Water.
The Howler loves water--as long as it doesn't include soap. And bottles, jugs, buckets, and vats of Bubbles (preferably Gazillion Bubbles) do not qualify as soap.
She will splash, stand, stomp, jump, and dive into any body of water. Puddles, pools, sinks, ponds, cricks, streams, buckets, or cups. Give her a pitcher of ice cold water from the 'fridge, and I can guarantee that somebody's going to get wet.
The other day, in an effort to give her something to do outside, I purchased a 2.5 quart metal bucket and 2 paintbrushes.
She now paints the patio, and has all the water she wants, as long as it's in quantities of 2.5 quarts or smaller.
For some people, happiness CAN be bought, and for less than $10, too.
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Monday, June 16, 2008
Summer & OPK
Good Lord! Was I like this? Is this payback?
The neighborhood, last week, was hit-or-miss for the usual passel of prima-donnas. They've been back, full force, over the weekend.
The shrieking! The arguing! The humanity!
Don't get me wrong--it's great that the Howler has ruined so many t-shirts with ground in dirt, and comes home so exhausted her eyes are about to fall out of her head. (We taken to letting her shower, because the bathwater is absolutely scary!)
But what I love most is that Blondie comes over, starts bossing (she even, to give her credit) tries bossing me (as if...)
They've been told they are not going in Blondie's grandparents pool because it's too cold. They tried nagging me into filling up the Howler's for them. I ignored them, until finally, before I snapped, I told them that nagging me isn't going to work, and they both know it.
They ran outside. They ran inside. They tried sneaking up to the Howler's room, and I stopped it. I was informed that Blondie was commanding the Howler to do certain things in a certain way (be inside, crawl around on all fours) and the Howler didn't want to.
I asked the Howler (yes, in front of Blondie), "And what have we discussed about that?"
The Howler said in a firm, clear voice to Blondie, "You're not the boss of me!"
Just moments later, she announced that she was leaving. Why? Because she insulted the Howler, so the Howler threw something at her (no, the Howler wasn't right, but she's only 6.)
Blondie came to me to try and get me to "do something about it."
I pointedly asked her, "Would you like it if someone called you that?" "no, but she threw this at me!"
So I reminded her, "I've seen you knock K. flat to the ground for less. I'd consider it even-steven at this point, and get over it."
Blondie is staying. They're now singing The Star Spangled Banner.
The neighborhood, last week, was hit-or-miss for the usual passel of prima-donnas. They've been back, full force, over the weekend.
The shrieking! The arguing! The humanity!
Don't get me wrong--it's great that the Howler has ruined so many t-shirts with ground in dirt, and comes home so exhausted her eyes are about to fall out of her head. (We taken to letting her shower, because the bathwater is absolutely scary!)
But what I love most is that Blondie comes over, starts bossing (she even, to give her credit) tries bossing me (as if...)
They've been told they are not going in Blondie's grandparents pool because it's too cold. They tried nagging me into filling up the Howler's for them. I ignored them, until finally, before I snapped, I told them that nagging me isn't going to work, and they both know it.
They ran outside. They ran inside. They tried sneaking up to the Howler's room, and I stopped it. I was informed that Blondie was commanding the Howler to do certain things in a certain way (be inside, crawl around on all fours) and the Howler didn't want to.
I asked the Howler (yes, in front of Blondie), "And what have we discussed about that?"
The Howler said in a firm, clear voice to Blondie, "You're not the boss of me!"
Just moments later, she announced that she was leaving. Why? Because she insulted the Howler, so the Howler threw something at her (no, the Howler wasn't right, but she's only 6.)
Blondie came to me to try and get me to "do something about it."
I pointedly asked her, "Would you like it if someone called you that?" "no, but she threw this at me!"
So I reminded her, "I've seen you knock K. flat to the ground for less. I'd consider it even-steven at this point, and get over it."
Blondie is staying. They're now singing The Star Spangled Banner.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Summatime
It's officially summer. School's out--days are hot--kids are insane.
The neighborhood has been teeming with small fry (and a few medium fries, too.)
The shrieks have been only intermittant, although decibel levels have increased.
Ahhhhh.
Currently, there's no one, other than the Howler, out-and-about. She's pouty and grumpy about it. I can't help it. I'm not going to haul her (not at over $4 a gallon!) around to "find someone to play with." And not when the other children will be reappearing sooner or later today, and she has plans for Thursday AND Friday.
Vacation starts Saturday.
Anyway, she's unhappy that she's having to entertain herself.
The most remarkable thing in all this is that even with upwards of 7 girls roaming (and shrieking) there are few fights and no coming to blows if there is a fight.
Why? Blondie isn't around. Do the math. Blondie = fights, hits, pushes, tears, screaming, accusations, and name calling. No Blondie = shrieking (fun/happiness), easily self-resolved arguements (most involving how gross the boys are), laughing, riding bikes, swinging, swimming, and running.
