I think my New Year's Resolution should be to update this blog more often. :/
Anyway, hello there!
We survived Hurricane Sandy. So did our house. Our side fence is a bit dented from a tree limb, but when your town tells you to get out because they don't expect the sand berm to hold and that now would be an excellent time to exercise your freedom of religion, and the only damage you end up with is a dented fence, it's really not even worth mentioning. Especially when the towns on either side of you are gone.
So what did we learn from this experience?
1. WeeBee has complete trust that I will keep him safe. The day before we evacuated, I was trying to bring as many things upstairs as I could, and pack our bags. WeeBee kept bringing all his toys, blankets, and paraphernalia back downstairs. I finally sat him down and told him that a terrible storm was coming and the water might come and take away all our things, so he had to stop bringing full sized blankets and 17 toy cars downstairs. Harsh? Perhaps, but, "WeeBee, stop bringing your things downstairs" wasn't phasing him. He listened to my description of the apocalpyse, blinked, and then said, "But Mommy, you will protect me! You will keep me safe!" Totally not the point I was trying to make, but probably exactly what I needed to hear at that moment. Also, it's nice to know that at least one person thinks you have your act together.
2. That flood gate that I always thought was kind of ugly and ruined the view when I went on a walk? Yeah, that's basically the reason I still have a house. Thank you, Army Corp of Engineers and whatever people agreed to that 25 years ago.
3. I have to say, the whole mess has given me a new appreciation for this little house. It's not perfect. This whole yearly evacuation thing is getting old. If I wanted to leave every fall, I would have bought a house with an ocean view in North Carolina. I'd love another closet and I'm not really a fan of stacked washer/dryers. A basement would be nice. But it's survived an earthquake and two hurricanes without any damage, and there are plenty of "nicer" homes in the towns around here that can't say that. It's a bit surreal to drive down the road and see a deck on the highway, or a two story house knocked off its foundation and left in the middle of a side street. I mean, you expect to see trees down, and some crushed cars and garages. The whole house-in-street thing I always associated with tornadoes. And when you've spent the night obsessively checking Facebook for updates and see that places that you wandered with your kids are gone, seeing your house is still there makes it look like the most gorgeous thing in the world.
4. Supermarkets after a week with spotty power and limited deliveries look like something out of Soviet Russia. We take our supermarkets seriously in this part of Jersey. Used to six different types of quinoa to choose from and eight kinds of tomatoes? Ha. Try a crate of butternut squash, a couple of cartons of orange juice, and some unidentified green vegetable that you vaguely remember seeing on the Food Network. And this was a week after the storm. I was seriously half expecting people to be selling things on the black market in the parking lot.
5. While there will always be people running around looting and scamming after something like this, there are also lovely people who will come from all over to help out. And even if you don't directly need that help as much as others, it's nice to know that when the Mayan apocalypse comes, maybe it won't turn into an episode of Extreme Preppers, with everyone shooting each other on sight, just because you think they're after the stash of canned yams hidden under the back steps that you announced on national tv. So, if any of you lovely people ever stumble upon this blog by accident, thank you.
I will try to update more often. I actually caught up with laundry the other day. For all of 15 minutes, because then WeeBee started dunking toilet paper in the toilet and splashing water all around the bathroom, which required towels, but for 15 glorious minutes I could say, "HAH! THERE IS NO LAUNDRY TO BE DONE!" So there is always hope that I could actually post more than once every three months. :)
Saturday, December 8, 2012
Monday, September 10, 2012
The Search for a Little Red Sweatshirt
Last week I realized that WeeBee had grown 3 or 4 inches since last September, and none of his pants fit him anymore. Well, I guess I had subconsciously realized that awhile ago, but it's much less noticeable when he wears shorts. The other day he tried on a pair of pants, and they turned into capris. Clearly something had to be done.
