"Mommy, do crowns bite?"
I was sitting in the backseat with Bryn one evening, when this question occurred to the Princess of Random Thoughts.
"What do you mean, honey? Like the sharp points pinch your finger or something?"
"No, crowns. Do they bite?"
"Ummmm. (glancing at Dad in the rear view mirror for some help that was not to come.) I don't understand your question."
"Crowns. Crowns. Can they bite your finger?"
"Are you saying crown like a princess wears?"
"No, Mom. CROWN," she says enunciating the word slowly and with slightly more force.
"Are you saying crayon?" (knowing full-well that, although her pronunciation of crayon sounds a LOT like crown, it made even less sense in this context.)
"I'm saying CROWN. You know, CROWNS?!", growing exasperated by my embarrassingly miserable attempt to communicate on a very simply topic.
---Dad to the rescue.--- "Honey, do you mean clown? Cl-Cl-Clown?"
Bryn throws her hands up and shouts, "YES!"
Me: "Oh, then, no. Clowns usually don't bite."
*I was trying to remember the term for the "they're/there/their" phenomena, and somehow miraculously I came up with homonym. Not wanting to embarrass myself, I googled that to be sure it was correct. The first entry was Alan Cooper's Homonym List. Quite an interesting find. I'll be forever thankful that I also clicked on "About the List" because I learned that what I was talking about wasn't actually a homonym, his title notwithstanding. Thanks, Alan, for illuminating the confusing subtlety of the English language.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Three Random Things
Wendy tagged me with this topic several days ago. If I were in elementary school, I would be "all-time-it" considering my reaction speed, but alas. So, I think the idea is to share three random things about myself....
1. I have an intense, to-my-core-being, dislike for honey. I don't like "mocha" anything either (which some try to convince me is really code for chocolate, when in fact it is code for "still-tastes-like-coffee"), but even that doesn't bring me to literal tears the way honey has in the past. I am a painfully rationale person, and even with Beau's incredibly sound arguments about how local honey would probably help my spring allergies, I would rather take a pill every single morning for the rest of my days than purposefully put a single drop of honey in my mouth. And yes, "honey butter" is no better.
2. I have a secret (can't say that anymore) desire to be a midwife, or at least a doula, at some point in my life. Attending my niece's birth was an incredible experience that so greatly affected my attitudes during Bryn's birth. I would like to contribute to other women having similar experiences. I have absolutely no idea how to become one, so I may as well have said I would love to be a Rockette, but at least now the universe knows.
3. I make killer apple pie and homemade rolls. I think baking suits me because it requires precision. I absolutely can not improvise in the kitchen whatsoever; I work strictly from recipes. Always been a pretty good rule follower. And to set the record straight, the apple pie recipe came from my sister--who can also bust out some serious bread.
How cathartic that turned out to be.
Bonus #4: As I looked around the office, thinking about how to wrap up this post, I glanced over to Beau's aquarium. One of the Oscars was totally staring at me while I typed...just treading water right at my eye level. Kind of freaked me out a little bit, because it was like when someone catches you staring at them (or vice versa) across a restaurant or something and you have to look like you were actually looking just over their shoulder before casually turning away. This fish did that! He didn't jump right away, but eventually, ever so casually turned and swam away.
Back to the catharsis....perhaps I'll write random things about other people in the family from time to time. This was pretty fun.
1. I have an intense, to-my-core-being, dislike for honey. I don't like "mocha" anything either (which some try to convince me is really code for chocolate, when in fact it is code for "still-tastes-like-coffee"), but even that doesn't bring me to literal tears the way honey has in the past. I am a painfully rationale person, and even with Beau's incredibly sound arguments about how local honey would probably help my spring allergies, I would rather take a pill every single morning for the rest of my days than purposefully put a single drop of honey in my mouth. And yes, "honey butter" is no better.
2. I have a secret (can't say that anymore) desire to be a midwife, or at least a doula, at some point in my life. Attending my niece's birth was an incredible experience that so greatly affected my attitudes during Bryn's birth. I would like to contribute to other women having similar experiences. I have absolutely no idea how to become one, so I may as well have said I would love to be a Rockette, but at least now the universe knows.
3. I make killer apple pie and homemade rolls. I think baking suits me because it requires precision. I absolutely can not improvise in the kitchen whatsoever; I work strictly from recipes. Always been a pretty good rule follower. And to set the record straight, the apple pie recipe came from my sister--who can also bust out some serious bread.
How cathartic that turned out to be.
