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Truth or Dare?
We had a friend of GW’s as a guest for the weekend. And, although I heard plenty of giggling, I rarely ever saw the girls. They played practically non-stop, only pausing to report when they were hungry.
Unfortunately for them, I had errands to run which meant I had to intrude on their playtopia (see how did that? I combined play and utopia. Oh, the cleverness of me!) and drag them along to Target, the party store, and the bank invite them to come with me. To keep from having to make lunch reward them for humoring me, I took them out for pizza.
While waiting for our food, GW’s friend, who has two teen-aged sisters, suggested we play Truth or Dare. [Insert scary music here.]
Not Truth or Dare! The horror. Right there in our booth, I experienced a humiliating flashback of having to choose whether to drink raw eggs blended with water from the fishtank, Hershey’s Syrup and Tabasco Sauce, or tell who I really liked.
If I think about it, I can still taste that nasty little cocktail.
Truth or Dare is not a nice game.
But, since the girls are little and the pizza was taking soooo long, I let them play with the provision that no one was allowed to ask anything that might hurt someone.
The friend went first. GW said truth.
My palms started to sweat.
“Have you ever…”
She paused to think about what she should ask.
“…eaten a snail?”
Hilarius giggles and a “no” from my girl.
Dare.
“I dare you to drink all of your juice-box.”
I started to relax.
These are good girls. And young girls. Girls with nothing to hide.
Me on the other hand…
“Mom, will you play?”
I said truth.
“Have you ever tooted in someone else’s car and pretended like it wasn’t you?”
Um, anyone have any Tabasco Sauce?
Gratuitous Dog Photos
I’ve added a new category (or should I say dogegory?).
See it, over there on the left? Scroll down. More. It’s in my sidebar.
Gratuitous Dog Photos
Now come back so you can actually see one.
Here is my first entry.
I’m calling it: Better Than a Baby
Please ignore the junk in the hallway. I do.
Many hands…
..make more messes.
As promised, part two of our chore box project is coming right up.
But first, an update:
lacquer
Thank you Mr. Webster.
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*Killing Two Birds with Two Blog Posts
First of all, thanks for your prayers and support. GW slept much better last night. I know because I was curled up on a couple of couch cushions beside her bed with Benedryl and albuterol at the ready. Who me? Overprotective. No, why do you ask?
But that’s not what I wanted to talk about today. Not at all.
Today I want to share with you something that is working for me.
Summer is upon us and you know what that means.
Whiny voices crying “I’m bored!” And often kids say it too.
In an effort to both enjoy a fun craft with my daughter and stave off the dreaded **cameelious hump that comes from having too little to do, I came up with the following project. (Hence the *two dead birds, though I guess one bird named boredom would have worked as well. Work with me people, it’s tough to be metaphorical when you’ve spent the night curled up on couch cushions.)
Today we’ll talk about the craft.
The Chore Box
Otherwise known as: My take on a chore chart because I don’t want another thing cluttering up my wall space.
Step 1:
Buy a wooden recipe box at the craft store.
Step 2:
Glue some magazine pictures to it. Decide as a design team (me and GW) that they are ugly. Remove offending pictures and then remove the little screws.
Please ignore the hangnails. I do.
Step 3:
Tear up some scrapbook paper that you have lying around. You know you hate scrapbooking and the guilt you feel about not doing it. Tearing up that paper will feel great.
Step 4:
Use white glue or decoupage paste to cover the recipe box with the paper. Use a pin to poke holes where the screws go. You’ll thank me later.
Step 5:
Slather on another layer of glue over the top. Go ahead and use your hands. Messy can be fun.
Step 6:
Allow box to dry. For a stronger finish spray on a coat of sealer. (I’d say lacher but I spell-check can’t remember how to spell it. Laker? Lacker? Isn’t there a ‘q’ in it somewhere? Why yes, I am homeschooling. Why do you ask?)
Step 7:
When dry, reattach screws. Thank me for the tip about the holes.
Step 8:
Admire your work for a moment, then fill the box with chore cards.
I’ll blog more about those tomorrow…
*No actual birds were harmed in the making of this project.
**Rudyard Kipling’s “Camelious Hump” after the jump. Read more
A Heidi Sob Story
Once upon a time there was a Heidi.
Heidi had spent hours minutes illustrating a new Adventures of Heidi story. Then Heidi discovered that her computer was an evil beast that should be shot malfunctioning.
Apparently Heidi’s computer was quarreling with Heidi’s scanner.
The computer was all, “I don’t even know you anymore. You are dead to me.”
The scanner was all, “Did you say something?”
Heidi was all, “Where’s a nerd when you need one?”
In the meantime, Heidi decided to photograph her illustrations.
And then Heidi’s daughter got sick.
With croup. And asthma.
To clarify, Heidi’s daughter did not just get asthma. But the asthma has been on a very long vacation. It now seems as though asthma has returned and is bemoaning all the laundry it has to do.
