One might make the assumption that anything used to melt metal is a burn hazard.
Wire Feed Welders Recalled by Star Asia USA Due to Burn Hazard, http://www.cpsc.gov/cpscpub/prerel/prhtml10/10298.html
Of course, the "one" in question reads CPSC recall notices obsessively and was perversely delighted to learn that toy helicopters were bursting into flames mid-flight. At our house, that would be the hallmark of a truly outstanding toy.
Tween Brands Recalls Children's Metal Jewelry Due to High Levels of Cadmium, http://www.cpsc.gov/cpscpub/prerel/prhtml10/10297.html
We should all know better than to buy any sort of shiny trinket made in the People's Republic of Misfit Toys. Even my seven year old will flip over a potential purchase and think twice if she sees "China". I have nothing but good feelings about the people and culture of China, but I do have some misgivings about their manufacturing standards and government regulation of same.
If your child requires something shiny and inexpensive, get thee to the jewelry case at Wal-Mart and buy her something in a nice sterling silver.
On the other hand, while cadmium is generally toxic, most warnings involve ingestion. If a 10-13 year old is eating her earrings, perhaps a parent has more to worry about than reading government recalls.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Weight Loss & Water Heaters
I lost almost a pound. Fabulous. There was some wandering off the path, and there may or may not have been a chocolate episode, so I’ll take that not quite a pound and run with it. The past ten days have revealed a few things:
1. I truly dislike exercising in the morning. It is impossible to exercise in the evenings. Right about now seems like a good compromise, but once again employment kills the fun.
2. Pei Wei’s Vietnamese Chicken Salad Rolls (the pinnacle of authenticity, I am sure) are darn tasty and only six WW points for the dish.
3. I require protein to function in the mornings. Subway has a reasonable egg/English muffin thing, but it’s too hot to eat while driving, the “egg white” is a rubbery disc that is microwaved to something approximating reality, and the guy who makes them isn’t a very cheerful fellow.
4. I can make a quick little omelet in the mornings, but so far I have been able to either exercise or cook – not both – before leaving for work.
5. My children will eat broccoli and asparagus in mass quantities so long as it’s served as part of Olive Garden's Ventian Apricot Chicken.
6. I am making said Venetian chicken this evening and just realized we have no tomatoes.
7. Rob can fix a water heater.
That was a graceless segue, no?
Our water heater had been slowly doing a lot less heating and a lot more sitting around and relaxing. Saturday night we did the responsible thing and drained it, only to find that it had no intention of returning the favor and giving us hot water. Realizing that we were in this for the long haul, and fresh from a grossly inflated plumbing invoice that left us wary and suspicious of anyone carrying a wrench, Rob and I decided that google and youtube could get us back to hot shower heaven. Sunday was, simply put, a comedy of errors. We knew we had sediment in the tank (everyone in San Antonio has sediment in their tanks) so we decided to use water pressure to flush it out. We filled the tank, hooked up the water hose to the tank spigot, turned the water on at the top and left the pressure relief valve open simply because it made a lot of impressive noise and sounded like important things were happening.
They were. The pressure relief valve diverts the flow to the overflow pipe, a pipe whose outlet is somewhere in our backyard. Had Rob not picked just the right moment to take out the trash, we would have flooded our air conditioner. As it was, we flooded everything around the air conditioner, garage and back patio. He dug a very nice trench from the side yard to the front, channeled the water into the front yard, turned everything off and headed to Home Depot. After acquiring two new heating elements and the appropriate tool that can be used for nothing but installing water heater heating elements, we noticed that despite everything being set to off, we could still hear water running. Obviously we had to turn it off using that spooky and often bug-occupied thingy in the hole in the front yard. Rob has a more technical term for it that currently eludes me. In any case, he spends a lot of time out there turning the water off – most memorably when he pulled a pin out of a random valve in the shower faucet and diverted the full force of the water main into our guest bathtub. The scene was eerily reminiscent of the Seinfeld episode when Kramer installed his contraband showerhead.
