Zoey and I were driving home from my Aunt Cindy's last night, after I had been to the gym. (Cindy is kind and gracious enough to watch Zoey every Tuesday evening so I can sneak in a work out. My goal is always to be home in time to watch the last half of The Biggest Loser.)
(And by the way, nobody told me it was only going to be a one hour program this week. I know I'm out of touch, but COME ON. I was all cozied up on my couch at 9 p.m. to at least see the weigh-ins...and somebody walks off?!? scandalous!...but all I got was some new show called The Voice. Whatever.)
Zoey: (from the backseat) Mom, what is the biggest lizard?
Me: Ummmm, you mean, in the world? I have no idea.
Zoey: No! The BIGGEST. LIZARD.
Me: Yeah, still don't really know. We can Google it when we get home.
Zoey: (With all the frustration a misunderstood preschooler can muster) NO, MOMMY! THE SHOW YOU WERE TELLING ABOUT AT AUNT CINDY'S!
Me: OH. The Biggest Loser?
Zoey: Yes! What is that!
Yet another example of how incredibly slow Zoey's mother can be at times.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Echo of the Gecko
Scene: Petco, wandering through the reptile/rodent/furry beast aisle with Zoey. (A detour from the cat food section, so Zoey could drool over all the animals she'd love to own, including but not limited to a lizard, a ferret, two hamsters, and a handful of white mice.)
Zoey: Mommy, what's that?
Me: Hmmm...the sign says it's a gecko.
Zoey: Ooh! A gecko! Does it copy back what you say?
Me: Pardon?
Zoey: You know! Does it copy what you say!
Me: Um, no.
*Pause*
Me: Wait. Do you mean, like an echo?
Zoey: YEAH! GECKO!
She still wants one, even if it will never repeat what she says.
Zoey: Mommy, what's that?
Me: Hmmm...the sign says it's a gecko.
Zoey: Ooh! A gecko! Does it copy back what you say?
Me: Pardon?
Zoey: You know! Does it copy what you say!
Me: Um, no.
*Pause*
Me: Wait. Do you mean, like an echo?
Zoey: YEAH! GECKO!
She still wants one, even if it will never repeat what she says.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Wow.
Seen on an elementary school reader-board a few weeks ago:
KINDERGARTEN REGISTRATION, MARCH 23, 6-8 P.M.
I stared, in awe. Nearly causing an accident, most likely. Because it hit me then...at this time next year, I will be registering my baby for kindergarten.
Amazing.
KINDERGARTEN REGISTRATION, MARCH 23, 6-8 P.M.
I stared, in awe. Nearly causing an accident, most likely. Because it hit me then...at this time next year, I will be registering my baby for kindergarten.
Amazing.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Long time no update
March 20? Is that seriously the last time I posted something here?
Oi.
I feel as though borderline-spring-rain-depression has settled in at our house. We got a brief glimpse of some sunshine on Friday afternoon and Zoey was so overwhelmed, I found her sitting up against the glass doors of the playground when I picked her up, because 'the shade is over here, Mommy, the sun is so BRIGHT!'. Other than that, it has been non-stop gray clouds and dripping, relentless rain. The red wagon, the small Weber BBQ, and Zoey's wee Dora training-wheel bike, all pulled prematurely from the shed back in mid-March, are sitting sadly on the patio, WAITING FOR THE DAMN RAIN TO STOP.
Hmmm. Maybe March 20 was the last day we had no clouds and rain?
At any rate, we are still here, despite my lack of writing lately. Zoey is still happy, healthy, pale, and probably lacking in vitamin D. I briefly pondered signing her up for yet another gym class at the Y, to add to her repertoire of ballet and gymnastics. Four-year-olds need to get their wiggles out in a bad way, otherwise it's the highway to 10 pm bedtime, you know? But when I asked if she'd like to sign up for sports camp with Coach Leah, I swear she rolled her eyes at me. And then, when it was established that a black leotard and tutu are not the standard uniform for sports camp, well...a big, fat, no-thank-you Mommy was all I got.
Maybe next session.
Most days, Zoey is quite content to stay at home and play pretend, creating elaborate stories that usually mean she gets to boss me around in one form or another. We play Mommy Cat and Baby Cat, Daycare Teacher, Rapunzel. She takes her 'homework' quite seriously and can spend wonderfully quiet chunks of time at the dining room table, writing in her preschool workbooks. When I lay in bed and read at night, if she is still awake, she insists on getting her own 'chapter book', usually a Ramona Quimby book or something starring a girl named Junie B. Jones, but at any rate with no pictures, and laying next to me, staring at the pages, turning them at the same rate I do. When I ask if she'd like to get one of her library books, something with pictures, she tells me no, she'd rather be just like me. Mommy, are you going to turn a page again soon? Are you ready? How about now?
