The Howler has developed the lovely habit of taking my stuff. It started out funny: a pair of shoes, a brand-new pair of jeans... we've now progressed to my walking around like a crazy person.
"STOP DESTROYING MY PENCILS!"
"YOU OWE ME $1 TO REPLACE THE 400 PAPERCLIPS YOU'VE TAKEN!"
and my personal favorite:
"I WANT MY SCISSORS BACK!"
A few years ago, I went batshit crazy looking for left-handed scissors. When I finally found where in they hide them, I about died from the sticker shock. They were more expensive than the pinking shears I needed 4 years ago (and them suckers wasn't cheap neither!) Does the child use them? Oh hell no.
The child, who is obviously getting more and more like her brother, actually told me tonight that she can't use the left-handed scissors anyway. So I'm all "WHAT?!" and she said, "Yeah, they don't work right for me either." (Used as right-handed scissors, they just kinda cut, kinda gently tear the paper in an annoying uncontrolled way. GRRRRRR, I say!)
I asked her if she tried using them with her left hand...she admitted, that, why, no, she didn't.
I asked her if she knew she was left handed.
She actually looked surprised to hear it.
Can you guess what that popping noise was?
Showing posts with label howler. Show all posts
Showing posts with label howler. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 23, 2014
Wednesday, April 16, 2014
Monkey Wrench
The Howler decided to sign up for afterschool intermural volleyball. On the very first day, she wrenched her neck. Apparently, her head zigged when her body zagged.
She calls me at work, 15 minutes before her Grandpa will be there to pick her up. Ugh. While I can here the pain in her voice, I also know my girl is a Drama Queen, so I have to quantify the Drama of it before I'll agree to leave work. Finally, I have no choice but to ask her, "do you neeeeeed ME to come?" Her final answer was, "Yes, I want you, Mom."
THAT doesn't happen often enough for me to be bored with it, so I scramble and call...and Grandpa has already left. I instruct the Gator to call him and tell him to wait there for me. I get there, and hot damn! The Howler really did pull something badly enough that she is in legit pain.
On the way home, while fully stopped at a red light, the Howler squeals in pain...and then tells me to "don't hit the brakes so hard." I tell her we are fully stopped, and that I AM TOO being careful with my driving!
I get her home and tell her that she has NO CHOICE but to do EXACTLY as I say. If it hurts as bad as all that, she will, for the first--and probably only--time in her life do what I say, when I say, how I say.
Miracles happen: she actually does what I say, when I say, how I say. And then she tells me I'm right. (Which is why I'm documenting this here.) I manage to get her to giggle about "Duh de Mayo" and other G rated rants about general things.
Later in the evening, I tell her more what to do. And again, a short time later I get the payoff: I am right. Twice in one day, she tells me I'm right.
I think she was high from the Tylenol.
She calls me at work, 15 minutes before her Grandpa will be there to pick her up. Ugh. While I can here the pain in her voice, I also know my girl is a Drama Queen, so I have to quantify the Drama of it before I'll agree to leave work. Finally, I have no choice but to ask her, "do you neeeeeed ME to come?" Her final answer was, "Yes, I want you, Mom."
THAT doesn't happen often enough for me to be bored with it, so I scramble and call...and Grandpa has already left. I instruct the Gator to call him and tell him to wait there for me. I get there, and hot damn! The Howler really did pull something badly enough that she is in legit pain.
On the way home, while fully stopped at a red light, the Howler squeals in pain...and then tells me to "don't hit the brakes so hard." I tell her we are fully stopped, and that I AM TOO being careful with my driving!
I get her home and tell her that she has NO CHOICE but to do EXACTLY as I say. If it hurts as bad as all that, she will, for the first--and probably only--time in her life do what I say, when I say, how I say.
Miracles happen: she actually does what I say, when I say, how I say. And then she tells me I'm right. (Which is why I'm documenting this here.) I manage to get her to giggle about "Duh de Mayo" and other G rated rants about general things.
Later in the evening, I tell her more what to do. And again, a short time later I get the payoff: I am right. Twice in one day, she tells me I'm right.
I think she was high from the Tylenol.