Bonus #4: As I looked around the office, thinking about how to wrap up this post, I glanced over to Beau's aquarium. One of the Oscars was totally staring at me while I typed...just treading water right at my eye level. Kind of freaked me out a little bit, because it was like when someone catches you staring at them (or vice versa) across a restaurant or something and you have to look like you were actually looking just over their shoulder before casually turning away. This fish did that! He didn't jump right away, but eventually, ever so casually turned and swam away.
Back to the catharsis....perhaps I'll write random things about other people in the family from time to time. This was pretty fun.
Monday, April 21, 2008
I'm back
Sorry for the lengthy absence. I was being a little hopeful a month ago when I bid farewell to the morning sickness that ended up lingering for another 2-3 weeks. I just couldn't muster the desire/energy/motivation/creativity/vocabulary to get on the computer after spending the day on one at work.
But....I have been making mental notes of what I would be writing about "were I to blog today," so have some stored up. Have one started, but need to go wake the family.
Happy Monday everyone....funny stories to come.
But....I have been making mental notes of what I would be writing about "were I to blog today," so have some stored up. Have one started, but need to go wake the family.
Happy Monday everyone....funny stories to come.
Books as Currency
Bryn is a complete delight 90% of the time. With that kind of record, Beau and I are ALWAYS shocked when she has a bonafide three-year-old moment. We regularly forget that she is still learning right from wrong, how to make good decisions, that bad decisions have consequences, that she doesn't always get her way, etc.
To date, all the discipline that she has really required is--what amounts to--a "stern talking to" (in Southern-speak). More recently it has dawned on her that she has to be a willing participant for these little chats to be effective. She has taken to the "courtesy" of announcing when she doesn't plan on being a willing participant (although that typically doesn't go well). The conversation usually goes like this:
Mom/Dad: "Bryn, come here. we need to talk about how you are acting right now."
Bryn: "I don't WANT to talk to you!" (or the nominee for most creative variation: "I don't want to listen to your words!!")
Exasperated parent takes a deep breath--knowing where this is heading--and escalates to "oh, yes, you will" posturing. Then out come the big guns--what will happen if she proceeds on the path she's chosen. And here's where it becomes very clear that she doesn't have a firm grasp on consequences.
We've elected not to spank, so our options are to take away things or opportunities that she holds dear. Sometimes there is an event that she is really looking forward to, but usually our go-to is books. (NOTE: as an educator who firmly believes in the importance of a book-rich environment, this is a constant struggle for me. But you harvest where there's fruit, right?)
Sometimes, I try to ward off a fit by bargaining with bedtime books. Our usual routine is two books before lights out. If she is being uncooperative/defiant, I'll (politely) warn her that if she doesn't pull it together, we'll only have time for one book (or heaven forbid, zero books). The unfortunate part of this strategy is I don't have much wiggle room when I count down from 2 because when we move to only reading 1 book, she keeps up the protests about "But I want TWO books!!!" (Which, for those of you paying attention, is exactly the opposite of the reaction I'm hoping for.) So then, all her arguing about two books (whose ship has sailed) leads me to explicitly state--again--that she now has the choice of one book or zero books, and that she is making the choice by the way she is acting and talking to me. Usually, the continued argument about two books requires that I take away all books. (Which, of course, IMMEDIATELY makes one book the thing she wants more than anything in life....but at that point, even the one book has sailed.) As mentioned earlier, sending a child to bed with no books is bordering on un-American and inhumane, but my thinking is---she had fair warning and continued with poor choices.
Last night she chose so poorly with behavior so unacceptable that we had to skip all bargaining, going straight to zero books. Straight out of the bath, to bed, no books. Oh, my goodness. You would have thought we had cut off a finger or something. She was nearly inconsolable. She tried to say "sorry" to undo her actions, but this was not a "that's okay, honey" situation. We thought it warranted making a more explicit statement about consequences. It's great that you are sorry, but there are always consequences to what you choose to do. That's a good life lesson, right? So, "we love you, but no books."
Instead of books, we just said a prayer. Bryn wanted to do it "allbymyself" (her new favorite phrase), so through the tears about not reading books she offered this gem of a prayer....
"Dear God, Please help me to slow down all the crying. Amen."
And all the people said....Amen to that.
PS: I was in the kitchen when Bryn woke up. She came downstairs with two books and asked sweetly, "Can you read these two books to me now?"
To date, all the discipline that she has really required is--what amounts to--a "stern talking to" (in Southern-speak). More recently it has dawned on her that she has to be a willing participant for these little chats to be effective. She has taken to the "courtesy" of announcing when she doesn't plan on being a willing participant (although that typically doesn't go well). The conversation usually goes like this:
Mom/Dad: "Bryn, come here. we need to talk about how you are acting right now."