So there you have it. Something of an update. Rain, rain, go away, so this Mommy and Kiddo can go back out and play.
Oi.
I feel as though borderline-spring-rain-depression has settled in at our house. We got a brief glimpse of some sunshine on Friday afternoon and Zoey was so overwhelmed, I found her sitting up against the glass doors of the playground when I picked her up, because 'the shade is over here, Mommy, the sun is so BRIGHT!'. Other than that, it has been non-stop gray clouds and dripping, relentless rain. The red wagon, the small Weber BBQ, and Zoey's wee Dora training-wheel bike, all pulled prematurely from the shed back in mid-March, are sitting sadly on the patio, WAITING FOR THE DAMN RAIN TO STOP.
Hmmm. Maybe March 20 was the last day we had no clouds and rain?
At any rate, we are still here, despite my lack of writing lately. Zoey is still happy, healthy, pale, and probably lacking in vitamin D. I briefly pondered signing her up for yet another gym class at the Y, to add to her repertoire of ballet and gymnastics. Four-year-olds need to get their wiggles out in a bad way, otherwise it's the highway to 10 pm bedtime, you know? But when I asked if she'd like to sign up for sports camp with Coach Leah, I swear she rolled her eyes at me. And then, when it was established that a black leotard and tutu are not the standard uniform for sports camp, well...a big, fat, no-thank-you Mommy was all I got.
Maybe next session.
Most days, Zoey is quite content to stay at home and play pretend, creating elaborate stories that usually mean she gets to boss me around in one form or another. We play Mommy Cat and Baby Cat, Daycare Teacher, Rapunzel. She takes her 'homework' quite seriously and can spend wonderfully quiet chunks of time at the dining room table, writing in her preschool workbooks. When I lay in bed and read at night, if she is still awake, she insists on getting her own 'chapter book', usually a Ramona Quimby book or something starring a girl named Junie B. Jones, but at any rate with no pictures, and laying next to me, staring at the pages, turning them at the same rate I do. When I ask if she'd like to get one of her library books, something with pictures, she tells me no, she'd rather be just like me. Mommy, are you going to turn a page again soon? Are you ready? How about now?
So there you have it. Something of an update. Rain, rain, go away, so this Mommy and Kiddo can go back out and play.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Revisiting the Moment from earlier this week
I started this post last week about the heartbreaking sweetness of parenting a four-year-old. Because, for the past several weeks, Zoey and I have been clicking along in our rhythms and routines so fluidly, with so FEW time-outs, that it makes me pause and consider how delightful her stage of development happens to be.
'Mommy, we can't SEE heaven, because it's behind all those clouds!'
'What is recycling? How do you make new things out of old things, really?'
'We have a food tube in our throat that makes food go to our tummies! It's called your eshopagesh!'
I was having this moment where I was enthralled by her learning, her desire to soak up information around her. We've spent a lot of time at the dinner table discussing human anatomy. There is a special focus on the digestive system, of course...we're working on the term 'peristalsis' right now. And questions and statements about the reproductive system that make me cover my mouth quickly so she won't see me laughing. I love her innocent take on the world, the way she has no idea her questions are completely off the wall, and therefore is not embarrassed or ashamed to ask them all.
So yeah. I was sitting in the livingroom, close to bed time, have a Moment. Which is exactly when Zoey trounced out to the couch and requested Cheez-Its. Which is when I reminded her we had polished off the box earlier in the day. Which prompted this response, complete with red face and hands balled on hips:
'MOMMY. You shouldn't have eaten so many of them! If you hadn't eaten so many of them, I could have some NOW!'
Which ended in her dissolving to tears and running to her bedroom, and me clicking 'delete' on the post, seeing as how the Moment was ruined.
But trust me when I say she is less bipolar now than she was a year ago.
'Mommy, we can't SEE heaven, because it's behind all those clouds!'
'What is recycling? How do you make new things out of old things, really?'
'We have a food tube in our throat that makes food go to our tummies! It's called your eshopagesh!'
I was having this moment where I was enthralled by her learning, her desire to soak up information around her. We've spent a lot of time at the dinner table discussing human anatomy. There is a special focus on the digestive system, of course...we're working on the term 'peristalsis' right now. And questions and statements about the reproductive system that make me cover my mouth quickly so she won't see me laughing. I love her innocent take on the world, the way she has no idea her questions are completely off the wall, and therefore is not embarrassed or ashamed to ask them all.
So yeah. I was sitting in the livingroom, close to bed time, have a Moment. Which is exactly when Zoey trounced out to the couch and requested Cheez-Its. Which is when I reminded her we had polished off the box earlier in the day. Which prompted this response, complete with red face and hands balled on hips:
'MOMMY. You shouldn't have eaten so many of them! If you hadn't eaten so many of them, I could have some NOW!'