Back to the heater. There could be no cessation of water until I had washed the dishes (by hand) and done a load of laundry (on cold), so he had a short and fortuitous reprieve. Fortuitous because when the water was off and the tank drained, he had the pleasure of discovering approximately all the sand in the world (or maybe it was just 18-24 inches) in the bottom of our water heater. The numbers and charts at the San Antonio Water System Water Quality site are just a fancy way of saying our drinking water flows over limestone before it arrives at our house and we really should invest in a water softener. Using highly sophisticated methodology involving a spare swing set part and a grainy youtube video shot at a ninety degree angle with a phone camera, Rob was able to get most of that sediment out of the water heater and into our cute lime green cooler. Four hours later.
We are very thankful for his hard work and shall not point out that I keep an ugly old bucket in the garage exactly for situations such as this. Or maybe we just did.
Clean tank. Brand new heating elements. Water on. Tanked filled. Water hot.
No. Water cold.
Monday, wide awake after my bracing and rejuvenating shower, I frantically googled and called home with every suggestion I could locate. To no avail, Rob unplugged and replugged, reset breakers and pushed buttons on the thermostat. We were discussing our options when a co-worker overheard and very graciously emailed me her plumber’s name and phone number. I called, he was busy. I called four hours later, still busy. He called two hours later for directions, and at 8:30pm either salvation or a very large plumbing bill rang our doorbell.
It was the former – for $65 he took Rob into the backyard and showed him where to find the breaker for the water heater and other major appliances. I’m sure I was grinning like an idiot as I wrote the check, and I think Rob’s heart grew two sizes when a real live plumber told him he couldn’t have done a better job himself.
Happy wife, proud husband, clean children, functional appliance. A Monday night can’t get much better than that.
1. I truly dislike exercising in the morning. It is impossible to exercise in the evenings. Right about now seems like a good compromise, but once again employment kills the fun.
2. Pei Wei’s Vietnamese Chicken Salad Rolls (the pinnacle of authenticity, I am sure) are darn tasty and only six WW points for the dish.
3. I require protein to function in the mornings. Subway has a reasonable egg/English muffin thing, but it’s too hot to eat while driving, the “egg white” is a rubbery disc that is microwaved to something approximating reality, and the guy who makes them isn’t a very cheerful fellow.
4. I can make a quick little omelet in the mornings, but so far I have been able to either exercise or cook – not both – before leaving for work.
5. My children will eat broccoli and asparagus in mass quantities so long as it’s served as part of Olive Garden's Ventian Apricot Chicken.
6. I am making said Venetian chicken this evening and just realized we have no tomatoes.
7. Rob can fix a water heater.
That was a graceless segue, no?
Our water heater had been slowly doing a lot less heating and a lot more sitting around and relaxing. Saturday night we did the responsible thing and drained it, only to find that it had no intention of returning the favor and giving us hot water. Realizing that we were in this for the long haul, and fresh from a grossly inflated plumbing invoice that left us wary and suspicious of anyone carrying a wrench, Rob and I decided that google and youtube could get us back to hot shower heaven. Sunday was, simply put, a comedy of errors. We knew we had sediment in the tank (everyone in San Antonio has sediment in their tanks) so we decided to use water pressure to flush it out. We filled the tank, hooked up the water hose to the tank spigot, turned the water on at the top and left the pressure relief valve open simply because it made a lot of impressive noise and sounded like important things were happening.
They were. The pressure relief valve diverts the flow to the overflow pipe, a pipe whose outlet is somewhere in our backyard. Had Rob not picked just the right moment to take out the trash, we would have flooded our air conditioner. As it was, we flooded everything around the air conditioner, garage and back patio. He dug a very nice trench from the side yard to the front, channeled the water into the front yard, turned everything off and headed to Home Depot. After acquiring two new heating elements and the appropriate tool that can be used for nothing but installing water heater heating elements, we noticed that despite everything being set to off, we could still hear water running. Obviously we had to turn it off using that spooky and often bug-occupied thingy in the hole in the front yard. Rob has a more technical term for it that currently eludes me. In any case, he spends a lot of time out there turning the water off – most memorably when he pulled a pin out of a random valve in the shower faucet and diverted the full force of the water main into our guest bathtub. The scene was eerily reminiscent of the Seinfeld episode when Kramer installed his contraband showerhead.