Dos de Mayo
Have I told you lately how very much I hate the Middle School? I hated it when I went there? And how very much I hated it when the Toad went there? So I have 3x times the hate for the place right now.
Honestly, I'm not overly impressed with the teachers. At least not the Howler's teachers. The coolest one (and the only one I think I'd actually want to know) is her math teacher. He puts off a hippie vibe...just kinda laid back, even while taking the whole teaching math thing seriously. The Howler likes him a lot. He doesn't wear shoes when he's teaching. Or so the Howler sez. He also doesn't mind her going shoeless in his room either. He impresses her with his acknowledgement of her hatred of shoes. Good for him.
The other teachers? Yeah, I don't like 'em so much. Other than her reading teacher, I don't think these people fully understand that they are teaching 11-12-13 year olds, with all their individual insanities added to the collective age related insanities.
I won't start about the music/chorus/band teachers. That's a whole rant that I avoid, because while it's valid, it also makes me sound too much like my mother.
But this isn't about the teachers themselves. This is about the notice that the students will be celebrating Cinco de Mayo, since they're studying Mexico right now. Cinco de Mayo is on a Monday this year. The Howler et al will be celebrating it on the Friday before.
That's right: They're celebrating Dos de Mayo (although I've been saying "deux" because if said properly, it sounds very much like a "duh". She giggles. Worth it!) The Howler refused to let me near the paper I was to sign in agreement to present some form of Mexican foodstuffs or wrapped candy for someone else to stuff into a piñata or three until I promised not to write a note about the teachers totally missing the point of Cinco de Mayo.
Don't worry. I promised. I was a good Mom.
And the Howler was a good Howler, and notified her Social Studies teacher of what I had said.
Honestly, I'm not overly impressed with the teachers. At least not the Howler's teachers. The coolest one (and the only one I think I'd actually want to know) is her math teacher. He puts off a hippie vibe...just kinda laid back, even while taking the whole teaching math thing seriously. The Howler likes him a lot. He doesn't wear shoes when he's teaching. Or so the Howler sez. He also doesn't mind her going shoeless in his room either. He impresses her with his acknowledgement of her hatred of shoes. Good for him.
The other teachers? Yeah, I don't like 'em so much. Other than her reading teacher, I don't think these people fully understand that they are teaching 11-12-13 year olds, with all their individual insanities added to the collective age related insanities.
I won't start about the music/chorus/band teachers. That's a whole rant that I avoid, because while it's valid, it also makes me sound too much like my mother.
But this isn't about the teachers themselves. This is about the notice that the students will be celebrating Cinco de Mayo, since they're studying Mexico right now. Cinco de Mayo is on a Monday this year. The Howler et al will be celebrating it on the Friday before.
That's right: They're celebrating Dos de Mayo (although I've been saying "deux" because if said properly, it sounds very much like a "duh". She giggles. Worth it!) The Howler refused to let me near the paper I was to sign in agreement to present some form of Mexican foodstuffs or wrapped candy for someone else to stuff into a piñata or three until I promised not to write a note about the teachers totally missing the point of Cinco de Mayo.
Don't worry. I promised. I was a good Mom.
And the Howler was a good Howler, and notified her Social Studies teacher of what I had said.
Sunday, June 2, 2013
A Mother's Day Story
This year, for Mother's Day, no one wished me a Happy Mother's Day all day. Even with prompting, the Howler stubbornly refused to acknowledge me as her mother (in her defense, I don't think she knows the "MF" word.)
I had to work that afternoon, and when I had been home from work for about an hour, the Howler finds me in the smoking lounge, reading. She begins to blather on about something--don't ask me what, I wasn't listening--and then she goes silent.
I look up from my reading to find her grinning at me.
She says, "Happy Mother's Day" and holds out a $1 bill.
I look at the bill; I look at her. I look back at the bill. I ask, "You couldn't even scratch 'happy mother's day' onto a piece of paper to wrap that in?"
She wiggles the bill at me a bit and snaps, "Do you want the money or not?"
I took the money.
Happy Mother's Day to me.
I had to work that afternoon, and when I had been home from work for about an hour, the Howler finds me in the smoking lounge, reading. She begins to blather on about something--don't ask me what, I wasn't listening--and then she goes silent.
