notice how one arm is cut off? It's the one holding the camera) just in case I die early...I want the kids to have a photo.
So, what is the deal? Am I a big-foot or a unicorn or fairy? There must be something mystical about me, seeing as how I am so hard to get on film. Or maybe it's the COMPETITION - when the camera is out, people say things like, "Move back a little please, you're getting in the frame. I'm trying to get a shot of that amazingly cute little girl." Once all the kids move out of the house, I will again start to appear in photos.
So, I'm not sure how it serendipidously happened, but parts of me showed up in a couple of recent photos (I have a nice ear, right?). I did get a request from a relative for "a photo that does not have the top of your head cut off," so I'm just going to go ahead and forward that email to my husband. He could use some heckling, too.
So, I'm not sure how it serendipidously happened, but parts of me showed up in a couple of recent photos (I have a nice ear, right?). I did get a request from a relative for "a photo that does not have the top of your head cut off," so I'm just going to go ahead and forward that email to my husband. He could use some heckling, too.
Friday, May 30, 2008
Stepping Up to the Plate
Summer is approaching, so I sat down with the boys and had them tell me what sports and activities they wanted to try to get involved with this summer.
Guy decided he wanted to do T-ball, tennis, soccer, basketball, and ANYTHING else I mentioned. Xander said he wanted to do tennis and basketball. They BOTH are going to keep working on swimming, says me, and it's not optional. So, I merrily filled out some forms.
Well, I received a phone call recently from the neighborhood T-ball organizer. It seems that although lots of parents checked off that box for "volunteer to be assistant coach," NO ONE on Guy's team was overly enthusiastic about being head coach, and we can't proceed without SOMEONE to be head coach.
Guy decided he wanted to do T-ball, tennis, soccer, basketball, and ANYTHING else I mentioned. Xander said he wanted to do tennis and basketball. They BOTH are going to keep working on swimming, says me, and it's not optional. So, I merrily filled out some forms.
Well, I received a phone call recently from the neighborhood T-ball organizer. It seems that although lots of parents checked off that box for "volunteer to be assistant coach," NO ONE on Guy's team was overly enthusiastic about being head coach, and we can't proceed without SOMEONE to be head coach.
I told him, I'm going to have my two-year-old with me...I don't see how I could orchestrate a practice or game like that. I was also thinking, I teach Guy swimming, music, and homeschool preschool... he'd probably like someone ELSE to be his coach. But I guess having Mom as coach is better than not getting to play.
Although, one of my (anonymous) friends said, "If it were me, I'd say, too bad! Maybe, with luck, you can play ball next year."
This got me to thinking. Everyone thinks they are too busy to be coach, right? (or maybe too shy, or maybe they don't know how to play ball, or maybe they have a 2-year old wrapped around the knees.) Who are the amazing people that decide to volunteer anyway? Who is going to put forth the effort to make a better world for our kids (I didn't mention alternative energy research yet, but t-ball is up there too)? Who will throw hard objects at kindergarteners and not get paid for it?
I will. I will step up to the plate.
Okay, so we had our first practice on Tuesday. It was not total chaos. Only one kid got hit by a ball, and I didn't throw it. Luckily, another Mom played with Zoe the whole time so I did not have to worry about her, and two more parents were assistant coaches, helping run some drills. I'm hoping the games will go similarly. And, you know, being head coach has some benefits.... I didn't put OUR name on the snack assignment.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Saling Through Life
This morning as I fixed my hair, Zoe was singing a neverending rendition of "Happy Birthday to Zoe" while swimming in the bathtub in her new lime-green-with-fluorescent-flowers-swimsuit, big fluorescent pink bow included. Children's swimwear is apparently in that same category as toenail polish: you can use any garish color and psychedelic pattern and get away with it. The suit looks like it was designed by a two-year-old.
Actually, seeing as how it is being worn by a two-year-old, maybe there is some underlying psychology of fashion research behind it.
Anyway, I bought this beloved swimsuit for $1 at a yard sale yesterday. It wasn't the first $1 swimsuit that I bought yesterday...the first one was SO beloved by Zoe that she insisted on holding it, stroking it, and carrying it everywhere we went.
The many neighborhoods around here each take turns having yard sale weekend, which makes it convenient for us shoppers. I simply drive up and down the streets of the subdivision, and chances are good that every third house has a table of stuff for sale. By stuff I mean girl's clothes, toys, and junk. No one sells boy's clothes because they couldn't get the mud and grass off, nor repair the holes in the knees.
The boys did have plenty of excitement shopping, though. Pokemon cards go for 10 cents each, 5 if you're lucky. I spent at least an hour getting to know our neighbor Sarah while they shuffled through the stacks and picked out just the right cards. They also shouted out to each other in fluent poke-tongue, "This one can take 100 hit points! Give me that Dark Charmander! I'll trade you for any of your water-type!"
So, Zoe made it for at least two more stops with the swimsuit-of-delight clutched in her hand, but eventually I notices that it was conspicuously missing, replaced by a zip-lock bag of dollhouse people. I keep wondering if the person who found her newly-purchased suit, neglected on some sidewalk, resold it. It was worth at least a buck.
And it was not too long before I found the lime-green replacement to purchase. After all, everyone sells girl's clothes.
Actually, seeing as how it is being worn by a two-year-old, maybe there is some underlying psychology of fashion research behind it.