Bryn: "I don't WANT to talk to you!" (or the nominee for most creative variation: "I don't want to listen to your words!!")
Exasperated parent takes a deep breath--knowing where this is heading--and escalates to "oh, yes, you will" posturing. Then out come the big guns--what will happen if she proceeds on the path she's chosen. And here's where it becomes very clear that she doesn't have a firm grasp on consequences.
We've elected not to spank, so our options are to take away things or opportunities that she holds dear. Sometimes there is an event that she is really looking forward to, but usually our go-to is books. (NOTE: as an educator who firmly believes in the importance of a book-rich environment, this is a constant struggle for me. But you harvest where there's fruit, right?)
Sometimes, I try to ward off a fit by bargaining with bedtime books. Our usual routine is two books before lights out. If she is being uncooperative/defiant, I'll (politely) warn her that if she doesn't pull it together, we'll only have time for one book (or heaven forbid, zero books). The unfortunate part of this strategy is I don't have much wiggle room when I count down from 2 because when we move to only reading 1 book, she keeps up the protests about "But I want TWO books!!!" (Which, for those of you paying attention, is exactly the opposite of the reaction I'm hoping for.) So then, all her arguing about two books (whose ship has sailed) leads me to explicitly state--again--that she now has the choice of one book or zero books, and that she is making the choice by the way she is acting and talking to me. Usually, the continued argument about two books requires that I take away all books. (Which, of course, IMMEDIATELY makes one book the thing she wants more than anything in life....but at that point, even the one book has sailed.) As mentioned earlier, sending a child to bed with no books is bordering on un-American and inhumane, but my thinking is---she had fair warning and continued with poor choices.
Last night she chose so poorly with behavior so unacceptable that we had to skip all bargaining, going straight to zero books. Straight out of the bath, to bed, no books. Oh, my goodness. You would have thought we had cut off a finger or something. She was nearly inconsolable. She tried to say "sorry" to undo her actions, but this was not a "that's okay, honey" situation. We thought it warranted making a more explicit statement about consequences. It's great that you are sorry, but there are always consequences to what you choose to do. That's a good life lesson, right? So, "we love you, but no books."
Instead of books, we just said a prayer. Bryn wanted to do it "allbymyself" (her new favorite phrase), so through the tears about not reading books she offered this gem of a prayer....
"Dear God, Please help me to slow down all the crying. Amen."
And all the people said....Amen to that.
PS: I was in the kitchen when Bryn woke up. She came downstairs with two books and asked sweetly, "Can you read these two books to me now?"
Saturday, March 15, 2008
These Boots are Made for Walkin
Bryn picked out her first pair of cowgirl boots last night. She was SOOOOO excited about them, and they really do suit her perfectly. She wore them to a very eventful trip to the grocery store and got no fewer than five compliments on them--every girl's dream.
Everyone, please take a moment and imagine the perfect pair of boots for the world's girliest girl. Have a mental image?
Now, compare what you were thinking to the real thing.
How close were you?
Give yourself 5 points if you guessed the color.
Give yourself another 5 points if you guessed the toe and heel shape.
Give yourself a bonus 65 points if you could have ever imagined the straps of "bling" draped across each one.
One final question--worth up to an extra 25 points (could bring your total up to 100, for those of you keeping score). Now imagine how happy Bryn looks in them (and how great they are for dancing), and compare to reality.
Sunday, March 2, 2008
Inventory
Maybe it's just me, but I've always lived with the illusion that grocery checkers don't mentally inventory your purchases. Perhaps this self-perpetuating myth was born during my formative years, when some cute boy was checking groceries and I had to buy some unmentionables. I had nearly convinced myself that checkers are WAY too busy to really care or notice what I buy.
My first hint was several years ago, when I was on a very healthy kick, and the checker noted how much fresh produce I was buying. Since I, too, was proud of myself, I didn't think more about it. The myth cracked further a few months back when a very chatty young woman wanted to share parenting tips with me as she scanned the Pull-Ups I was buying. I let it slide, thinking she was just overwhelmed with pride in her accomplishment that--in one weekend--her daughter had learned to stay dry all night because she literally woke her up every 15 minutes to use the bathroom. Technically, I should not know that many details, but I do.
The remains of the illusion crumbled tonight. Fortunately, there was nothing embarrassing or unusual in my basket. But I can no longer tell myself--with any honesty-- that they don't notice. Thanks for busting my bubble, Bradley.
First, it was my chocolate milk. As he scanned it, Bradley noted that Promise Land chocolate milk is REALLY good. (which I politely confirmed...I was--after all--buying it.) He went on to pitch another type of milk that was a little healthier--"well, you know, healthy for chocolate milk"--because it had vitamins added and "some other stuff." Sadly, this endorsement came without vital details like the product name, but no matter. PromiseLand does me right, so I'm set.
