From Whence it Comes

This morning was a challenging one.   I woke up at three-somethign and decided it was too early to take Lyrica in preparation for a run at six.  I then managed to not sleep well through the four o'clock hour in when I did take the Lyrica, only to make it to the five o'clock hour when my neighbor and I decided to cancel our run because it had started raining.   I was't able to go back to sleep well at that point because I was in too much pain so I spent the time tossing and turning, trying to identify the primary cause of the pain.

This morning isn't typical.   I do have pain, but for the most part it doesn't pile up like it did today.   I realized this morning that I regularly have to determine what the source of the pain is, and then determine what, if anything, I'm going to do about it.

First, there is "workout pain" that comes from exercising.   This pain is expected and a normal response to a good workout.   Perhaps an ibuprofen would help, but it's normally not necessary.   The second type of pain is inflamed muscles and pain surrounding issues with subluxations in my spine.   I can have months where my back is great and then other times, like this past week, where I've had significant pain that may take weeks to really get back to normal.   The final type of pain is pure neurological.   It's neuropathy or radiculopathy or myopathy related to damage to my spinal cord and nerves.  

Mornings are the worst times, pain-wise, which is why I set my alarm an hour before I plan on starting to exercise, so I can take Lyrica.   It makes a huge difference.    I had a follow-up with my doctor about my spine and the Lyrica this week.  I told him I'm fighting taking the medicine because I don't really want to be on it.   I'm taking what I need, but I'm not taking more than I need if I can help it.    I've found a good balance at a lower dose than we thought I might need.   The medicine does help and I'm glad to have it as an option, but that does't mean I like having to take it.

The Big Boy Update:  My son likes smoothies.  He specifically likes the Chocolaka type.   He told me, "Chocolaka makes me strong enough to hold up a barn."  Then he told me, "you have a long neck that's really a tree."

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  My daughter came downstairs today, looked at my husband's computer screen and said, "I didn't paint that."   And she was right.   My husband has taken paintings she's done twice before, scanned them in and made them his desktop background.   My son has recently taken up painting at school and this past week, his artwork became dad's new screen background.  My daughter was right in that it wasn't her painting.

Remedial Cursive

My children are learning cursive in school for their first letters (or sounds as they think of them at this point.)   As we became more aware of what happens in a Montessori classroom, we've grown to respect the overall process of how the children learn particular skills.    Of late though, I've been thinking a lot about cursive personally.

I learned cursive and block letters, but I believe I learned block letters first.   Cursive is designed to help you write more quickly and with less stress on the hand and I remember finding cursive both interesting and frustrating.   I remember being confused at how some letters connected to others.   I was able to write a lowercase 'b' relatively the same every time in block letters, but when it had different letters before and after it in a word, there was no telling how it would turn out.

Today as an adult, I write in a combination of block and cursive.  I hadn't really paid much attention to this other than to say I had terrible penmanship, until my children began to come home with new sounds.   They're taught "sounds" and those sounds are the sound the particular letter makes, such as, "luh" for the letter L.    The name of the letter isn't actually important in learning how to recognize the letter, know how the letter sounds in words and write the letter.  

So we're learning cursive lowercase letters together.   I have a chalk board at home and a set of the sandpaper letters they use at school.   When letters come up, we go to the chalk board, write them out, trace them and then discuss what words start with that sound.    A favorite game now is the, "I spy with my little eye" game.   They play this game in school all the time with the added phrase of, "and I spy something that starts with the sound, 'buh, buh, buh."   We play on the way to school a lot.

I digress though because this post was meant to be about cursive writing and my terrible penmanship.    So with all the focus on cursive letters, I decided I'd better find out if I even remembered how to write in full, non-broken cursive.    Was it faster or slower than my cobbled together mash-up of writing styles?  And could I improve my writing by going to full-cursive handwriting.  

I'm still in the early stages but I can tell you the first stage was uncomfortable.  I had to look up things several times.  I wasn't sure how to do the capital of some letters and there were connections that eluded me.    I think I'm past that now.   Then, there's the writing speed.   I'm still slower at writing cursive, but I think my writing is more consistent and looks better.  

I'm going to keep at it and see if maybe by the time my children are writing sentences, I might even like the way I write.

The Big Boy Update:  My son got sent to his room today.   He didn't want to go to his room and ended up getting additional time in his room.   This is unusual, usually he is sent until he is ready to do or stop doing the thing there's an issue with.   This works, because if he leaves the room before he's ready, he always gets sent back up.   Today unexpectedly in the car he said, "mommy, you are so stupid."   When we got home he had to go to his room and yelled back at us that we were bad guys multiple times.   Later, when he'd calmed down, I talked to him and asked where he had heard such unkind words (at school) and would he like it if someone told him he was so stupid? (No.)   We'll see what comes home next.

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  My daughter said, "is it Saturday or Wednesday?"  I told her it was Wednesday.   She said, "oh, I thought it was Saturday."

Fitness Update:   Our trainer had us go outside to do something with a ball, lunges, running at someone and going to one of the streets that was a block or two away.    We never really got what he was talking about so we did something we thought was close for ten minutes and then went back in.  

The Bus Stop Escort

I was going to originally title this blog, "Nothing to Complain About" so that I would be mindful every day as I posted that this wasn't a place to complain, gripe and moan about anything and everything.   Negativism never subtracts, it only multiplies.  

For the most part, I think I do a reasonable job of reminiscing, expounding and rambling on about things without the overall tone being negative (although I'm sure I've had my moments.)  Tonight's post though is going to be a complaint, so my apologies in advance.  

My neighbor and I run around the neighborhood early in the mornings from time to time.   Commonly, it's in the dark, even now after daylight savings time.   There are some people up at the hours we're running, but not a lot.    We noticed a car or two sitting, parked and idling with people in it on the side of the street and wondered what was happening.  We didn't figure out what was happening until we were running through that part of the neighborhood at the right time.  

It wasn't someone not from our neighborhood, we thought, because of the type and age of car.   It didn't look like someone staking out surrounding houses, but it was hard to tell much in the dark with their car dark inside it.    Then, one day we saw a school bus come into the neighborhood.    A child got out—older than elementary school—and headed for the bus.    When the bus was gone, the car turned around and headed back down the street to return to their house.

It wasn't just once and it wasn't in very cold weather either.  The bus stop for that street must be at the intersection where the car was sitting.   That street is only one block long after the intersection.   I don't know what it was like when you were young and if you had to ride the bus, but I didn't get an escort to the bus stop.

I've seen stopped cars at the entrance to our neighborhood on the curb with people in them in the afternoons as well.   Then I'd see a child get off a bus, walk to the car and ride off for the three blocks distance to their house.

I'm realize the media highlights all the awful and terrible things that can happen to children.   Is it fear from the parents for their child's safety?   I don't know the reason, but rest assured, I won't be driving my children to the bus stop when they're older—they can walk the two blocks and stand in the cold and rain just like I did.  

As much as I hated standing at the bus stop as a child, I had a good time with my friends.   It was a bonding experience and some of my best friends were my bus stop-mates.

The Big Boy Update:  My son was mad at me yesterday.  He told me, "walk away, I want you to move to a new house."

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  Itchy.   My son has spent most of his life being itchy while my daughter has had friendly, easy to manage skin.   However, for the last week, her legs and arms have been itching her quite a lot.   We've been putting lotion on her to mitigate the symptoms.  We can't see anything specific causing the trouble; perhaps it's seasonal and related to all this messy pollen we're dealing with.

Fitness Update:  I ran five miles this morning and then walked two this afternoon while I waited for my car to be cleaned.   Walking isn't nearly as fun as running.

I Am The Tortoise

I think I figured it out.   I think I'm okay with it.   I think I've discovered something about myself that was bothering me for some time now that I've decided maybe I shouldn't be bothered by at all.    I am the tortoise.  

I'm not the hare, I don't plan on getting there quickly.   I'm not talking about every day things like cleaning up or talking or getting errands run or many other things I can think of that fit into my daily life, because I do seem to have a lot of energy and I do move quickly.   But when it comes to exercise, I'm not the speedy one.

I don't run the fastest; in fact, I'm the slowest one of all my running friends.   I've apologized many, many times to my friends because I believe I'm holding them back speed-wise.   My neighbor is consistently a few steps ahead of me while we run.   But I get there.   I get there and I don't stop.