Back to the heater. There could be no cessation of water until I had washed the dishes (by hand) and done a load of laundry (on cold), so he had a short and fortuitous reprieve. Fortuitous because when the water was off and the tank drained, he had the pleasure of discovering approximately all the sand in the world (or maybe it was just 18-24 inches) in the bottom of our water heater. The numbers and charts at the San Antonio Water System Water Quality site are just a fancy way of saying our drinking water flows over limestone before it arrives at our house and we really should invest in a water softener. Using highly sophisticated methodology involving a spare swing set part and a grainy youtube video shot at a ninety degree angle with a phone camera, Rob was able to get most of that sediment out of the water heater and into our cute lime green cooler. Four hours later.
We are very thankful for his hard work and shall not point out that I keep an ugly old bucket in the garage exactly for situations such as this. Or maybe we just did.
Clean tank. Brand new heating elements. Water on. Tanked filled. Water hot.
No. Water cold.
Monday, wide awake after my bracing and rejuvenating shower, I frantically googled and called home with every suggestion I could locate. To no avail, Rob unplugged and replugged, reset breakers and pushed buttons on the thermostat. We were discussing our options when a co-worker overheard and very graciously emailed me her plumber’s name and phone number. I called, he was busy. I called four hours later, still busy. He called two hours later for directions, and at 8:30pm either salvation or a very large plumbing bill rang our doorbell.
It was the former – for $65 he took Rob into the backyard and showed him where to find the breaker for the water heater and other major appliances. I’m sure I was grinning like an idiot as I wrote the check, and I think Rob’s heart grew two sizes when a real live plumber told him he couldn’t have done a better job himself.
Happy wife, proud husband, clean children, functional appliance. A Monday night can’t get much better than that.
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Confession time...
I have a time or two alluded to my ongoing weight struggles that began sometime in late 2007 and continue as of July 3rd 2010. I'm not going to post any numbers, but let's err on the side of kindness and say that I have a full-on mom figure, the figure I swore I'd never allow. A figure that keeps from wearing what I want to wear, doing what I want to do, and sadly, going where I want to go. I'm not morbidly obese, but neither am I the person I picture in my mind's eye on the very rare occasions that I think to picture myself in my mind's eye. In fact, I have a humorous tendency to stop short when I catch my reflection in a store window. Who is that person and why is her backside so large?
I can't blame pregnancy - I successfully lost the baby weight and then some after both girls. I'd love to be able to blame my thyroid, but those numbers came back normal last month. It's a sad day indeed when you hang a serious amount of hope on the possibility of systems failure. The doctor offered me a weight loss supplement, but of the many many things I not need, prescription stimulants are in the top three. Rob says I'm high strung, but I prefer... Hell. Who are we kidding? I'm high strung.
No, what I blame is lack of control and early childhood. It was so amazingly easy when Sage was nursing and Ashton thought green beans were haute cuisine. Now, despite earnest efforts to the contrarily, I do give in to the treat monsters. I bake rather than buy (Bless their hearts, they both prefer our kitchen to any commercial bakery.) and I'm just not the kind of girl who can stop at one cookie. I desperately want to be that person, but so far she eludes me.
My other bugaboo is a bad day at work. God help me, all it takes is one minor disaster and I'm stopping for pizza on the way home - and the crazy bread that arrives at our house will mysteriously be short two pieces. It's even worse if I leave work hungry. There is simply no telling what brightly lit sign will beckon and whisper that really, cooking is simply beyond you at this point.
So what to do. I'm a weight watchers veteran, used it successfully to lose weight after two babies. If I have the tools, I have the know-how, I have the membership, meetings, books, scales, recipes, even brand new pots and pans. Why then, can I not seem to use any of it?
Maybe I'll quite boringly journal these efforts. Maybe not. In any case, baby steps this week. Cook at home, exercise daily and drink more water than Diet Coke.
I can't blame pregnancy - I successfully lost the baby weight and then some after both girls. I'd love to be able to blame my thyroid, but those numbers came back normal last month. It's a sad day indeed when you hang a serious amount of hope on the possibility of systems failure. The doctor offered me a weight loss supplement, but of the many many things I not need, prescription stimulants are in the top three. Rob says I'm high strung, but I prefer... Hell. Who are we kidding? I'm high strung.
