My kids are complainers. There is no way to sugarcoat it. Even the slightest bit of work causes them to moan and whine. When the murmurs start to fly, my standard way to deflect them is to say, in an equally whiny voice, "Ooohhh, double double toil and trouble!" I was surprised one day to have Son #1 shoot back at me "Cauldron burn and cauldron bubble!" I asked how he knew the next line and he said "They said it on Mythbusters." Oh. I guess they're learning more than how to blow stuff up. I rounded out this "education" by explaining to them that it was a very well-known line from the Shakespeare play "MacBeth". I felt satisfied that I had taught them something and that they were just the tiniest bit more culturally literate for my having done so. Until a few days later, that is.
Once again, the whining started. I had dared to ask them to help me pair up the socks while I folded laundry. That's how mean I am. Anyway, as I began my mantra, the same Son #1 cut me off mid sentence and said "Yeah, yeah, double double toilet trouble." Stifling laughter I asked, just to make sure, "What did you say?" "Double double toilet trouble." I can accept him thinking that's what they were saying on Mythbusters...but that's what he thinks I've been saying all this time. Why would I say toilet trouble? That would make sense if I was complaining about one of them forgetting to flush, but not when work is the issue. I clarified for him that the phrase is toil and trouble, not toilet trouble. He agreed this made more sense and now understood why I say that when they complain about work.
I wonder what other stuff they think I'm saying? I'm not sure I even want to know.
Thursday, July 22
Friday, July 16
Travel Size
I'm sure everyone has things they swore they'd never do as a parent, only to end up doing them. Things like "I'll never park my kids in front of the TV, not for any reason" and "I'll never reward my kids with candy". And one The Mailman and I firmly agreed on; We will never, under any circumstances, buy our children gummy bear vitamins. The Mailman loves gummy bears, he buys them three pounds at a time, so it's not like he has anything against them. The problem comes from mixing the idea of candy and medicine, a definite no-no. Like business and pleasure, these two must never meet.
I don't know what happened, exactly. I can't remember anymore if it was because of the omega-3 fish ones or that the vitamin ones were the only kids' vitamins I could find with no artificial colors. The details are unimportant. For the last year or so, I have broken my own vow and given the children gummy vitamins. Every time The Mailman hears them exclaim "Yay! Vitamins!", he shoots me that Look. You know, the one that says simultaneously "I'm disappointed in you, you've gone against me, I told you so, this is exactly why I was against this, and you've possibly ruined the children." Most of the statements in the Look I can get behind as being true and he has a point, but ruined the kids? Please! I haven't ruined them, I'm making them strong and healthy. They will thank me for years to come, and when they do, I will remind them that Dad didn't want them to have gummy vitamins and omega-3 fish. That will teach him to include ruining them in the Look.
But then again, maybe he's right. I had to admit this to myself when we were at Target last night. Not for any of the reasons he thinks, no. Normally, I buy these offensive supplements how I buy most things--in a giant container from Costco, with one of their coupons when I can. As far as the children are concerned, this is the "normal" size. I guess it was this that prompted Miss P, upon walking past the gummy vitamin display, to pick up a truly "normal" size bottle of them and declare with surprise and giddiness, "Mommy, look! Travel size gummy bears! We can get this for when we go on a trip!" I didn't correct her. I just hung my head in shame and tried to catch up to The Mailman as he searched for a giant bag of gummy bears.
I don't know what happened, exactly. I can't remember anymore if it was because of the omega-3 fish ones or that the vitamin ones were the only kids' vitamins I could find with no artificial colors. The details are unimportant. For the last year or so, I have broken my own vow and given the children gummy vitamins. Every time The Mailman hears them exclaim "Yay! Vitamins!", he shoots me that Look. You know, the one that says simultaneously "I'm disappointed in you, you've gone against me, I told you so, this is exactly why I was against this, and you've possibly ruined the children." Most of the statements in the Look I can get behind as being true and he has a point, but ruined the kids? Please! I haven't ruined them, I'm making them strong and healthy. They will thank me for years to come, and when they do, I will remind them that Dad didn't want them to have gummy vitamins and omega-3 fish. That will teach him to include ruining them in the Look.
But then again, maybe he's right. I had to admit this to myself when we were at Target last night. Not for any of the reasons he thinks, no. Normally, I buy these offensive supplements how I buy most things--in a giant container from Costco, with one of their coupons when I can. As far as the children are concerned, this is the "normal" size. I guess it was this that prompted Miss P, upon walking past the gummy vitamin display, to pick up a truly "normal" size bottle of them and declare with surprise and giddiness, "Mommy, look! Travel size gummy bears! We can get this for when we go on a trip!" I didn't correct her. I just hung my head in shame and tried to catch up to The Mailman as he searched for a giant bag of gummy bears.