I was biking with my husband the other day and he was getting tired.   He hasn't been training for a marathon and there's nothing quite like running for five hours straight to get one's cardiovascular system into serious shape.    I just don't get tired.   I might be breathing more heavily because I'm exercising, but I'm fine to keep exercising.    I told him we'd have to bike for another couple of hours for me to get tired.    But the thing is, I wasn't biking aggressively.   I didn't feel like proving anything to anyone about how I could bike up that hill with my son on the back and beat everyone else on the block.   I just don't care about that stuff.

We were doing "Sugar Bush Sprints" this morning at the gym.   This happens every spring when our trainer decides to send us outside to the street on which there is a steep block of sidewalk pavement.   We sprint up and come back down a certain number of times.   I sprinted up with the rest of the group and I wasn't the fastest sprinter in the pack.   But I wasn't tired, so I just jogged back down the hill because, heck, my cardio was warmed up.

I get there with the workouts too, but I don't get as many pushups or burpees or squat thrusts or plank jacks in as the other people, but I'm still there and I make it to the end.

I think I've decided I don't mind being the tortoise.

The Big Boy Update:  My son found a branched stick yesterday.   He told Papa it was a blood pressure machine.   He brought it inside and at the end of the day we put it in their cabinet after he went to bed.   This afternoon he found it again.   He went over to Uncle Jonathan, who was sitting on the couch, did some work with the stick and told him his blood pressure was sixty-nine.   Then my son headed outside.   Seconds later he returned and placed the stick on the table saying, "I'm leaving it here to keep it away from the beaver."

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  Sometimes as I'm sure many other children do, my daughter eats lunch, gets in the car and upon arrival at home fifteen minutes later says, "can I have a snack?"

Fitness Update:  Sugar Bush Sprints this morning.   It's been about a year since our trainer had us leave the gym in the dark and run up and down the sidewalk hill.   I'm just glad he didn't have us do it with t pounds of weights on our backs like he did last year.

10:07PM

We have something strange happening in our house.   It happens every night at 10:07PM and we don't know why.    My husband heard about it because I was around when it happened, but he didn't see it in action until one night he came upstairs right at the right time.

Our Jacuzzi tub turns on the blower fan every night for thirty seconds right at 10:07PM.   It sounds strange, but here's how it works to give some background:  When you use the bubble jets in the tub, a twenty-minute timer is set once the bubbles are turned off.    The estimation is, twenty minutes later you're likely out of the tub and it's been drained.   The bubble jet turns back on and blows out all the remaining water in the tubes so there won't be standing water remaining in the unit.

The system has worked fine for four-and-a-half years now, but then something went strange.  I started noticing the blower cycle coming on at a time much later than my children's pre-bedtime bath.    I also noticed it would come on on days they either didn't have a bath or days they didn't turn on the bubbles.    Then, I noticed it was at the exact same time every day: 10:07PM.

There is a timer in the unit, because it's able to calculate the twenty-minute wait cycle.   The unit knows how to turn on at a later point as well, but this twenty-four hour blow-out has me baffled.  

I have the original manual for the unit, but that doesn't help.   It's also one of those manuals that covers functionality for a whole slew of model types.   I've tried looking online to find information.   Try looking up Jacuzzi, timer, twenty-four hours, blower and any other words in the above paragraphs in Google and you'll get all sorts of helpful information on hot tubs and not bath tubs.    My husband gave it a try and we're still no closer to solving the mystery.

The Big Boy Update:  My son told me he wanted his "farmonica" today.   I didn't realize what he wanted and why he was climbing up on the book shelf until I realized he was looking for the harmonica my husband had put away on a high shelf, the day before.

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  My daughter drew some recognizable artwork today.   She's mostly scribbles still, because we're not judging her drawing on accuracy and we don't put any expectations on what she should be drawing at this age.   She drew a hand today on Nana's birthday card.   She most likely traced her own hand, but she put fingernails on it and was very proud of her work.   My mother taught her how to draw hands some time back.

The Stamp Roll

I used to write a lot of checks.   Years ago, I mean.   I remember getting my first check book and then later, moving into my first place in college and having bills come in the mail I had to pay.    It was exciting, having all that responsibility myself to manage my finances.

Back then credit cards existed, but weren't the main method of payment like they are today.   Bills couldn't be paid online and at the grocery store, paying by check was one of the most popular ways people settled their bills.     So I had a lot of checks and a checking account and a lot of bills that needed to be paid.

Those bills needed stamps put on the envelopes.    I got books of stamps but they were used up quickly so I moved to a roll of stamps.   My mother gave me a small, lucite stamp roll holder that I could put a full roll into.   I could pull out one stamp at a time, lick it—remember how stamps had to be licked?—and put it onto the envelope.    I loved my little stamp roll.

Over the years, other methods of payment became more popular, such as auto draft for bills.   I started using less stamps.   About that same time, we had a series of stamp increases that would happen annoyingly before I had used up the current-valued stamp roll.    So I stopped buying rolls of stamps and went back to the stamp booklets.

Most recently, we have the new "Forever" stamp.   It doesn't matter if you buy it today and use it thirty years from now, it will still get your letter or bill there.  I looked in my drawer where the lucite stamp roll holder had been sitting for years, empty and thought, "now I can use you again."  

I got a roll of stamps, prepared to put it in my roll holder and ran into a problem: the new sticker-type of stamps is a physically larger roll.    Never fear, I rolled it tighter and tighter until I could wedge it in.  

Every time I use a stamp from my stamp dispenser it makes me feel a little bit happier.

The Big Boy Update:  I didn't hear the start of the conversation, but I had to stifle a laugh when I heard my husband telling my son, "your butt doesn't get spicy, it gets itchy."

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  My daughter said, "look at me, mom" this morning.  I looked over to see her arched back on the seat of a chair.   She kicked her legs over, put her hands on the floor and did a perfect back-walkover.    She figured that one out on her own.

Fitness Update:  Ten miles today.   I fell badly at mile nine-and-a-half, tearing my pants at the knee.   I saved my hands because I was wearing the running gloves Uncle Bob and Uncle Brian gave me for Christmas.    I had turned my ankle, which caused the fall.   Any time I turn an ankle I automatically drop to the ground, catching my body with my hands.   I'm not sure how I got out of it with only a little knee scrape, but I'm fine otherwise.

Double Baskets

With young children there is a lot of laundry.   It builds up quickly and there are things on the laundry you don't really want to let sit around—things that come out from your child in all directions that smell bad when left to stew.

When it was time to do laundry I'd take the basket into the laundry room to start the load.   The basket would remain in the area for it's return, hours later, with clean clothes.  But there was a problem: what to do with the laundry that piled up in the mean time?   I could take the basket back into the bedroom, but when the load was done in the dryer, I had a pile of tiny items that didn't transport easily without the basket.  

We stop-gaped the situation for a while by putting the temporary dirty laundry on a plastic bag or some other handy thing so the laundry didn't sit on the floor or furniture (remember, it's messy business, that dirty laundry.)  Then, one day it hit me.    Go and buy a second basket.  

This may be obvious to some people, but it wasn't something I'd had a need for in my life as an adult. When it was time for me to do my laundry I took the basket into the laundry room, did the load and brought it back before accumulating much, if any, additional laundry.   Any that I did have, I could just place on the floor because it wasn't covered in poo (then) or sand, mud and mulch (now.)

Two baskets.   How simple.   How obvious a solution.    At regular times, there are two baskets stacked one on top of another, with laundry accumulating in the top one.    When it's time to do laundry, take the top basket and proceed with the normal laundering process.    During that time, additional laundry builds up in the second basket.    When the clean laundry is folded and put away, take the now empty basket and put it underneath the basket with the most recently massacred clothes by my children.   Problem solved.

That one extra laundry basket has made something that was mildly frustrating to something that works well without us even thinking about it anymore.     

Oh, and while I'm at it, I have another thing we do with the laundry basket.   I'm all about visual queues and messages that are easy to notice and easy to implement.   When we do laundry. the machine is kind enough to play a little tune to let us know the load is complete in the washing machine.   Only we're not always waiting around for this little audio message.   Sometimes one of starts the load and the other person doesn't know if it's in the "finished washing" or "finished drying" stage.    Wouldn't it be nice if there were a little message to let the other person (or your forgetful self) know?

Our laundry room is around the corner too, so even knowing the other person has kicked off a laundry cycle is something we would miss unless we have a queue.   So, we use the basket.    We take that basket and place it at the bench and pegs area, right outside the laundry room and just inside the garage door to remind us.   If the load has been put in the washer, the basket is placed on the short side, standing tall.   That's the simple message.   If you see a laundry basket standing on it's end and don't hear the machine running, go in and shift the load to the dryer.  "Thanks, hon, I appreciate you moving my clothes over earlier."   "Sure, any time." 