Anyway, I bought this beloved swimsuit for $1 at a yard sale yesterday. It wasn't the first $1 swimsuit that I bought yesterday...the first one was SO beloved by Zoe that she insisted on holding it, stroking it, and carrying it everywhere we went.
The many neighborhoods around here each take turns having yard sale weekend, which makes it convenient for us shoppers. I simply drive up and down the streets of the subdivision, and chances are good that every third house has a table of stuff for sale. By stuff I mean girl's clothes, toys, and junk. No one sells boy's clothes because they couldn't get the mud and grass off, nor repair the holes in the knees.
The boys did have plenty of excitement shopping, though. Pokemon cards go for 10 cents each, 5 if you're lucky. I spent at least an hour getting to know our neighbor Sarah while they shuffled through the stacks and picked out just the right cards. They also shouted out to each other in fluent poke-tongue, "This one can take 100 hit points! Give me that Dark Charmander! I'll trade you for any of your water-type!"
So, Zoe made it for at least two more stops with the swimsuit-of-delight clutched in her hand, but eventually I notices that it was conspicuously missing, replaced by a zip-lock bag of dollhouse people. I keep wondering if the person who found her newly-purchased suit, neglected on some sidewalk, resold it. It was worth at least a buck.
And it was not too long before I found the lime-green replacement to purchase. After all, everyone sells girl's clothes.
Friday, May 9, 2008
The Womanly Art of Breastfeeding
At 2.5, Zoe is a huge lover of babies. Since there are none around here (usually), she's also a huge lover of baby dolls. Realistic-looking ones are her favorites, and she swaddles, rocks, pats, burps and sings to them lovingly. "Rockabye baby, inna treetop....Rockabye baby inna treetop.....".She even has parental concerns. After finishing her lunch, she'll set down her sandwich crust and look at me with alarm, "Where's my baby!?" And she'll rush off to find one of them, checking to make sure that no harm has come to it since the last time she dropped it down the stairs or carried it by the head.
I don't give too much parenting advice (I'm saving it all up to unleash when the non-plastic grandbabies arrive in 20 years,) but she has figured out how to do most things anyway. This is likely from watching the many moms with babies in the babysitting room at the athletic club where I work. Most of us are too shy to stick our nose between a breastfeeding mom and her baby, but Zoe is not! "What's BABY DOING? Baby's Eating!?"
So, there's Zoe swaddling her baby, and feeding it juice (little mommy has to take a few sips too to make sure it's tasty,) rocking and patting, and even writing on baby's face with markers like a real mommy would. And when baby gets fussy, she now lifts up her shirt so baby doll can breastfeed too.
Recently I've been discussing with moms and friends about the studies and debates showing that breastfed babies are smarter down the road. Some say that the milk itself may not make babies smarter, but that educated moms with high IQs are more likely to breastfeed, and so their highly-educated IQ-nurtured babies are the breastfed (and smarter) contingent.
Either my daughter is highly-educated or breastmilk makes babies smart. Either way, my grandkids are off to a great start.
"Rockabye baby, inna treetop..." I'll hold off on the advice for now, but maybe I'll teach her some more song lyrics.
Sternum Concernum
So lately, Guy has been expanding his body-parts and medical vocabulary. He asked me, "What's this part of my chest called?" and we added sternum, diaphragm, and clavicle to his pre-K list of spelling words.
What better way to emphasize that new language than to really put it to use? I've been playing catch with Guy and his new baseball glove each afternoon this week. Since he finally writes left-handed (after more than 3 years of wishy washy ambidexterity) we assumed he would throw left handed as well and presented a nice new right-handed mitt on his birthday. Much to my chagrin, he loves to pull the mitt off and use his right hand to pitch.
I told him, "Honey, for the twenty-five bucks I spent, you're gonna be a left-handed pitcher." No matter. He throws fine with either hand. I'll let his high school coach work it out.
And as to catching... gosh, it makes me VERY nervous to huck a hard and speeding object at my little child. I really don't have much faith that he's going to catch it! I'm always sure it will hit him right on the nose. Septum, even.
The bad news is that the EASIEST type of throw for him to catch is a long steady pitch aimed directly at his chest. Any pitches aimed just to his left or right go haywire, and usually tip off the end of his phalange-filled-glove and off into space.
Sigh. So, I've resorted to throwing the ball nice and steady at his MITT, ignoring the nearby cutie-patootie eyes (blue irises), button-nose (perfect cartilage), and not-even-loose primary-teeth smile.
THUNK! That was the sound of my steady shot whumping him on the chest. I knew this was going to happen!! Is this the price every child pays to learn the most fundamental of American skills?
"Ooogh, Mom," he moans. "You got me right in the sternum." Thank goodness it was only a squishy tee-ball.
What better way to emphasize that new language than to really put it to use? I've been playing catch with Guy and his new baseball glove each afternoon this week. Since he finally writes left-handed (after more than 3 years of wishy washy ambidexterity) we assumed he would throw left handed as well and presented a nice new right-handed mitt on his birthday. Much to my chagrin, he loves to pull the mitt off and use his right hand to pitch.
I told him, "Honey, for the twenty-five bucks I spent, you're gonna be a left-handed pitcher." No matter. He throws fine with either hand. I'll let his high school coach work it out.
And as to catching... gosh, it makes me VERY nervous to huck a hard and speeding object at my little child. I really don't have much faith that he's going to catch it! I'm always sure it will hit him right on the nose. Septum, even.
The bad news is that the EASIEST type of throw for him to catch is a long steady pitch aimed directly at his chest. Any pitches aimed just to his left or right go haywire, and usually tip off the end of his phalange-filled-glove and off into space.