Which ended in her dissolving to tears and running to her bedroom, and me clicking 'delete' on the post, seeing as how the Moment was ruined.
But trust me when I say she is less bipolar now than she was a year ago.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Now my palms are all sweaty
It's official. Rikki and I are registered for two half-marathons, one in June, and one in July.
We will do the Rock 'n Roll half marathon in Seattle on June 25, and the Fueled by Fine Wine half in Dundee, Oregon, on July 10. Because what's not to love about following a 13 mile run with some wine tasting, right?
I am getting ready to do a five mile run this morning. The thought of being ready to bust out 13 miles in just a few short months makes me feel...a little panicky. Itchy. 13 miles seems like a LOT.
One run at a time. One mile at a time. Right?
We will do the Rock 'n Roll half marathon in Seattle on June 25, and the Fueled by Fine Wine half in Dundee, Oregon, on July 10. Because what's not to love about following a 13 mile run with some wine tasting, right?
I am getting ready to do a five mile run this morning. The thought of being ready to bust out 13 miles in just a few short months makes me feel...a little panicky. Itchy. 13 miles seems like a LOT.
One run at a time. One mile at a time. Right?
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Do all kids go through this phase?
Scene: Living room. The Cat in the Hat Knows A Lot About That playing in the background. Coffee mugs and hot milk cups strewn about haphazardly, pajamas still in place. It must be Saturday.
Zoey: (playing with the cord that connects her wee little mouse to her wee little Barbie laptop) Pew-pew-pew-pew-pew!
Me: What are you doing?
Zoey: (all too casual for my liking) Killing people.
Me: EXCUSE ME? Why?
Zoey: (Apparently put off by my tone of voice, she casts the cord aside) I dunno.
And, just like that, she was back to her markers and firefighter coloring book while watching cartoons.
So, here is my question: do ALL children go through a phase where playing with guns seems like a cool thing? Even those who have never been encouraged by their parents to do so? I feel like I have had the standard gun conversations with my daughter, on the rare occasions when she has come home from preschool and aimed her tiny pointer finger at me and proclaimed 'bang, bang, you're dead!' because that's how Donavin plays at school. You know, the 'guns are dangereous, they are NOT toys, and in this house we do not even pretend like we are playing with them'...so I don't know. Just a phase, maybe? Just freaky to see a kiddo who prizes her art box and dress up clothing more than anything suddenly turn in to a miniature killing machine with her computer cord?
Curious to hear your thoughts...
Zoey: (playing with the cord that connects her wee little mouse to her wee little Barbie laptop) Pew-pew-pew-pew-pew!
Me: What are you doing?
Zoey: (all too casual for my liking) Killing people.
Me: EXCUSE ME? Why?
Zoey: (Apparently put off by my tone of voice, she casts the cord aside) I dunno.
And, just like that, she was back to her markers and firefighter coloring book while watching cartoons.
So, here is my question: do ALL children go through a phase where playing with guns seems like a cool thing? Even those who have never been encouraged by their parents to do so? I feel like I have had the standard gun conversations with my daughter, on the rare occasions when she has come home from preschool and aimed her tiny pointer finger at me and proclaimed 'bang, bang, you're dead!' because that's how Donavin plays at school. You know, the 'guns are dangereous, they are NOT toys, and in this house we do not even pretend like we are playing with them'...so I don't know. Just a phase, maybe? Just freaky to see a kiddo who prizes her art box and dress up clothing more than anything suddenly turn in to a miniature killing machine with her computer cord?
Curious to hear your thoughts...
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Sunday mornings
Sunday mornings are for coffee and lounging on the couch in your pajamas. At least, until the babysitter gets here...then it's time to stuff yourself in your running clothes and head out in to the gorgeous cold, where you will force yourself to run 2.5 miles even though you helped your sister and brother-in-law move yesterday and every muscle and bone in your body is screaming at you. Sunday morning runs are for slower paces and listening to Wait, Wait...Don't Tell Me. And not caring that your pace has dropped from twelve minutes to fifteen.
Sunday mornings are for watching Super Why and painstakingly copying down the letters they discover with your Crayola markers, on the scratch paper Mommy brought home for you from work. They are for two cups of hot milk and Frosted Mini Wheats in a small plastic bowl, after you 'slept in' until 7:45.
Sunday mornings mean the washing machine is humming, you are halfway through this week's edition of The New Yorker (Tina Fey!), and you are debating what to cook for dinner. Because Sunday means you actually have time to prepare something, not rush home from work and merely throw something frozen in the oven.