The Big Boy Update:  Fortune.   My husband has these fortunes on the counter from cookies that hadn't been thrown away for a few days.   I asked him about them and he said my son loved to re-read them and even had one memorized.   I asked my son today what his fortune said, showing him the piece of paper and he said, "smile, it'll make the world brighter."

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  Tough girl.   My daughter cries when she's hurt, but she is so good at recovering quickly and moving on.   I'm always proud of her and people consistently comment on it that don't know her and see her get hurt and then go right back to playing.

Fitness Update:  Trainer today.   I think I forgot how to do pull-ups.   I lost the muscles.   I'm going to have to get back on it.

The BMW Pen

I've never been one that loved a fine pen.   I can appreciate a nice writing instrument, but for the most part as long as the tool in hand does a good job, I'm not overly critical.    I do have a pen now that I like to characterize as one of those, "nice pens" and the way I got it is somehow mysterious.

A few years back, for no reason I was able to discern, BMW sent me a pen.  It came in the mail in a nice box.  I would get promotional material from them from time to time because I was a repeat buy and current owner, but it was mostly things that talked about how great their next model so-and-so was and how, should I want to do a test drive, I was invited down to the nearest showroom so they could tempt me into purchasing yet another vehicle with them.

The pen was different.   It said something about thanks for being a customer in the very minimal paperwork, and that was it.   The pen was black with a rollerball cartridge inside.   It escaped me for a while that the letters, "BMW" were engraved around the ring of the cap.   I put it in my drawer and wondered how much that little pen added to the cost of my next BMW and didn't think much more of it.

But years later, I still use that pen.   I like that pen.   I choose it over every other pen in my drawer and I get annoyed when someone removes it from my drawer for their own purposes.  

Of all the things BMW has sent me, I think I will keep the pen the longest.  It has already outlasted one car.

The Big Boy Update:  My son asked us at dinner tonight, "is hugging love?"

The Tiny Girl Chronicles: At dinner tonight we decided to get the children water instead of a calorie-based beverage so they could focus more on their food.   We explained that the entire family (my parents included) was having water with their dinner.  My daughter said, "I can't have water because I'm a kid."

Fitness Update:  Biking the children.  My husband and I took the kids for a bike ride on the back of our bikes yesterday late afternoon.   We went for seven miles in the park and then today we did another three miles with them around the neighborhood.   It's a lot of distance though for low calories, even with a thirty- or forty-pound child in a seat sitting behind you.  Still, it's fun and the kids love it.

The Butcher

I went to the grocery store today to get some things for dinner.   My husband and I are trying to lose a few pounds and we decided salmon, asparagus, broccoli and squash would be a good meal.    I stopped in to get several of those items with my daughter mid-afternoon.

I had asked my husband about the salmon: how much to get, where to get it, etc.   He told me I would have to ask the butcher directly and he would make up a package for me.    When we got to the butcher area, I looked around and then asked the man behind the counter for a pound of one of the types of salmon.   And then I almost asked him, "is that what my husband usually gets?"

I smiled and realized this man had no idea who my husband was, or if he did, that I was his wife, because we don't typically shop together and when we do, we don't stand about chatting in the meat aisle.

Undoubtedly there are butchers who know both the husband and wife and their preferences in selection and cuts, but in this case, I'd never met the man before.    So I did the obvious thing next: I told him what I had almost said.

We laughed, as did the man standing beside me.   The butcher said, "if this had been my last store I bet you I would have known.   I worked there for nineteen years."   I thanked him for the salmon and told him I was sure he'd see my husband soon because he is (as my son likes to say,) "the cooker" in our family.

The Big Boy Update:  My son knows which song is my favorite in the movie, Frozen.   He came running downstairs this past weekend while I was writing a blog post and said, "mom, the reindeer song is coming up!"   I stopped writing and went upstairs with him so I could watch that part with him.   How sweet!

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  First manicure.   My daughter went with me today when I got a manicure. She picked out a green and very sparkly fingernail polish and then shyly stood by me for a few minutes.   One of the ladies asked her if she wanted to get her nails painted and she nodded yes.   Then the lady said, "do you want Sherry or me to do it?"  My daughter pointed at Sherry and then went over to her station, say calmly and quietly and had her nails painted.   She sat in the drying area and waited for them to dry and then we went home.   She is very happy to have green fingernails.

Fitness Update:  Five miles this morning.   I may have screwed up any weight loss potential today due to dinner though.   It was healthy, low-calorie dinner, but I ate a lot.

The Five Pounds of Be Quiet

If I remember correctly, it was about this time in my parent's lives that I said something unkind to them that I remember to this day.   I would guess they were in their mid- to late-forties and they had been bemoaning the problems of weight loss.   There were comments about five pounds here and there that popped up all the time.   If only they could lose five pounds, things would be ever so much better was the message I was hearing—only they weren't getting around to losing the weight, they were just talking and talking about it.

It was one day we were leaving the house, about to walk out the front door when I said something like, "could you all just lose the weight or stop talking about it?  It's only five pounds, I don't know what the big deal is?"

My parents didn't complain or get mad at me, they just were quiet about it and didn't talk about it in front of me any more.  Today, I understand where they were coming from though.    Food is so GOOD.  I love food.   I love to eat food, talk about eating food and dream about food.   I like all kins of food and I like food far more than my body needs me to like food in order to sustain myself for survival purposes.

I wish food wasn't such a big thing in my mind.   I wouldn't mind if I could turn down the desire to eat and enjoy foods just a bit, because it is very easy to gain five pounds without really trying to.  In fact, if I'm not steadily watching my overall consumption of calories, I'll slowly tick up in weight.  

So from the me in my teens to my parents in their forties, I'm sorry for those critical words.   I get it now.

The Big Boy Update:  My son went to his friend's house two days ago to play in their basement and he came home with a large helicopter he had borrowed.  He was so happy he fell asleep on the sofa, hugging it, until well past dinner time.  

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  Uncontrollable wailing.   My daughter spent the afternoon with Uncle Jonathan.   On the way home she fell asleep and hadn't had a snack.  When she woke up, she was a total wreck.   She was lying on the floor, screaming and crying, stomping the floor and walls with her socked-feet and talking incoherently.   She couldn't pull it together enough to eat her food dinner and talking to her made it worse, so we just let her cry it out until she quietly got up and demolished her bowl of pasta.   Then, she was back to her normal self.

Fitness Update:  Fast 5K today for an extra calorie burn and hopeful appetite reduction for the day.   Did I mention my neighbor and I as well as my husband decided to get serious and get the few pounds off we've been complaining about?  We started in earnest yesterday.

But Can We Have Mickey Mouse?

I had this titled. "Poor Impulse Control" because this is what the post is about.  I wrote not a week ago about the difficulty my son has in controlling himself in certain situations.   It's the, "whatever you do, don't press the red button," syndrome.   The only thing you want to do is push that red button.   Some people can control the urge, my son, given his age and personality (and mostly his age) simply can not.

Before bath time today, my children asked for a television show I am so over (Transformers Rescue Bots.)   I have seen enough of this television show and I think there are other, educational-based shows that would be good for them to request.   It's not a bad show, but no, I said, they weren't getting it today.   I told them after their bath, they could watch something but I would decide what.

Then, my son asked for his favorite show again.  I told him we weren't watching it and if he asked again, he wouldn't get to watch it tomorrow either.   He had already asked about six times—in a row—and I had told him no.  I was starting to remember it wasn't good to be a broken record as a parent and I was encouraging the behavior of repeated asking.

Naturally, my son asked again for the show.   He tried to mask the ask by changing the phrasing, but five seconds after that, he directly asked, so I told him he wouldn't get to watch it tomorrow either.    Wailing.   Moaning.   Crying.   All the expected results occurred.    I moved them into the bathroom and they soon forgot about the show, because they simply love bath time.

When they were out and getting dressed, the asking started again.   This time, it was about Mickey Mouse Clubhouse.  I said, "no".   They asked again.   I said, "I said no, don't ask again."   My daughter gave up but my son protested.   I told him if he asked one more time, they wouldn't watch a single thing on television tonight.    He asked again, not ten seconds later.   I told them television was not happening, at all, tonight now.    Then, he asked again, and again, and more desperately again and I told him if he didn't stop, he was going straight to bed (one hour early.)