So, Saturday morning, we went on an adventure to Target. Now, the adorable thing about shopping with WeeBee, when he's not screaming that his sister is looking at him, or poking him, or thinking about touching his hair ten minutes from now, is that he is incredibly grateful and excited whenever you buy him something. And by that I mean grateful to the point where I almost feel like it sounds like the kid never gets anything and is fed once a week. Anyway, we found him a couple of pants and shirts, and because he was being so good, he even got a robot t-shirt that wasn't strictly Fall-clothes-related. (He's on a robot kick. More on that next time I post.)
Then we came to the sweatshirts. All I wanted was a boring little solid color hoodie. He could pick the color, but I was not having my three year old decked out in some garish thing looking like the spawn of a punk rock pirate and the anti-Christ. Yes, they do make stuff like that for preschoolers, and no, I'm not exaggerating...much. The point is, we're still on the trucks and dinosaurs level here.
Anyway, I found the boring hoodie rack. He told me he wanted a red sweatshirt. Sure enough, they had a whole bunch of beautiful, bright red ones. I picked one up, and noticed a sticker on it that said, "Check out my faux hawk!" Or words to that effect.
Confused, I opened the sweatshirt up a bit, and realized that it had this weird black fake fur mohawk thing going down the top of the hood. It was on all the red sweatshirts, and only the red sweatshirts.
Now, aside from the fact that this was totally not what I had in mind, my son would have looked absurd. It was one of the stupidest looking things I'd seen in a long time. It's so absurd that they apparently do not sell it on their website, otherwise I would include a link to show you all. I don't mind fake fur fuzzies around the front of a hood on a coat. Personally I think it's a bit girly, but I can live. This, however, looked like an animal crawled up on the hood, died, and then bled out. Bad choice of color, people.
Unfortunately, this left me explaining to WeeBee that he would not, in fact, be getting a red sweatshirt. His face looked a bit disappointed, but thankfully he didn't make a scene. I suggested a grey one instead, and he approved.
Fast-forward to this morning. Baby Lowly was taking a nap, and he had crawled up onto my lap to watch Daniel Tiger's Neighborhood. For those of you who haven't made this a regular part of your morning routine, it's essentially a reboot of Mister Rogers' Neighborhood, only without Mister Rogers, and it's all computer animated. Daniel Tiger's son (also named Daniel) is the main character. It's really cute, and WeeBee loves it.
Anyway, as we're sitting there, WeeBee told me, in a very soft voice, that the reason he wanted a little red sweatshirt was that little Daniel Tiger has a little red sweatshirt too. He wasn't being whiney, or demanding, or even asking for me to get him one. It was just like it was this little secret he'd been carrying around for the last two days, and he wanted me to know, in a teeny tiny voice.
And here I was thinking there was no thought behind his color choice beyond "Oooh, red is a bright color!"
So I asked, just this once, if he would like me to see if Kohl's had any red sweatshirts. After all, he's a little boy. Little boys get dirty. It's not like a second sweatshirt is going to go to waste around here. The next thing I know I'm getting a giant hug and a kiss and he's saying, "Oh, thank you, Mommy! Thank you!"
I have a feeling this is going to be the best $5 I've spent in awhile.
So, Saturday morning, we went on an adventure to Target. Now, the adorable thing about shopping with WeeBee, when he's not screaming that his sister is looking at him, or poking him, or thinking about touching his hair ten minutes from now, is that he is incredibly grateful and excited whenever you buy him something. And by that I mean grateful to the point where I almost feel like it sounds like the kid never gets anything and is fed once a week. Anyway, we found him a couple of pants and shirts, and because he was being so good, he even got a robot t-shirt that wasn't strictly Fall-clothes-related. (He's on a robot kick. More on that next time I post.)
Then we came to the sweatshirts. All I wanted was a boring little solid color hoodie. He could pick the color, but I was not having my three year old decked out in some garish thing looking like the spawn of a punk rock pirate and the anti-Christ. Yes, they do make stuff like that for preschoolers, and no, I'm not exaggerating...much. The point is, we're still on the trucks and dinosaurs level here.
