Those of you who know me (which would be all of you) probably know that my work moved offices a few months back.
Our old office had a nice location . . . I mean a convenient location. It was next door to the bank from which we got petty cash, and a few doors down from my personal bank.
In the past week, both of those banks were robbed. We were just notified that one of them was, today, robbed again.
Somebody here is stupid.
1) me, for not understanding that a good way to supplement my income would be to loudly demand money.
2) the thieves, for not understanding that robbing a bank is a FEDERAL crime, investigated by the FBI. Those of you who live in Cleveland Heights know that you shouldn't fuck with an FBI agent. There's lots of foot traffic around this area, just rob a person! The Cleveland police will never catch you!
3) the police, for not catching on that it might be time to consider POSTING EXTRA SECURITY.
Is is weird that I'm honestly disappointed that I'm no longer in the area, and, thus, can't loiter around the crime scene?
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Oh, Sam.
This is about Sam, my son, not Sam our new follower.
Sheesh, this is confusing.
Recently, Chris and I have become a little uncomfortable with the quality of our daycare. It's fine. But only fine. And, lord, the ATTITUDE they are learning.
Because my children would NEVER behave this way of their own accord.
As it happens, I drove past a school the other day and decided to check it out.
And, guys, this is the kind of daycare I imagined for my kids. The kind that is BETTER than the care I would provide if I were a stay-at-home mom.
I love this place like I've never loved a school I've toured.
It is more expensive, but I think it is so good that it is worth the money.
Which is not to say that we HAVE the money.
It is a Montessori-style school, which in this setting mostly seems to mean the kids get to wander around and play with educational stuff. There are lots of activities, many of which seem to be cleverly disguised household chores. And by cleverly disguised I guess I mean they don't call it a "chore."
There was a kid mopping the floor. A kid watering the plants. A kid getting snack ready. A kid wiping tables. And they all acted like it was fun!
I'm not kidding, there was a kid ironing. With a for-real iron. It seemed weird. But it could totally come in handy, right? In fact, I think they should get a washer/dryer and I'd just send the laundry along.
They also had a "hand washing station," which was not a place to go wash your hands before lunch. It was a place to wash your hands FOR FUN. Or LEARNING. That also seemed weird to me, but when I thought about it, and the number of times a day I have to tell Sam and Owen to STOP WASHING YOUR HANDS, it actually seemed kind of clever.
The thing is, they only have a spot for one kid right now. So they don't have a spot for both boys.
Actually, they are currently INTERVIEWING kids for the slot. That's right. They don't let just ANY kid in here.
We decided to take Sam. I'm not concerned about the interview. I find Sam charming.
Who doesn't, am I right!?
So we walk in. And Sam is not just nervous. He is absolutely paralyze with fear. He won't talk, won't make eye contact, won't move, won't respond to anything. He's totally catatonic.
This is going well.
It was so bad that for a minute I thought we were just going to have to leave.
But after a little bit he managed to pull himself together. He was still reserved, but now noticeably human.
As we settle in, Sam starts hanging with this girl Jemma. They play some blocks. The teacher wonders over to observe Sam.
Things are looking up. Sam's settling in. He mentions that his "mom has milk in her big belly!"
Sam is so proud of me.
But, boy, when Jemma brings out the rhyming cards, Sam really starts to warm up. Sam loves rhyming. See, they ARE learning something in his daycare!
The rhyming cards are cards that have pictures of different objects on them, and two of them rhyme with each other, and you're supposed to match them together. Like a picture of a school and a picture of a pool would go together.
The thing is, this is clearly old hat to Jemma, and she starts matching the cards before Sam even really gets to look at them.
So, in an effort to join in, Sam starts shouting out words that rhyme with any picture he sees.
"TREE, SLEE, BLEE!"
He's being a little loud here, and I hope that they will understand that Sam is used to functioning in a MUCH louder environment.
"SUN, MUN, PLUN!"
Apparently we have neglected to concentrate on rhyming ACTUAL words.
"BEE, PEE!"
Understanding this age group's adoration of potty humor, and knowing that Sam was not being intentional here, and also knowing that if the kids start laughing at Sam right now he will be devastated, I hold my breath for a minute. But it passes without notice.
"SHOE . . . PLUE!"
I'm idly noticing that we seem fixated on the P's here, when:
"HORN . . . PORN!"
I wonder what that card looks like.
Sheesh, this is confusing.
Recently, Chris and I have become a little uncomfortable with the quality of our daycare. It's fine. But only fine. And, lord, the ATTITUDE they are learning.
Because my children would NEVER behave this way of their own accord.
As it happens, I drove past a school the other day and decided to check it out.
And, guys, this is the kind of daycare I imagined for my kids. The kind that is BETTER than the care I would provide if I were a stay-at-home mom.
I love this place like I've never loved a school I've toured.
It is more expensive, but I think it is so good that it is worth the money.
Which is not to say that we HAVE the money.
It is a Montessori-style school, which in this setting mostly seems to mean the kids get to wander around and play with educational stuff. There are lots of activities, many of which seem to be cleverly disguised household chores. And by cleverly disguised I guess I mean they don't call it a "chore."
There was a kid mopping the floor. A kid watering the plants. A kid getting snack ready. A kid wiping tables. And they all acted like it was fun!
I'm not kidding, there was a kid ironing. With a for-real iron. It seemed weird. But it could totally come in handy, right? In fact, I think they should get a washer/dryer and I'd just send the laundry along.
They also had a "hand washing station," which was not a place to go wash your hands before lunch. It was a place to wash your hands FOR FUN. Or LEARNING. That also seemed weird to me, but when I thought about it, and the number of times a day I have to tell Sam and Owen to STOP WASHING YOUR HANDS, it actually seemed kind of clever.
