The Con

We don't give children the credit they are due. These little people grow up to invent things, design, manipulate, calculate, create, explore space and rule. They don't learn those God given talents and curiousities from school or even parents. So yes, let's just realize now that they are indeed born with lots of smarts.

Have you ever eaten a meal with an adult that would only eat mac and cheese or chicken nuggets? I submit to you that it is very early on that they figure out how to control big people.  The big people in this very house carried avocados around in my purse for quite a while.  You know, we wouldn't want one of those little people to have to starve or succomb to restaurant food. First born children just really are "training agents" for parents. You second born, should thank your older sibling. It may not seem like they did you any favors, but really they did. Trust me on this one.  They worked a great amount of uptightness out of your parents.

You would think by protype 2, we parents would've figured out the ploys. You would think right? No, too many variables in the equation still. It's really that 3rd protype that gets it good. Parents by then have done it all, tried it all and just don't have the energy to use everything they now know. So number 3 gets to do some free-wheeling that first born never even would have EVER dreamed of doing.  Number three, say thank you to number 2.  Two just made old mom and dad a bit humble.  That middle child made the parents realize number one wasn't so perfect because of great parenting skills. 

Back to "the con" we go.  Our youngest is at first sight, quiet and reserved and appears bashful. Our first born is quiet, reserved and appears bashful. What is the difference? That  "a" word: appears. One only "appears" that way.

Not to give the impression one is smarter, who really knows on that? I'm sure they will both run smart circles around me. One,  upon first meeting is quiet, reserved and is sizing you up. Discernment? Could that be one of her gifts? Time will tell.
One, is quiet, reserved and assessing the surroundings, noting every detail and deciding if it a safe place? Noting your left eye has a slight twitch every 3.5 seconds. Is wondering will I feel comfortable here? Why are the other people doing X? Details, details, details and committing it all to memory. This one's career path will surely be intriguing. He's complex.

The Con, her favorite person to con happens to be the author of this blog. I know, I've spent  more time with her than anyone else and yet? Why is it that the parents are the last to know? Is it the heart-strings are so tight that we can't see out of the kitchen? 

Why do we let them "play" us like we do? I know I am not alone on this. If you have a child you've fallen into the trap at some point. I know you have!!

Her latest earned  an A for a valiant effort on the plot and execution, although in the end it was a failure. Me on the other hand, well I finally got a "w" in my column! Wohoo!!

Kindergarten started and the first 5 days were pretty amazing. She was falling into the big school routine with her big brother and that got her plan a little off I'd say. She was enjoying being a "big kid" and doing what big brother was doing.

Then week two rolled around and this big kid routine started getting a little monotonous for her.  I think the fast from wearing loosey goosey Crocs all day was starting to annoy also. She half-heartedly tried the teenager tactic of playing sick. She'd worn that out in the past. I didn't even pretend to take the bait.
She pulled out her play book and scrolled back to the previous fall.  Reviewed it  and put plan in place.  Weapon of choice based on prior effectiveness:  TEARS, "I miss you" and "I just want to be with you today Mommy" were her weapons of choice. Yes, she was armed and had a good track record with this head on attack.  She was going nuclear.

I have a decent memory of last fall too though. I remember the money we wasted on 3 weeks of Spanish school. I remember the tears and other weapons she riddled me with. I remember thinking I was surely traumatizing this poor child putting her in a Spanish speaking school. I remember her final confession after I moved her to a new English speaking school. It wasn't how much she was still missing me. It was this "I just didn't like the way the Spanish school smelled"!  (Yes, I felt like I'd been slapped with the silly stick).

I prayed for little Tallulah to have just the right teacher for Kindergarten this year. I can say, God has so far answered that prayer. Her vetern teacher spoke just a few words to her and called her bluff on Thursday. Instant smile, no more tears and she once again marches confidently into Kindergarten with a Cheshire cat smile on that sweet, innocent "appearing" beautiful face I love.

She didn't win this time (in her eyes), but I have no doubt she'll try to con me again.
Remind me to tell you  how she conned her Daddy this summer.