No, what I blame is lack of control and early childhood. It was so amazingly easy when Sage was nursing and Ashton thought green beans were haute cuisine. Now, despite earnest efforts to the contrarily, I do give in to the treat monsters. I bake rather than buy (Bless their hearts, they both prefer our kitchen to any commercial bakery.) and I'm just not the kind of girl who can stop at one cookie. I desperately want to be that person, but so far she eludes me.
My other bugaboo is a bad day at work. God help me, all it takes is one minor disaster and I'm stopping for pizza on the way home - and the crazy bread that arrives at our house will mysteriously be short two pieces. It's even worse if I leave work hungry. There is simply no telling what brightly lit sign will beckon and whisper that really, cooking is simply beyond you at this point.
So what to do. I'm a weight watchers veteran, used it successfully to lose weight after two babies. If I have the tools, I have the know-how, I have the membership, meetings, books, scales, recipes, even brand new pots and pans. Why then, can I not seem to use any of it?
Maybe I'll quite boringly journal these efforts. Maybe not. In any case, baby steps this week. Cook at home, exercise daily and drink more water than Diet Coke.
Monday, June 7, 2010
Summertime and the livin's easy
Unless you have a six year old who loves school and thrives on structure. After forty-eight hours of summer I uttered words that would have been unimaginable a year ago: “One more word and I’ll find a sleep-away summer camp that takes first graders for the entire summer”.
Of course, I could enroll her and her sister in day camp or sundry other activities that would let them open and enrich their minds, but seriously. I have summer and a two week stretch in December during which I can sleep in a bit and only worry about dressing and feeding myself in the mornings. This is my vacation, sad as that might seem, as well.
I also am a firm believer in the unstructured glory days of summer. Swimming, firefly catching, barbeques, swing sets, mosquito bites, bicycles, out until the streetlights come on - all that fabulous Americana that I want for my children, even if my paranoia (drowning/sunburns, light pollution has driven them away, carcinogens in the burned bits, broken arms, allergic to mosquitoes, hit by a car, child predators) gets in the way more often than not. It’s sad, really. Chances are that without a concerted effort from Rob and myself, as well as some Xanax and a nice glass of wine, an unstructured summer will mean entirely way too much television, a fair amount of bickering, and a few frantic trips out of the house during which we pray “No Fair, Sissy…” does not turn into an international incident.
We discussed summer after a decidedly inauspicious Sunday (“If you cannot find something pleasant to think of that will wipe that sour puss off your face, I will do it for you” – fine parenting moment #203) and came to a potentially catastrophic decision. No cartoons. Television shall be limited to the History Channel, Animal Planet and the like. The Learning Channel is out since they have become a little tawdry what with all the combinations of physical handicaps/bizarre birth stories/unfortunate accidents and maimings. I’m sure they mean well, but somewhere along the way they veered from Interstate Celebrate Differences to Farm-to-Market Circus Sideshow. Back to the cartoons. Be it something soft and sweet from PBS or that dratted yellow sponge and his blobbish pink sidekick, my children get all vacant and open mouthed when they watch them, and decidedly desperate when we switch them off. The intake episodes of Celebrity Rehab are less dramatic than the hour at our house after we turn the television off. Rob has the entire series of America: The Story of Us lined up, and I cannot wait to see how Lewis and Clark hold up against Scooby and the gang.
The backyard is currently a no man’s land, primarily because we have decided to donate some habitat to a mosquito population in need. We sent Sage out last week covered in all sorts of toxins and chemicals, and she returned with bites so swollen and bothersome that I didn’t dab calamine lotion on them. I soaked the cotton balls in calamine and taped them directly onto the bites. When you try to choose between DEET and West Nile Virus and they both win, it’s time to throw in the towel and pull out some board games.
The front yard is out for two reasons. First, we face west and have one severely stunted oak tree in the yard – I’ve seen tanning beds with more shade than our front yard has at three in the afternoon. Secondly, one of our neighbors has complained to the HOA about us no fewer than four times this year (trash can placement twice, a strand of Christmas lights so buried in rosemary that it could not been seen from the street, and the stray cat that lives behind said hedge). Let’s pause a moment and consider that one street over sits a yard that is reliably mowed once a quarter; instead of a tree, he has a PVC pipe topped with a beer can and ringed with two car tires. I do not jest. I’ve called, suggested, complained, and even offered to mow the yard myself on the chance that the resident had some sort of disability. I’m relatively certain the bylaws of our HOA prohibit this kind of décor, but given the widespread trash can anarchy, I have to assume they’re a little tied up at the moment. In any case, I have a tendency to glare balefully and do enjoy a good pout, so no front yard for a while. You just know that the whole street will notice, and care, right?