Blondie's in for a rather rude awakening when she returns.
The neighborhood has been teeming with small fry (and a few medium fries, too.)
The shrieks have been only intermittant, although decibel levels have increased.
Ahhhhh.
Currently, there's no one, other than the Howler, out-and-about. She's pouty and grumpy about it. I can't help it. I'm not going to haul her (not at over $4 a gallon!) around to "find someone to play with." And not when the other children will be reappearing sooner or later today, and she has plans for Thursday AND Friday.
Vacation starts Saturday.
Anyway, she's unhappy that she's having to entertain herself.
The most remarkable thing in all this is that even with upwards of 7 girls roaming (and shrieking) there are few fights and no coming to blows if there is a fight.
Why? Blondie isn't around. Do the math. Blondie = fights, hits, pushes, tears, screaming, accusations, and name calling. No Blondie = shrieking (fun/happiness), easily self-resolved arguements (most involving how gross the boys are), laughing, riding bikes, swinging, swimming, and running.
Blondie's in for a rather rude awakening when she returns.
On Being Mom
I have the two spawnlings, of course.
I am also going to 41 years old in less than 5 months.
I am now, officially, old enough to be mom to 1/2 the people I work with. This year's crop of newbies is either old enough to be my mom, or young enough to be my spawn.
I'm writing about that here, because of what I find happening to me.
Up until about 18 months ago, I was just "Older than them," and now, I find myself wanting to offer advice about life, protect them from some of the mistakes young adults make, and/or bring some of them home with me.
I feel old. And I fear, I'm turning into my mother.
It doesn't help that the Howler finished Kindergarten, and is now "officially" a first grader. And I've found that unlike when the Toad was this age (when I was either one-of-the-younger Moms, or fully a contemporary of the other Moms) I'm now one of the Older Moms.
The entire experience changed. From how long the school day was to what they actually taught, to how it was taught...to what was expected, behavior-wise. It was enough to make me want to join AARP ASAP. (Although one mom became a 1st time grandmother this past year--and she's only a year older than I am!--I still feel really old.) This means that technically, I am old enough to be a grandmother. Yee.
Think about it. When the Howler turns 16, and is legally allowed to learn to drive, I will be going-on-51. I can, as of now, measure memories in DECADES (that's entire 10-year chunks of time, in case the concept isn't depressing enough for ya.)
The Howler's contemporaries have parents who, for the most part, are still deciding whether or not to have more children, and who, for all intents and purposes, are not seriously aware how little time they have until retirement.
The Howler, of course, doesn't see it that way. We're just her mommy and daddy, and the details of it all don't matter to her. So, on the days that I spend time with her and opk like her, I don't feel so old. But when I go to work and see that most of the young people I work with are just that--YOUNG--and they don't have the cultural references I do (it was 80's day on L-land radio), so a good portion of what I laugh at is un-intelligible to them.
*sigh*
I am also going to 41 years old in less than 5 months.
I am now, officially, old enough to be mom to 1/2 the people I work with. This year's crop of newbies is either old enough to be my mom, or young enough to be my spawn.
I'm writing about that here, because of what I find happening to me.
Up until about 18 months ago, I was just "Older than them," and now, I find myself wanting to offer advice about life, protect them from some of the mistakes young adults make, and/or bring some of them home with me.
I feel old. And I fear, I'm turning into my mother.
It doesn't help that the Howler finished Kindergarten, and is now "officially" a first grader. And I've found that unlike when the Toad was this age (when I was either one-of-the-younger Moms, or fully a contemporary of the other Moms) I'm now one of the Older Moms.
The entire experience changed. From how long the school day was to what they actually taught, to how it was taught...to what was expected, behavior-wise. It was enough to make me want to join AARP ASAP. (Although one mom became a 1st time grandmother this past year--and she's only a year older than I am!--I still feel really old.) This means that technically, I am old enough to be a grandmother. Yee.
Think about it. When the Howler turns 16, and is legally allowed to learn to drive, I will be going-on-51. I can, as of now, measure memories in DECADES (that's entire 10-year chunks of time, in case the concept isn't depressing enough for ya.)
The Howler's contemporaries have parents who, for the most part, are still deciding whether or not to have more children, and who, for all intents and purposes, are not seriously aware how little time they have until retirement.
The Howler, of course, doesn't see it that way. We're just her mommy and daddy, and the details of it all don't matter to her. So, on the days that I spend time with her and opk like her, I don't feel so old. But when I go to work and see that most of the young people I work with are just that--YOUNG--and they don't have the cultural references I do (it was 80's day on L-land radio), so a good portion of what I laugh at is un-intelligible to them.
*sigh*
Monday, June 9, 2008
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
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