Sigh. So, I've resorted to throwing the ball nice and steady at his MITT, ignoring the nearby cutie-patootie eyes (blue irises), button-nose (perfect cartilage), and not-even-loose primary-teeth smile.
THUNK! That was the sound of my steady shot whumping him on the chest. I knew this was going to happen!! Is this the price every child pays to learn the most fundamental of American skills?
"Ooogh, Mom," he moans. "You got me right in the sternum." Thank goodness it was only a squishy tee-ball.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
The Things I Sold
Last Fall the elementary school had an auction to raise money. Local business donated gift certificates and goods, and certificates for goods. Parents donated services. There was a big party, and folks bid on the items.
I really feel I did my part to bring in a truckload this year, but not all of my purchased services have been claimed....hmmmm.
So far, the "2 private swimming lessons, 30-minutes long" and the "Your party of 8 will enjoy an Indian cooking lesson and subsequent dinner" have been claimed. The juggling lessons, fair-isle knitting lessons, and paper-piece quilting lessons have not been claimed.
So now, at the end of the month, our church congregation is planning to have a service auction, just for fun...and also we get a chance to be uplifted by serving each other. I remember years ago when I won a lesson on how to play the church organ but never claimed it (probably the safest thing...I could have been roped into becoming the organist,) as well as a guitar lesson I never claimed (uh...I also don't own a guitar). I do recall all the ladies fighting to see who would bid highest and win the massage from a trained sister, so I hope the winner of that one claimed it.
As the day approaches, I'm brainstorming about what I'll ante up. It would be nice if it's something that I want to do anyway (crafty maybe?) and would enjoy some company while doing. Then we are all winners.
Oh, I've got it! I'm going to offer to "Teach you the shim-sham, with Gina's Lindy Hop Dance-party CD Included." Maybe you'll bid? Here's a teaser.
http://www.idance.net/movedetail.php?clip_id=430
I really feel I did my part to bring in a truckload this year, but not all of my purchased services have been claimed....hmmmm.
So far, the "2 private swimming lessons, 30-minutes long" and the "Your party of 8 will enjoy an Indian cooking lesson and subsequent dinner" have been claimed. The juggling lessons, fair-isle knitting lessons, and paper-piece quilting lessons have not been claimed.
So now, at the end of the month, our church congregation is planning to have a service auction, just for fun...and also we get a chance to be uplifted by serving each other. I remember years ago when I won a lesson on how to play the church organ but never claimed it (probably the safest thing...I could have been roped into becoming the organist,) as well as a guitar lesson I never claimed (uh...I also don't own a guitar). I do recall all the ladies fighting to see who would bid highest and win the massage from a trained sister, so I hope the winner of that one claimed it.
As the day approaches, I'm brainstorming about what I'll ante up. It would be nice if it's something that I want to do anyway (crafty maybe?) and would enjoy some company while doing. Then we are all winners.
Oh, I've got it! I'm going to offer to "Teach you the shim-sham, with Gina's Lindy Hop Dance-party CD Included." Maybe you'll bid? Here's a teaser.
http://www.idance.net/movedetail.php?clip_id=430
I Brag About My Man
I can't remember all the rules that Doug laid down when I started blogging...I seem to remember something like, "Don't print anything that could jeopardize my tenure," or something along those lines, so I've been safely sticking to the kiddie stories.
But, really, as the hard-working stage manager of the Broadway production that is Douglas, I feel I at least have the right to repost things that you could have found (or maybe already have) if you knew how to use Google. (Is the word Google trademarked? Do I owe someone a royalty since I just used it twice? I read something to that effect in New Scientist)
So check out these sweet "Douglas Moments":
Most recent: Wisconsin's toughest time-trial bicycle race: l'Alpe Bl'huez :straight uphill at a face pace. http://www.alpeblhuez.com
But, really, as the hard-working stage manager of the Broadway production that is Douglas, I feel I at least have the right to repost things that you could have found (or maybe already have) if you knew how to use Google. (Is the word Google trademarked? Do I owe someone a royalty since I just used it twice? I read something to that effect in New Scientist)
So check out these sweet "Douglas Moments":
Most recent: Wisconsin's toughest time-trial bicycle race: l'Alpe Bl'huez :straight uphill at a face pace. http://www.alpeblhuez.com
HOT NEWS! Doug was named a SEARLE Scholar. This is a big deal in the science world. http://www.searlescholars.net/scholar_network/index.html
The 8k crazylegs classic in 32 minutes! Nice work! Only somewhat sore the next day.
http://www.crazylegsclassic.com/results.cfm
The Dairyland Dare 100k
http://www.eventpictures.com/app/event/zoomPictures?eventInstanceId=9703&picture=1935367
http://www.onlineraceresults.com/event/view_event.php?event_id=2062
The Horribly Hilly Hundreds: sorry, I forgot the finishing time. It was really fast.
http://www.horriblyhilly.com/home.html
http://www.eventpictures.com/app/event/zoomPictures?eventInstanceId=9703&picture=1934834
His Wisconsin website (under construction?)
http://www.biochem.wisc.edu/faculty/weibel/
The 8k crazylegs classic in 32 minutes! Nice work! Only somewhat sore the next day.
http://www.crazylegsclassic.com/results.cfm
The Dairyland Dare 100k
http://www.eventpictures.com/app/event/zoomPictures?eventInstanceId=9703&picture=1935367
http://www.onlineraceresults.com/event/view_event.php?event_id=2062
The Horribly Hilly Hundreds: sorry, I forgot the finishing time. It was really fast.