Next, he had to comment on how the meat department really made his job difficult as he wrestled with the labels to get them to scan. I felt like an accomplice since I had clearly picked the most difficult sausage to scan. Sorry, dude. I'll look for straighter labels next time.
Finally, as he picked up my graham cracker crust, he offered "mmmm. What kind of pie are you making?" Honestly, man, I'm not inviting you over so what difference does it make? Which, of course, I didn't say. Instead, I said, "a pudding pie. My daughter and husband really like those." (Thinking: didn't you notice the PUDDING I bought?) Bradley: "Yeah, those are really good."
Sorry if all of this is news to you--if you thought that no one noticed if you bought cereal with extra fiber or feminine products or pregnancy tests or six varieties of ice cream or the like.
Because they do.
My first hint was several years ago, when I was on a very healthy kick, and the checker noted how much fresh produce I was buying. Since I, too, was proud of myself, I didn't think more about it. The myth cracked further a few months back when a very chatty young woman wanted to share parenting tips with me as she scanned the Pull-Ups I was buying. I let it slide, thinking she was just overwhelmed with pride in her accomplishment that--in one weekend--her daughter had learned to stay dry all night because she literally woke her up every 15 minutes to use the bathroom. Technically, I should not know that many details, but I do.
The remains of the illusion crumbled tonight. Fortunately, there was nothing embarrassing or unusual in my basket. But I can no longer tell myself--with any honesty-- that they don't notice. Thanks for busting my bubble, Bradley.
First, it was my chocolate milk. As he scanned it, Bradley noted that Promise Land chocolate milk is REALLY good. (which I politely confirmed...I was--after all--buying it.) He went on to pitch another type of milk that was a little healthier--"well, you know, healthy for chocolate milk"--because it had vitamins added and "some other stuff." Sadly, this endorsement came without vital details like the product name, but no matter. PromiseLand does me right, so I'm set.
Next, he had to comment on how the meat department really made his job difficult as he wrestled with the labels to get them to scan. I felt like an accomplice since I had clearly picked the most difficult sausage to scan. Sorry, dude. I'll look for straighter labels next time.
Finally, as he picked up my graham cracker crust, he offered "mmmm. What kind of pie are you making?" Honestly, man, I'm not inviting you over so what difference does it make? Which, of course, I didn't say. Instead, I said, "a pudding pie. My daughter and husband really like those." (Thinking: didn't you notice the PUDDING I bought?) Bradley: "Yeah, those are really good."
Sorry if all of this is news to you--if you thought that no one noticed if you bought cereal with extra fiber or feminine products or pregnancy tests or six varieties of ice cream or the like.
Because they do.
You say Goodbye and I say Hello
Ah, blessed March. Welcome.
In our house, February is easily the craziest month of the year. It even trumps the Thanksgiving/Christmas holiday/birthday season in the fall. Growing up, we called it "busy season" because my father was a CPA--and spring tax time was always nutty for him. I'm fortunate as an adult that our family has limited that to just a month and a half in late January and most of February.
So, farewell Stock Show, farewell week-long EPA training, farewell insane project deadline, farewell pleasure-travel-alone-with-a-three-year-old-and-multiple-airplane-changes-with-only-a-2-hour-battery-life-on-the-DVD-player. It's been fun.
Also...Farewell, Pappa Gallo.
We are extremely excited to announce the sale of the first bull calf born to Rafter W. I'm sure he is going to a good home, but with four more calves coming this spring, I'm technically more interested in not having to feed him anymore. Sounds harsh probably, but we're in the business of raising cows (as Beau regularly reminds me) not bulls. So off with you.
On to the Hello's.
As mentioned. Hello, March. Hello, beautiful weather. Hello, time to work on household projects. Hello, Beau's raise and grade increase.
And hello to our newest addition to Rafter W. Check out the adorable family picture.
Daddy (Coat 45) on the left, Momma (Adell) on the right, and the presently unnamed (other than the uninspired "87") heifer in the middle. Ah, aren't little baby things so cute.
Daddy (Coat 45) on the left, Momma (Adell) on the right, and the presently unnamed (other than the uninspired "87") heifer in the middle. Ah, aren't little baby things so cute.And speaking of little baby things....I'm fairly confident that only people who know this already read this blog (assuming that ANYONE still reads it given how sporadically I contribute to it), Beau and I are expecting a little baby thing this fall--mid to late September to be exact. So, farewell slight-but-constant-nausea in the evenings and hello second trimester.
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