Sunday mornings are for perusing your blog roll and catching up on everything you haven't read this week. They are for reassuring your daughter that it's okay to not color perfectly within the lines all the time. They are for playing 'if you were a dinosaur, which one would you be?'. They are for letting your child 'help' start the dishwasher and put clothes in the dryer, even though it takes ten times longer than it would if you did it yourself.
Happy Sunday morning, everyone.
Sunday mornings are for watching Super Why and painstakingly copying down the letters they discover with your Crayola markers, on the scratch paper Mommy brought home for you from work. They are for two cups of hot milk and Frosted Mini Wheats in a small plastic bowl, after you 'slept in' until 7:45.
Sunday mornings mean the washing machine is humming, you are halfway through this week's edition of The New Yorker (Tina Fey!), and you are debating what to cook for dinner. Because Sunday means you actually have time to prepare something, not rush home from work and merely throw something frozen in the oven.
Sunday mornings are for perusing your blog roll and catching up on everything you haven't read this week. They are for reassuring your daughter that it's okay to not color perfectly within the lines all the time. They are for playing 'if you were a dinosaur, which one would you be?'. They are for letting your child 'help' start the dishwasher and put clothes in the dryer, even though it takes ten times longer than it would if you did it yourself.
Happy Sunday morning, everyone.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Watching TV shouldn't require this much effort
I need a TV show.
At least, that's what I told myself last week. A grown-up show. Something that makes me fairly excited for a mundane weekday, because I can tell myself 'ooh, it's X day and that means I get to watch X show tonight!'
I picked the show Parenthood for several reasons. Abby got me semi-hooked on it last year when we visited her in Colorado, and it's actually pretty funny. The characters are just believable enough, and seeing Lauren Graham star yet again as a slightly-screwy mom makes me a little less homesick for the days when Gilmore Girls was still on the air.
The 10 pm time slot, however, seemed daunting. Remember, we're talking about a girl who is routinely in bed by 9 pm. How on earth do people stay up until 11 pm watching TV?? I sternly reminded myself that if I wanted to become less lame in the year 2011, I'd better learn to stay up longer than my daughter. Because nobody wants to date a girl who has to hurry through dinner so she can get home to bed, am I right?
As a bonus, I started taking a hot yoga class again on Tuesday evenings, something I thought would help me stay up a bit later in the evening. I typically feel pretty energized after class, and last Tuesday worked out perfectly. By the time I got home and showered, it was time for the show to start. I felt like such a grown-up! Staying up so late! Watching a TV show that didn't star furry animals or focus on the alphabet!
So. Last night, I picked Zoey up at my sister's house after yoga class with the same resolve to come home, shower, get the munchkin down for bed, and curl up on the couch. Jon Corbett was going to star on Parenthood and I didn't want to miss it! (See? A movie star I can actually recognize? I am SO moving up in the world.)
I remember showering. I distinctly remember ushering the grumpiest preschooler in the world off to bed. I recall laying down next to her to rub her head as she drifted off to sleep.
And then I remember it being somewhere around 4 am.
SHIT.
Maybe I can watch the episode I missed online tonight. That is, if I can stay up longer than Zoey. Clearly, I have a ways to go in my efforts to become more hip this year.
At least, that's what I told myself last week. A grown-up show. Something that makes me fairly excited for a mundane weekday, because I can tell myself 'ooh, it's X day and that means I get to watch X show tonight!'
I picked the show Parenthood for several reasons. Abby got me semi-hooked on it last year when we visited her in Colorado, and it's actually pretty funny. The characters are just believable enough, and seeing Lauren Graham star yet again as a slightly-screwy mom makes me a little less homesick for the days when Gilmore Girls was still on the air.
The 10 pm time slot, however, seemed daunting. Remember, we're talking about a girl who is routinely in bed by 9 pm. How on earth do people stay up until 11 pm watching TV?? I sternly reminded myself that if I wanted to become less lame in the year 2011, I'd better learn to stay up longer than my daughter. Because nobody wants to date a girl who has to hurry through dinner so she can get home to bed, am I right?
As a bonus, I started taking a hot yoga class again on Tuesday evenings, something I thought would help me stay up a bit later in the evening. I typically feel pretty energized after class, and last Tuesday worked out perfectly. By the time I got home and showered, it was time for the show to start. I felt like such a grown-up! Staying up so late! Watching a TV show that didn't star furry animals or focus on the alphabet!
So. Last night, I picked Zoey up at my sister's house after yoga class with the same resolve to come home, shower, get the munchkin down for bed, and curl up on the couch. Jon Corbett was going to star on Parenthood and I didn't want to miss it! (See? A movie star I can actually recognize? I am SO moving up in the world.)