http://www.horriblyhilly.com/home.html
http://www.eventpictures.com/app/event/zoomPictures?eventInstanceId=9703&picture=1934834
His Wisconsin website (under construction?)
http://www.biochem.wisc.edu/faculty/weibel/
Barter Garden
So, I usually have to PAY MONEY to put my own son in my swimming class, but I decided to save a buck and provide him with some pals to swim with in an off-the-books, yet hopefully still instructional way. The pal's parents are willing to return some good alms, and luckily the pal's parents know how to garden! So, here I will share with YOU (you don't even have to barter with me to get it - but if you want to offer me free babysitting I'll take it) some of the good advice I have gotten already pertaining to my garden!
Weibel Family Farm
Crop Consulting: Vincent M. Smith
Planting Dates: http://wihort.uwex.edu/fruitveg
Planting Guide: http://www.ext.vt.edu/pubs
Gina, the list that follows is intended to provide a series of steps to insure a happy and healthy growing season. I have many biases when it comes to plant productivity and you will see them here. In reality, your space is very small and if I were you, I would concentrate on growing a few things well. Here are a few ideas that have worked for others. Create a salsa garden (tomato, pepper, cilantro, onion, garlic) Create a pizza garden (tomato, pepper, basil, onion, garlic, summer squash, spinach). Create a salad garden (lettuce, carrot, peas, greens, spinach). Just a few possibilities. Or do what you have already planned, but we aware of your limitations.
- FERTILIZE. You will need to fertilize with nitrogen. Add bone meal, blood meal, feather meal, guano, or any other fertilizer with a high N number in the N-P-K numbering system. Add it as suggested on the container. I will be suggesting a few other types of fertilizing later in these steps, but this should be your first goal. Compost will do this as well, but may not have a very high nitrogen level.
- ROTOTILL. You will need to lift your soil. In the old days people used to talk about turning the soil. It turns out that turning over the soil does kill the weeds, but it also severely disrupts the soil. Turning over the soil with a shovel or fork should be a last resort. I suggest using a very small rototiller or cultivator. You want a small (light-duty) rototiller. You must never use your rototiller when your soil is wet. Working wet soil creates soil compaction and can damage soil.
- IRRIGATION. Prepare an irrigation system. Irrigation is important for two main reasons. First, by providing water only where you want it, you will reduce weed growth. Second, you are unlikely to be able to water by hand as long as you will need to. Watering should always be low flow and over a long period. The plants roots will follow the water. If you water using a watering wand, you will end up soaking the top of the soil only. The plants roots will stay shallow. You encourage this by watering frequently. Drip irrigation allows you to water deep. This, in turn, creates a scenario where the roots sink to follow the water. This is what you want. I will bring you irrigation supplies this week or this coming weekend. You may want to buy an irrigation timer to go with this. You shouldn’t need to pay more than $15.00 for a mechanical timer.
- PURCHASING SEEDLINGS: Always buy seedlings from a quality source. If you buy from Wal-Mart or home depot, you will get varieties that are not meant to be grown here in Wisconsin. Choose a good nursery. One of the best around here is Jungs. They have two locations in Madison. When you buy seedlings, always look for the smallest plants you can find, not the largest. Never buy plants that look like they are about to flower. Never buy plants until you are ready to plant. If you go to a good nursery, I would suggest asking the nursery worker to assist you in picking the right variety. They may or may not be of any help.
- PURCHASING SEEDS: Same story as above. I suggest Jungs over any other source in town. For most of what you want, you should just let me give you the seeds. I can just give you what you need. I will bring them to you in marked ziplock bags. If you plan to buy seeds be sure they were packed in 2007 or 2008. Seeds go bad quickly and most large companies like Wal-Mart or menards buy old seeds and then repack them.
- PLANTING: Nothing special here. Just follow the instructions on the seed pack if you are planting from seed and if you are planting seedlings just throw them in and pat them down. Always water immediately after planting. Never transplant seedlings in the morning. Transplant in the evening so that they won’t have to take the heat right after being moved. You need adequate distance between plants. Look at the chart provided. Plant ONLY when the weather is good. Planting when the ground is saturated is not wise.
- WEED MANAGEMENT: Given the size of your garden you should be able to just pull your weeds or cover the ground with a light compost or mulch. This should stop most of your weeds. If you get something that won’t go away, just let me know.
- PEST MANAGEMENT: Provided you take care of your plants, you shouldn’t have any major problems. Healthy plants don’t have pest problems. Plants that are not healthy get sick. It works the same in the animal kingdom. If you treat your body right, your immune system will respond when needed. Plants work the same way. Nevertheless, things always go wrong. Your options for pest management are extensive. For the most part the insects you can see are helping your plants. The insects you can’t see are doing the damage. If you see something going wrong, just call me. You are more likely to have fungus problems. This can be avoided by maintaining distance between plants.
- FERTILIZATION: Your garden should be fertilized about every two weeks. I highly recommend buying a liquid fertilizer and applying by watering can. You will want to buy a liquid fertilizer that can be used on foliage or is designated for foliar feeding. That means it won’t kill the plant if it gets on the leaves. The best liquid fertilizers are fish and kelp based.
- HARVESTING: This may seem like a no-brainer but most people mess this up. Pick it when it looks ready, don’t pick a little, pick it all. It isn’t going to wait around. Most plants go from perfection to inedible in a few days. You grew it to eat it so don’t hesitate.
