Subscribe in a Reader
-
Down to the wire
I submitted my post on 9/30 at 10:47 pm.
So, I’d say I’m actually early, wouldn’t you?
The Spice of Life
Her: Mo-oom! I’m bored! Whine whine whine…
Me: Only boring people get bored. Go find something to do.
Her: I hate when you say that. Whine whine whine
Me: I hate having to say it.
Her: Can I look at cute overload?
Me: Did you earn that privilege?
Her: No. But you made me not earn it.
Me: [ignore]
Her: Mo-oom! I haven’t done anything fun all day.
Me: You’re right. Swim lessons, picnic lunch at the State Capitol and a walk through the avenue of flags (states are one of her particular interests), nearly two hours at the library, and then listening to me read Harry Potter for the entire rest of the afternoon… you’re practically in prison.
Her: I’m bored.
Hmmm… What was really going on here? My girl usually has no problem finding something to do. All of our gallivanting (gallivanting? What am I, an 80 year old woman?) must have rendered her nearly brain-dead completely incapable of entertaining herself.
Come to think of it, I was pretty tired myself.
Tired of whining.
I pulled a surefire crowd (of one) pleaser from my mama bag of tricks: Homemade Playdough!
And just to *spice things up a little bit, we made: Homemade Gingerbread Playdough!
The late afternoon sun streamed through the window as we concentrated on our fall-scented sculpting.
Boredom was successfully banished. The whining disappeared. Girl was satisfied. Mama was happy.
Her careful efforts resulted in a wonderfully smelling display of fall leaves, gingerbread boys, and even a bat or two. They looked almost good enough to eat.
I used the same dough.
I used the same cookie cutters.
The same autumnal sun shone on my handywork.
It begs the question…
Why did all of mine look like poop?
Literally.
Or was it just my imagination?
Gingerbread Playdough 1 cup flour Mix the dry ingredients. Play with the spices till you get the scent and color you like . Mix water and oil together and add them to the dry ingredients. Stir.
1/2 cup salt
2 tsp. cream of tartar
1 cup water
1 Tbs. veg. oil
Lots of cinnamon, allspice, ginger, nutmeg, whatever!
In a pot, cook the mixture for two to three minutes, stirring frequently. The dough will start to pull away from the sides of the pan and clump together. Remove dough from pan and knead until it becomes soft and smooth. Allow to cool and store in an air tight container.
*Pun intended.
A Surprise For Heidi
Once upon a time there was a Heidi.
Here are a few interesting facts about this Heidi:
- Though she is very well-read, Heidi cannot spell well. She has trouble with words like “oppertunity”.
- Heidi likes black licorice and chocolate. Together.
- Heidi no longer minds infertility. She is content with her family size and is happy not to have to worry about things like birth control.
This is what Heidi looked like a few months ago:
Sadly, this is what Heidi looks like now:
Please note the sleepy eyes, weepy tears, angry eyebrows, mouth about to erupt in hysterical laughter, slightly larger and tender tatas, and pudgyer belly.
Also please note that even Heidi’s hair is flipping out these days. But that is intentional.
Oh yes, and the red dots: Those red dots could be chicken pox. Heidi would like them to be chicken pox. However, they are most likely a proliferation (Heidi spelled that word without help) of acne.
Unless they are chicken pox.
Not pictured: Heidi’s mild nausea. And not just when she looks in a mirror.
Clearly something is going on with Heidi.
Heidi’s doctor has confirmed it. Something is growing inside Heidi’s body.
Care to guess what?
You have three chances.
1. Nope, not Renesmee II.
2. Alien, Sigourny Weaver style? Interesting thought, but no.
3. A baby-to-be?
Wrong again! Sorry, you lose.
Lucky Heidi! She gets to experience the feeling of being pregnant without actually getting pregnant!
The little bugger causing Heidi all of these problems is a two inch long ovarian cyst. Heidi is lovingly referring to it as her “Meat Baby”.
Just keepin’ it real people.
Today’s drawing looks like a Texas Longhorn. With Earrings.
Would you care to know how Heidi’s doctor plans to get rid of Heidi’s unwelcome surprise?
With these:
So to recap:
Heidi can not get pregnant. Nor does she want to become so.
But Heidi’s body is acting pregnant.
To fix this problem, Heidi must begin taking birth-control pills.
Irony, anyone?
Heidi is ready for her epidural now.
Am I the only one who finds this a bit creepy?