I remember showering. I distinctly remember ushering the grumpiest preschooler in the world off to bed. I recall laying down next to her to rub her head as she drifted off to sleep.
And then I remember it being somewhere around 4 am.
SHIT.
Maybe I can watch the episode I missed online tonight. That is, if I can stay up longer than Zoey. Clearly, I have a ways to go in my efforts to become more hip this year.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
You may now resume your normal levels of caffeination
I have spent a groggy, hazy week trying hard to cut down my caffeine intake, with unimpressive results.
And guess what? Turns out, according to my own un-scientific research, caffeine does not impact my bladder's lack of control quite as much as I had previously thought. By a magical stroke of luck, I secured babysitters each morning this weekend and set out to jog early as opposed to my normal late-afternoon, after-work routine. And the effects of gravity and pavement seemed far kinder in the morning, even post-two-cups-of-coffee, then they were late in the day. Maybe the cumulative effects of my daily intake render my bladder useless after 4 p.m. And while I have discovered I can typically survive an afternoon at work without a second Diet Coke, my level of fuzziness in the morning without that second (or...third...) cup of coffee just makes life seem not worth living.
I am finding an added benefit to running, one I hadn't anticipated when I first picked up the habit...problem solving. Running has presented all sorts of challenges in my life, and instead of giving up, it's interesting to find ways to work around them. Shin splints? Stretch before you run. Babysitters? Plan for them, lots of them. Two miles takes a half hour away from your child and makes you a better mother, so ditch the guilt. Chronic pants-wetting? Work in progress, but we're getting there.
It feels good to have a healthy challenge in my life this year, as opposed to 2010's disastrous set of problems. The further I run, the more I push my body, the more I feel like I am in control of my life.
And that feels good.
And guess what? Turns out, according to my own un-scientific research, caffeine does not impact my bladder's lack of control quite as much as I had previously thought. By a magical stroke of luck, I secured babysitters each morning this weekend and set out to jog early as opposed to my normal late-afternoon, after-work routine. And the effects of gravity and pavement seemed far kinder in the morning, even post-two-cups-of-coffee, then they were late in the day. Maybe the cumulative effects of my daily intake render my bladder useless after 4 p.m. And while I have discovered I can typically survive an afternoon at work without a second Diet Coke, my level of fuzziness in the morning without that second (or...third...) cup of coffee just makes life seem not worth living.
I am finding an added benefit to running, one I hadn't anticipated when I first picked up the habit...problem solving. Running has presented all sorts of challenges in my life, and instead of giving up, it's interesting to find ways to work around them. Shin splints? Stretch before you run. Babysitters? Plan for them, lots of them. Two miles takes a half hour away from your child and makes you a better mother, so ditch the guilt. Chronic pants-wetting? Work in progress, but we're getting there.
It feels good to have a healthy challenge in my life this year, as opposed to 2010's disastrous set of problems. The further I run, the more I push my body, the more I feel like I am in control of my life.
And that feels good.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Too much of a good thing
It pains me to admit this.
Believe me.
But I may need to cut down on my caffeine intake if I ever plan to run a half marathon and NOT wear Depends while doing so.
A three mile jog/walk after work tonight met the collective damage of my two cups of coffee, triple shot latte, and one can of Diet Coke in an epic pants-wetting meltdown. It wasn't pretty. And I can blame a rough day in the Recovery Room all I want for that excessive (even for me) amount of caffeinated units...but the bottom line is that I'd really love to run a few miles without immediately needing to change my pants afterwards.
Training for a half marathon sounds easy compared to the daunting task of cutting back on caffeine. Sad, no?
Believe me.
But I may need to cut down on my caffeine intake if I ever plan to run a half marathon and NOT wear Depends while doing so.
A three mile jog/walk after work tonight met the collective damage of my two cups of coffee, triple shot latte, and one can of Diet Coke in an epic pants-wetting meltdown. It wasn't pretty. And I can blame a rough day in the Recovery Room all I want for that excessive (even for me) amount of caffeinated units...but the bottom line is that I'd really love to run a few miles without immediately needing to change my pants afterwards.
Training for a half marathon sounds easy compared to the daunting task of cutting back on caffeine. Sad, no?
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Still got it
I love it when Zoey completely botches the English language. No, seriously. I think it's adorable and proves to me that she still has a bit of baby-girl in her. Just when I start to lament the fact that she is getting so grown up, she will inevitably throw me a few curve balls that prove to me she's still learning and, even better, she has no filters. Whatever pops in to her little brain comes straight out her mouth. LOVE IT.
Me: Zoey, eat your cereal. (How long can you market cereal-for-dinner night as fun and exciting? Can I make that stretch in to the pre-teen years? God knows I'm going to try.)
Zoey: Yeah. I don't want it to get foggy.