- ROTATION: Every time you harvest something, you should be ready to plant something new. Take a look at the chart and see what you can do with the time you have. Planting is not a spring event, it is a continual process. Keep the planting going all season!
Monday, April 28, 2008
Breathe Easy
A short while ago I saw an ad looking for people to participate in asthma research studies at the U Hospital. I have mild asthma, and was curious, so I contacted to researchers.
They let me know that before participating in any studies, I would attend a prescreening involving an allergy skin test and lung-capacity measurements.
I remember my last allergy skin test vividly...well, as vividly as I can remember something that happened over 20 years ago. I was probably 10-12 years old (see, now you can figure out how old I am today), and had luscious thick hair that hung down far on my back. (The luscious part might be selective memory)
What do lovely locks have to do with allergy tests? Back then, the nurse had me lay on my stomach with my back exposed while she slowly wrote the numbers 1-50 with a ball point pen. Then she slowly, slowly took an eyedropperful of allergen solution from a teeny-tiny bottle, put a drop on my back, replaced the dropper and moved on to the next bottle. I'm already itching from the memory. Then she slowly, slowly, slowly found a sterilized pin and scratched the first drop (I wonder if that nurse had some kind of muscle disorder paralyzing her fast-twitch abilities?), picked up a new sterilized pin and laboriously scratched the second drop. And so on. And so on.
Red welts immediately began rising... itches unscratchable in the name of science. An additional Chinese-torture-level crick developed in my neck after the first 40 minutes of lying prone. You know, the kind that makes a young girl walk around all day with hunched shoulders and a grimace (good thing I was too young to be looking for a date). So (wouldn't you?) I innocently lifted my head and turned it, left to right.
SWOOOSH. My luscious locks swept across the carefully constructed skin canvas, smearing cat dander with dust, swirling dog dander into dogwood pollen (Dogwood trees are the only results of the test I distinctly remember NOT be allergic to).
Sadly (sniff), we had to begin again! You would think that after such an excruciating experience (almost as memorable as natural childbirth, but not nearly as painful as grad school or toilet training), I would have treasured the allergy report for years to come. Maybe I would have put it in my journal. Maybe I would have posted it to my blog if only the internet had been introduced. Not so. Perhaps the most critical scientific data (or at least a contender for position of data collected with maximum pain to myself) of the century was lost, never to be reclaimed.
And so THAT is how I found myself at the U, willingly submitting myself to an allergy and asthma exam. Just to confirm that the reason I sneeze around animals is not psychological.
The good news is that the new device for the scratch test (brilliant!) is a pin with 10 tips, each resting in its own juicy allergen. In one swift and easy motion, the pin is lifted and contacted to the victim's forearm. No long hair or long waiting involved! I learned that I AM still allergic to everything they tested for (grasses, dust, pollens, etc.) . Boy, that was worthwhile.
Now to the good part of the story: the researcher (let's call her Jill) measured and charted my lung capactiy by having me blow into a computer-connected flowmeter. 'Flowmeter' is a fancy name for plastic tube with numbers printed on the side. Nice. On the screen I could watch as I blew - first the enormous puff of initial air, then the trickling, straining, whimpering wheezes that I tried to force out for the next 30 seconds as the plotline (flow vs. time) dropped and dipped. The integral under the curve is my handy lung volume.
Next, she had me use an asthma inhaler.
"But I feel fine! It seems silly to use an inhaler now." I said. I really have mild asthma and use my inhaler, oh, a few times a month. I can't remember the last time I had a serious "attack", although when I'm exercising or having allergies, I can definitely tell when I'm getting tight. No matter, I used the inhaler.
After 10-15 minutes, she had me repeat the flowmeter game. HEY! My lung capacity increased by 15%! Gosh. I had thought I already had all my airways fully open and functional.
Registering my surprise, Jill let me know that it is very common for asthma patients to become accustomed to operating at less-than-optimum breathing ability. One patient who'd gone in for testing shocked her with his low O2-saturation and tiny lung capacity, but didn't seem to be uncomfortable. He commented that everything was "normal" and that he wasn't having an attack. This was the guy who assumed everyone had to labor to get up stairs or mow the lawn. After the test, he was amazed to see the change and paid more attention to his meds. You mean people don't get tired after a single flight of stairs?
So, I'm thinking: around the house and at the store, I probably don't miss my 10-15%. When I start missing 30%, I know something is up and reach for the meds. Without a scientific printout I wouldn't be the wiser during the normal times. But then there's all the jogging, volleyball, racquetball, and aerobics I enjoy;... I wonder if whenever I feel "out of shape" or "pooped out" if those feelings are just the effect of my missing 10%? (I relent that there's a small possibility that I could actually be a woos.)
Next time I play racquetball, I'm planning a preemptive puff. Come out with me and I'll kick your butt (or more likely you'll kick mine slightly less than usual.)
They let me know that before participating in any studies, I would attend a prescreening involving an allergy skin test and lung-capacity measurements.