Anyway, I found the boring hoodie rack. He told me he wanted a red sweatshirt. Sure enough, they had a whole bunch of beautiful, bright red ones. I picked one up, and noticed a sticker on it that said, "Check out my faux hawk!" Or words to that effect.
Confused, I opened the sweatshirt up a bit, and realized that it had this weird black fake fur mohawk thing going down the top of the hood. It was on all the red sweatshirts, and only the red sweatshirts.
Now, aside from the fact that this was totally not what I had in mind, my son would have looked absurd. It was one of the stupidest looking things I'd seen in a long time. It's so absurd that they apparently do not sell it on their website, otherwise I would include a link to show you all. I don't mind fake fur fuzzies around the front of a hood on a coat. Personally I think it's a bit girly, but I can live. This, however, looked like an animal crawled up on the hood, died, and then bled out. Bad choice of color, people.
Unfortunately, this left me explaining to WeeBee that he would not, in fact, be getting a red sweatshirt. His face looked a bit disappointed, but thankfully he didn't make a scene. I suggested a grey one instead, and he approved.
Fast-forward to this morning. Baby Lowly was taking a nap, and he had crawled up onto my lap to watch Daniel Tiger's Neighborhood. For those of you who haven't made this a regular part of your morning routine, it's essentially a reboot of Mister Rogers' Neighborhood, only without Mister Rogers, and it's all computer animated. Daniel Tiger's son (also named Daniel) is the main character. It's really cute, and WeeBee loves it.
Anyway, as we're sitting there, WeeBee told me, in a very soft voice, that the reason he wanted a little red sweatshirt was that little Daniel Tiger has a little red sweatshirt too. He wasn't being whiney, or demanding, or even asking for me to get him one. It was just like it was this little secret he'd been carrying around for the last two days, and he wanted me to know, in a teeny tiny voice.
And here I was thinking there was no thought behind his color choice beyond "Oooh, red is a bright color!"
So I asked, just this once, if he would like me to see if Kohl's had any red sweatshirts. After all, he's a little boy. Little boys get dirty. It's not like a second sweatshirt is going to go to waste around here. The next thing I know I'm getting a giant hug and a kiss and he's saying, "Oh, thank you, Mommy! Thank you!"
I have a feeling this is going to be the best $5 I've spent in awhile.
Friday, August 17, 2012
That's Impossible!
I like keeping the kids' smaller toys in baskets on their bookshelves. I think it looks cute, and it's easier for WeeBee to put his toys away when he knows all dinosaurs go in one basket, and all cars in another.
Unfortunately, it's also easier for them to dump everything out.
Like the contents of 5+ baskets down the stairs.
And while Mommy chases one little hoodlum, the other can dump another basket down the stairs, and run off giggling. Then when Mommy chases hoodlum #2, the first one can go right back to causing mayhem.
Somewhere between threatening to throw all the toys in a garbage bag and never letting them see the light of day again, and having hysterics over the mess, I told WeeBee he was being naughty.
WeeBee: (truly, deeply shocked) I not naughty, Mommy! That's impossible!
I see. Clearly, I should not have read "Click, Clack, Moo - Cow's That Type" to this child, because now everything is "impossible."
It's not that they have an obscene amount of toys. But when you're standing at the top of the stairs looking down at 50 alphabet blocks, half a dozen toy cars, 6 duplo blocks, and 2 dozen crayons that you swear are multiplying underneath the front doormat, what will take 15 minutes to clean up looks like it will take 2 hours.
And sometimes you just have to go have a cup of tea, write the day off as a disaster, and try to face the world again tomorrow.
Unfortunately, it's also easier for them to dump everything out.
Like the contents of 5+ baskets down the stairs.
And while Mommy chases one little hoodlum, the other can dump another basket down the stairs, and run off giggling. Then when Mommy chases hoodlum #2, the first one can go right back to causing mayhem.
Somewhere between threatening to throw all the toys in a garbage bag and never letting them see the light of day again, and having hysterics over the mess, I told WeeBee he was being naughty.
WeeBee: (truly, deeply shocked) I not naughty, Mommy! That's impossible!