Summertime. I want them to have the summertime of my youth, but to be honest, after we moved to Texas, that consisted of a lot of late mornings, a little Days of our Lives with lunch (did you know that the storyline only advances about three days between the first day of school and the first day of the following summer?) and afternoons at the pool. It was just too hot for anything else. Mom and Dad discovered summer camp two years later and the rest is history. I was out of the house and half wild all summer long and loved every minute of it. I hope one day there will be enough Xanax and wine in the world for me to give that to my children.
UPDATE:
1. The bylaws of our HOA in fact do not prohibit beer can décor so long as your lawn is neat and edged. I am shopping for pink flamingos and yard gnomes this weekend.
2. They are up to the Civil War and completely enthralled. At this rate I'll need to procure a history professor and a trip to Valley Forge to round off the season.
Of course, I could enroll her and her sister in day camp or sundry other activities that would let them open and enrich their minds, but seriously. I have summer and a two week stretch in December during which I can sleep in a bit and only worry about dressing and feeding myself in the mornings. This is my vacation, sad as that might seem, as well.
I also am a firm believer in the unstructured glory days of summer. Swimming, firefly catching, barbeques, swing sets, mosquito bites, bicycles, out until the streetlights come on - all that fabulous Americana that I want for my children, even if my paranoia (drowning/sunburns, light pollution has driven them away, carcinogens in the burned bits, broken arms, allergic to mosquitoes, hit by a car, child predators) gets in the way more often than not. It’s sad, really. Chances are that without a concerted effort from Rob and myself, as well as some Xanax and a nice glass of wine, an unstructured summer will mean entirely way too much television, a fair amount of bickering, and a few frantic trips out of the house during which we pray “No Fair, Sissy…” does not turn into an international incident.
We discussed summer after a decidedly inauspicious Sunday (“If you cannot find something pleasant to think of that will wipe that sour puss off your face, I will do it for you” – fine parenting moment #203) and came to a potentially catastrophic decision. No cartoons. Television shall be limited to the History Channel, Animal Planet and the like. The Learning Channel is out since they have become a little tawdry what with all the combinations of physical handicaps/bizarre birth stories/unfortunate accidents and maimings. I’m sure they mean well, but somewhere along the way they veered from Interstate Celebrate Differences to Farm-to-Market Circus Sideshow. Back to the cartoons. Be it something soft and sweet from PBS or that dratted yellow sponge and his blobbish pink sidekick, my children get all vacant and open mouthed when they watch them, and decidedly desperate when we switch them off. The intake episodes of Celebrity Rehab are less dramatic than the hour at our house after we turn the television off. Rob has the entire series of America: The Story of Us lined up, and I cannot wait to see how Lewis and Clark hold up against Scooby and the gang.
The backyard is currently a no man’s land, primarily because we have decided to donate some habitat to a mosquito population in need. We sent Sage out last week covered in all sorts of toxins and chemicals, and she returned with bites so swollen and bothersome that I didn’t dab calamine lotion on them. I soaked the cotton balls in calamine and taped them directly onto the bites. When you try to choose between DEET and West Nile Virus and they both win, it’s time to throw in the towel and pull out some board games.
The front yard is out for two reasons. First, we face west and have one severely stunted oak tree in the yard – I’ve seen tanning beds with more shade than our front yard has at three in the afternoon. Secondly, one of our neighbors has complained to the HOA about us no fewer than four times this year (trash can placement twice, a strand of Christmas lights so buried in rosemary that it could not been seen from the street, and the stray cat that lives behind said hedge). Let’s pause a moment and consider that one street over sits a yard that is reliably mowed once a quarter; instead of a tree, he has a PVC pipe topped with a beer can and ringed with two car tires. I do not jest. I’ve called, suggested, complained, and even offered to mow the yard myself on the chance that the resident had some sort of disability. I’m relatively certain the bylaws of our HOA prohibit this kind of décor, but given the widespread trash can anarchy, I have to assume they’re a little tied up at the moment. In any case, I have a tendency to glare balefully and do enjoy a good pout, so no front yard for a while. You just know that the whole street will notice, and care, right?