I look up from my reading to find her grinning at me.
She says, "Happy Mother's Day" and holds out a $1 bill.
I look at the bill; I look at her. I look back at the bill. I ask, "You couldn't even scratch 'happy mother's day' onto a piece of paper to wrap that in?"
She wiggles the bill at me a bit and snaps, "Do you want the money or not?"
I took the money.
Happy Mother's Day to me.
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
Mouths of Babes
Saturday, May 11, 2013, was the 5th grade trip. What that means is the Howler is ending her elementary school days, and this fall will be at the middle school. I'm saving my ACK moment for later. I can't afford it right now.
So, on this trip, we are going to Kennywood Park, in Pittsburgh, PA. She loves rides, what I refer to as "Spin me, Flip me, Fly me!" and the only restrictions she has are no dark rides. She refuses to ride anything that goes in the dark--no matter how tame it is to you or me, she won't do it.
My Howler has been incessantly watching videos of the rides, driving everyone around her to distraction. She was keeping a notebook of who, what, where, and how for about a dozen rides.
Once there, her obsession became the Black Widow. It was closed for "maintenance" on and off throughout the day, which didn't lessen her insistance that she ride it. Watching this thing was terrifying.
By 5pm, it was open and running. And still terrifying. And she's riding it ALONE--she's immediately to the left of the girl all in pink. I walk with her to get in line. I watch with much trepidation as she patiently moves thru the line. Several other children and their chaperones are watching this thing too.
One girl asks me, "Why are you letting your daughter ride that, if it scares you?"
"Because I believe, especially for girls, it's important to face your fears and do new things, even if they seem scary to their moms."
She looks back at the Black Widow, then at me, then back at the Black Widow, and says, "I just can't ride that. No way!"
"Well, that's part of facing your fears: knowing that you just can't do some things, and sticking to it, regardless of what everyone else is doing."
I was terrified for the Howler--she's doing this, and doing it totally by herself....until she's on the thing. Once it started, the unadulterated joy on her face was enough to make me laugh out loud and garner odd looks from others around me.
It was sooooo very worth it...especially knowing that my own mother would never have allowed me on it at any age, because of her own fears.
So, on this trip, we are going to Kennywood Park, in Pittsburgh, PA. She loves rides, what I refer to as "Spin me, Flip me, Fly me!" and the only restrictions she has are no dark rides. She refuses to ride anything that goes in the dark--no matter how tame it is to you or me, she won't do it.
My Howler has been incessantly watching videos of the rides, driving everyone around her to distraction. She was keeping a notebook of who, what, where, and how for about a dozen rides.
Once there, her obsession became the Black Widow. It was closed for "maintenance" on and off throughout the day, which didn't lessen her insistance that she ride it. Watching this thing was terrifying.
By 5pm, it was open and running. And still terrifying. And she's riding it ALONE--she's immediately to the left of the girl all in pink. I walk with her to get in line. I watch with much trepidation as she patiently moves thru the line. Several other children and their chaperones are watching this thing too.
One girl asks me, "Why are you letting your daughter ride that, if it scares you?"
"Because I believe, especially for girls, it's important to face your fears and do new things, even if they seem scary to their moms."
She looks back at the Black Widow, then at me, then back at the Black Widow, and says, "I just can't ride that. No way!"
"Well, that's part of facing your fears: knowing that you just can't do some things, and sticking to it, regardless of what everyone else is doing."
I was terrified for the Howler--she's doing this, and doing it totally by herself....until she's on the thing. Once it started, the unadulterated joy on her face was enough to make me laugh out loud and garner odd looks from others around me.
It was sooooo very worth it...especially knowing that my own mother would never have allowed me on it at any age, because of her own fears.
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
Monday, December 17, 2012
Christmas Past p.1
This year, the Howler announced that, "Duh, you and Mom are Santa." So, I'm spending this holiday season, remembering the Howler That Was.
With that said, I bring you an unadulterated rerun, from 2007:
With that said, I bring you an unadulterated rerun, from 2007:
Thursday, December 6, 2012
Vocabulary
The Howler, as we know, as murderized the langridge for years.