He asked again.   So I took him to his room and told him he was done for the day, I took him to his room completely naked and said don't come out (which he understands and does well.)   I got his sister ready to have her hair dried and went back upstairs to talk to him.   At this point, he had calmed down.   He understood everything.   He was saying, "I'm not coming out of the room.  Mom, I'm not asking again.  Can we read books tonight?"   He was a centered, child in flow and he was for lack of a better word, happy.

I calmly talked to him while I put on the medication for his eczema, rubbed him down with lotion and helped him put on his pajamas.   Oh, he had threatened to pee on the floor during the commotion earlier.   I asked him if he had done so, because I told him he would spend a lot of time cleaning the carpet up.   He said, "no, I peed in the potty."

We talked about what books he wanted to have read to him and I suggested he pick some out so dad could read them when he got done with his work.  I left the room and my son was completely fine.

I think he learned a lesson tonight.   I hope he will remember being unhappy and losing the option to watch something on television because they got ready for bed early.   We'll see what happens next time I say, "don't ask me again or else..."

The Big Boy Update:  My son likes honey.  He said this morning as he ate his english muffin with honey, "mom, I don't want us to give our honey to the bees."

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  There was a show on the television yesterday with a female actor with blonde hair like my daughter's.   My daughter said, "yesterday, I was in that show."  I thought she was talking about the blonde female but when I asked her she said, "But not a girl, I was a boy."

Fitness Update:  Rock and Roll Las Vegas.   Some of us (okay, me and Uncle Jonathan's good friend, Margaret) are gunning to go to the Las Vegas Rock and Roll marathon.   I told our trainer about it today and have made a few phone calls to get some other people interested.   It's a multi-day event in early November, so I don't know if I can find child care for the duration, but they close down the strip, start the marathon at four in the afternoon and you run back into town to the lights of the Las Vegas strip.   Oh, and there's music all along the way.    Talk about a fun marathon.

Bite and Burn

I was going to name this post, "My on and off addiction to crack," but I thought people might get the wrong idea.

Back in what I think 1995 or 1996, I went to a conference in Portland, Oregon for work.   It was during that time that I found a variety of breath fresheners with the name of Cin-a-Clove.  I brought some home and I still have one little vial with three remaining orbs in it.   The breath freshener isn't available anymore, but ever since that time I've loved the flavors of cinnamon and clove together.

I make hard candy from time to time.  Usually I'll remember once or twice a year and get back into making candy in the afternoon.   Hard candy doesn't take long to make, usually from start to finish, candy packaged in bags and the kitchen cleaned up about an hour, so it's quick business.

I have lots of flavor oils, but the one I always make when it's just me making the candy is cinnamon and clove together.   I not only double the amount of oil, I quadruple it.   I put so much flavoring in that I have to stir quickly and aggressively to get it to mix in before the candy gets too cool.

The resulting candy pieces after cutting and cooling are strong clove with a big cinnamon bite.   It will take you unexpectedly if you aren't warned before trying a piece.    The thing is, once you have one piece, you have to have another piece.   It does something to the coating on your tongue (most likely kill off the top layer of cells) and you just have to have more.

I put the candy in small bags, because I invariably finish a bag whenever I start one.   I've looked at a nearly finished bag many a time and thought, "what am I going to do when there are no more?"   That in mind, be it politically correct or not, I named the candy, "Crack" years and years ago and the name has always stuck.

The Big Boy Update:  We were at the table at dinner when my husband offered to help my son cut the piece of calzone.   My son said, "no, no, no.  I'll do it the old fashioned way."

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  My daughter went into the bathroom. shutting the door behind her this afternoon.   Things were quiet for a few minutes and then I heard her say, "mom, it's not a quesadilla, it's just a regular poop."

5K School Run

Our school had their first 5K race today.   It was a fundraiser for some of the older students to go on their end of year class trip.  It was an ambitious endeavor for a small group of students, (and one very enthusiastic parent,) to put on but it was a success and a fun social event for parents and children alike.

My two got out of the car, found one of their friends from school and began running around and around, potentially killing all the energy they might have for the race itself.   We checked in, got t-shirts, race bibs and then had coffee at the snack table and chatted with other parents before the race started.

When the race began, we all ran off into the wooded park, strollers, students and parents alike.   Over time, many of us dropped into walking and pushing and riding.   My son got in and out of the stroller, saying he needed to charge up.    My daughter, still getting over being sick, mostly stayed in the stroller.

We finished after forty-five minutes to cheers of staff, students and other, earlier finishers.  Then, we had more coffee, water and fruit.  

I had a great time.   I love social events like these.   Everyone had fun and we burned some calories in the middle of it all.   I hope they have another race next year.

The Big Boy Update:  My son didn't have a tutu like Uncle Jonathan's to run in today for the race, but he told me he didn't need one.   He said his shoes were fast, with rockets built into them.

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  I suggested my daughter run the 5K today in her fluffiest of tutus.   She's not that much of a girly girl, but I told her her tutu was a tradition for many men and women when running races.   I don't know if she cared, but boy did she look cute running in it.

Fitness Update:  Our school's first 5K was today.   All four of us ran, my husband may have hurt his foot, but we'll see what the ibuprofen does to help it.

The Goldfish Easter Egg Hunt

The Big Boy Tiny Girl Extrapolation Update:

I think my children enjoyed hunting for Easter Eggs.  They enjoyed hunting for them, opening them, looking at them in their baskets, wanting to eat all of them and having to wait until after mealtime to have one of them.  

Then, they forgot all about them.   While they weren't paying attention the other morning, I put all the candy away in a container high on a shelf and stored the plastic eggs and baskets in the attic for next year.   My children didn't notice for over a day.    When they did, they weren't particularly upset.    Then, today, they showed me they remembered, but what they remembered was the interesting part.

My daughter was having some goldfish for snack.   She had been putting them in this sorting tray I give her sometimes because she loves to count out forty-five goldfish into little compartments and then tell you which person each of those goldfish is going to.  She has a goldfish saved for each of her family members, friends and even some imaginary characters like Mickey Mouse.

Today, I noticed my daughter and son running around the living room, dining room and kitchen during snack time.   Normally, this is an indicator that they're finished with snack and I put away what's left and clean the plates up.   Today, however, I noticed little goldfish all around on high perches instead.  

There were goldfish on various parts of the kitchen counter, the island and the sink area.   There were goldfish on the bookshelves in the living room.  There was one on the entry way table and even one on the volute.   What were they doing?

It turns out, they were having a, "goldfish Easter Egg hunt."  They were hiding them from each other and then finding them and eating them.   The way they were doing it was interesting.   They knew if they put them low down, the dog would get to them.   They also knew the dog could get to the sofas and chairs (and they weren't allowed to have food in those areas anyway.)   They picked good spots to hide the goldfish, even though the spots were in plain sight to me.   To them, they were on tall spots they couldn't see unless they backed off and looked from a distance because they're not as tall as the counter tops.

I let them play the game, although I told them the living room was off limits, and they ended up eating all the goldfish happily playing their game together.

Fitness Update:   Friday at the gym and our trainer tried to make us pass out, I think.   I told my friend I didn't think I could let her ride home in the Tesla sweating like she was.   She sat on her jacket, even thought I told her I was joking.  (Or was I?)

Somewhat Sick

My children are somewhat sick.   They're technically not allowed to go to school because a low-grade fever appeared in one of them for a day.   The other one felt hot, but I didn't bother to check it because if it was a high fever, he would have been a mess and he was just a little slower than usual.

My daughter threw up once, which confused her to no end because she never throws up.    There was also some diarrhea as well.  Okay STOP, I hate that word.   I can not spell diarrhea.   The only reason I got it the second time is because I got it close enough after seven, yes seven, tries for spell check to have even a guess at what I was trying to spell.    I have no idea how many times I've needed to type that word in my life, but I still haven't learned.   Maybe I've been fortunate to not have suffered the condition much, but I couldn't even get close.   <rant off>

Where was I?  Ah yes, my children not being eligible for school.   They have something that many, even lots of the children at school are catching.   Whatever it is, I speculate it's not something new, because none of the adults are coming down with it.    My children have been cranky and not hungry, but we haven't been treating them with anything in the hopes they'd rest and sleep some.    There has been little sleeping during the day, though.

The qualifications for being eligible for school are fever-free, vomit-free and runny-poo free for twenty-four hours and mine don't meet the requirements yet.   (Did you see how I got around spelling that word again?  It's because I already forgot how to spell it.   I think it starts with "dia" or was it, "dih?")