Summertime. I want them to have the summertime of my youth, but to be honest, after we moved to Texas, that consisted of a lot of late mornings, a little Days of our Lives with lunch (did you know that the storyline only advances about three days between the first day of school and the first day of the following summer?) and afternoons at the pool. It was just too hot for anything else. Mom and Dad discovered summer camp two years later and the rest is history. I was out of the house and half wild all summer long and loved every minute of it. I hope one day there will be enough Xanax and wine in the world for me to give that to my children.
UPDATE:
1. The bylaws of our HOA in fact do not prohibit beer can décor so long as your lawn is neat and edged. I am shopping for pink flamingos and yard gnomes this weekend.
2. They are up to the Civil War and completely enthralled. At this rate I'll need to procure a history professor and a trip to Valley Forge to round off the season.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
The best laid plans...
6:30 PM
Ashton wants to bring cookies to her teacher and teacher’s aide. Rather than make them from scratch, I decide to fake it and splurge with a gourmet organic break and bake.
8:00 PM
Storm clouds gather. I wait, not wanting to lose power mid-bake.
8:30 PM
The fury of hell is unleashed above us, lights are flickering, and I decide to psotpone until the storms are completely past.
9:30 PM
I preheat the oven and slap those bad boys on a cookie sheet. Of course, a circle of raw dough is snagged for quality control purposes.
9:41 PM
The cookies are warm and soft, but still retain their block-like shape. The house smells oddly of sour milk.
9:48 PM
The cookies are brown and hard, and still in their original block-like shape. I throw them away and convince Rob to run to HEB for some trusty Toll House break and bake.
10:00 PM
Rob calls from HEB – there are no lights on in the shopping center.
10:05 PM
Rob is the last customer admitted to the generator-powered store.
10:10 PM
The store is not selling cold or frozen goods due to the power outage. I send him to the baking aisle for vanilla, brown sugar and flour.
10:30 PM
I commence the from-scratch baking that I oh-so-cleverly plotted to avoid five hours previously.
12:00 PM
Done.
6:30 AM
Remember the cookie dough I sampled? My gills are green and I’ve lost five pounds between waking up and right now.
Ashton wants to bring cookies to her teacher and teacher’s aide. Rather than make them from scratch, I decide to fake it and splurge with a gourmet organic break and bake.
8:00 PM
Storm clouds gather. I wait, not wanting to lose power mid-bake.
8:30 PM
The fury of hell is unleashed above us, lights are flickering, and I decide to psotpone until the storms are completely past.
9:30 PM
I preheat the oven and slap those bad boys on a cookie sheet. Of course, a circle of raw dough is snagged for quality control purposes.
9:41 PM
The cookies are warm and soft, but still retain their block-like shape. The house smells oddly of sour milk.
9:48 PM
The cookies are brown and hard, and still in their original block-like shape. I throw them away and convince Rob to run to HEB for some trusty Toll House break and bake.
10:00 PM
Rob calls from HEB – there are no lights on in the shopping center.
10:05 PM
Rob is the last customer admitted to the generator-powered store.
10:10 PM
The store is not selling cold or frozen goods due to the power outage. I send him to the baking aisle for vanilla, brown sugar and flour.
10:30 PM
I commence the from-scratch baking that I oh-so-cleverly plotted to avoid five hours previously.
12:00 PM
Done.
6:30 AM
Remember the cookie dough I sampled? My gills are green and I’ve lost five pounds between waking up and right now.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Happy Birthday Brian
I must say that you've managed to overcome the disappointment I felt when mom walked through the front door with another baby wrapped in a blue blanket. I don't know which was worse - that she'd not brought home a sister, or that she whisked you back to the master bedroom and my next clear memory of you is when you bit my finger and drew blood in the shade of the maple tree on Anderson. A whole year of your existence, just gone.