 

Nanny and Papa Host Summer Camp

I haven't blogged in a while and just felt it was time to update. Sleep deprived and my youngest is well past the years of waking every 3 hours and  yet she shows up at my bedside around 4am pretty much like clock work. This is already sounding like a vent for a tired mom instead of an interesting entry. I think it's important to remember these occasions down the road so I'll have a good reality of what raising children was really like though so hang with me if you dare.

You know how grandparents have those memories of how they raised their children. Was there ever a child born before 1980 that wasn't potty trained by 2, some of those over achievers even by 18 months. We all walked and talked well before that I'm certain.

I don't know, maybe I did sleep through the night or maybe it was just that baby monitors didn't exist and parents put kids on the far side of the house and passed out from the exhaustion of washing 50 cloth diapers a day. Who knows? Nobody back then blogged so I guess we'll never know for sure.

Speaking of grandparents, I've signed my kids up for "Nanny and Papa Camp". Oh yes! 3 weeks, no less. Okay, well only 1 week without me being with them. I'm hoping those professional child experts can cure this 4 am habit. If not this may be the only year of Nanny and Papa Camp. They may up the age limit on campers.

You know what Nanny and Papa Camp could look like. Starts with a stop at Wally World where campers coerce the head counselor to purchase Fruit Loops a.k.a. The Forbidden Fruit.  Campers only get this fruit when at NP camp or involved in a church craft.  Campers don't miss the opportunity to mention "marshmellows" while in WW also. Youngest camper has been known to beg for hot cocoa on the hottest summer day all in an attempt to score a meager little marshmellow. Believe me, they won't neglect to remember the camp fires and what might get roasted if it means the big fluffy, sugary marshmellows may come into play.

Drive to camp site continues. Looks a bit like Driving Miss Daisy, except Miss Daisy is in boots and jammed between a booster seat and a full blown 5 point harness car seat and has the full-time duty drive attendant, nurse, chef, librarian, musician and most likely navigation consultant to our still happy to be Camp Counselor in the front seat. Although, he's due a nap about an hour ago and is now just salivating waiting to get to the chips and salsa waiting down the road.

Camp continues with many activities. Horses are high on the list. Camper B wants to watch the horses. Camper B wants to go with Head Counselor to feed the horses mulitple times per day. HC would prefer Camper not be in pink pj's for this event. Did I mention Camper B is really cute and HC can't say no, especially when the Lead Counselor gives him "the look".  Camper B spends time sitting in recreational vehicle watching distribution of hay, grain and water. Camper B makes many mental notes on the culture and habits of horses, notably on their poop. Camper has always been fascinated by poop and I'm sure a documentary is in her future in 15 years or so.

Camper A has settled into his bunk and organized his personal items. Check. Camper A has his personal items straight and in his new personal space at camp and life is feeling good. Camper A has added some new items (markers, sticks, cap guns)  to his stash of personal items and now we're having fun! Camper A spots lizards around camp site.  A notes there are also insects.  What more could a boy ask for. Nanny and Papa camp surely is what heaven looks like to a boy.  A has just discovered hours of camp fun and therefore will not be the least bit ready to return to the burbs in 3 weeks.

 Meanwhile, counselors are wondering if parents of campers are having fun?  Counselors are wondering if parents of campers are missing campers?  Counselors are wondering if parents of campers are getting more sleep than counselors.......

Well hello again!

First of all, let's just say I'm going to be better at this blogging stuff. My baby started school and the house is bound to finally clean itself which should give me time to blog. It is the theory I'm going with for today. The glass is half full.

So how to catch you up on the past two years? I'll start with me. Gravity took hold. Why is gravity not a friend of the 40's? I'm happy not to float off into space, but my bottom is not afraid of heights, so just back off a bit Mr. Gravity! I'm also not trying to change my ethnic origin by changing the angles of my eyes. I'm quite content being a rythm challenged white girl. Speaking of eyes, mine are all fuzzy now. I get it. Gravity, droopy eyes....God knew we wouldn't be happy seeing it, so He planned on the eyes growing weaker. Then some wacky genius type came along and figured out eye glasses and now the world is selling surgical procedures all because that genius went and enlightened us to our own flaws. This is a great example of "outsmarting ourselves".