I remember my last allergy skin test vividly...well, as vividly as I can remember something that happened over 20 years ago. I was probably 10-12 years old (see, now you can figure out how old I am today), and had luscious thick hair that hung down far on my back. (The luscious part might be selective memory)
What do lovely locks have to do with allergy tests? Back then, the nurse had me lay on my stomach with my back exposed while she slowly wrote the numbers 1-50 with a ball point pen. Then she slowly, slowly took an eyedropperful of allergen solution from a teeny-tiny bottle, put a drop on my back, replaced the dropper and moved on to the next bottle. I'm already itching from the memory. Then she slowly, slowly, slowly found a sterilized pin and scratched the first drop (I wonder if that nurse had some kind of muscle disorder paralyzing her fast-twitch abilities?), picked up a new sterilized pin and laboriously scratched the second drop. And so on. And so on.
Red welts immediately began rising... itches unscratchable in the name of science. An additional Chinese-torture-level crick developed in my neck after the first 40 minutes of lying prone. You know, the kind that makes a young girl walk around all day with hunched shoulders and a grimace (good thing I was too young to be looking for a date). So (wouldn't you?) I innocently lifted my head and turned it, left to right.
SWOOOSH. My luscious locks swept across the carefully constructed skin canvas, smearing cat dander with dust, swirling dog dander into dogwood pollen (Dogwood trees are the only results of the test I distinctly remember NOT be allergic to).
Sadly (sniff), we had to begin again! You would think that after such an excruciating experience (almost as memorable as natural childbirth, but not nearly as painful as grad school or toilet training), I would have treasured the allergy report for years to come. Maybe I would have put it in my journal. Maybe I would have posted it to my blog if only the internet had been introduced. Not so. Perhaps the most critical scientific data (or at least a contender for position of data collected with maximum pain to myself) of the century was lost, never to be reclaimed.
And so THAT is how I found myself at the U, willingly submitting myself to an allergy and asthma exam. Just to confirm that the reason I sneeze around animals is not psychological.
The good news is that the new device for the scratch test (brilliant!) is a pin with 10 tips, each resting in its own juicy allergen. In one swift and easy motion, the pin is lifted and contacted to the victim's forearm. No long hair or long waiting involved! I learned that I AM still allergic to everything they tested for (grasses, dust, pollens, etc.) . Boy, that was worthwhile.
Now to the good part of the story: the researcher (let's call her Jill) measured and charted my lung capactiy by having me blow into a computer-connected flowmeter. 'Flowmeter' is a fancy name for plastic tube with numbers printed on the side. Nice. On the screen I could watch as I blew - first the enormous puff of initial air, then the trickling, straining, whimpering wheezes that I tried to force out for the next 30 seconds as the plotline (flow vs. time) dropped and dipped. The integral under the curve is my handy lung volume.
Next, she had me use an asthma inhaler.
"But I feel fine! It seems silly to use an inhaler now." I said. I really have mild asthma and use my inhaler, oh, a few times a month. I can't remember the last time I had a serious "attack", although when I'm exercising or having allergies, I can definitely tell when I'm getting tight. No matter, I used the inhaler.
After 10-15 minutes, she had me repeat the flowmeter game. HEY! My lung capacity increased by 15%! Gosh. I had thought I already had all my airways fully open and functional.
Registering my surprise, Jill let me know that it is very common for asthma patients to become accustomed to operating at less-than-optimum breathing ability. One patient who'd gone in for testing shocked her with his low O2-saturation and tiny lung capacity, but didn't seem to be uncomfortable. He commented that everything was "normal" and that he wasn't having an attack. This was the guy who assumed everyone had to labor to get up stairs or mow the lawn. After the test, he was amazed to see the change and paid more attention to his meds. You mean people don't get tired after a single flight of stairs?
So, I'm thinking: around the house and at the store, I probably don't miss my 10-15%. When I start missing 30%, I know something is up and reach for the meds. Without a scientific printout I wouldn't be the wiser during the normal times. But then there's all the jogging, volleyball, racquetball, and aerobics I enjoy;... I wonder if whenever I feel "out of shape" or "pooped out" if those feelings are just the effect of my missing 10%? (I relent that there's a small possibility that I could actually be a woos.)
Next time I play racquetball, I'm planning a preemptive puff. Come out with me and I'll kick your butt (or more likely you'll kick mine slightly less than usual.)
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Spring: Time to Reveal Yourself
This morning as Xander left the house for the bus stop, 1 block away, he let me in on his secret mission plan.
"When I get to school, I'm going to reveal my TRUE IDENTITY!" He demonstrated the t-shirt and shorts underneath his long-sleeved shirt and regular jeans.
Funny, but, YES, that would be his true identity. Even as a toddler, Xander was recognized from long distances by his lack of outerwear. People who knew us would say, "Oh, here come the Weibels....I can see that little boy with no coat on." Of course, this identifying tactic only worked in the cooler months. Xander was also the only one to be relieved to come home after a February trip to Florida to visit the Lybberts a few years ago.
"You're going to wait until you're inside to take off your layers, right?" I questioned with pursed lips and one eyebrow raised.
A brief ponderous look flashed across his face...."um, yeah. Of course." Xander has a very characteristic way of raising his shoulders, waving his hands palms-up, and tipping his head to the side while rolling his eyes ever-so-slightly. It's completely unconvincing to the trained mother's eye.
"Alrighty....I guess." I swished back into the kitchen, gave 2 moments attention to Zoe and Guy, and sneaked over to check the thermostat. 40 degrees...
Even with chunks of ice and mini-snowdrifts still lingering, it feels SO much warmer than all that COLD weather we've had this winter. It's no wonder a cabin-fevered mind would think it's time to doff some sleeves. Still, I remember when I was a kid and Jayne Cowley next door wouldn't let her son Kevin outdoors in shorts until the morning temperature was 60. Nuggets of wisdom like that are discliplinary candy for moms....I'm just certain I was never let out in shorts in cold weather. Well, at least Xander would be inside with today's shorts on.