The Big Boy Update:  My son asked me to text Tristan, one of their sitters, tonight and tell him they wanted him to come over and play with them at their house.   Then, when I told him the message had been sent, he asked what Tristan had replied.    A bit later, Tristan sent back he'd be glad to come over any time and play with them.

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  My children get dressed for school before coming down in the mornings.  Uncharacteristic of my friendly and sharing daughter, she got dressed the other morning, ran out of the room leaving her brother behind her saying, "I win, you lose!"

The Aged M&Ms and Me

I'm frequently behind in blog post topics.   By that I mean I take notes here and there of things I want to write about, but at the end of the day I usually only pick one of the things on my list.   I've been meaning to write about something that happened on Easter Sunday, but time and blog has gotten away from me.   So, as you read this next bit, imagine you're still full from a big Sunday meal and there have been nothing but pastels and plastic eggs stores for weeks...

Shortly before Easter Sunday, I went up in the attic to find some baskets for my children.   I was planning on putting a variety of things in them including chocolate, candy and toys—mostly of varieties I like to eat.    While I was up there, I found one basket that would work for one child and then a second basket I realized was my Easter basket from when I was young.    Interestingly enough, it still had some green "grass" in it. 

I brought both of them down and started to fill them up.    While I was working with the old basket, I rearranged the green grass and heard something raining down underneath that sounded like sand.    I pulled everything out and found a small M&M packet, now burst open at one end.   The internal chocolate of each candy had dried up into a powder, although a good portion of the shells were still intact. 

I couldn't believe it.   I mean, how in the world had I missed candy in my Easter basket?!   And let's be clear here, this wasn't a particularly large basket, it was about the standard size.   I looked at the very dated packaging but couldn't find a date:  

Then, I looked in the trash can at the remnants of the candy.  I noticed there were only dark brown M&Ms, not dark and light brown M&Ms.    I don't remember when they got rid of the light brown ones, but that told me they were newer than I originally thought. 

Then I remembered college: I was in a townhouse and on one Easter morning, there was a basket of candy at my front door (a surprise from my mother.)  I was far too old for the Easter Bunny to come and visit, but I think I remember that basket more than any other one from my childhood.    Maybe the M&Ms were from then.

Speaking of old, I got a letter from AARP today, telling me I should consider joining.   And to think I thought my toddlers could make me feel old!

The Big Boy Update:  My children are sick today.   My son was lying on the couch, looking pitiful and said, "bring me the purple medicine."   (Advil)

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  My daughter is also sick.  I was trying to get her to nap mid-day, which she rarely does and didn't particularly want to do today, even though she felt awful and was hardly staying awake.   I got her in her bed and told her I'd be back to put the clothes away.   When I returned, she watched me and made comments.   I was talking very quietly back to her when she said, "mom, you don't have to be quiet to put up the clothes."

Fitness Update:  Returning to the gym.   I wasn't sure if my trainer would recognize me, what with my absence over the last weeks, but he gave me a big hug this morning—imaging being hugged by a friendly, black bear—and then showed no mercy.

Hot Dog Cinnamon Toast

The best way to get children to like/eat something is to tell them one of their favorite people loves that particular thing.   I decided to try something out that I remembered from my childhood to see how it would go over:  hot dog cinnamon toast.

My mother wasn't one to let bread go to waste.   When there were leftovers, no worries, she would repurpose them.  When we had extra bread, say in the form of hot dog buns, she would just make me cinnamon toast with them.  Over the years, those strange bread items became fun.   She might serve hamburger bun garlic bread or we'd have a hot dog itself on slices of bread.   Either way, things were used up.

One of my favorites though was cinnamon toast on hot dog buns.   I think it's due to two factors:  first, I don't like overly crunchy toast.   Hot dog buns are extra thick so they're soft when made into toast.   Second, it's fun to hold and eat.  You start at one end and move down the bun, now halved into two pieces.

I tried this special treat the other day, saying it was something Mimi made for me when I was little that I loved.   My children loved it too.   I think they loved it more than I anticipated because today, when regular cinnamon toast appeared on their plates for breakfast, there was loud complaints that it wasn't hot dog cinnamon toast.

The Big Boy Update:  As I buckled my son into his seat this morning he told me, "daddy's old."   I said, "he is old, and I'm old too."   He replied, "mommy, you're not old, you're fat."

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  My daughter likes to keep her hands clean.   She doesn't like to wash them after going to the bathroom though.  She will tell me, "I don't have to wash my hands, I didn't touch the potty," after pulling herself up onto the seat and holding on to it with both hands while she goes.   She's found a short cut she likes to call, "Hand Buhtizer" and is fond of looking for the hand sanitizer anywhere we go.

The Star Chart

I should have titled this post, "The Poo Chart," or maybe "The Pee Chart," but the Star Chart has a nicer ring to it so I went with that.

My son has been streaking his pants lately.  It's a little habit he's gotten that we're working on breaking.   He knows when he has to go, he just doesn't want to go sometimes.   My daughter knows when she has to pee, only she figures out she has to go about a half-second before it's too late and can't hold it in time to make it to the bathroom.    So for both children, we decided on a new strategy: "The Star Chart."

After lunch today we told them all about it.   We were going to have it on the refrigerator and for every day they didn't have any mishaps, they would get a star.   At the end of the week, depending on the number of stars they had, they would get something or they would get to pick something like where we would go for dinner.   They were excited.  I mean really excited.  I don't know that I can adequately explain how the thought of one little star sticker could be that exciting, but it was to them.

We stopped at Target and I got some new underpants for my daughter because we didn't have many left that fit her.  I got ones with fun characters on them so she would be excited about them   I also got a new potty seat in the hopes that an overlay seat would make things more comfortable for my son when he needed to go.  Hopefully with a seat that fit him better, he wouldn't put off the event.  

Then we talked up the star chart.   In the afternoon my children watched me make the star chart with some markers and a ruler.   They can't read yet but I color-coded their names so they would know which line was theirs.  Then, we stuck it to the refrigerator.

I had high hopes.   My son made it to bedtime easily.  My daughter was good until just before bedtime when she was playing outside with her friend.  She didn't want to stop to come in to go to the bathroom.  I suggested.  I warned.   She ignored me.    So, she didn't get a star today.

My son loved selecting the gold star and putting it on the refrigerator.   My daughter was sad.   I told her I knew tomorrow she would be sure to pay attention to her body and put all the pee pee in the potty (note Montessori phraseology there.)

So we shall see.   Of sticker note, the sheet of stickers is one I've had for a very long time.  I am fairly certain I had them when I was in high school, so that would make them close to thirty-years-old.   They're still sticky too, which is impressive.

The Big Boy Update:  My son has poor impulse control.   All children do at this age.  His is sometimes profound.  He asked for something repeatedly yesterday.   We told him we would think about it.   We told him to stop asking.   We then told him if he asked one more time, the answer would be no.  He couldn't help it, he asked again.   When we told him he had just secured a no answer, he wailed.  It was like he couldn't control the urge.

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  My daughter desperately wants to wear underpants to bed and not a diaper.   I explained when her pants were dry all day, she could try at night.   She told me she was going to have a dry diaper in the morning so she could get a star on the star chart.

Rock and Roll

We ran the Rock and Roll marathon today.  Last year we ran the half marathon and for some reason, we thought this year we should double our distance.  The day was fantastic with not a cloud in the sky.   I am burned because at four in the morning I wasn't thinking about sunscreen.  We got to the location early and had no troubles with parking, finding pre-race toilets or really, anything else with the race.

Except for the hills; oh, and the one snake. I'll get to the snake in a minute.   The course is all road, which from prior experiences, I hate.   I had shoe issues from the marathon a month ago with my toes going numb and my feet hurting from running.    I got new shoes and these shoes were the right shoes.   My feet are fine.  There are no numb toes, nothing rubbed or blistered and basically I can't even tell I ran a marathon this morning as far as my feet feel now.   The rest of my body, on the other hand, is reminding me muscles can complain loudly.

I've learned hydration is a key factor in having a good race.   When you get to a hydration spot, take the first gatorade cup, get a second one a bit further down and then get a water cup after that.   Three cups of liquid (they're partially filled so you don't slosh them everywhere) helps so much.   I walk through all the water stations as well, because it's hard to drink while running, even a slow run like mine.

Races in general seem to like to advertise, "course changed this year to be less hilly."   We didn't run the full marathon last year, so I don't know what the course was like, but after the split from the half marathon runners, it got hilly and then hillier and by the time we got to mile twenty-two we were wondering when the hell we were going to go back downhill we'd climbed so much altitude.   Normally, hills don't bother us because we run in a hilly park, but we weren't expecting so many of them for such a long duration.