Two years is just overwhelming I am seeing. I need a plan or a blog plan to catch up. I'm not organized, not in an obvious kind of way. It's a gift, depending on your personality. It's similiar to the gift of being able to sleep absolutely anywhere. Awesome, until you're driving home from college in a snowstorm, and you exercise that ability to sleep anywhere. I might have tested that once. Anyway, all you A types, relax.  We let you have "A" as your "category" because we left A somewhere and couldn't remember where!  But honestly.....we don't want to be "organized". Seriously, people like you have too many heartattacks, it's just not healthy. Ya'll are great, get a ton of stuff done and we even marry you people, we just don't want to be you, no offense for real.

More update news:  I talked my husband into chickens! Kind of.....he came home and we had chickens, and well you know how that goes. They were cute and alive and he's a sucker for cute little critters as long as they aren't digging up his yard. He just started building a chicken pen and you proabably know the rest of the story already. Now we eat eggs and my children order eggs laid by specific hens. Yes, so this is what I hear "I'll take one of Mabel's eggs please".  I admit it, sometimes I just grab an egg and let them assume they got what they requested. Okay, when it was just 3 laying I knew who did what egg. Now, well, I think 5 are laying and somebody, like Emma or Vada lays this honkin' big double yoked thing that won't fit in the egg carton well at all and then somebody else that could also be Emma or Vada lays a cute little teeny, tiny egg that is sometimes dark brown and sometimes light brown and quite frankly I'm just confused now. To top it all off the man at the feed store said Emma and Vada are bred to lay 2 eggs a day! So it's really like I'm trying to monitor the laying of 8 chickens.  I am not putting a video cam in the chicken pen, so as the saying goes "you get what you get, and you don't throw a fit".

We like green eggs and ham!

Tooth Fairy

Let me just begin by giving you some background on Kole and pulling teeth. #1 Kole doesn't pull his teeth! #2 He's now lost 8 to date and only the last one did he have any part of removing from his gums.

Tooth number 1 (because I know you're dying to know this), Nanny pulled. Sneaky Nanny had that one out before he had any idea what pulling teeth was all about. Tooth number 2, fudge cake that was over cooked. I will skip the drama surrounding it but it all took place at a pot luck after church at Nanny's cowboy church in New Mexico. Tooth number 3, Dentist and her billing office...ouch.  Tooth number 4 literally fell out in his mouth, no blood involved. Teeth 5-7, one of the perks of being 7 and having surgery with loose teeth. Dr. prefers you not inhale them and pulls them and saves many hours of drama at home.

That brings us to my story today. The story of tooth number 8. I will now just refer to tooth number 8 as 8 for the remainder of this story.
8 had a plan from the beginning it seems. 8 was just as loose if not looser than 5,6 and 7 just 10 days ago and yet the Dr. didn't remove it. Something was obviously special about 8.
I served Kole a crunchy vegetable for an afternoon snack that Friday. That was all it took to loosen 8 to super floppy status as far as loose teeth go. I'd seen this all before and I was in no mood for the sure to come "drama". There was blood and there was moaning and for pete's sake it could've been a broken leg and it wouldn't have been as bad.  Okay, when they ask those strange social media questions like "what are you known for"? I can never answer "compassion". Just not my gig, not the way I roll, not happening. Yes, I'll kiss a booboo, but now get over it and let's do something fun. Ignore issue and issue will surely be quiet, right?

So this tooth deal was getting no air play time from mom today. Seemed to be working after the bleeding stopped,  as he geared up for the backyard and took off to scout out rodents or capture innocent insects. I hit the kitchen for my daily game show of "what to cook today and have it done in 30 minutes without any planning". The joys of being a fly by the seat of your capris kind of gal.  You can insert your pity sigh of compassion for my family now. We are by all means boring eaters  unless black char adds some kind of culinary bonus points I'm not aware of.

Next thing I know it's late, late afternoon and Kole is bounding into the house proclaiming "I pulled it"!! I'm thinking who hit you in the mouth and knocked it out, because this child DOES NOT pull teeth. Sure enough 8 is out. He has touched that tooth and moved it just enough that it has indeed fallen out. Sound the alarms and kill the fatted calf he finally did it!