I came back into the hall for a glimpse of Xander, trotting away down the front steps, clad in SHORTS, TEE-SHIRT, and FLIP-FLOPS! Aaaarrrgh!
According to the clock, he'd have to jog fast to catch the bus, and if that didn't keep him warm, perhaps he could dip into his bulging backpack for some CLOTHES! Aaaarrrgh!
Oh, heavens! Go ahead and reveal your true identity if you must, but please don't reveal mine to child welfare services.
"When I get to school, I'm going to reveal my TRUE IDENTITY!" He demonstrated the t-shirt and shorts underneath his long-sleeved shirt and regular jeans.
Funny, but, YES, that would be his true identity. Even as a toddler, Xander was recognized from long distances by his lack of outerwear. People who knew us would say, "Oh, here come the Weibels....I can see that little boy with no coat on." Of course, this identifying tactic only worked in the cooler months. Xander was also the only one to be relieved to come home after a February trip to Florida to visit the Lybberts a few years ago.
"You're going to wait until you're inside to take off your layers, right?" I questioned with pursed lips and one eyebrow raised.
A brief ponderous look flashed across his face...."um, yeah. Of course." Xander has a very characteristic way of raising his shoulders, waving his hands palms-up, and tipping his head to the side while rolling his eyes ever-so-slightly. It's completely unconvincing to the trained mother's eye.
"Alrighty....I guess." I swished back into the kitchen, gave 2 moments attention to Zoe and Guy, and sneaked over to check the thermostat. 40 degrees...
Even with chunks of ice and mini-snowdrifts still lingering, it feels SO much warmer than all that COLD weather we've had this winter. It's no wonder a cabin-fevered mind would think it's time to doff some sleeves. Still, I remember when I was a kid and Jayne Cowley next door wouldn't let her son Kevin outdoors in shorts until the morning temperature was 60. Nuggets of wisdom like that are discliplinary candy for moms....I'm just certain I was never let out in shorts in cold weather. Well, at least Xander would be inside with today's shorts on.
I came back into the hall for a glimpse of Xander, trotting away down the front steps, clad in SHORTS, TEE-SHIRT, and FLIP-FLOPS! Aaaarrrgh!
According to the clock, he'd have to jog fast to catch the bus, and if that didn't keep him warm, perhaps he could dip into his bulging backpack for some CLOTHES! Aaaarrrgh!
Oh, heavens! Go ahead and reveal your true identity if you must, but please don't reveal mine to child welfare services.
Toilets, Surrender!
There are some things in this world that are amazing or beautiful or heartwarming to see, and often they are the most rare or effervescent of things.
I mean, it's been years since I saw a two-year-old bottom in thick cotton training pants running around the house, and I'm delighted to say this wonderful creation has again returned to the Weibelwood.
My mother in law was SO right when she said, "Training girls is so much easier, dontcha think?" I remember thinking that getting the boys to stay dry was hands-down harder that labor. (Imagine this ad: I will birth your baby for you if you will toilet train my son.)
Riding high on the pride of having a dry toddler in the house, I was only slightly deflated to learn that just about every little friend of Zoe's has been trained since age 18 months. Is this a Wisconsin thing? Am I way behind on the parenting memos? Well, too bad. We're blissfully moving on to the wonderful world of public announcements in restaurants ("Mommy, I'na go PEE PEE!") and gushing praise for the glamour of pink panties ("Zoe, your panties are SOOOO pretty. Keep them DRY and pretty!")
And how did we motivate Zoe to take the leap into the world of big-girl-dom? We simply told her that YOU wear underpants. And Curious George wears underpants. And the man in the yellow hat wears underpants. And Mommy wears underpants. (etc. etc. etc.)
I mean, it's been years since I saw a two-year-old bottom in thick cotton training pants running around the house, and I'm delighted to say this wonderful creation has again returned to the Weibelwood.
My mother in law was SO right when she said, "Training girls is so much easier, dontcha think?" I remember thinking that getting the boys to stay dry was hands-down harder that labor. (Imagine this ad: I will birth your baby for you if you will toilet train my son.)
Riding high on the pride of having a dry toddler in the house, I was only slightly deflated to learn that just about every little friend of Zoe's has been trained since age 18 months. Is this a Wisconsin thing? Am I way behind on the parenting memos? Well, too bad. We're blissfully moving on to the wonderful world of public announcements in restaurants ("Mommy, I'na go PEE PEE!") and gushing praise for the glamour of pink panties ("Zoe, your panties are SOOOO pretty. Keep them DRY and pretty!")
And how did we motivate Zoe to take the leap into the world of big-girl-dom? We simply told her that YOU wear underpants. And Curious George wears underpants. And the man in the yellow hat wears underpants. And Mommy wears underpants. (etc. etc. etc.)
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
Can you call me 'Miss Gina'?
One of the things that makes teaching swim and music lessons rewarding is having the opportunity to teach the the little Weibels. Some chuckle and ask, "Why would you want to have a class full of kids when you could teach your own little child one-on-one?"
Positive peer pressure.