We got so tired we couldn't even tell stories back and forth (my running neighbor friend was with me.)  Uncle Jonathan finished an hour-and-a-half before we did and had three beers by the time we got in.

At about twenty-one miles we were channeled into this path around a lake.   It was a nice wooded view, even if the paved path was bumpy.    We were all looking at the pollen-filled trees when I saw a four-foot black snake slithering across the path up ahead.   He was half-way across and moving with purpose, but my neighbor would have been in the direct path of the snake.   I grabbed her arm and pulled her almost in front of me.   She said, "what?" and I waited until we were beyond the snake.   Then I told her what had happened.

Then...she ran.   She sprinted.   She screamed.   She was suddenly not tired any more with the adrenaline rush she got from the news.   Did I mention she's terrified of snakes?    We talked about black snakes and how they were good animals, but she only imagined fangs.    But we made it through.

We were beat at the end.  My neighbor runs slightly ahead of me a lot of the time and I started to catch up.   Then she ran faster.  Then I ran faster.  Then we both without saying anything started to sprint it out for the finish line.    It was crazy fun and exhausting.    

When we got home my son checked out the medal.   He put it on and told me I could wear the one from the last race.  

The Big Boy Update:  My son did some painting work with large sheets of paper today.   They were drying out on the pollen-covered deck for several hours.   When he went out to bring his artwork in he said, "do papers sneeze?"

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  My daughter put on some leggings that are much too small for her.   When asked if the were uncomfortable she said, "yes, they're hurting my penis."

Fitness Update:  Rock and Roll marathon today.  Great weather.  Fun run.   Perfect shoes for the course.  

The Magic Blanket

The Big Boy Update:  The Magic Blanket

Tonight's blog post is about an interesting phenomenon I've seen three times now with my son.   I think things similar, but not identical to this happen all over the world with children when they're reunited with items they have a strong comfort attachment to, but it's always interesting to see in your own child.

My son has a "Baby Baby Baby" blanket.   It's named that because that's what it says all over the front side of it.   My son loves this blanket.   He loved it so much when he was younger that I saw a potential problem arising if we didn't reduce his affection for it in some way.   I redirected the blanket, "to be washed" from time to time and when it was clean, put it away in the closet or a drawer.    Later, when my son had forgotten about his best blanket, I'd find it again and he'd always be happily reunited with it.

I wasn't being mean, on the contrary, I was being kind.   I've heard the stories where the lovie or blanket or doll the child just can not go to bed without is left or lost.   The trauma of separation is extreme and no one is happy.   Parents do crazy things to get those missing items back and reunited with their squalling child.   I never wanted that to happen, so we never let an attachment become a necessity.

Three times now, my son has either found his blanket or I've brought it out to him.   Each time, he has been so happy to find it, he calmly gets in his bed, lies on his back, covers himself up with it (or covers what he can now that he's bigger) and goes right to sleep.

Today, he saw the blanket in plain sight on a top shelf he hadn't noticed in maybe four months and brought it down.   We looked at the letters because he's now working on them at school and he and his sister sounded out the word "baby" multiple times.   Then, for no real need or reason, he slept for almost three hours this afternoon.

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  Out of the blue today, my daughter asked me, "mom, may I get a gluten free snack?"  Where did this come from?   We are gluten enthusiasts in this household.   I told her, "you may finish your banana you left on your plate."  She replied, "my banana is starchy."

Fitness Update:  We ran in a Girls on the Run race today with my neighbor and her daughter, Maddie.  Uncle Jonathan wore a pink tutu, red and black long, flowing wig and even shaved his legs.   I wore a flame orange wig myself.   Tomorrow we run the Rock and Roll marathon.   I suppose I'd better get to bed after I write this...

Pollen Prints

When I was a child, my father would always tell me, "don't touch the paint!"  He hated when I would drag my hands down the painted walls, lean on the painted walls or generally add my finger oil and child grime to the walls.

When I was young, I didn't understand.   My father told me I would understand when I was an adult.  He was right.   Children are a mess.   The are bothered not in the least if they eat ribs, don't wipe their hands or their face and then crawl up the stairs, using the wall and the carpet as viable and reasonable locations to smash their messy mouth and slathered fingers.

Fingers have an oil they always produce, which we all know well from television because every crime show is in part based on the science of fingerprint identification.   I don't know how many fingerprints are in my house, but I'm sure the number is staggering.  We touch everything with our fingers and leave a light film of oil behind.  

We also touch the Tesla Model S as well.   Someone (I think it's my husband,) placed their hand on the back of the car while they removed the charging plug.   Then, the car went on a few drives.    Those fingerprints, coupled with the pollen that's reigning down all around us, has made the fingerprints unexpectedly visible.    You can even see the ridges and whorls in the pollen.   I wonder if we can compare and confirm who's fingers they were?

The Big Boy Update:  My son took my husband's fork at the end of dinner the other night.   Before we realized what he was doing, he was using the forks like tongs to lift up his drink glass and drink from it.    He wasn't even close to spilling or dropping. 

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  Jacob.  My daughter's best friend from last school year was Jacob.  Today we went to a play date at Jacob's house.   They're in different classes now, but they got back into playing with each other in no time. 

Quicksand

Is quicksand one word?   I'm not getting little red squiggles under it after I've typed, so I'm going with it.   Today was one of those "scream and then find the yes" days.    That's not a real name for a day, but it's the bad followed by good parenting process I'm working through as I am continually educated by my children.

It was a nice day after school so when we got home, we all piled out into the front yard and each did our own things.  I was working on school things, cutting up burlap for the auction (don't ask, it's a mess but I signed up for it.)   My husband was playing basketball with himself and my children were playing with toys, scooters, chalk and other safe childhood things like carrying around and dropping a huge rock on the pavement without shoes on.   (That would be my daughter—who still has all ten toes thankfully.)

Things got quiet and I got a lot of work done.   Then I realized, "things are quiet..."  I went around to the back yard to find my son naked, which was no surprise to me, holding the hose.    That's when I screamed, "ABSOLUTELY NOT!"   He had pulled it across the yard to the play structure and was flooding the sand box—the sand box I'd been trying to get dry for almost a month now.   The sand had just gotten nice and dry and we'd been having fun doing things with it, only now it was a swampy sand pit.

My son stopped when I screamed and looked like he was in trouble (he was.)   And that's when I thought about it.    It's their sand box and if they want it sloppy and messy, then they can darn well play with wet sand.   I told him I had yelled but I'd thought about it and if that's what they wanted, then I was okay with a quicksand pool in our back yard.

We sprayed more water and they got filthy covered in sand.    Then they wanted to come in because they were cold.   Imagine my surprise when they didn't want to be sprayed off.   Imagine their dismay when I explained how we had to get the sand clumps out of their hair.  

We made it in eventually and hot showers were had by all.   They did have a good time, but I'm not sure they'll make quicksand again any time soon.

The Big Boy Update:  My son remembers things very clearly.   He wanted a lego the other day that was a space ship.   It was, "this big" he said as he showed me with his hands.   I went into the storage/attic area he's not allowed in and looked for the one he wanted.   I didn't find it, but I have total confidence that there was a specific one he wanted and I am even more confident my husband would also have known and been able to get it for I'm in a minute.

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  While we were all outside this afternoon my daughter came running over with her hands cupped saying, "mom, look what I found!"  She carefully opened her hands and showed me a tiny black ant.   She treated it carefully and watched as it crawled over and around her hands.  

Tick, Tick, Tick

I am at my computer, working on this blog post just now and I am hearing a ticking sound.   It's a fast tick, and it's faint, but I can hear it and I know the sounds that should be heard at this desk and ticking isn't one of them.

I asked my husband to come over and he, too, heard the faint ticking.   So I beat on the desk and startled my husband.  I explained I was too lazy to get up, and I'm trying to scare the chirping, ticking bug outside into stopping for a few seconds so I can go on with this blog post, tick-free.   But the crash of my hand on the desk and my husband's loud exclamation does nothing to cease the sound.

So my husband gets up and opens the door out of the basement.  He tells me to come outside because, "you're got to see this."  But I'm skeptical.   As I come outside though, I see what he wanted me to see: a distant electrical storm in the night sky that was stunning.   It was too far away to hear, thus making it innocent and in no way responsible for the ticking sound.