Other Brian classics:
• The bag of candy you refused to share on your last day at The Early Learning Center and consumed in one stomach wrenching afternoon;
• The time Mom insisted that a bite of potato would not make you sick and you proved her gloriously, copiously wrong. In technicolor blue;
• The day you crushed Michael’s kindergarten dreams, picked up the bike he’d been trying so hard to master and zipped down the street while he howled in bitter anguish;
• Dressing you up as a Star and taking you trick or treating because you were sick and Mom said you could only go supervised;
• Cutting your hair the day before middle school started;
• Stuffing you into the new city issued 1578 gallon trashcan, tipping it and surfing the slightly battered contents down the driveway;
• Maury Meyers;
• Riding with Mom and Dad all the way from Texas to Florida because you were too cheap to chip in for gas in the fun car;
• Having to pick bell peppers out of your sandwich (you were how old?) on the same trip;
• Who could forget the side-of-the-interstate-during-a-hurricane fight with Mike over driving safety? Sweet irony;
• And of course your childhood opus, “I’m smrt”.
Chronologically the years say that you’re an adult, but you’re still the kid brother and the last 33 years have been full of laughter. Don’t grow up too much.
Cheers.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
From the mouths of babes...
For my mother, who insists that I record such things.
Ashton finished her inaugural year of CCD after dropping out last year. A year from now she'll be making first communion, and managed to overcome her nerves regarding this situation when I mentioned "new dress, party and gifts". Sadly, reconciliation (confession) must come first, and there is no dress, party or present. She's understandably not thrilled, but it was not fear of having a chat with Fr. Jan or remembering which prayer goes where that has her on edge. No, she hemmed and hawed and finally admitted "But Momma, I've taken a LOT of stuff". It's a relief to know I'm not crazy - things really are disappearing on a regular basis.
The trend continued when an actions and consequences activity at school involved listing a few things that she had done wrong at home and what had happened.
A: And for one I said you spanked me!
E: (silently, Oh God) For what?
A: I don't remember.
E: Seriously, what did you say I spanked you for?
A: Hmmmm.... Momma, it's too hard to remember.
E: Well, let's go through the list. Can't be too much, right?
A: Oh Momma, there is. I filled all the lines on the paper except the last two!
Increasingly verbal and yet with a slightly more limited vocabulary, interaction with Sage can be either lightness and joy or an exercise in biting one's tongue. She hasn't been feeling well, and had a bit of a scratchy throat the other day. "Momma, I have the wrong voice today." It's because you're sick. "I'm not sick". Well, maybe it's because you're a little congested. "What's congested?" Your nose and chest are stuffy. "Stuffy? Why do I have the wrong voice? When will I get the right voice???" You're just a little hoarse. "I AM NOT A HORSE!"
Is 7 AM too early for wine?
Ashton finished her inaugural year of CCD after dropping out last year. A year from now she'll be making first communion, and managed to overcome her nerves regarding this situation when I mentioned "new dress, party and gifts". Sadly, reconciliation (confession) must come first, and there is no dress, party or present. She's understandably not thrilled, but it was not fear of having a chat with Fr. Jan or remembering which prayer goes where that has her on edge. No, she hemmed and hawed and finally admitted "But Momma, I've taken a LOT of stuff". It's a relief to know I'm not crazy - things really are disappearing on a regular basis.
The trend continued when an actions and consequences activity at school involved listing a few things that she had done wrong at home and what had happened.
A: And for one I said you spanked me!
E: (silently, Oh God) For what?
A: I don't remember.
E: Seriously, what did you say I spanked you for?
A: Hmmmm.... Momma, it's too hard to remember.
E: Well, let's go through the list. Can't be too much, right?
A: Oh Momma, there is. I filled all the lines on the paper except the last two!
Increasingly verbal and yet with a slightly more limited vocabulary, interaction with Sage can be either lightness and joy or an exercise in biting one's tongue. She hasn't been feeling well, and had a bit of a scratchy throat the other day. "Momma, I have the wrong voice today." It's because you're sick. "I'm not sick". Well, maybe it's because you're a little congested. "What's congested?" Your nose and chest are stuffy. "Stuffy? Why do I have the wrong voice? When will I get the right voice???" You're just a little hoarse. "I AM NOT A HORSE!"
Is 7 AM too early for wine?
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