Me: Soggy. I think you mean soggy.
Zoey: Yup. Foggy cereal is gwoss.
Me: Okay, sure.
***
Zoey: Mommy, what is a whine-o? (She hits me with this completely out of the blue at 6:40 a.m. as we are pulling in to daycare.)
Me: Um...what? Where did you hear that? (Thinking: how could she possibly have seen or heard the term for a homeless drunken person?)
Zoey: I saw it on Super Why.
Me: *cursing PBS, still struggling for an age-appropriate description of drinking out of a paper bag*
Zoey: You know, Mommy! From Super Why!
Me: Um, well... (*light bulb*) Wait. Whine-o? Or RHINO?
Zoey: YEAH! A whine-o!
Me: Oh, oh, oh! Right! An animal with a big horn on his nose! (I redeem myself by producing the sign for rhino from somewhere in the depths of my underly-caffeinated mind. We proceed to act like rhinos all the way to the gym. Problem solved.)
And now, if you'll excuse me, I need a coffee refill and Sesame Street is featuring Abby's Fwying Feh-wy School this morning. Feel free to interpret in the comments section.
Me: Zoey, eat your cereal. (How long can you market cereal-for-dinner night as fun and exciting? Can I make that stretch in to the pre-teen years? God knows I'm going to try.)
Zoey: Yeah. I don't want it to get foggy.
Me: Soggy. I think you mean soggy.
Zoey: Yup. Foggy cereal is gwoss.
Me: Okay, sure.
***
Zoey: Mommy, what is a whine-o? (She hits me with this completely out of the blue at 6:40 a.m. as we are pulling in to daycare.)
Me: Um...what? Where did you hear that? (Thinking: how could she possibly have seen or heard the term for a homeless drunken person?)
Zoey: I saw it on Super Why.
Me: *cursing PBS, still struggling for an age-appropriate description of drinking out of a paper bag*
Zoey: You know, Mommy! From Super Why!
Me: Um, well... (*light bulb*) Wait. Whine-o? Or RHINO?
Zoey: YEAH! A whine-o!
Me: Oh, oh, oh! Right! An animal with a big horn on his nose! (I redeem myself by producing the sign for rhino from somewhere in the depths of my underly-caffeinated mind. We proceed to act like rhinos all the way to the gym. Problem solved.)
And now, if you'll excuse me, I need a coffee refill and Sesame Street is featuring Abby's Fwying Feh-wy School this morning. Feel free to interpret in the comments section.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Slow start
So, I broke down last week and added basic cable to our Comcast package. I did this solely at the request of my grandmother, who spends a fair amount of her time here babysitting Zoey and has requested Matt Lauer and Oprah on more than one occasion. But I am finding there are a few perks for Mommy in this basic cable addition as well.
Like, Saturday and Sunday mornings.
PBS has a wide array of cartoons available each morning that Zoey loves and are not, in my underly-caffeinated opinion, a complete waste of time. Yesterday we watched a fascinating Cat in the Hat episode where the featured topic was hibernation. And by 'we watched' I mean 'Zoey watched while I read the New Yorker' and by fascinating I mean 'who knew they could come up with so many irritating song lyrics centered on bears sleeping through the winter'.
I have logged 10 miles this week in my slow attempt at training for a half marathon, and have woken up sore and sluggish each day. I am ready to crash each night by 8 p.m. It is pathetic. But I am grateful for the hour (okay...two) of cartoon programming that allows each of us a slow entry in to the day.
And now, I need a coffee refill. And an ice pack.
Like, Saturday and Sunday mornings.
PBS has a wide array of cartoons available each morning that Zoey loves and are not, in my underly-caffeinated opinion, a complete waste of time. Yesterday we watched a fascinating Cat in the Hat episode where the featured topic was hibernation. And by 'we watched' I mean 'Zoey watched while I read the New Yorker' and by fascinating I mean 'who knew they could come up with so many irritating song lyrics centered on bears sleeping through the winter'.
I have logged 10 miles this week in my slow attempt at training for a half marathon, and have woken up sore and sluggish each day. I am ready to crash each night by 8 p.m. It is pathetic. But I am grateful for the hour (okay...two) of cartoon programming that allows each of us a slow entry in to the day.
And now, I need a coffee refill. And an ice pack.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Committed
I feel like I dabbled in running way back in 2010, the year that was Life's Greatest Experiment. I tried all sorts of things I had previously felt were beyond my realm of possibility. Once single parenthood became not an option but alarmingly necessary, my entire world crumbled before my very eyes. But then! Possibilities opened everywhere I looked, because seriously, if I could manage this life all on my own, who's to say running is off the table? And if I could run a 5k, why not refinish my dining room set and learn how to fix things with a screwdriver? Ditch cable TV in favor of NPR? See if I can make it through a hot yoga class without suffering immediate death? Feature cereal and yogurt as a regular dinner menu option?