The thing is, they only have a spot for one kid right now. So they don't have a spot for both boys.
Actually, they are currently INTERVIEWING kids for the slot. That's right. They don't let just ANY kid in here.
We decided to take Sam. I'm not concerned about the interview. I find Sam charming.
Who doesn't, am I right!?
So we walk in. And Sam is not just nervous. He is absolutely paralyze with fear. He won't talk, won't make eye contact, won't move, won't respond to anything. He's totally catatonic.
This is going well.
It was so bad that for a minute I thought we were just going to have to leave.
But after a little bit he managed to pull himself together. He was still reserved, but now noticeably human.
As we settle in, Sam starts hanging with this girl Jemma. They play some blocks. The teacher wonders over to observe Sam.
Things are looking up. Sam's settling in. He mentions that his "mom has milk in her big belly!"
Sam is so proud of me.
But, boy, when Jemma brings out the rhyming cards, Sam really starts to warm up. Sam loves rhyming. See, they ARE learning something in his daycare!
The rhyming cards are cards that have pictures of different objects on them, and two of them rhyme with each other, and you're supposed to match them together. Like a picture of a school and a picture of a pool would go together.
The thing is, this is clearly old hat to Jemma, and she starts matching the cards before Sam even really gets to look at them.
So, in an effort to join in, Sam starts shouting out words that rhyme with any picture he sees.
"TREE, SLEE, BLEE!"
He's being a little loud here, and I hope that they will understand that Sam is used to functioning in a MUCH louder environment.
"SUN, MUN, PLUN!"
Apparently we have neglected to concentrate on rhyming ACTUAL words.
"BEE, PEE!"
Understanding this age group's adoration of potty humor, and knowing that Sam was not being intentional here, and also knowing that if the kids start laughing at Sam right now he will be devastated, I hold my breath for a minute. But it passes without notice.
"SHOE . . . PLUE!"
I'm idly noticing that we seem fixated on the P's here, when:
"HORN . . . PORN!"
I wonder what that card looks like.
Friday, October 8, 2010
Wake-up call
So the other night Chris and I were talking before bed. In the course of our conversation we decided to have another baby. Not right now or anything, but someday. We decided this because I watched A Baby Story on TLC, and Chris was body snatched by aliens who want to increase the earth's population for better snackage. Because, seriously, I'm not sure Chris even admits that he wants the kids we currently have.
Anyway, upon hearing this, the very fabric of the universe shuttered.
You probably thought it was an earthquake.
Or your dehumidifier.
Nope, it was the cosmos dry heaving at the thought of having to endure another one of my pregnancies.
"We have to do something!" the gods cried.
So they gave Owen a terrible case of the Yarfs.
Poor thing.
I hate it when people puke.
But now I remember why we don't want any more kids. Just another thing that can throw up on my carpet.
Poor carpet, too.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Again with the dogs
I was driving the kids home from daycare the other day. We saw a pair of dalmatians and the boys very much enjoyed talking about "fire-dogs."
"Mom? People what that have kids and babies don't have dogs."
Ha.
"That's a smart thing to say, Sam, how did you know?"
"Because you told me, mom."
Oh. Well. I'm right.
"Well, good listening buddy."
"But, mom, why can't we?"
"Because babies are hard enough to take care of, don't you think?"
"Well, mom, I have an idea . . ."
Great.
Super.
"I could take care of the dog, and Owen could take care of Lilly and y'all could take care of . . . um . . . like . . . dinner or sumfin."
Sounds like a plan.
Friday, October 1, 2010
Hi, Sam!
Let's all welcome my newest follower, Sam.
I met Sam at work when I had the good sense to hire her.
It sucked when she left because it turns out that most other people I hire are idiots.
But on the bright side it is no longer inappropriate to go out drinking with her.
Actually, I mostly just want you all to know that I did not create an account in my son's name so I could have another follower.
As it happens, I have a legitimate friend named Sam, too.
I wonder if it's weird for her that she has the same name as my son.
I would have to think so.
Fall wardrobe
The changing over of seasonal wardrobes is a little bit different with kids than it is for adults. With adults, you take the short-sleeved things and put them in the back of your closet and bring the long-sleeved things to the front.
But with kids, every time the season changes you have to be prepared for the possibility that the clothes you are bringing out will no longer fit, and decide whether the clothes you are putting away are likely to be wearable next time warm weather rolls around.
Warm weather clothes are actually more forgiving. Because your shorts have to be, like, SUPER short before anyone notices.
Hi, Chris!
Knowing that he'll need more fall clothes, I've purchased a few new items for Sam.
For the past year he's been boycotting pants with buttons. When I bring him button pants he'll look at me and ask, "why can't I have cozy pants?" in a tone that says, "And let's not pretend that we don't both know the answer is because you don't love me."
I've bought him a couple new pairs of jeans, because I think it's time to push the button pants. I can't really raise my kid in a cozy cocoon of elastic-waist pants. But I did find a some sweatpants on sale at Gymboree, so I picked up a pair in brown and a pair in green.
I think he can pull off green sweatpants in a way that I can't.
I found the sweatpants at the store. I decided to buy them. I purchased the sweatpants, brought them home, ripped off the tag, and tossed them in the washer. I then moved them from the washer to the dryer.
It was not until I was folding them out of the dryer that I noticed the brown sweatpants had WRITING ACROSS THE ASS.
The pants say, "Buckaroo" right across the butt.
I'm oddly and profoundly disturbed by this.
I'm probably still going to make him wear them.
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