Tuesday, July 13
Makin' Whoopee!
I'm ashamed to say that it was me who started it. In Target, of all places. The Mailman said no, but the temptation was too great. I put the package of rocket balloons in the cart anyway. The kids will like them, I thought. They are only $2.49 and will keep them quiet for a while. They will enjoy seeing them zoom all over the living room.
Being a female and over the age of 12, it never occurred to me what else they would like about them. When you let them go and they fly about the room, they make a most magnificent farting sound. I'm surprised they could still hear it over the giggling and the peels of laughter and the arguing over whose turn it was to blow one up and "let it rip" next. Morning, noon, and night they tormented me with these balloons.
This time also happened to intersect with a trip to the boardwalk and the arcade. What better to buy with your skee-ball tickets than a brand new whoopee cushion? Nothing, apparently. Well, nothing but more packs of individually wrapped rocket balloons. So, in between launching rocket balloons, each of the kids took turns being angry with me for not buying the kind of furniture with detached cushions that you can hide a whoopee cushion under. No worries, though. It would seem it's just as much fun to blow it up and sit on it yourself.
I can only imagine what the neighbors think. I doubt I'll invite them to dinner any time soon as they must be highly suspect of my cooking. In fact, there goes one right now! A rocket balloon, that is, not a neighbor. I suppose it could be worse. I can't help but wonder if the Summer of Whoopee will be something they look back on fondly when they are older or something they collectively deny ever happened and use as proof that Mom is losing it and put me in a home. Either way, for me I think it will be like so many other things about being a mom. As maddening as it is right now, once it's gone I'm sure I will miss it.
Being a female and over the age of 12, it never occurred to me what else they would like about them. When you let them go and they fly about the room, they make a most magnificent farting sound. I'm surprised they could still hear it over the giggling and the peels of laughter and the arguing over whose turn it was to blow one up and "let it rip" next. Morning, noon, and night they tormented me with these balloons.
This time also happened to intersect with a trip to the boardwalk and the arcade. What better to buy with your skee-ball tickets than a brand new whoopee cushion? Nothing, apparently. Well, nothing but more packs of individually wrapped rocket balloons. So, in between launching rocket balloons, each of the kids took turns being angry with me for not buying the kind of furniture with detached cushions that you can hide a whoopee cushion under. No worries, though. It would seem it's just as much fun to blow it up and sit on it yourself.
I can only imagine what the neighbors think. I doubt I'll invite them to dinner any time soon as they must be highly suspect of my cooking. In fact, there goes one right now! A rocket balloon, that is, not a neighbor. I suppose it could be worse. I can't help but wonder if the Summer of Whoopee will be something they look back on fondly when they are older or something they collectively deny ever happened and use as proof that Mom is losing it and put me in a home. Either way, for me I think it will be like so many other things about being a mom. As maddening as it is right now, once it's gone I'm sure I will miss it.
Monday, July 12
Uncle Hank and the Great Vegetable Cover-up
The Mailman comes complete with his own cast of characters from the post office and his mail route. As a writer, this is good for me, especially since truth is stranger than fiction and most of them are better than anything I could ever make up.
Perhaps his dearest friend from work is Uncle Hank. Of course that's not his real name and he isn't even related to us, but whenever he sends cast off toys and treasures home to the kids, that's who we say they came from. A Toy Story book for the boys, outgrown Hello Kitty toys and clothes for Miss P, articles and recipes for The Mailman and me. Sometimes it is phone messages alerting us to great deals on Amazon or Woot!; Uncle Hank is the master of The Deal. It is this endearing aspect of his character that brings us to today's subject.
Two of the highlights of my day are when The Mailman calls me; once in the morning before he leaves "for the road" to deliver the mail, and once in the afternoon when he's done and on his way home. Since he gets home at different times depending on the day's mail volume, this ritual helps me plan my day. On Wednesday afternoon, amid the normal conversation he threw in "Oh, we have a juicer now." I didn't need to hear that it was from Uncle Hank, I knew that already. I knew that meant there was a story behind it and decided it was probably longer than I wanted to get on a cell phone and waited the hour till he got home to be enlightened.