Recently, the Toad moved out. That left the largest bedroom in the house vacant. We debated taking that room ourselves...or moving the Howler into it.
We decided that no one would move into it (there's always a chance that the Toad will move back--let's all hope to hell not, tho) and it could become, effectively, a playroom.
We moved the dollhouse, several bins, large and small, of toys and whatnots and whoozzits into the room. An old TV with a DVD was also installed. The fold out red cushiony chair/bed thing went there, as it the folding chair originally purchased for the Howler's room.
My sister had a futon she no longer wanted, and that was also put in there.
Shortly after the that was moved into the room, the Howler came to us asking how to fold the crouton down so she and Missy could lay on it to watch a movie.
I love that even at 10-going-on-11, the Howler still manages to make me laugh by re writing the dictionary.
Recently, the Toad moved out. That left the largest bedroom in the house vacant. We debated taking that room ourselves...or moving the Howler into it.
We decided that no one would move into it (there's always a chance that the Toad will move back--let's all hope to hell not, tho) and it could become, effectively, a playroom.
We moved the dollhouse, several bins, large and small, of toys and whatnots and whoozzits into the room. An old TV with a DVD was also installed. The fold out red cushiony chair/bed thing went there, as it the folding chair originally purchased for the Howler's room.
My sister had a futon she no longer wanted, and that was also put in there.
Shortly after the that was moved into the room, the Howler came to us asking how to fold the crouton down so she and Missy could lay on it to watch a movie.
I love that even at 10-going-on-11, the Howler still manages to make me laugh by re writing the dictionary.
Wednesday, December 5, 2012
Mine! Mine!
The Howler, over the past year or so, has been slowly stealing my clothes.
On one hand, it's actually a compliment, because she's so stinking picky about fabrics and fit. She's always saying, "It's uncomfortable." She'll reject things that normal people wear, and limit herself to mostly T-shirts and sweatpants. I've managed to force her into wearing jeans, mostly by telling her that she cannot go through life in sweatpants and shorts.
On the other hand, those clothes are MINE, and I LIKE them, and I WANT them back! I have given her some T-shirts to sleep in, a sweater or two for church, but in general, if the clothes have spent any quality time in my closet, or on me, I consider them MINE and don't expect to see them tromping home from the bus stop after school. But if the picky Howler is actually stealing them, I'm at least not dressing like my mother.
Two nights ago, she came to me, holding a brand new pair of jeans. MY jeans. MINE. She said, "It's spirit day tomorrow at school, and I am wearing these jeans." (bolding by the Howler. Yes, she talks in bold. shooosh, you.)
I said, "Those are mine."
She replied, "Maybe not."
"They don't fit you."
"Oh, yes, but they do."
"Prove it."
And she did.
GRRRRRRRR.
On one hand, it's actually a compliment, because she's so stinking picky about fabrics and fit. She's always saying, "It's uncomfortable." She'll reject things that normal people wear, and limit herself to mostly T-shirts and sweatpants. I've managed to force her into wearing jeans, mostly by telling her that she cannot go through life in sweatpants and shorts.
On the other hand, those clothes are MINE, and I LIKE them, and I WANT them back! I have given her some T-shirts to sleep in, a sweater or two for church, but in general, if the clothes have spent any quality time in my closet, or on me, I consider them MINE and don't expect to see them tromping home from the bus stop after school. But if the picky Howler is actually stealing them, I'm at least not dressing like my mother.
Two nights ago, she came to me, holding a brand new pair of jeans. MY jeans. MINE. She said, "It's spirit day tomorrow at school, and I am wearing these jeans." (bolding by the Howler. Yes, she talks in bold. shooosh, you.)
I said, "Those are mine."
She replied, "Maybe not."
"They don't fit you."
"Oh, yes, but they do."
"Prove it."
And she did.
GRRRRRRRR.
Thursday, November 29, 2012
Breaking News
Last evening, at approxiatmately 8:17pm, the Howler announced, "Duh. You & Mom are Santa."
The child has been desperately clinging to the myth that Santa is real, probably because she believes that when you stop believing, your gifts devolve into the realm of new socks and underwear, eventually dwindling to nothing.