After a few minutes of watching the storm, we went inside.  I picked up the laptop and listened to the silent piece of hardware from multiple angles.    Then, we decided to turn off the printer beside the laptop, because that was the general area the ticking was coming from.   That was another adventure in and of itself, because we couldn't find the power switch.

But no, the printer wasn't to blame.   After a minute, my husband says to me, "it sounds just like a stopwatch.  Didn't you have a stop watch?"   And yes, I do have a stop watch.  It is of the very old, windup variety and only counts up to thirty minutes before it starts over, but I love it and I always keep it in my top drawer.   Only it shouldn't be ticking, having long wound down years ago.

Then my husband says, "wait a minute, I saw Greyson playing with it earlier; he must have put it somewhere."  So we start to look, only where could he have put it?  If you know me, you know I have this sort of tidy/clean slate/minimalist thing going on and right now the only thing on my entire desk other than the computer itself, is a single thank you card I need to write.    Suffice it to say, there are not a lot of places to hide a small ticking device in and around my desk.

And yet, there was ticking.   We look all over, my husband even opening up the printer innards to make sure my son didn't try to add it in as a fifth toner color.   Then, we opened the paper tray and all the way in the back we found the ticking stop watch.

I'm not sure how long it would have ticked, but I think we would have had a failure to print had we not discovered it.

The Big Boy Update:  We asked my son what he wanted for dinner at the Mexican restaurant last night.   He responded, "why do boys have lips?"  After we got his order finally sorted (there was more questioning along the boys and lips line) he asked one final question, "do boys have lips so they can kiss?"

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  My daughter will crowd you out of your seat if you're in a booth sitting beside her.   She isn't particularly clingy in general, but she wants to be right up on you when she's at a booth.   A while back, after my husband had kindly asked her to move over to share the space with him on more than on occasion, she suddenly said, "I don't have any space!"

Fitness Update:  Not ten miles.   It was four miles I ran, but I forgot to turn off my running app so when I got to my next destination in the car my phone happily announced over the car's sound system, "ten miles."

Potpourri

I have very specific memories of things from my childhood.   I'm not sure if they're the original memory, or a memory of me remembering the memory again and again, each time overlaying the new memory on top of the prior one.    Even so, I do remember things and they seem just as real and tangible as they were when I remembered them years ago.

One memory is of the word "potpourri."  My elementary school had a large library.   There were books on tall shelves all the way around.   As I remember those shelves, they have all sorts of ominously large, boring looking, no-pictures, adult-type books on most of the walls.  This was an elementary school, so most likely the books were for children, but I suppose reference books and encyclopedias didn't look that fun to a child.

At one point, we went as a class to the library for our weekly visit.   This particular week the librarian had set up stations for us to visit.   We could go to any of the stations we wanted, in any order.   Sometimes you had to do a lot of work at the station and other times you could do something quick and easy.   When you finished with the task at any given station, you returned to the librarian or your teacher and got something like a star or a stamp.   At the end, perhaps we got a bigger star or a bigger stamp on our paper to commemorate our newly-expanded knowledge.   I don't remember that part.

What I do remember is the librarian telling us about the stations and getting us excited before she let us run off and start work.   She told us there was one station that had a special word.  The only thing you had to do was figure out how the word was pronounced and you got your reward.    "Hey," I thought, "that sounds easy.  I like easy."   I dashed off to the station when she released us and found out what the word was.

The trouble was, "potpourri" doesn't look hard to pronounce.   But there was a dictionary at the table and a sheet with how to interpret pronunciation symbols.    We had to look up the word and figure out how it was pronounced in the dictionary.  I did the research and happily ran back to the librarian and blurted out the pronunciation.   She smiled at me and told me I had gotten it correct.

I still drive by my elementary school when I take my children to school, but the library is gone.   The whole school is gone.   They tore down the original building and built a new school on the side where the playground had been.    That library seemed huge to me as a child, I wonder how big it would seem as an adult?

The Big Boy Update:  My son saw his sister was wearing leggings tonight before dinner.   He suddenly wanted leggings.  He was upset that he didn't have leggings.   He told me he wanted to get some leggings and could they be dolphin leggings, please?  I told him I'd look to see if could find some.

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  My daughter came down in the middle of the night two nights ago.   She was upset about it being dark or she was cold, I wasn't sure because I was fairly asleep when she arrived.  I let her get into bed with us and told her she could stay for a few minutes until she got warm and then she could go back to her bed.   Our children have never slept with us.  That's been by intention.   A few minutes later, she got out of the bed and went back upstairs to her room without me saying anything.    I'm glad our children prefer and are happy and content in their own beds.

Fitness Facts:  I get a monthly update from the app I use to track my runs.  I was surprised at the numbers for March because I didn't remember running as much as it told me I did.   I ran over seventeen hours and tracked more than ninety miles.   Wow.

The Little Hammer That Could

My son went to a friend's house around the corner for a play date last week.   While he was there, the other two boys brought out their tool boxes and all three went down the hill behind the houses to do what I will stereotypically call, "boy things."  

They hammered on trees, they jabbed at roots and rocks with screwdrivers and they planned on felling several large, mature trees with arsenal of odds and ends in their tool boxes.   In short, they were having a great time.

I came home and thought how fun it would be to get my son a tool box and put some things in it for him to use.   I told both grandfathers and they plan on bringing some old things from their garages when they visit next.  In the meantime, I stopped at Lowes and got a very inexpensive, small tool box on the way home from an errand.  

I got a cheap, light mallet for him that I thought would be useful and then, on the way out, I walked by a display selling wooden car kits.    My son isn't up to the wooden car age yet, but I did see a child-sized hammer in the display that looked just my son's size.  

I got home with the tool box and the hammer and today I showed it to my son.  He ran outside and promptly used his new tools in the muddy plant bed my neighbor had spent all morning planting.   I directed him to the back yard and in short order, he and his friend, Rayan, were doing things with those tools—noisy things.

I was working inside on a computer thing that was fiercely holding my attention, but I went out from time to time to see what the commotion was.    Let me tell you, a tiny hammer in the hands of a small human being, does no less a hammer make.     There was destruction.

I had to redirect them multiple times because, hey, breaking two bricks into bits wasn't fun enough, they were planning on moving on to the remainder of the brick pile.  There were dents in things there should not have been dents in and one part of my husband's forge had an "invisible, unexplainable, no one did it" kind of accident happen to it.   Yeah...

Next time the tool kit comes out (which probably will be tomorrow,) I am going to have to be in a more watchful, advisory role it appears.

The Big Boy Update:  My son asked today if we knew what is favorite Transformer was.   We said we didn't know and found out it was Bumblebee.   He asked then if we knew who his second favorite Transformer was and again, we didn't know.  (Turns out it was Optimus Prime.)  He asked again, using the word, "third."   I wondered how far up he knew when he asked about his fourth favorite Transformer.   He got distracted with some food, but came back in a minute, asking about his sixth favorite.   Children absorb the most amazing pieces of information when you're not even trying for them to.

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  I called my mother the other day and asked my daughter if she wanted to talk to her.   She said she did.   I handed her the phone—on speakerphone as always—and my daughter took the phone and tried to hook it into the collar of her shirt.   To free up my hands, I hook the phone into my collar and put it on speaker phone.   It was very cute watching her talk to Mimi with the phone hanging down from he little shirt.

Punch You in the Penis

This post is about our Easter Lunch today, but you wouldn't know it by the title; that part came at the end.  

I am fortunate to have had my family join us for Easter lunch today.  Sometimes, I forget to be thankful for things.  Not only are both my parents living, both of my in-laws are living.  No one hates each other and we genuinely like each other.    Today, all four of my children's grandparents were at Easter lunch with us.

My mother had gotten the ham and some sides for our meal.  My mother-in-law made a delicious salad and my husband made mashed potatoes and rolls.   I did nothing.    I chatted with people and laughed when my son got naked in the back yard because he remembered the hose was back on from last fall.  

Oh wait, I did the Easter baskets and the eggs.  Okay, I feel better, for a bit I thought I was an Easter Day Slob.  When my parents were on the way over, they called and with the help of my in-laws and husband, got the baskets placed at the front door and the eggs hidden in the front yard.

The baskets were exciting to the children and the eggs were great fun for them to find.   I tried to make them more challenging (as opposed to just lying on the grass) but they made quick work of them.    We went back in to try and control their sugar intake and prepare lunch (that's the bit where I became less-than-helpful.)

Uncle Jonathan arrived and lunch was served.   We all are well and after my children ate enough to qualify for dessert, we told them they could have something from their Easter baskets.   We asked them if they would maybe share a piece of their candy with us.   My daughter said she would like to share a piece of candy with us.   My son told us if we took a piece of his candy he was going to punch us in the penis.