I see. Clearly, I should not have read "Click, Clack, Moo - Cow's That Type" to this child, because now everything is "impossible."
It's not that they have an obscene amount of toys. But when you're standing at the top of the stairs looking down at 50 alphabet blocks, half a dozen toy cars, 6 duplo blocks, and 2 dozen crayons that you swear are multiplying underneath the front doormat, what will take 15 minutes to clean up looks like it will take 2 hours.
And sometimes you just have to go have a cup of tea, write the day off as a disaster, and try to face the world again tomorrow.
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
That Is the Answer
Around 6:30 Sunday morning, WeeBee weaseled his way into my bed. Well, a more accurate description would be that he scrambled up, climbed on my back, and then hung his head upside-down over my shoulder, so that when I opened my eyes, he was three inches away, grinning maniacally, upside-down.
WeeBee: Look, Mommy! It's a beautiful day!
Mommy: Uh huh.
WeeBee: Mommy, 1 + 1 is 2.
Mommy: Uh huh. Wait, what?
Every once in awhile, WeeBee comes out with something and I have absolutely no idea where it came from. Besides questioning what sort of child does math problems at 6:30 on a Sunday morning, he didn't learn this from me. I thought maybe he saw a math show on Nick Jr. at Paka's house, but my husband is convinced the only thing he watched was Blue's Clues and Pound Puppies (whatever that is.) I questioned WeeBee on it again later, and he was even more insistent.
Mommy: So, this morning, you told me 1 + 1 is 2.
WeeBee: Yes! 1 + 1 is 2. That is the answer.
Right.
Sadly, I must go, because my little tyrant has just questioned why the laundry hasn't been put away. I believe his exact words were, "Mommy, why is the basket on Daddy's chair? It's impossible!" (With the implication clearly being that I'm the impossible one, because the laundry basket is preventing him from bouncing on the chair and throwing mini beach balls behind it.)
WeeBee: Look, Mommy! It's a beautiful day!
Mommy: Uh huh.
WeeBee: Mommy, 1 + 1 is 2.
Mommy: Uh huh. Wait, what?
Every once in awhile, WeeBee comes out with something and I have absolutely no idea where it came from. Besides questioning what sort of child does math problems at 6:30 on a Sunday morning, he didn't learn this from me. I thought maybe he saw a math show on Nick Jr. at Paka's house, but my husband is convinced the only thing he watched was Blue's Clues and Pound Puppies (whatever that is.) I questioned WeeBee on it again later, and he was even more insistent.
Mommy: So, this morning, you told me 1 + 1 is 2.
WeeBee: Yes! 1 + 1 is 2. That is the answer.
Right.
Sadly, I must go, because my little tyrant has just questioned why the laundry hasn't been put away. I believe his exact words were, "Mommy, why is the basket on Daddy's chair? It's impossible!" (With the implication clearly being that I'm the impossible one, because the laundry basket is preventing him from bouncing on the chair and throwing mini beach balls behind it.)
Thursday, August 9, 2012
Puppies, Kittens, and Vladimir the Hedgehog
Or how to keep Lowly entertained when you are too tired to think...
Lowly has an ambivalent relationship with TV, with the exception of watching Gumby. (She can hear that theme song from across the house, will drop everything, and run into the living room to dance. It's awesome.) The rest of the time, she doesn't really acknowledge its existence.
Apparently, videos of baby animals on Youtube are more her speed.
Yesterday afternoon I took a nap to escape from the teething baby of doom who is getting 4 vampire teeth at once. (Incisors? The pointy ones in the front? I should just google this, right?) Anyway, my husband had the brilliant idea that Lowly might like to watch a video of baby puppies on Youtube. She went nuts. She would have spent the entire afternoon squealing at the computer screen if we had let her. Sadly, Daddy had to run errands eventually, so I found my delirious self camped out on the bed watching videos on my phone, and getting attacked by a drooling toddler who was hell-bent on kissing every adorable furry kitten that couldn't figure out how to climb out of a basket.