So around 7:30 Kole informs me that the father of one of his friends has told him something about the tooth fairy. Apparently in some parts of the world, like Keller, you can write a letter to the tooth fairy and leave it with your tooth. Here's the good part so listen up. You can ask the TF for a toy. Oh yeah, a specific toy even. So, yeah, Kole is all on board with this new information and he's writing a letter to the TF tonight!! He's going to ask for a nerf gun. You betcha, Santa's got nothing on the TF now (other than months to prepare and plan and shop and pack the sleigh).  Let me tell you, Kole's talk time with this Keller dad is now heavily monitored.

Crud, what in the world. Kent comes home and we eventually get around to this exciting development. Like it is now 9 o'clock and he's putting Kole to bed. He's looking at me and I'm staggering around the kitchen like , uh, I don't know....a nerf gun,  I don't have a nerf gun, who writes a letter to the tooth fairy? you're the dad, you handle this kind of emergency, and just pretty much dumb founded and thinking this is just ridiculous anway right.  I've pretty much tried to convince Kole through the evening that you don't really get toys from the TF. He hasn't bought it at all because JD's dad has told him and it DOES happen, thank you very much!! He's written the note and he's asking for a nerf gun, end of discussion. Well, crud.....

Kent asks me "so what are we going to do"? I reply "I don't know, I don't have a nerf gun"in one of those really tired parent voices.
Kent walks a few steps and it hits me. "Actually, there is a nerf gun in the guest room closet". I bought it a few years ago on sale for cheap, thinking it would make a cool birthday gift for some little boy. However, every time a birthday party rolled around I would dismiss the nerf gun as not right for X child and buy something else. You know because not all boys like nerf guns??? I know, but 8 was part of a grander scheme remember. So Kent trots off to the closet and assembles a nerf gun, because everyone knows you just write a letter and the TF brings it.

Next morning my sweet  late sleeper comes dragging in to our room and with total disgust plops down a handful of pitiful coins and slaps a heart felt letter to the TF down and proclaims "she just brought me change"! He looks like someone stole his dog and replaced it with saw dust. Oh, and my heart sinks even though I know the gun is there somewhere. I want to sprint to his bed and show him, but I have to play along for a few minutes. I'm also wondering how he missed this not so small nerf gun? Where did the TF leave it anyway??

A reasonable amount of time later I head up and check out the room. There it is under the OTHER pillow. I redirect Kole and of course he's ecstatic.

I'm hoping there aren't any more teeth pulled around here for a while. Thank goodness God took care of that one. Parenting requires a good amount of God. 

Zumba

I stepped out of my comfort zone today and tried it. TRIED being the big fat key word in that last sentence.
Zumba for those of you who haven't had the pleasure yet is a Latino dance/exercise (I think). My experience had  quite a few "huh?" and "you think this body will do that?" and "my hips just don't go that fast"  involved. Really, it was an experience. I wonder if those other women had a shot of tequila before class? Coffee just doesn't loosen the hips like that.

My friend, Nancy did the class with me. She's done it many more times and provided enough encouragement and laughter control that I'll probably try it again.

I have zero rythm. Make that minus zero in the rythm department. I felt sorry for the women behind me. You know how when you sit near someone who can't clap their hands to the beat and it throws you off. Okay, so you don't know, but it really messes me up because once again I am rythm challenged! Well anyone rythm challenged behind me was probably not at all amused by my moves this morning. I just tried to make sure I was facing the right direction most of the time.

I learned something though. I am without a shadow of a doubt or lack of freckle convinced that my bloodline made absolutely no treks south of the U.S. There is no way I could have an ounce of Latino blood and do what I failed to do this morning!

I did manage to break quite a sweat, maybe that was just my nerves. It appeared to me that everyone within my eye sight was shakin' and doing that "boom, boom, boom" move with ease.

The funniest thought I had this morning is that I truly believe my husband would LOVE Zumba. That boy has moves and rythm and I guess that fact that we have one blue eyed blonde child maybe more of an anomaly that I had realized. Maybe I should check his family tree now that I think about it......

Royal Who?

I decided a Royal wedding deserved a royal post as this story does involve a throne afterall.

Our family doesn't watch the news or really any channel with "worldly information" minus some highlight reels. When those are flicking through the airwaves of my home my eyes usually glaze over and a to-do list takes over my brain.