Turns out, Uncle Hank spent his 4th of July holiday cleaning out the basement so he could get a new furnace. That is another story in itself, but it was during this that he ran across the juice machine and all the bad memories associated with it. It had been purchased at a yard sale, sealed and seemingly new. This is how it was sold by he and his wife on ebay, only to have the buyer discover it was not new and send it back. Our task is simply to make sure he never sees it again. We can handle that.
Well, the kids have loved it! Son #2, who never met a vegetable he didn't detest, will happily drink carrots and celery that have been turned into juice. Maybe he likes seeing the machine destroy them, I don't know. I don't care, either. I know drinking vegetables is not the same as eating them, and I will continue to do nightly battles with him to eat the tablespoon or two of veggies he is served with dinner. But still, I can't help feeling somewhat victorious when he asks me things like "Do you think we could put broccoli in there?" or "Can we get some beets to put in the juicer?". Even more than that, though, I feel grateful once again to have someone like Uncle Hank in our lives.
Perhaps his dearest friend from work is Uncle Hank. Of course that's not his real name and he isn't even related to us, but whenever he sends cast off toys and treasures home to the kids, that's who we say they came from. A Toy Story book for the boys, outgrown Hello Kitty toys and clothes for Miss P, articles and recipes for The Mailman and me. Sometimes it is phone messages alerting us to great deals on Amazon or Woot!; Uncle Hank is the master of The Deal. It is this endearing aspect of his character that brings us to today's subject.
Two of the highlights of my day are when The Mailman calls me; once in the morning before he leaves "for the road" to deliver the mail, and once in the afternoon when he's done and on his way home. Since he gets home at different times depending on the day's mail volume, this ritual helps me plan my day. On Wednesday afternoon, amid the normal conversation he threw in "Oh, we have a juicer now." I didn't need to hear that it was from Uncle Hank, I knew that already. I knew that meant there was a story behind it and decided it was probably longer than I wanted to get on a cell phone and waited the hour till he got home to be enlightened.
Turns out, Uncle Hank spent his 4th of July holiday cleaning out the basement so he could get a new furnace. That is another story in itself, but it was during this that he ran across the juice machine and all the bad memories associated with it. It had been purchased at a yard sale, sealed and seemingly new. This is how it was sold by he and his wife on ebay, only to have the buyer discover it was not new and send it back. Our task is simply to make sure he never sees it again. We can handle that.
Well, the kids have loved it! Son #2, who never met a vegetable he didn't detest, will happily drink carrots and celery that have been turned into juice. Maybe he likes seeing the machine destroy them, I don't know. I don't care, either. I know drinking vegetables is not the same as eating them, and I will continue to do nightly battles with him to eat the tablespoon or two of veggies he is served with dinner. But still, I can't help feeling somewhat victorious when he asks me things like "Do you think we could put broccoli in there?" or "Can we get some beets to put in the juicer?". Even more than that, though, I feel grateful once again to have someone like Uncle Hank in our lives.
Friday, July 9
Ubuntu to you, too!
As you can imagine, it can get lonely out in a mail truck by yourself for three or more hours at a time. What is The Mailman's solution to all this deafening solitude? Podcasts, people, podcasts! Near the top of his list is The Tech Guy with Leo Laporte. The Mailman and Leo go way back, all the way to our old house where we used to have cable and he could watch him on TV. I find his show about tech and helping people troubleshoot their techy problems enjoyable and entertaining. But The Mailman is way into it; he gets all the podcasts that come with it. Things like, This Week in Tech, This Week in Google, The Daily Giz Whiz, it just goes on like that. It is from somewhere in this realm that he learned the word "ubuntu".
Now, he already knew some other foreign words like Linux and Mozilla. Technically speaking, ubuntu is an ancient African word which means humanity to others, but technoligically speaking, it is an open source Linux operating system for desktops and laptops. Upon hearing this new word, The Mailman thought of our old, rather slow but quite reliable Dell Inspiron 1000 laptop. Like The Mailman and this Leo character, the laptop and I go way back.
Not quite as far back, but at least back to the time that it decided it didn't want to work anymore, right around a time when we didn't have money in the budget to replace it, and I spent several afternoons coaxing it back into utility with updates, defrags, disk sweeps, and whatever else it took to breathe life back into it. Eventually, it was replaced as the family computer by a new desktop, and the laptop was relegated to schoolwork for the kids and occasionally being pressed into service as a dvd player. Everyone seemed happy with this arrangement. Happy, that is, until ubuntu came along.