I think my husband might have regretted the whole thing when he heard me announce that I wanted a baby hedgehog, though.
Lowly has an ambivalent relationship with TV, with the exception of watching Gumby. (She can hear that theme song from across the house, will drop everything, and run into the living room to dance. It's awesome.) The rest of the time, she doesn't really acknowledge its existence.
Apparently, videos of baby animals on Youtube are more her speed.
Yesterday afternoon I took a nap to escape from the teething baby of doom who is getting 4 vampire teeth at once. (Incisors? The pointy ones in the front? I should just google this, right?) Anyway, my husband had the brilliant idea that Lowly might like to watch a video of baby puppies on Youtube. She went nuts. She would have spent the entire afternoon squealing at the computer screen if we had let her. Sadly, Daddy had to run errands eventually, so I found my delirious self camped out on the bed watching videos on my phone, and getting attacked by a drooling toddler who was hell-bent on kissing every adorable furry kitten that couldn't figure out how to climb out of a basket.
I think my husband might have regretted the whole thing when he heard me announce that I wanted a baby hedgehog, though.
Friday, August 3, 2012
Stinky, Smelly, Mushy Bananas
WeeBee takes a long time to unwind at the end of the day. There are days I wish I could put a trampoline in his bedroom and just let him go at it until he fell asleep. One of his favorite routines, aside from using his bed as a diving board, is telling me about his day. Then I have to tell him about his day. Then he tells me about his day, again.
Last night he started in on this while I was downstairs loading up the dishwasher. I admit I wasn't quite giving him my full attention until I heard this...
WeeBee: And I took the stinky, smelly...
Mommy: (thinking he's referring to the lentil soup I made for dinner that he refused to touch, that I'm still rather ticked off about) WeeBee, we don't speak about our food that way!
WeeBee: And I took the stinky, smelly banana, and I gave it to Lowly.
Mommy: What?
WeeBee: (pleased with self) I took the stinky, smelly, mushy banana, and I gave it to Lowly. Then I only had two slices of banana.
Mommy: (trying to figure out how grounded in reality this conversation is) You gave mushy bananas to Lowly?
WeeBee: Yes! And then I had two!
Mommy: You mean you took apart your sandwich?
WeeBee: Yes! And gave the stinky, smelly, mushy banana to Lowly! And she ate it!
So, as far as I can uncover, WeeBee did not approve of the quality of all of the banana slices on his peanut butter and jelly and banana sandwich at lunchtime. He then took the offending pieces of banana, and gave them to his sister, who has less discriminating tastes, leaving him with two slices of banana on his sandwich. All of which took place silently, within twenty feet of me, while I was unloading the dishwasher in the morning. He was quite gleeful, although whether it was because he tricked his silly little sister into eating subpar bananas or his problem solving skills, I couldn't actually tell.
I don't even know where to begin.
Last night he started in on this while I was downstairs loading up the dishwasher. I admit I wasn't quite giving him my full attention until I heard this...
WeeBee: And I took the stinky, smelly...
Mommy: (thinking he's referring to the lentil soup I made for dinner that he refused to touch, that I'm still rather ticked off about) WeeBee, we don't speak about our food that way!
WeeBee: And I took the stinky, smelly banana, and I gave it to Lowly.
Mommy: What?
WeeBee: (pleased with self) I took the stinky, smelly, mushy banana, and I gave it to Lowly. Then I only had two slices of banana.
Mommy: (trying to figure out how grounded in reality this conversation is) You gave mushy bananas to Lowly?
WeeBee: Yes! And then I had two!
Mommy: You mean you took apart your sandwich?
WeeBee: Yes! And gave the stinky, smelly, mushy banana to Lowly! And she ate it!
So, as far as I can uncover, WeeBee did not approve of the quality of all of the banana slices on his peanut butter and jelly and banana sandwich at lunchtime. He then took the offending pieces of banana, and gave them to his sister, who has less discriminating tastes, leaving him with two slices of banana on his sandwich. All of which took place silently, within twenty feet of me, while I was unloading the dishwasher in the morning. He was quite gleeful, although whether it was because he tricked his silly little sister into eating subpar bananas or his problem solving skills, I couldn't actually tell.