Can you imagine it? You’ve run out of gas on a deserted country road. It’s late. You take a shortcut through a farmer’s field and come upon this:
I’ll admit the artistry is cool, but these living tree people totally freak me out.
PS: Wasn’t that the symbol from the Blair Witch Project?
I thought it looked more like a deformed reindeer
It happened in the car on a Sunday evening, nearly a year ago. Our family was driving home from the Washington DC LDS Temple visitor’s center. They have a fantastic Christmas Festival of Lights. All was quiet, peaceful.
And then, out of the blue, our daughter asked a question, the question, really.
I was totally unprepared for:
Mom, how do babies get inside their mommy’s tummy?
!?!
Where did that come from?! Was it the live nativity? And how the heck am I supposed to answer a seven year old?
I tried to compose my thoughts while flashes of my own awkward introduction to this subject ran through my head:
My brother innocently looks up from his dinner and asks, “What’s sperm?”
SILENCE.
My mom, flustered and embarrassed, herds the two of us children away from the table, leaving our dad to eat alone. We cluster into my bedroom, shut the door, and listen as Mom chokes out a confusing explanation about a man planting a seed. Who was this man? A farmer? And why did my mom want to keep him a secret from my dad?…
Here is essentially what I said: “Heavenly Father has prepared a special way for a man and a woman to make a baby. He wants them to use it after they are married. The man puts a seed in a woman’s body and it grows into a baby.”
Dang, I brought up the seed; it’s that crazy farmer all over again! What was I thinking?
Mr. Frantic was shaking with silent laughter as I tried to be casual. No discomfort here. Nope. Not at all.
I asked my daughter if that answered her question and she said…
“no”.
crap!
As I tried to think of what else to say (the mom and dad fit together like a puzzle?) she changed the subject. When I asked her asked her if she still wanted to talk about babies she said no.
Great. Me neither.
We rode the rest of the way home in silence.
A few days later, after the initial panic had subsided, I brought up the subject again. I calmly, yet simply detailed the mechanics while also explaining our family’s moral stand on S-E-X.
She asked a couple of questions and I answered them without fear or embarrassment.
Yay me!
I even had the presence of mind to explain that this topic was very special and other kids needed to learn about it from their parents, not from her, so she should not try to educate the her friends. Please.
Fast forward several months. I learned the disturbing news that many girls now may begin puberty as early as age 8!
And, I won’t get into specifics here, but I suspect that my girl may be an early bloomer in that department.
I’ve been meaning to talk to her about what changes are in store for her.
Once again flashback to horribly embarrassing health class films about Your Changing Body.
Gag!
Yes it was awful, but it saved me my mom the horror of a discussion at home.
But I homeschool now. There is no one else to do this one for me. I needed to talk to her myself, and preferably in a way that would not cause us to begin avoiding eye contact.
This afternoon she asked me why girls don’t get big adam’s apples.
It was time.
Readers, you would have been so proud of me! I continued making dinner as I explained that girls’ and boys’ bodies go through some different changes on their way to becoming men and women. I did not choke on the words “breasts” or “menstruate”. I pretended like they were perfectly normal pre-dinner discussion topics.
And when words did not suffice I pulled out our trusty little white board and drew a picture of the female reproductive system.
Oh, yes I did.
We discussed what happens to an egg on its journey to becoming a baby or, um, not a baby.
I positively waxed eloquent.
When I was finished speaking I asked the golden question.
“Is there anything else you want to know?”
“Yeah. Why does your drawing look like a dog with earrings?”
Where is a health teacher when you need one?
=============================================================
Works for Me Wednesday hosted by Rocks in my Dryer
We interupt this blog for the following important announcement:
She’s wearing pants!
Or, more specifically, shorts.
Big deal? Nope, it’s a huge deal.
My girl has always had “issues” with her clothes. I can’t count the number times a tiny wrinkle in her sock caused her to come completely unglued. But that’s waaaay back when she could be coaxed into wearing socks. For the last year it’s been flip-flops or crocks with the occasional sockless tennis shoe (with antimicrobial properties) when school PE demanded it.
She hates long sleeves, layers, anything hot, itchy, tight, and on…
and on…
and on…
Saying that it’s been tough would be a gross understatement.
In May, my girl declared that she could no longer stand the feel of pants. I fought her for a while before giving in and sewing her an entire of wardrobe of t-shirt dresses.
I figured that she would grow out of it.