I honestly would've missed pretty much all details of the royal wedding of Prince William and Kate Middleton if it weren't for my Facebook addiction. Luckily, all of the comments on there got my attention and I did my mother of a daughter duty and pried the remote from my husband's hand long enough to hit record.  
Side note: just in case you haven't noticed, Prince William is remarkably handsome. I can tell you from being a young 20 something living in England for a brief time that he is off the charts handsome for an Englishman. How in the world that happened and he has a cute little brother to boot--the mystery remains, but if I was in my 20's and living in England I'd sure be trying to bump into Prince Harry!  That boy just looks like he's overflowing with character of some sort.

Okay, I do like rabbit trails.

My mortgage man had absolutely no interest in watching a wedding and I don't blame him. What red-blooded American man of any use would when he could be analyzing NBA playoffs. So I decided Landrie would participate and also it really is my duty to share this experience with her even if she won't remember it in 2 weeks. I can tell her when the next wedding happens that she did indeed watch Wills and Kate tie the knot back in the olden days of 2011.

I check my DVR and notice something in neighborhood of 5 1/2 hours of time devoted to this Royal shindig. Okay, what in the world takes that long? I've been to Catholic weddings and really even those aren't this long. I quickly figure out the pre-wedding hour is not worth dealing with. What did we do before DVR's? Pain and misery is all I can think of. It takes Landrie and I about 3 different sittings to speed through and get the "good parts". Basically the parts where Wills and Kate were on the screen (or Prince Harry).

It had some interesting points and did remind me of my time in London. All good memories, minus the daily french fries and the effects of eating french fries daily. I digress though. 
I am trying to keep Landrie somewhat involved in the wedding. Well more like I'm trying to just keep her entertained enough she'll stay in the room and allow me to watch a bit here and there. So  I mention during the ceremony that he's going to kiss her. I didn't realize you don't kiss in Westminster Abbey and "the kiss" would not be hours later. I know, dumb mistake this is England not France. In France people roll around kissing everywhere and in England it's down right rude to even talk on the Tube. So why in the world would a married couple kiss during a wedding!

So day 3 of our Royal wedding speed watching started again today. Landrie is telling me she wants to see the kiss and she's asked a million questions about such things as "why are the horses white"? and "where's her (Kate) mommy"? It truly has been an educational and teaching experience. I'm just thinking this is so easy I should be homeschooling now. All I have to do is flip on the old boobtube and answer a few questions afterall. Landrie is now so full of knowledge about real princes and duchesses and a queen that delights in wearing yellow and a 90 year old duke that really looks pretty good. I do want to know what he uses on that face, because that man hardly had any wrinkles and you know being married to "The Queen" can't be that easy. Really, who do you think wears the pants in that house, err...palace/castle?  I for one came away from the Royal experience with a bit more knowledge and actually quite a few more questions about the whole royalty deal. Like Prince Charles' wife is now a Duchess and a few years ago, she was "the other woman". I mean really, from shameless hussy to standing on the balcony of Buckingham Palace with 2 billion people watching her now a part of the Royal family.  I guess anything is possible, and it really isn't that crazy I suppose. I mean, that's pretty much what Jesus does for his flock. We go from shameless in our filthy sin to sharing heaven with THE KING. Actually being in the presence of THE KING (and I don't mean Elvis) is going to be so much cooler!! Wow. Know what, no pollution in heaven either. My last weekend in London I sat on that fountain (aka the Victoria Memorial) with a friend for more than an hour or two as we waited to see the changing of the guard. The traffic circles the memorial and 20 years ago there apparently were no pollution controls in London. I inhaled so much black exhaust it literally made me sick with the worst cold. I'll limit the details, but I had 100% proof of where my sinus issues came from.
So yes, good to be part of the Royal family of England but even better to be part of the Royal family of God.

Landrie and I finally got to the part where William and The Duchess of Cambridge were on the balcony and we were waiting and waiting and the kiss is seriously about to happen and my sweet Landrie sitting right beside me says in the most concerned of voices "after this kiss can I go poop in your potty"?

My 4 year old somehow "got" the hugeness of the wedding, because what 4 year old ever requests to go potty AFTER she waits for something!!?  I did pause the DVR so she could watch the kiss in comfort a few minutes later. I think I'll remember those 2 kisses for a while, or at least until the next royal wedding when I can remind Landrie that she did indeed see this one.