"What are you looking at?" I said one day to The Mailman as he sat at the computer. "Ubuntu", he said. Tempted to say bless you but suspcious already about what was coming next I said, "Oh, what's that?" An operating system, he said; we should put it on the laptop, he said. I'll order a disk from the Netherlands and create more postage, he said. When do you think it will come, he said. "Just when you've forgotten about it", came my standard reply to such questions.
Well, he must have forgotten about it on Wednesday, because that's when it came. Eagerly he opened it and looked it over as he waited for one of the children to bring him the laptop from its perch in the attic. With visions of sugarplums and a rocket-like ascent into the stratosphere of geekiness dancing in his head, the disk was slipped into the drive.
Were we through the looking glass? No, not yet. Not until the moment that I made the decision and said "Yeah, go ahead and install it over the Windows if you want." Or maybe it was the moment that ubuntu didn't install quite right on the laptop and he declared "I knew I should have gotten xubuntu instead. It's for older machines." Maybe it was when he spent 2 hours downloading xubuntu and burning it to a disc, or maybe it was when I spent half an hour installing xubuntu, or maybe when that didn't install right either...I'm not really sure anymore.
All I'm sure of is that the laptop needs me again. Can I bring it back one more time? We'll have to wait and see. Until then, I have at least learned two things. One, beware of husbands muttering strange words after listening to podcasts. Being alone in the hot sun inside of an aluminum can of a truck for hours and listening to geeky gurus can put crazy ideas into a person's head. And second, like Leo always says, before you do something to your computer, always back it up. Turns out, that's good advice.
Now, he already knew some other foreign words like Linux and Mozilla. Technically speaking, ubuntu is an ancient African word which means humanity to others, but technoligically speaking, it is an open source Linux operating system for desktops and laptops. Upon hearing this new word, The Mailman thought of our old, rather slow but quite reliable Dell Inspiron 1000 laptop. Like The Mailman and this Leo character, the laptop and I go way back.
Not quite as far back, but at least back to the time that it decided it didn't want to work anymore, right around a time when we didn't have money in the budget to replace it, and I spent several afternoons coaxing it back into utility with updates, defrags, disk sweeps, and whatever else it took to breathe life back into it. Eventually, it was replaced as the family computer by a new desktop, and the laptop was relegated to schoolwork for the kids and occasionally being pressed into service as a dvd player. Everyone seemed happy with this arrangement. Happy, that is, until ubuntu came along.
"What are you looking at?" I said one day to The Mailman as he sat at the computer. "Ubuntu", he said. Tempted to say bless you but suspcious already about what was coming next I said, "Oh, what's that?" An operating system, he said; we should put it on the laptop, he said. I'll order a disk from the Netherlands and create more postage, he said. When do you think it will come, he said. "Just when you've forgotten about it", came my standard reply to such questions.
Well, he must have forgotten about it on Wednesday, because that's when it came. Eagerly he opened it and looked it over as he waited for one of the children to bring him the laptop from its perch in the attic. With visions of sugarplums and a rocket-like ascent into the stratosphere of geekiness dancing in his head, the disk was slipped into the drive.
Were we through the looking glass? No, not yet. Not until the moment that I made the decision and said "Yeah, go ahead and install it over the Windows if you want." Or maybe it was the moment that ubuntu didn't install quite right on the laptop and he declared "I knew I should have gotten xubuntu instead. It's for older machines." Maybe it was when he spent 2 hours downloading xubuntu and burning it to a disc, or maybe it was when I spent half an hour installing xubuntu, or maybe when that didn't install right either...I'm not really sure anymore.
All I'm sure of is that the laptop needs me again. Can I bring it back one more time? We'll have to wait and see. Until then, I have at least learned two things. One, beware of husbands muttering strange words after listening to podcasts. Being alone in the hot sun inside of an aluminum can of a truck for hours and listening to geeky gurus can put crazy ideas into a person's head. And second, like Leo always says, before you do something to your computer, always back it up. Turns out, that's good advice.
Wednesday, July 7
April Showers in July
I would actually wish for April showers right now. We are on our second day of 100 degree temperatures here, with a couple more to come. No, the April Showers I am referring to is the latest Oddball Blanket I have contributed to. I knit the last section (the one at the top on the photo) and crocheted the border.
This blanket is actually April Showers II, the original one being knit last year. I did the last two sections (again, toward the top of the photo) and the border on that one as well.
I think that, looking at the two together, they came out pretty similar. The stitch patterns in this year's were all very vertical, suggesting falling rain. As always, it was a treat to be involved with these blankets and all the good ladies (and gents) of the Northeast regional group of Oddball Charity Knitters.