Today I went swimming with Guy and Zoe. We played water-baseball, a nifty game requiring swimming between the bases. It's somewhat difficult to explain the rules of baseball to a 4-year-old when each team only has one player (and as many imaginary friends as you would like...Guy informed me that my pretend friends all had to be grown-up women.) I suppose we could have recruited the only other swimmer in the pool, an older woman water-jogging in the corner, but I suspect she put herself in the corner to avoid being mistaken as the right-fielder. (Incidentally, Zoe identified this woman as "Grandma". If you are reading this post, and you are the true Grandma, you better come visit soon, lest you get replaced by a random swimmer.)
Guy's efforts to reach the bases before I tagged him (which I attempt to do after I field the ball and then throw it infield to myself) were valiant, speedy, and not at all in excellent swimming form.
He does know how to swim with his face in the water. He does know how to pull his arms up in the air in a nice arc. He does have a lovely backstroke. He does wear goggles (for the low bribery rate of $0.25/ 30 minutes). Where are the skills during playtime, I wonder? I suggested a few corrections, to the loving response of, "I'm going to build a boat out of noodles."
BUT, class on Monday, involving 5 other students, was a different story. Nothing motivates Guy to swim 20 feet at top speed more than swimming alongside Nolan (nice rhythmic breathing, Nolan!), or to go the longest distance when next to Alex, or float on his back longer than Noah. Swim team - here he comes!
So THIS, my friends is why I actually pay money to put my child in swim lessons, of which I am the instructor. Guy gets big smiles from having me as his teacher, and he lets his ownership be known by occasionally doling out a little extra sass and a lot of "Mom! Hey MOM! Mom!". I figure, it's fabulous having at least one student that loves me like a mother.
Positive peer pressure.
Today I went swimming with Guy and Zoe. We played water-baseball, a nifty game requiring swimming between the bases. It's somewhat difficult to explain the rules of baseball to a 4-year-old when each team only has one player (and as many imaginary friends as you would like...Guy informed me that my pretend friends all had to be grown-up women.) I suppose we could have recruited the only other swimmer in the pool, an older woman water-jogging in the corner, but I suspect she put herself in the corner to avoid being mistaken as the right-fielder. (Incidentally, Zoe identified this woman as "Grandma". If you are reading this post, and you are the true Grandma, you better come visit soon, lest you get replaced by a random swimmer.)
Guy's efforts to reach the bases before I tagged him (which I attempt to do after I field the ball and then throw it infield to myself) were valiant, speedy, and not at all in excellent swimming form.
He does know how to swim with his face in the water. He does know how to pull his arms up in the air in a nice arc. He does have a lovely backstroke. He does wear goggles (for the low bribery rate of $0.25/ 30 minutes). Where are the skills during playtime, I wonder? I suggested a few corrections, to the loving response of, "I'm going to build a boat out of noodles."
BUT, class on Monday, involving 5 other students, was a different story. Nothing motivates Guy to swim 20 feet at top speed more than swimming alongside Nolan (nice rhythmic breathing, Nolan!), or to go the longest distance when next to Alex, or float on his back longer than Noah. Swim team - here he comes!
So THIS, my friends is why I actually pay money to put my child in swim lessons, of which I am the instructor. Guy gets big smiles from having me as his teacher, and he lets his ownership be known by occasionally doling out a little extra sass and a lot of "Mom! Hey MOM! Mom!". I figure, it's fabulous having at least one student that loves me like a mother.
The Very Worst Thing
As I slowly folded my way through the laundry mountain on my bed, I overheard the voices of the kids playing down the hall.
"Xander, if Zoe touches you once, you turn into pee pee," announced Guy, holding his makeshift weapons that are, of course, only expected to be found on monster-fighting heroes. (Wait a minute... the monster is named 'Zoe'? And how is it that he knows how to build weapons from cardboard tubes when I specifically avoided buying guns, knives, scimitars, and battleaxes?)
"And if she touches you again, you turn in to poo poo," he adds. Zoe, giggling and screaming gleefully, doesn't mind being the harbinger of toilet evils. Or perhaps she doesn't understand English very well yet. Xander's screeches would indicate that perhaps he has already been transmogrified into a flushable waste product.
Reaching for something white and cottony from the foothills of Mt. Saint Underwear, I leaned toward the door, so as not to miss the final proclamation.
"And if she touches you a third time, you turn into A PRINCESS!!!" Laughing and giggling (and...is that the sound of unauthorized bouncing-on-the-bed?) indicated that Zoe might not be the only daughter for much longer if this game keeps up.
So there you have it. When your day looks bad and you feel like poo, remember that it could be worse. Much, much worse. You could be.... a princess.
"Xander, if Zoe touches you once, you turn into pee pee," announced Guy, holding his makeshift weapons that are, of course, only expected to be found on monster-fighting heroes. (Wait a minute... the monster is named 'Zoe'? And how is it that he knows how to build weapons from cardboard tubes when I specifically avoided buying guns, knives, scimitars, and battleaxes?)
"And if she touches you again, you turn in to poo poo," he adds. Zoe, giggling and screaming gleefully, doesn't mind being the harbinger of toilet evils. Or perhaps she doesn't understand English very well yet. Xander's screeches would indicate that perhaps he has already been transmogrified into a flushable waste product.
Reaching for something white and cottony from the foothills of Mt. Saint Underwear, I leaned toward the door, so as not to miss the final proclamation.
"And if she touches you a third time, you turn into A PRINCESS!!!" Laughing and giggling (and...is that the sound of unauthorized bouncing-on-the-bed?) indicated that Zoe might not be the only daughter for much longer if this game keeps up.
So there you have it. When your day looks bad and you feel like poo, remember that it could be worse. Much, much worse. You could be.... a princess.
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