But things have just gotten worse. A couple of weeks ago I invited her to go to a yoga class with me.
“Oh yes, I’d love to!” (She really does talk like that. A bit like a little girl from a book set in the fifties. Must be from all the classics I’ve read to her over the years.)
And then her face fell, “Will I have to wear pants?”
The answer, of course, was yes. She tearfully told me she couldn’t go.
A few days later, we had a similar conversation about karate.
She decided to try pants again. But the softest pair of shorts caused her to practically hyperventilate in the dressing room.
“I really want to mom, but I just can’t.”
My husband was home from work early; he met us in the driveway where I wrapped myself in his arms and dissolved into tears. We needed help.
So I made two phone calls: our doctor, and a friend well versed in homeopathic medicine.
I started my girl on a homeopathic remedy last week. A few days later we went it to see her doctor. She recommended a full evaluation using scary words like autism and aspberger’s. (However, my highly scientific internet research points more to a sensory processing disorder.) We’ll be doing the evaluation as soon as we get all of her medical records together.
Yesterday, we came home from church and GW disappeared in my room for awhile. When she came out, she was wearing my running shorts. She proudly proclaimed them “the most comfortable shorts ever!” Today she put on another pair.
I don’t know if it’s the homeopathy or the realization that her sensitivity is serious enough to have to go to the doctor, but whatever the reason, I’m grateful.
And I hope it lasts…
Going, going…
…almost gone.
Very soon the long Oregon rainy season will arrive.
Don’t get me wrong, I do love fall. In fact, it is my favorite season, but I’m not quite ready to give up my place in the sun this year.
Nevertheless, it will soon be time to exchange the sunscreen for rubber boots.
Lucky for me, I have collected a string of bright, shiny memories to carry me through the coming great gray.
Here are a few moments that never quite made their way here:
Freestlye
Oregon Kotata Berry
Just-Us-Girls roadtrip
Papa Hyden’s – Portland
The Collector
Company from Maryland
View from a blanket
Stuck. Stuck!
Labor Day – Out with a bang!
And for a taste of what’s to come:
One last baseball game: freezing cold and bench bum, what fun!
that’s what happens when you don’t post for awhile
Did you realize that my last post about homeschooling was written in the same format as the one about coconut water?
I didn’t either. But I do now.
Sorry about my extended absence. I love this blog. Until recently, I’ve been a daily poster. But now my life has shifted. Now, in my spare time, I’m reading, trying to learn all I possibly can so that I can pass it on to my girl.
And I’m loving the feeling of stretching those mental muscles. Of using my brain for something other than to prevent my head from caving in on itelf.
But that means I have less time to devote here.
However less time does not equal no time. (Look at me doing math!)
There are more stories still to tell.
home sweet home
Did you know that the kiwi bird lays an egg approximately 1/4 the size of her body?
Or that the proceeds from the first performance of Handel’s Messiah freed 142 men from debtor’s prison?
Did you know that fractions taught in the kitchen taste like cookies?
And that salt comes in really handy for spelling?
What about this one: did you know that my girl would so quickly begin to blossom, dreaming of all of the many things she can learn..do…be…?
I didn’t either, but I do now.
Sassy Enough For Ya’?
For some reason I cannot quite remember, I decided to participate in this quarter’s Sassy Apron Swap.
Oh yeah, that’s right…it sounded like fun.
And the rules stated that sewing skills only had to be at the level of an eighth grade home-ec’er. Since I don’t think home-ec is even taught anymore, I figured I met the criteria. Give me any junior high and I’ll be a sewing rock-star.
Or, more likely a sewing nerd that everyone will mercilessly taunt until I run home crying, vowing that I’ll show them someday…
Where was I? Oh yes, the Sassy Apron Swap. I had plans for a fun and funky “intermediate level” pattern, but I got scared. If I were making it for myself, I’d have no problem tackling “intermediate”, but for someone else: someone who’s sewing skills are probably at least tenth grade level…I chickened out.
I ended up creating my own, beginner level pattern:
Please note: This photo was taken in my fat mirror. Kindly remove at least five pounds from the image.
Please also note: This photo was taken with my new birthday camera. Everything turns out blurry. It is going back to the store later this week.
And if it’s not too much trouble, please also note: Though I did not intend for my accessories to match my apron, they do look nice, don’t they?
Apron special features:
And if she doesn’t, well… someday I’ll show her!
Please pass the tissues.
Once upon a time there was a Heidi…
-
-
-
-