Last year, she was adamant about polling everyone on their belief in Santa. Not one to lie, I told her I believe in the spirit of Santa. Considering her shaky history with the fat jolly old elf, we should have crossed this bridge ages ago.
In a nutshell, her history with Santa includes, but is not limited to: 9 months old at her first Christmas, she shrieked in fear when walking past the Visit Santa area of the local mall, with her aversion to all things fat, bearded and jolly culminating on a refusal to sit in a Santa shaped stuffed bean bag chair; a few years later when she stopped sleeping for fear Santa would pull a Charles Manson Family inspired creepy-crawl thru our house on Christmas Eve (gifts that year spent the night on the porch); the on-going fear of meeting the fat man in person, up to and including climbing up me like a Sherpa on Mt. Everest; the screaming and crying Christmas photo session at Walmart when the hapless photographer innocently announced, "Let's take your picture with Santa now!"; the near freak out experienced when the Toad, decked out in his brand new fancy Santa Claus suit, walked thru the house. Dude didn't even have the beard on yet because he knew the freak-out over Santa in the house was gonna happen; of the two photos I have of her with Santa, one features the neighbor's granddaughter, as it was the only safe way to get her there (don't let the neighbor kid know your pathological fears is a pretty strong motivator.)
To say I feel not one bit of sadness over this is an understatement. It stopped being fun for me years ago--I think the screaming fit at the Walmart photo booth did me in.
I'm not really looking forward to what has taken it's place, though. She has now adopted the stance of shadowing me relentlessly while asking what we got her for Christmas, and it isn't a whole lot more attractive. (Not that the adamant belief that we're bound to ruin her Christmas dreams by refusing to get her the stupid crap she desperately desires is much better.)
So, my little Howler, there is no Santa Claus. The world will go on spinning, and your parents will still by you good gifts.
The child has been desperately clinging to the myth that Santa is real, probably because she believes that when you stop believing, your gifts devolve into the realm of new socks and underwear, eventually dwindling to nothing.
Last year, she was adamant about polling everyone on their belief in Santa. Not one to lie, I told her I believe in the spirit of Santa. Considering her shaky history with the fat jolly old elf, we should have crossed this bridge ages ago.
In a nutshell, her history with Santa includes, but is not limited to: 9 months old at her first Christmas, she shrieked in fear when walking past the Visit Santa area of the local mall, with her aversion to all things fat, bearded and jolly culminating on a refusal to sit in a Santa shaped stuffed bean bag chair; a few years later when she stopped sleeping for fear Santa would pull a Charles Manson Family inspired creepy-crawl thru our house on Christmas Eve (gifts that year spent the night on the porch); the on-going fear of meeting the fat man in person, up to and including climbing up me like a Sherpa on Mt. Everest; the screaming and crying Christmas photo session at Walmart when the hapless photographer innocently announced, "Let's take your picture with Santa now!"; the near freak out experienced when the Toad, decked out in his brand new fancy Santa Claus suit, walked thru the house. Dude didn't even have the beard on yet because he knew the freak-out over Santa in the house was gonna happen; of the two photos I have of her with Santa, one features the neighbor's granddaughter, as it was the only safe way to get her there (don't let the neighbor kid know your pathological fears is a pretty strong motivator.)
To say I feel not one bit of sadness over this is an understatement. It stopped being fun for me years ago--I think the screaming fit at the Walmart photo booth did me in.
I'm not really looking forward to what has taken it's place, though. She has now adopted the stance of shadowing me relentlessly while asking what we got her for Christmas, and it isn't a whole lot more attractive. (Not that the adamant belief that we're bound to ruin her Christmas dreams by refusing to get her the stupid crap she desperately desires is much better.)
So, my little Howler, there is no Santa Claus. The world will go on spinning, and your parents will still by you good gifts.
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
Moody
The other day, the Howler informed me, "I think I'm going to start having mood swings."
REALLY?!
"Soon, like a YEAR AGO?" I asked.
We both laughed.
REALLY?!
"Soon, like a YEAR AGO?" I asked.
We both laughed.
Monday, September 10, 2012
Just Her
I love having a daughter. I really do.
BUT.
She's so WTF weird.