It was easy to make NPR and cereal and regular use of a screwdriver part of my new, strange life. Sanding furniture and hot yoga were checked off the list and I moved on to something else. But running was different. It kept pulling me back. The novelty has long since worn off, I possess an impressive collection of 5k race t-shirts, and still it whispers to me. The whisper sounds something like this:
'Pssst. Hey, Amy. Yeah, you. Frazzled one. Come with me. Plug yourself in to your loud, 160 BPM music and focus on some point in the distance. Put one foot in front of the other. Keep moving and I promise you, I will clear your mind.'
Running. You win. I will buy the sports bras and program my fancy watch with it's pedometer and heart rate monitor. I will download podcasts and read the blogs of runners far more advanced than I. I will log my daily miles and I will follow a 12-week training course to get me ready for a half-marathon in May. I will use an Albuterol inhaler when I run outside because, wow, the absence of fire in my lungs allows me to focus all the more on...nothing.
Thank you, Running, for clearing my mind. You have brought focus to what has otherwise been a cluttered and chaotic existence.
But thank you, mostly, for reminding me to literally just put one foot in front of the other. Move. Keep moving and all will be well.
It was easy to make NPR and cereal and regular use of a screwdriver part of my new, strange life. Sanding furniture and hot yoga were checked off the list and I moved on to something else. But running was different. It kept pulling me back. The novelty has long since worn off, I possess an impressive collection of 5k race t-shirts, and still it whispers to me. The whisper sounds something like this:
'Pssst. Hey, Amy. Yeah, you. Frazzled one. Come with me. Plug yourself in to your loud, 160 BPM music and focus on some point in the distance. Put one foot in front of the other. Keep moving and I promise you, I will clear your mind.'
Running. You win. I will buy the sports bras and program my fancy watch with it's pedometer and heart rate monitor. I will download podcasts and read the blogs of runners far more advanced than I. I will log my daily miles and I will follow a 12-week training course to get me ready for a half-marathon in May. I will use an Albuterol inhaler when I run outside because, wow, the absence of fire in my lungs allows me to focus all the more on...nothing.
Thank you, Running, for clearing my mind. You have brought focus to what has otherwise been a cluttered and chaotic existence.
But thank you, mostly, for reminding me to literally just put one foot in front of the other. Move. Keep moving and all will be well.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Big girl
There has been some exciting talk at preschool lately. Class rosters must be shifting, because rumor has it that Zoey's good friends DJ and Maddie are moving up to the Owl room on Monday. Zoey is thrilled and has printed 'DJ' painstakingly in the square for January 10 on her brand new Dora calendar. I am also excited, as I know both DJ and Maddie's parents and actually like them. It's been a long four months of listening to back-and-forth 'I love Alix and played with her all day!' at one pick-up to 'Alix doesn't want to be my friend and I told her to go away' the next. It's a tricky business, cultivating friendships for your children. While Zoey is still young and I have some say in the matter, I definitely don't want to encourage relationships with kids who have odd or annoying parents. But daycare is a crapshoot because sometimes you don't meet the parents until it's too late. Then you're stuck on a play date with a mom who believes in extreme couponing or wants to discuss the size of her third child's placenta ad nauseum.
I'm just saying. We're both happy DJ and Maddie are moving up. But that means someone in Zoey's current class must be moving out. To the big class...Pre-K. The major leagues of daycare. The final class before kindergarten. The children and the their teacher, Ms. Cheryl, who inspire awe amongst all the other kids in the younger classes.
Zoey: Mom. I don't think Dan and David are in my class any more.
Me: Oh. Maybe they moved to the next class? I heard Kelly is moving up, too.
Zoey: Yeah! To Pre-K, she's going to Ms. Cheryl's class.
Me: She must be a little bit older than you.
Zoey: (wistfully) I think so. She can swing across all the monkey bars on the playground, so I think she must be five. I can only swing on three of the bars. But when I'm five, I think I will do all of them.
Zoey delivered this news as though length of monkey bars crossed is the defining factor in whether you make it to Pre-K or not. And who knows? Maybe she's right.
I'm just saying. We're both happy DJ and Maddie are moving up. But that means someone in Zoey's current class must be moving out. To the big class...Pre-K. The major leagues of daycare. The final class before kindergarten. The children and the their teacher, Ms. Cheryl, who inspire awe amongst all the other kids in the younger classes.
Zoey: Mom. I don't think Dan and David are in my class any more.
Me: Oh. Maybe they moved to the next class? I heard Kelly is moving up, too.
Zoey: Yeah! To Pre-K, she's going to Ms. Cheryl's class.