Heidi says, “Shut-up asthma! No one even wanted you to come back. And to bring your nasty friend croup?! How dare you?”
To which asthma replied “Nah-nah-na-na-na!”
So everyone is a bit snarky at Heidi’s house right now.
But back to the missing illustrations: Instead of photographing her marker art, Heidi’s days are now filled will refilling gator-aid glasses and nebulizer cups, reading even more stories, and checking to make sure all old prescriptions are current. (They are not. And trying to get into a New Doctor when all you need is his signature is driving Heidi crazy. Crazy enough to imagine conversations with asthma, the computer and the scanner.)
And Heidi’s nights are filled with coughing and crying. (It is up to you to sort out who is doing what.) Oh, and backyard campouts.
Why? Because Heidi knows that cool night air is good for croup. And Heidi’s daughter could not breath well enough for the medicine to penetrate her lungs. So Heidi dragged a couple of sleeping bags to the lawn at 3:00am.
The few stars the campers could see were pretty. The clouds were pretty. Heidi’s daughter began to breath almost normally, then fell asleep. Heidi rejoiced. The heaven responded by opening up and pouring water on the happy campers.
It is enough to make Heidi feel like this:
Please pray.
The End
(I hope)
I really do a have a dad
Remember the week before Mother’s Day? You know when I posted all those funny and embarrassing stories about my mom? (Except she wasn’t embarrassed at all. She loves attention.)
Well, perhaps you noticed a lack of similar treatment toward my dad last week. Maybe you were asking yourself, “Does Heidi even have a dad? And if so, is he unblogable?”
It’s possible that the riddle about my paternal status kept you from engaging in things you really enjoy. That you continued to search my site for some clue instead of going about your normal activities.
If that is the case, I sincerely apologized to you and your loved ones. I hope it is not too late to repair the damage.
The fact of the matter is, I do have a dad:
He’s the one with the pitchfork.
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Dear BK, Can I really have it my way?
It is my intention to send the following missive to His Royal Burgerness. Because I am really annoyed.
Dear Burger King,
While I appreciate that your political system is a monarchy and thus the common people have little say in the running of affairs, I am an American. As such, I am used to making my opinions known. Sometimes quite vigorously. That is my right in this country.
Furthermore, if enough of my compatriots agree with my opinion, we will effect change.
And though your political system, not being either a republic or a democracy, must naturally differ somewhat, still you proclaim that I can “have it my way.”
I appreciate that. Truly I do. I like knowing that I can order my Whopper sans onions or get an extra fry-sauce without the Burger Gestapo beating down my door and hauling me off. So thank you, Your Highness, for that freedom.
It is that generosity of spirit that has given me hope that I may address you about another matter without fear of reprisal.
The matter is thus: the last three times I took my seven year old daughter to your eating establishment she has received toys that represented the movies, Iron Man, Indiana Jones, and The Incredible Hulk. Each of these movies is rated PG-13.
If my education serves me correctly, I believe that means that the subject matter is appropriate for those ages thirteen and above, or thereabouts. That would put my child a full eight years below the optimum viewing age. Therein lies the difficulty.
It may interest you to know that each of these three toys prompted a variation of the following conversation:
My seven year old child: Mom, when can I see [insert inappropriate movie here]?
Me: That movie is not really for kids your age. Maybe when you are older.
My seven year old child: Yes it is for kids. Look at the toy.
Me: Yeah, but the movie is too violet/scary/stupid looking for kids.
My seven year old child: whine whine whine whine whine
As you must be able to discern from that exchange, your toy policy is a problem for me. I do not like it. Furthermore, it may or may not surprise you that I have noticed children even younger than my seven year old partaking of your kids’ meals and receiving the offending toy.
Would you allow a four year old Burger Prince or Princess to see Iron Man?
I petition your Highness to review the policy. If you do not, I will have to review the policy I have that allows for occasional forays into your kingdom.
Please allow my child to remain a child for the duration of her childhood. And please support me in my efforts at responsible parenting.
(Confidential aside to my readers: yes, I do realize the irony in asking that of a fast-food corporation.)
Thank you for your attention to this matter.Your humble subject and irate American,
Heidi
If you too wish to send a message to the King, leave it in the comments section. I’ll make sure he gets it. And if you feel strongly about this, please spread the word.
The Dog Catcher
It appears as though Shasta is here to stay.
Maybe we should try a treat in a butterfly net the next time she runs away.
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Visit Wordless Wednesday at 5 Minutes for Mom
A cozy little space
We’ve been making some changes around here.
In an effort to create an inviting space for learning, I no longer have a library. Makes sense, doesn’t it?
What used to be the library is now my dining room.
I know, ceiling fan above the table = yuck, but we do have a new fixture to put up.
And what used to be the dining room?
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Wondering where I’ve been hiding?
Once upon a time there was a Heidi…
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