Really.
Tonight, I was reading, minding my own business, and I hear My Sweetie yelling for the Howler. He's in the kitchen, and she's where ever it is she is.
The words I can hear are "freezer" and "socks"
I don't want to know, and am very very glad I am in the basement.
Now, we spent the better part of this past spring finding all sorts of odd Howlerphernialia in the freezer. After finally spazzing out about it (at one point all the dishtowels in the house had been drenched and placed in the freezer. Considering that they were NOT frozen in a huge lump, it was obvious that it had been an entire day's mission to get them all in there and frozen.)
My Sweetie comes down to the basement and asks me if I could hear any of "that." I start laughing. He starts laughing.
We spend a few minutes saying, "that's your side of the family" and then come to the conclusion that this particular WTF is just her.
Just HER.
BUT.
She's so WTF weird.
Really.
Tonight, I was reading, minding my own business, and I hear My Sweetie yelling for the Howler. He's in the kitchen, and she's where ever it is she is.
The words I can hear are "freezer" and "socks"
I don't want to know, and am very very glad I am in the basement.
Now, we spent the better part of this past spring finding all sorts of odd Howlerphernialia in the freezer. After finally spazzing out about it (at one point all the dishtowels in the house had been drenched and placed in the freezer. Considering that they were NOT frozen in a huge lump, it was obvious that it had been an entire day's mission to get them all in there and frozen.)
My Sweetie comes down to the basement and asks me if I could hear any of "that." I start laughing. He starts laughing.
We spend a few minutes saying, "that's your side of the family" and then come to the conclusion that this particular WTF is just her.
Just HER.
Monday, July 30, 2012
Growing Up
I haven't been blogging much.
And I actually have a pretty good reason for why.
The Howler is getting older. We've now hit the beginnings of the Pre-Teen things, and, especially for girls, there are some things that she'd probably rather I didn't blog about. So I have to scale back on some of the totally out there with it all stuff I usually rant about.
She's only 10, and things officially kicked off on her birthday back in March. Pity the poor man who lives with us.
And I actually have a pretty good reason for why.
The Howler is getting older. We've now hit the beginnings of the Pre-Teen things, and, especially for girls, there are some things that she'd probably rather I didn't blog about. So I have to scale back on some of the totally out there with it all stuff I usually rant about.
She's only 10, and things officially kicked off on her birthday back in March. Pity the poor man who lives with us.
Monday, April 30, 2012
Parent Problems
Here's the thing. I knew years ago with the Toad that weird parenting would be part and parcel of what we're doing here. I just didn't know how weird that would actually be.
There are many many things you expect, as a parent, to have to explain to your children. Especially things that are wrong, and that they shouldn't do. You try to head some of these off, and clue them in before they actually do the wrong thing.
But sometimes, no matter how proactive you try to be, you still find yourself explaining to your 10 year old daughter that it's inappropriate to hit other people's grandmothers with dismembered body parts.
Okay, so you've scrolled down to get the full story: at some point last year, a disembodied doll leg appeared in my yard. From the length of the leg, I'd guess that this is one of those 3 foot tall "just like me" dolls. Like my sister had, that when she was left propped up in a corner, my mother would talk to it, thinking it was either me or my sister.
Anyway, leg appears last summer. At various times, the leg may appear to be abandoned in the yard, on the porch, or in the garden. I would giggle, step over it, and wonder who the leg belonged to.
Friday afternoon, Bonk's Grandma, Omi, was here at my house to meet the bus, as Bonk's Mom, and I both had to work until shortly after the bus would show up. The Howler, I'm told, was in rare form, and when Omi was leaving, the Howler brandished "the Widow Maker" and tapped Omi on the back of the head with the leg.
Is it just me, or is that image bizarre even for the Mumples?
There are many many things you expect, as a parent, to have to explain to your children. Especially things that are wrong, and that they shouldn't do. You try to head some of these off, and clue them in before they actually do the wrong thing.
But sometimes, no matter how proactive you try to be, you still find yourself explaining to your 10 year old daughter that it's inappropriate to hit other people's grandmothers with dismembered body parts.