Me: She must be a little bit older than you.
Zoey: (wistfully) I think so. She can swing across all the monkey bars on the playground, so I think she must be five. I can only swing on three of the bars. But when I'm five, I think I will do all of them.
Zoey delivered this news as though length of monkey bars crossed is the defining factor in whether you make it to Pre-K or not. And who knows? Maybe she's right.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Tally
In my futile protest against this year's version of the Pediatric Stomach Flu, here is how my day went down:
Loads of laundry: Three
Change of pajamas (Zoey): Four
Change of clothing (Mommy): One (Miracle!)
Number of baths (Zoey): Three
Number of showers (Mommy): One (!)
Brutal vomit attacks on livingroom carpet: Multiple
Counter-strikes with jumbo can of Resolve: Two
Books read: At least 12
Movies viewed: Probably another 12
Caffeine units for Mommy: Not nearly enough
Scent of vomit still present throughout the house: Check
And a happy cold and flu season to all of you.
Loads of laundry: Three
Change of pajamas (Zoey): Four
Change of clothing (Mommy): One (Miracle!)
Number of baths (Zoey): Three
Number of showers (Mommy): One (!)
Brutal vomit attacks on livingroom carpet: Multiple
Counter-strikes with jumbo can of Resolve: Two
Books read: At least 12
Movies viewed: Probably another 12
Caffeine units for Mommy: Not nearly enough
Scent of vomit still present throughout the house: Check
And a happy cold and flu season to all of you.
Monday, January 3, 2011
Back to the grind
Ahhhh. Here it is, 5:40 a.m. on a Monday morning. I am sitting in my scrubs, coffee on the table next to me, NPR on the radio, Zoey sleeping soundly in my bed.
Time to go back to life as usual.
I feel so blessed to have had my sister here for two whole weeks. Abby willingly slept on my couch night after night, dragged herself up at ungodly hours to drive me to work, and took Zoey to daycare at a far more pleasant hour of 8:00 (or 10:00, depending on the leisure of their morning). She did my grocery shopping, ran my errands, brought me lattes at work. She did the dishes after dinner while I gave Zoey a bath. She made tea while I went through the motions of a bedtime routine. And then she stayed up with me for grown-up talk until I crawled in to bed at a much-too-late hour every night, completely happy and satisfied.
I keep asking her to marry me, but she keeps turning me down.
But yesterday Abby flew back to her life in Colorado, and Zoey and I are resuming our normal routines. It is relief mixed with a little homesickness for my sister. Christmas has been cleared from our house. I am thrilled because this Christmas holiday was not stellar. Zoey is thrilled because now we can move on to celebrating the TRULY important holiday...Valentine's Day. Foam hearts and gel stickers decorate all our windows now. It's been two weeks since I've listened to the Early Edition on NPR. Moving on.
I am going in to this new year hoping for calm. Peace. Certainly more calm than Zoey and I saw last year. I know that part of this calm and peacefulness will come with routine. And so, I will refill my coffee cup and get ready for my grandma to arrive to watch Zoey. I will dig out a library card so the two of them can have a field trip today. I will go to work and take care of people and come home to fix dinner and probably deal with some whining. I will likely be in bed by 9:00.
Moving on!
Time to go back to life as usual.
I feel so blessed to have had my sister here for two whole weeks. Abby willingly slept on my couch night after night, dragged herself up at ungodly hours to drive me to work, and took Zoey to daycare at a far more pleasant hour of 8:00 (or 10:00, depending on the leisure of their morning). She did my grocery shopping, ran my errands, brought me lattes at work. She did the dishes after dinner while I gave Zoey a bath. She made tea while I went through the motions of a bedtime routine. And then she stayed up with me for grown-up talk until I crawled in to bed at a much-too-late hour every night, completely happy and satisfied.
I keep asking her to marry me, but she keeps turning me down.
But yesterday Abby flew back to her life in Colorado, and Zoey and I are resuming our normal routines. It is relief mixed with a little homesickness for my sister. Christmas has been cleared from our house. I am thrilled because this Christmas holiday was not stellar. Zoey is thrilled because now we can move on to celebrating the TRULY important holiday...Valentine's Day. Foam hearts and gel stickers decorate all our windows now. It's been two weeks since I've listened to the Early Edition on NPR. Moving on.
I am going in to this new year hoping for calm. Peace. Certainly more calm than Zoey and I saw last year. I know that part of this calm and peacefulness will come with routine. And so, I will refill my coffee cup and get ready for my grandma to arrive to watch Zoey. I will dig out a library card so the two of them can have a field trip today. I will go to work and take care of people and come home to fix dinner and probably deal with some whining. I will likely be in bed by 9:00.
Moving on!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)