The Big Boy Update:  My son asked me this afternoon on the playground while I was adjusting the height of the swing, "are you practicing to be a human?"

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:   My daughter asked me this morning, "is it still spring?"

Molluscum Contagiosum

My son has something called Molluscum Contagiosum.   It started out as s few bumps on his stomach that we texted a picture of to our neighbor, who is a doctor.   She diagnosed it immediately, saying it will resolve on it's own in six months or so and there's not much to do.    Then he got more.

What it is is a fungus, or basically small wart-like bumps.   But because my son has eczema, his skin is more susceptible to transmitting it to new locations on his body (hence the contagiosum part.)   It is transmittable to other people, but he's the one at real risk because of his compromised dermis.

The pediatrician said to go to a dermatologist.   We've had an appointment for several weeks and are on the wait list for a cancellation, but we're still not in.    There is no magic cure or treatment, but we need some non-internet-based advice because the bumps are increasing in numbers rather quickly.  

They're doing this because he's scratching them until they bleed (because they itch) and then he's transmitting them elsewhere on his body...including his penis now.  

He is so unhappy at times.   We have him on Claratin and Benadryl at night for the time being, per the pediatrician's recommendation, and we would like to find a way for him to stop spreading them, but it's hard for him.  

The Big Boy Update:   After his bath tonight he was miserable because he was so itchy.  I put some medicine on him to address the itching.   It was shaking and screaming because his discomfort was fairly extreme.   He said, "I need a zipper bag!"  I knew what he meant and went to get him a zip-up pajamas with footies.   He got in the, "bag" and was able to calm down.    I feel so badly for him when he itches.

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  My daughter likes to select the beverage she wants from the newer machines that let you choose from what seems like a hundred choices.   For a while it was always something green, but lately she's branched out to something purple or pink.   The strawberry, carbonated water she picked the other day was quite good.

Fitness Update:  Ne shoes, ten miles and maybe the last real run before the marathon next week.  the new shoes did well on the pavement today.

Smoky

Our next-door neighbors had a bonfire tonight.   Wait, that's not right, they had a fire pit; bonfire makes it sound huge and this was just a few logs and a lot of smoke.    We saw them just as they were getting started and my children ran out because they hadn't seen them in a while and we ended staying up well past the children's bedtime to socialize and roast marshmallows.

Somehow (it was my fault) we all started doing cartwheels and hand stands.   Or, rather, all of us did except Stephen, the father, who just smiled and laughed at us.   My son got into the action and did forward rolls, cartwheels and rudimentary hand stands and we all cheered.

My daughter went home first, getting tired of the smoke and the late hour.   My son and I came later, smelling heavily of smoke.   The children are in bed now, still smelling of smoke but tired from a full day.   I'm still in my fire pit clothes as I write this, smelling liked smoked ribs and cartwheels.

The Big Boy Update:  We got home from school and as we opened the door from the garage, the dog greeted us as she always does, doing a stretch/bow with her front paws.   My son said, "look, Lucy's doing yoga."

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  We were riding on the highway a few days ago and my daughter said, "look, that car is sad."   The car in front of us had tail lights and trunk/body lines that did, indeed, make it look like a sad face.

The Paper Pile

This isn't about a pile of papers on my desk.   It isn't about a pile of papers my husband has on his desk (although trust me, there's a tall pile there I could say some things about.)   It's not about paperwork I need to complete or stacks of coloring work my children have done.   It's about a pile of paper napkins in my pantry.

We use cloth hand towels at our house when we eat.   I started years ago with a few white cloths for cleaning purposes and gradually grew to more and more cloth towels being used for more and more purposes.   When there were infants around, there was an even greater need for cloth hand towels for cleaning up all manner of things baby.

Today, we reach for a cloth hand towel for our napkin at meals.   I wash them after meals with the ones we used during the cooking and cleaning process and put them back in the "cloth drawer" when clean.

When we get drive-through food we get napkins.   When we order food at a restaurant for take-away and bring it home, we get napkins.   Commonly, there are more napkins that we need.   So, we put them in a stack in the pantry for when we need napkins next.  

Only we never get around to using them.    The stack is over two inches high and contains a mishmash of differently shaped and colored napkins with logos from many restaurants.

We do use paper towels from time to time.   Well, I say that; I use one every so-often, but other people come to the house and use them.   I wonder if  I could put a pile of napkins out and they'd use them instead?

The Big Boy Update:  I asked my son about his morning at lunch.   It was Grandparents day at school and Mimi and Gramps had come to his classroom to see him and look at what he did in the classroom.   I asked him how it went and then I asked him what work he showed Mimi.   He said, "that's enough talking," looked down and kept eating his food.

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  Hair Crazy.  My daughter's hair can go all kinds of crazy.   I think I may finally have a formula that works for her.   Wash, condition, spray heat protector spray, dry well and voila, the next morning her hair is calm and smooth looking.   Then, to add a bonus to the formula, I've found hair bands she will leave in that don't bother her.  

Fitness Update:  Six miles this morning in my Hoka shoes.   This afternoon, I returned my Hoka shoes to the store.   I got this fancy brand because they have thick, fluffy soles that make it feel like you're running on a marshmallow.   Many people love these shoes and I, too, would have preferred them except one of the shoes rubbed a blister on my foot.   I tried several things to get around the blister issue, but none worked for longer distances.   I took them back to the store I get most of my shoes from and through their guarantee, was able to exchange them for a pair of Brooks shoes designed for street running.   I hope to wear them for the upcoming Rock and Roll Marathon I'm running in two weeks.

That Wretched Rattle

There was a noise.   It was a little noise, but it was a noise that shouldn't have been there.   It was a noise that happened almost regularly, but not always.   And most infuriating of all, it was a noise I couldn't locate.

The minivan is a highly-useful vehicle I am so glad we decided to get.   With very few exceptions, I am completely and totally happy with it.   About a month ago the car developed a rattle.   It should have been a very easy rattle to figure out, because when you're driving, it's clear there's something like a marble in the cup holder in the center console.    Only there wasn't.

There are four cup holders in the center console and a big, open area underneath.   I looked through everything in there and there was nothing that seemed to be the culprit.   I found a "trash can ring" thing in the back of the center console that lifted up and was designed to hold a trash bag, only lifted up it didn't change the marble rattling sound I kept hearing.

Today I had just had it with the left turn, right turn rattle.   (I named it that because it rattled every time you turned.)   I pulled into a large parking lot and parked.  I pulled everything out of the center console.  I pulled everything out of the little compartment in the front of the dash, even though that wasn't where the sound was coming from.    Then I drove around the parking lot again, taking quick turns and swearing because the rattle was still there.

Was there a secret compartment in the center console?   I found a handle and pulled and discovered it was the handled that released the center console altogether.   I took it and pushed it into the back of the car and discovered a metal hook stuck underneath.  "AH HA!" (I said that loudly to myself in the car.)  "I would have never found that if I hadn't gotten really annoyed," I thought.    I drove off to confirm, doing another loop and heard the rattle, just like before, unchanged and persistently there.  

There was more swearing.   I took the free-standing center console and jangled it around, but I heard nothing from it.   I put it back in place and got into the back seat.   I shut the sliding door to the left and tried to get around the car seat to see if anything had been dropped into the compartments there.   I found goo.   I found crumbs.   And there was a french fry.

I closed the door to the right and checked there and found a coin stuck to the bottom of a pouch with some unknown substance.   Then, in the cup holder right at floor level, I found a half-inch long piece of green crayon.   Hard green crayon that had been rolling around every time I turned left or right.

I was too sticky to say, "AH HA!" again, but I was victorious, and that was enough.   I was able to get to the wipes easily, because everything we stored in the center console was sitting on the passenger seat.

The car was much quieter on the way home.   That could have been because there were no children in it, but regardless, there was no rattle.

The Big Boy Update:  I asked my son if he had had any new lessons in school lately.   He told me he had been working with the red and blue rods.  I asked him if he could tell me more about the work.   He was silent for a bit and then he said, "I'm telling you something with my mind."  I explained that was called, "telepathy" and that I was impressed.   He told me he was telling me how he worked with the red and blue rods.   (I still don't know how he works with the red and blue rods.)

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  My daughter came down for breakfast and looked at the sun coming in the windows.  She said, "too bright!" and shut the first blind.   Then she said, "too bright!" as she shut each subsequent blind.