Okay, so you've scrolled down to get the full story: at some point last year, a disembodied doll leg appeared in my yard. From the length of the leg, I'd guess that this is one of those 3 foot tall "just like me" dolls. Like my sister had, that when she was left propped up in a corner, my mother would talk to it, thinking it was either me or my sister.
Anyway, leg appears last summer. At various times, the leg may appear to be abandoned in the yard, on the porch, or in the garden. I would giggle, step over it, and wonder who the leg belonged to.
Friday afternoon, Bonk's Grandma, Omi, was here at my house to meet the bus, as Bonk's Mom, and I both had to work until shortly after the bus would show up. The Howler, I'm told, was in rare form, and when Omi was leaving, the Howler brandished "the Widow Maker" and tapped Omi on the back of the head with the leg.
Is it just me, or is that image bizarre even for the Mumples?
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Bee Afraid
The Howler arrived home today, brimming with news:
She made the first cut in the Spelling Bee! She is one of 5 children from her class who will go on to the next step: the "all school" Spelling Bee. That's right, folks: the Howler, one of the worst spellers in the history of spelling (3rd only behind my brother and her brother, I think) is one of the top 15 spellers in the 4th grade. Bee afraid.
She brought home this huge list of words: and, considering how horribly she usually shrieks at any kind of work in this magnitude, she is undaunted. Bee even more afraid, because, dude, she's GOT THIS.
Also, I am proud, because last year, she made me proud too: she wanted no part of the extra work last year and deliberately misspelled the first word they gave her, because there was no way she was getting involved in THAT. (leave it to my girl to figure the out!)
She made the first cut in the Spelling Bee! She is one of 5 children from her class who will go on to the next step: the "all school" Spelling Bee. That's right, folks: the Howler, one of the worst spellers in the history of spelling (3rd only behind my brother and her brother, I think) is one of the top 15 spellers in the 4th grade. Bee afraid.
She brought home this huge list of words: and, considering how horribly she usually shrieks at any kind of work in this magnitude, she is undaunted. Bee even more afraid, because, dude, she's GOT THIS.
Also, I am proud, because last year, she made me proud too: she wanted no part of the extra work last year and deliberately misspelled the first word they gave her, because there was no way she was getting involved in THAT. (leave it to my girl to figure the out!)
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Security!
The Howler, bless her, still believes in Santa. Don't know how I ended up with children firmly entrenched in the fantasy of Christmas, although, I suppose, it's the way karma works. (The Toad believed well into his 9th or 10th year also, in spite of my snapping out one day and telling him flat out: I AM SANTA, YOU DOLT!)
I think it has to do with the belief that A) their mother despises Christmas-True, btw and B) good gifts disappear and socks and underwear take their place once the "magic" is gone-False, btw.
Anyway, she's been hitting everyone up with questions about their belief in Old Saint Nick, and she is working very hard to convince us that she does still believe. More power to her, I say. Live in that fantasy world, girlfriend! God knows reality will beat you with it's prosthetic leg soon enough.
What that means in Mumpleland is that we have spent the month discussing her belief, and what to do about it. The Little Mister wanted to continue to feed the illusion...I, on the other hand, am bored with the Santa thing and am ready to move on. (We are feeding the illusion, if you were wondering. I'm bored, but I'm not evil. K?)
What that also means is that the Howler, having recently announced a sudden and undying love of baby dolls, is specific in the ugly rubbery plasticky thing she's expecting Santa to provide. When I wanted to buy her dolls and tiny clothes and dishes and bottles with white liquid that disappears she had little to no interest. Now that I've given it up as a bad job and made my peace iwith it, I'm standing in KMart last Sunday afternoon, looking at creepy baby dolls.
The Howler wants a Baby Alive. Back in my day, Baby Alive was like a mutant. Now, they talk. In Spanish. They bounce and giggle and coo. And they look like shaved monkeys.
But, if you stand in that particular aisle and shake the shit out of the bouncing one, it coos just exactly the same as if it were still on the shelf. And while several people will stop, look, and giggle with you, no one will call security.
Not that I know from personal experience or anything.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Dinner with My Spawn
Tonight for dinner, the Toad said he'd be here. So, when dinner was ready, we called up to Ass Caverns for him.