This blanket is actually April Showers II, the original one being knit last year. I did the last two sections (again, toward the top of the photo) and the border on that one as well.
I think that, looking at the two together, they came out pretty similar. The stitch patterns in this year's were all very vertical, suggesting falling rain. As always, it was a treat to be involved with these blankets and all the good ladies (and gents) of the Northeast regional group of Oddball Charity Knitters.
Tuesday, July 6
Postage Due
So, The Mailman is into self-preservation. I'm not talking about the wheat in the basement or the life hammer thing in the car, I mean postage. There are several ways this impacts our lives. Rule #1 is no electronic bill paying. Every month I write a pile of checks and stuff them into envelopes and put these pretty little stickers called "stamps" on them. Quaint, I know. I've written in the past about my Oddball Blankets and how I know he's calculated the amount of postage spent collectively on that project by all the knitters in all the groups in the US. We won't talk about the time one of my packages showed up on a UPS truck. He was not amused. And then there's his Swaptree. Swaptree is a site that facilitates trades of CD's, books, DVD's, and video games. I know he loves to get new CD's in the mail, but I think part of its appeal is the postage people spend on it.
Our most recent endeavor to Save the Mail is actually my fault. I was reading a magazine at the library called "Practical Homeschooling" and came across an article about a site called Postcrossing. This site gives you an address of a registered user somewhere in the world to send a postcard to. When they receive it and log it into the website, someone else is given your address, and you get a postcard from them. Now, Postal Preservation was not the first thing that came to mind. No, I am a mom, not a mailman. I thought of how wonderful it would be for the kids, how it would improve their writing skills, their penmanship, their geography, their understanding of different people and places and cultures. I pictured how we would track our sent and received postcards on the giant world map, the excitement every time a new one came. It was with all these lofty ideas swirling in my head that I showed the article to The Mailman and said breathlessly, "Read this!"
I watched anxiously as he read it and waited for his response. Yes, he agreed, it sounded like a good idea. So, once we registered and got our first address, all we need to do is find a postcard. Easy, right? No, not easy. I can't find a postcard anywhere. This has been incredibly frustrating as I have spent most of my holiday weekend searching out postcards in what seemed to me the most obvious places. Forget that the lady in Leipzig, Germany we are sending it to has requested postcards of libraries or reading related themes. I'd settle for any old postcard. On the way home from another fruitless search last night, I had a brainstorm...I wonder if you can get postcards made from your photos at Costco?
Yes, hooray, yes you can! For 69 pennies they will turn any photo you take into a postcard! My project has become fun once again. We will take a picture of the library in the town we live in and make a postcard. The children will indeed hone their writing, penmanship, and geography skills. We will generate postage, even international postage. What joy I have found thanks to two of my favorite places: the library and Costco.
Our most recent endeavor to Save the Mail is actually my fault. I was reading a magazine at the library called "Practical Homeschooling" and came across an article about a site called Postcrossing. This site gives you an address of a registered user somewhere in the world to send a postcard to. When they receive it and log it into the website, someone else is given your address, and you get a postcard from them. Now, Postal Preservation was not the first thing that came to mind. No, I am a mom, not a mailman. I thought of how wonderful it would be for the kids, how it would improve their writing skills, their penmanship, their geography, their understanding of different people and places and cultures. I pictured how we would track our sent and received postcards on the giant world map, the excitement every time a new one came. It was with all these lofty ideas swirling in my head that I showed the article to The Mailman and said breathlessly, "Read this!"
I watched anxiously as he read it and waited for his response. Yes, he agreed, it sounded like a good idea. So, once we registered and got our first address, all we need to do is find a postcard. Easy, right? No, not easy. I can't find a postcard anywhere. This has been incredibly frustrating as I have spent most of my holiday weekend searching out postcards in what seemed to me the most obvious places. Forget that the lady in Leipzig, Germany we are sending it to has requested postcards of libraries or reading related themes. I'd settle for any old postcard. On the way home from another fruitless search last night, I had a brainstorm...I wonder if you can get postcards made from your photos at Costco?
Yes, hooray, yes you can! For 69 pennies they will turn any photo you take into a postcard! My project has become fun once again. We will take a picture of the library in the town we live in and make a postcard. The children will indeed hone their writing, penmanship, and geography skills. We will generate postage, even international postage. What joy I have found thanks to two of my favorite places: the library and Costco.
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