A Sticky Situation (Rated PG)

Well my day started off with optimism. I was going to have 5 full hours of me time. The Mortgage Man looked to be in for a good day too, as he appeared from the bedroom in golfing attire. It is springtime in north Texas after all. You know how horses act when the weather changes, well my children must have horse blood.

The Mortgage Man offered to drop off our eldest for school, which meant I had more time to get the youngest ready for her day out. So far, so good it seemed. Laundry started, workout clothes donned, lunches packed and away we go.

I had a superior workout even with the knowledge my abs class had been canceled indefinitely. That's not what my abs needed to hear, so I did an extra 20 minutes on the eucalyptus machine (that's what mortgage guys from Oklahoma call it) and that was after sweating every drop of Revlon from my face. Yes, I put on makeup for the gym. Why? Because a friend of mine ran into W on the jogging trail one day and got to show all of us proof in a photo with him on her phone.  No way am I go to risk a photo op because I didn't put on my face, even if it does eventually get dripped off. My first "sticky situation" of the day: sweat.

I decided to treat myself to some Chipolte for dinner if you're from the south and lunch if you've been indoctrinated by a school system to call the noon meal something other than dinner. Afterall, brownie mix for a meal does not qualify as not-processed and I'd also hate to think the past 2 hours of perspiration was all for not.

I did get to leisurely enjoy my bowl of heaven while reading a newly downloaded book on my phone. I dashed to my favorite little craft store for some ribbon to hang bows from. 45 minutes perusing the aisles and gathering items for a birthday party coming up. Not a bad day, so far I must say.

Time to pick up the youngest which means getting a very special hug followed by the request for a cold cookie. No doubt this child has my genes, begging for raw desserts!

I typically walk in, find her basket in the hall and brainstorm the best way to transport wet glue and paint home in a small backpack without tainting the value of the art. Today, as I gather surprisingly non-messy items I am quickly greeted by Mrs. E and "the note". My first time to receive "the note". It appears my youngest spent the day sparring with her favorite school friend. You know, the same one she begs to wear her hair like on school days. It finally culminated on the playground with mutual pinching. Did you know that 3 year olds are not too small for an intimidation trip to "the office". The wooden paddle days are gone, sniff, sniff but a stern talking to seemed to do the job today. I am wondering about the sterness of the event as my child didn't miss the fact that cupcakes were in the office at the time of "the talk".  Just in case you're wondering they were later seen pushing each other in the swings and getting along peachy fine. Sticky situation number 2 for the day: the note.

We hurry home for a brief stop to unload the spoils of the craft store. Onward to retrieve my golden child that has never received "the note" nor has he stuck a key into his nasal cavity this week either.

Pickup done, children reloaded in vehicle and off we go again. This child is unusually chatty for the drive home. We're having a conversation that does not involve the words "can I have a playdate today". Nice!
P.E. day it seems and lots of fun games, not even to be spoiled by being paired with a girl. Segue into sports and the "fact" that boys play more sports than girls according to one confident 7 year old.  I'm just egging the conversation on, because for once I'm not the rotten mom that makes children attend school, not plan playdates daily and lastly cause spring to come and with it allergies. Sigh. My shoulders do carry the weight of my offspring and their grievances with the world.
I am being informed that "girls don't play baseball or football,  unless it's flag football. Boys do T-ball, baseball, soccer, basketball and oh yeah, girls do that mud fighting."  Bubble in my brain is now popping and appears to say "no, he couldn't mean women mud wrestling". My children are in Sunday school almost every week unless ill and he does Bible study on another night and my word that child could quote the entire very long, long verse on his wall at 27 months of age! So I breath in and out and calmly inquire about this "mud fighting". Bless my heart I was not ready for this next explanation. He kept repeating the words "it's a sticky situation" as he described in detail "mud fighting". This is my over the top observant details are my game child. Bless my heart, I've tried so hard. I was still hopeful that he'd just seen some watered down cartoon bugsbunny version of mud wresting until he got to the wardrobe, or lack of wardrobe would actually be more precise. Then he just said "it's a sticky situation".

You should've seen his daddy's eyes when I had him retell it over baked chicken legs.