We used snooty accents, rolling our r's and elongating our vowels. He was amused.
He entered the kitchen, looked at me, and said, "Could you BE more obnoxious? Really?"
I laughed. Still using the snooty accent, I tell him, "Why, yes, I could be."
Again, he said, "Really? COULD you?"
Still laughing, I tell him, "Why yes, actually I could." Then I asked him if he wanted to throw down that gauntlet with me.
The Howler adds her two cents worth with, "Trust me, dude, you don't want to throw down anything with this woman."
We used snooty accents, rolling our r's and elongating our vowels. He was amused.
He entered the kitchen, looked at me, and said, "Could you BE more obnoxious? Really?"
I laughed. Still using the snooty accent, I tell him, "Why, yes, I could be."
Again, he said, "Really? COULD you?"
Still laughing, I tell him, "Why yes, actually I could." Then I asked him if he wanted to throw down that gauntlet with me.
The Howler adds her two cents worth with, "Trust me, dude, you don't want to throw down anything with this woman."
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
The Apple Never Falls Far...
The Howler has been having a small issue with some chicklet on the bus calling her names and saying mean things.
The Howler has shared her frustration with me. I have been all over it--giving the right advice (I know, I know! How weird is that?) and telling her, first, to ignore and to be nice.
That didn't work. (Shock & surprise!)
So, I next suggested she talk to the bus driver, when they got to school, since nasty chicklet is on the bus before-and-after the Howler's stop. So, she did. Apparently, one of the teachers also heard this nasty girl say something mean to the Howler.
That remains to be seen. (the Howler gets to move her seat, no further questions asked.)
Hopefully, that solves the problem. If it doesn't, ol' Mama Mumple is gonna be involved.
But that's not really what this post is about. What this post is about, is this: The Howler, after a particularly trying day at containing herself, was horrid to be around. I sent her to her room, for general annoyance. She knows that if she's sent to her room for general annoyance, she can come out whenever she is ready to stop the annoyance and be as decent to be around as any one 9 year old can be.
She never came out.
I went up to talk to her, and see if we couldn't get whatever the bug was, out. We had a nice, non-annoying chat, and at the end, I stressed to her that I want her to find NICER, FRIENDLIER, less-confrontational ways to communicate with people. I asked her if she knew why.
She responded with: "so I can be not as mean and grumpy as you are?"
God, I love that girl.
The Howler has shared her frustration with me. I have been all over it--giving the right advice (I know, I know! How weird is that?) and telling her, first, to ignore and to be nice.
That didn't work. (Shock & surprise!)
So, I next suggested she talk to the bus driver, when they got to school, since nasty chicklet is on the bus before-and-after the Howler's stop. So, she did. Apparently, one of the teachers also heard this nasty girl say something mean to the Howler.
That remains to be seen. (the Howler gets to move her seat, no further questions asked.)
Hopefully, that solves the problem. If it doesn't, ol' Mama Mumple is gonna be involved.
But that's not really what this post is about. What this post is about, is this: The Howler, after a particularly trying day at containing herself, was horrid to be around. I sent her to her room, for general annoyance. She knows that if she's sent to her room for general annoyance, she can come out whenever she is ready to stop the annoyance and be as decent to be around as any one 9 year old can be.
She never came out.
I went up to talk to her, and see if we couldn't get whatever the bug was, out. We had a nice, non-annoying chat, and at the end, I stressed to her that I want her to find NICER, FRIENDLIER, less-confrontational ways to communicate with people. I asked her if she knew why.
She responded with: "so I can be not as mean and grumpy as you are?"
God, I love that girl.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Murderizing the Langridge Continues
Even into the 4th grade, the Howler manages to murderize the langridge:
Currently, in math, they're working on "eclapsed" time.
I am so curious to find out what, exactly, this entails, I'm off to do 4th grade math.
Currently, in math, they're working on "eclapsed" time.
I am so curious to find out what, exactly, this entails, I'm off to do 4th grade math.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
On the First Day of School
My true love gave to me...
A Howler in the fourth grade.
*sigh*(will edit later to add pics.)
A Howler in the fourth grade.
*sigh*(will edit later to add pics.)
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