Monthly Archives: April 2009

Jesse! Now Jerome…

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You know that saying “a picture’s worth 1,000 words?”

 

Well, I’ll take words for 1,000 Alex.

 

My kids have trained me well this year as  they have completed the transition from excited lower-elementary shining faced darlings to grungy surly angsty bus snobs.  If/when I drive them to school they get to sleep in 20 more minutes (but then again, so do I) and so the bus is kind of acting as our alarm clock.  And by “drive”  I mean “floor it through the neighborhood/school zones” because if you’re gonna miss the bus, then why not walk in the door AS the bell is actually ringing?   Remember the scene in Ferris Bueller where the principal is running down the hallway and then walking 2 steps whenever he passes a door?  That’s me but in the Pilot slowing down when I see another car in the neighborhood or cop at the intersection where the light is turning yellow.

 

So the ride to Three Oaks Elementary takes place from 7:50- 7:54 while the middle schoolers are still getting ready.  (I know.  They’re spoiled.  Shut up.  These are not your children).  The ride to Princess Ann doesn’t take place until 8:45- 8:55 so there’s a bit o prep still undone (by me)  ((namely hair)) on the elementary run that reaches completion by middle school run.  But not on Tuesday.

I walk in the door ‘tween trips on Tuesday and immediately hear some weird shuffling sounds coming from over my head.  Instead of looking up, I am distracted by the site of my daughter digging around in the hall closet where cleaning supplies are kept.  “What is this strange site?”  I ask myself.  “Why on EARTH would she be looking for something to CLEAN with?  I’m confused.”  Then the shuffling/flapping sound overhead again.  While daughter is frantically asking me:

“WHERESTHELONGSTICKWITHTHEREDPUFFYTHINGATTHEENDWENEEDALONGSTICKTOGETTHEBIRDOUT…”

..which I completely tune out while I look for the source of the sound and discover it in the window over the front door.  “Ohmygosh!  There’s a bird in our house.”  The three of us run around looking for long sticks and step stools or chairs for the next 97 seconds and then we formulate a plan.

“The walking stick won’t reach.  Stand on the chair.”

“I can’t.  I’m filming this for YouTube.”

“Want me to get the ladder?”

“Sure.   Good idea.  Get the ladder.”

flappityflappitypeckpeckflap  -feather shower-feather shower-   EEEEWWWWWW x 3 

Then we start talking to the bird.

“That’s a window, bird.  It’s like FAKE sky.  YOU CAN’T GET OUT THAT WAY.  See?  Still not working!”

“Come on, Birdie.  You can do it.  A little lower.  Trust the humans.  We’re trying to help you.”

“OHMYGOSHOHMYGOSHOHMYGOSHOHMYGAAAAAAAAAAAAAHSH”

The walking stick we’re poking at the bird is clearly not effective.  So 14 year old son helpfully announces.

“I’MONNA GET THE SURFBOARD!”

Sidebar:  This SAME brilliant-plan-making son has been unsuccessfully attempting to convince me all morning that he has contracted SwineFluenza and why did I not get him vaccinated back in the fall?  He has been moping around making sad little pitiful coughs and looking at me with eyes that won’t open all the way.  I’m not buying it.  Especially now that he’s found miraculous strength and the mental sharpness to formulate Project Surfboard Avian Rescue.

8th grade SupaStah shleps the previously unused (by us) Christmas present surfboard in from the garage.  7th grade Spielberg is still recording on her blue Rumor phone and I’m barking directions. 

“Get it up under her.  That’s it.  A little more to the right.  Don’t crush her tail!”

“Ah my Gah…that’s its butt.  THAT’S.  ITS.  BUTT.  NAYstee!!!”

We quickly realize that holding a surfboard straight up in midair and attempting to aim the other end  quickly becomes tiresome so we each take unsuccessful turns.  When it rotates back to 8th grade Stud Boy he ungracefully but with pride knocks the poor balding bird to the floor and she promptly shakes the “dust off her boots” as it were, and flutters away with a great story to tell on the telephone wire.

I turn to “sick” boy, call him a hero, and tell him he HAS to go to school now so he can tell of his daring rescue.  He reluctantly agrees and all is well with the world. 

 

After I sweep up the feathers.

 

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True Confession

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Sometimes? When my 4th grader is having a difficult time with homework, I give him hints and then walk away so he can try & figure it out by himself. As I climb the stairs, an image often comes to mind of a darling little 10 year old girl working swiftly through the same assignment.  She looks up from her neatly organized Trapper Keeper, poises her rainbow pencil with eraser intact under a replenished eraser topper; and smiles with adorable dimples at her pearl-wearing, aproned mom who is pulling the savory pot roast from the oven saying to her, “This [Science/Math/Word Study] is fun, Mom!”

Then I imagine sneaking into their home after midnight and spray-painting her hamster.

After which I may or may not make myself a roast beef sandwich.

I SOOOOOOOooooo       DO.  NOT.  HEART.  4th grade.

Not much, how ’bout you?

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Hi there.

It’s Spring Break and I’m 3 miles from the beach.

However, it’s rainy and cloudy, high of 50 and all anyone wants to do in my house is play Lego Star Wars 2.  I can’t even get a good glimpse at the Today Show without all manner of begging, whining and gang-up-ishness.

So I’m going to work.

I love that my kids are old enough to sleep in and feed themselves (who knows what they’ll eat, but still).

The youngest one is even old enough to do this:

 

april-2009-001

 

Happy Spring Break, ya’ll!

Way Back When-sday

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I can NOT believe this is happening.

I mean it was just “yesterday” when I got the first + on a stick.  January 1994

Then it wasn’t too long after that…April 1995 in fact, that we got another +

THEN it wasn’t too long after THAT…December 1995 that we got yet ANOTHER +

Then it was not quite 2 years later October 1998 we got a fourth +

 

 

And now 10 years later.  A fifth +     Backaches and diapers and spit up, Oh My.

 

 

 

 

Oh and one more thing…