I don't even know where to begin.
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Security Items 2, Mommy 0
So, according to those parenting books, it is relatively normal for children to have security items. You know the type - teddy bears, fuzzy blankets, a dog with one eye that you aren't allowed to wash but you can smell from 10 feet away. My son has a full sized quilt that he drags around the house with him. How he has not killed himself going down the stairs with the thing, I will never know. Lowly has now decided to one-up him in the weirdness factor, and is demanding a pair of shoes.
When we were on vacation, Daddy picked out a cute little pair of denim shoes for Lowly. The other day she wore them for the first time for about 20 minutes. She spent the whole time running back and forth from the dining room to the kitchen, staring at her feet. When she inevitably fell, she would sit for a few moments and poke at the bows on top of the shoes, then hop up and keep running.
That evening I noticed she had little blisters on her feet. Nothing terrible, and nothing a pair of socks wouldn't prevent, but still, I felt bad. One year olds should not have blisters, even if they clearly aren't bothered by them. I put the shoes away under her bed, made a mental note to make sure she wore socks with them, even if she's just puttering around the house, and I decided to continue letting her run barefoot for a few days.
Last night, Lowly noticed the shoes under the bed, dragged them out and brought them to me. I informed her that it was bedtime, and handed them back. She then threw them at my feet, and for the next five minutes stood there yelling at me and stabbing her little feet into the shoes. (She couldn't quite figure out how to get them past the elastic strap on top.) I tried picking her up to rock her, but she arched her back, went all rigid, and screamed all the louder. All this coming from the child who will not wear sandals and likes to fling her socks around the car.
Finally, I gave in. It was late, I still had to get her brother to bed, and it sounded like he was trying to sneak himself a bowl of Cheerios downstairs. Figuring that she wouldn't get blisters from just wearing them (as opposed to walking in them) I put the shoes on her, picked her up, and rocked her again. This time, all was well. She absentmindedly played with the bows, and within 10 minutes, she was asleep. I'm not sure how I got the shoes back off without waking her up.
Yes, I know, I know I've created a monster. But she can scream until she's blue in the face - she's never walking out of the house with shorts with "juicy" written across the back.
When we were on vacation, Daddy picked out a cute little pair of denim shoes for Lowly. The other day she wore them for the first time for about 20 minutes. She spent the whole time running back and forth from the dining room to the kitchen, staring at her feet. When she inevitably fell, she would sit for a few moments and poke at the bows on top of the shoes, then hop up and keep running.
That evening I noticed she had little blisters on her feet. Nothing terrible, and nothing a pair of socks wouldn't prevent, but still, I felt bad. One year olds should not have blisters, even if they clearly aren't bothered by them. I put the shoes away under her bed, made a mental note to make sure she wore socks with them, even if she's just puttering around the house, and I decided to continue letting her run barefoot for a few days.
Last night, Lowly noticed the shoes under the bed, dragged them out and brought them to me. I informed her that it was bedtime, and handed them back. She then threw them at my feet, and for the next five minutes stood there yelling at me and stabbing her little feet into the shoes. (She couldn't quite figure out how to get them past the elastic strap on top.) I tried picking her up to rock her, but she arched her back, went all rigid, and screamed all the louder. All this coming from the child who will not wear sandals and likes to fling her socks around the car.
Finally, I gave in. It was late, I still had to get her brother to bed, and it sounded like he was trying to sneak himself a bowl of Cheerios downstairs. Figuring that she wouldn't get blisters from just wearing them (as opposed to walking in them) I put the shoes on her, picked her up, and rocked her again. This time, all was well. She absentmindedly played with the bows, and within 10 minutes, she was asleep. I'm not sure how I got the shoes back off without waking her up.
Yes, I know, I know I've created a monster. But she can scream until she's blue in the face - she's never walking out of the house with shorts with "juicy" written across the back.
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