Quinn (2nd from left) on a field trip to the local fire station, posing with her preschool class and the fire captain.
11/20/2009
11/05/2009
on peanut butter sandwiches and milkshakes
This week has been a week of earlier than the already horribly early risings of the sweet little Quinn due to the "falling back" rule. And a week of holy crap it's only 5:30 pm and it feels like 10. These time changes are evil, you know?
Thankfully I have several friends with children who have confirmed that indeed this week has been painful for them as well.
As the parents, we groan and yawn and deal with the ramifications of such an insane rule that surely was meant only to disrupt our neat and tidy routine. The children, however, are expectedly not as well equipped to cope with this change, since they have no clue it has even occurred. (Read: Quinn is crabby as hell and complaining all during her waking hours).
Yesterday at lunchtime, after short discussion, the children and I elected to have peanut butter sandwiches. I can't clearly recall the exact event that preceeded her whine-fest, but anyway there was a whine-fest while I was trying to prepare lunch.
So I pulled out the ol' not-so-reliable shock statement used by parents to elicit a child's appreciation for food.
Me: "You know Quinn, I have something to tell you."
Quinn: "What Mommy?"
Me: "There are little children whose parents do not have enough money to buy peanut butter. Those little children have never even TASTED peanut butter!"
Quinn: *look of sheer horror*, followed by a tearful "WHY???" (yes, real tears over such an atrocity.)
Me: *satisfied to have evoked an emotional response* "Because, not everyone is as lucky as you are, Quinn. We should always remember how lucky we are to have nice things like peanut butter."
*********
Tonight Casey tells me a story. When he picked up Quinn from preschool this afternoon, he brought a milkshake for them to share as a special treat. (Which by the way she took 1 SECOND to spot when they got into the vehicle). Back and forth they took turns sipping, with Quinn drinking most of the shake. Casey drank the last sip.
Quinn: (howling with drama) "DADDY! You drank ALL of MY milkshake!!!"
Casey: "Honey, it was our milkshake to share. There was one tiny sip left and I just finished it. You got plenty of milkshake."
Quinn: "Daddy, that is NOT how you are supposed to treat your children."
*********
Wow, seriously? Back to square one. This lesson might take a few rounds to sink in.
Thankfully I have several friends with children who have confirmed that indeed this week has been painful for them as well.
As the parents, we groan and yawn and deal with the ramifications of such an insane rule that surely was meant only to disrupt our neat and tidy routine. The children, however, are expectedly not as well equipped to cope with this change, since they have no clue it has even occurred. (Read: Quinn is crabby as hell and complaining all during her waking hours).
Yesterday at lunchtime, after short discussion, the children and I elected to have peanut butter sandwiches. I can't clearly recall the exact event that preceeded her whine-fest, but anyway there was a whine-fest while I was trying to prepare lunch.
So I pulled out the ol' not-so-reliable shock statement used by parents to elicit a child's appreciation for food.
Me: "You know Quinn, I have something to tell you."
Quinn: "What Mommy?"
Me: "There are little children whose parents do not have enough money to buy peanut butter. Those little children have never even TASTED peanut butter!"
Quinn: *look of sheer horror*, followed by a tearful "WHY???" (yes, real tears over such an atrocity.)
Me: *satisfied to have evoked an emotional response* "Because, not everyone is as lucky as you are, Quinn. We should always remember how lucky we are to have nice things like peanut butter."
*********
Tonight Casey tells me a story. When he picked up Quinn from preschool this afternoon, he brought a milkshake for them to share as a special treat. (Which by the way she took 1 SECOND to spot when they got into the vehicle). Back and forth they took turns sipping, with Quinn drinking most of the shake. Casey drank the last sip.
Quinn: (howling with drama) "DADDY! You drank ALL of MY milkshake!!!"
Casey: "Honey, it was our milkshake to share. There was one tiny sip left and I just finished it. You got plenty of milkshake."
Quinn: "Daddy, that is NOT how you are supposed to treat your children."
*********
Wow, seriously? Back to square one. This lesson might take a few rounds to sink in.
11/03/2009
football girl
I'm a football girl. Sometimes I yell louder than my husband when watching a game. I really never had a choice in this matter though.
During most of my childhood, our family had one television. Said television was tuned in to Green Bay Packers football every Sunday without fail, and Sundays when my mother was at work meant football ALL day. I suppose I spent perhaps my first ten years hating Sundays, pouting and scowling in objection, and eventually retreating to my bedroom to find something else to do when my efforts failed.
Somewhere along the line, I caved and started to watch and listen. I became one of very few little girls who knew full well what a first down was and knew the difference between a tackle and a sack. I began to ask Dad questions during the game, and he explained it all. I knew that the coming of Fall signified the coming of the football season, and I looked forward to it eagerly.
Sundays during the off-season meant watching reruns of Gunsmoke, so can you really blame a girl?
My favorite person to watch the game with to this day is still my dad. He's hilarious, entertaining, and continues to enlighten me with little tidbits about the game that I have yet to learn. And he's always right. Nobody knows a horse-shit call like my dad.
This season I'm thrilled to be going to my second live Packers game with some girlfriends. Apparently they caved somewhere along the line too and became football girls, so we get along well. I can't wait to be there on the sidelines cheering on my favorite team.
During most of my childhood, our family had one television. Said television was tuned in to Green Bay Packers football every Sunday without fail, and Sundays when my mother was at work meant football ALL day. I suppose I spent perhaps my first ten years hating Sundays, pouting and scowling in objection, and eventually retreating to my bedroom to find something else to do when my efforts failed.
Somewhere along the line, I caved and started to watch and listen. I became one of very few little girls who knew full well what a first down was and knew the difference between a tackle and a sack. I began to ask Dad questions during the game, and he explained it all. I knew that the coming of Fall signified the coming of the football season, and I looked forward to it eagerly.
Sundays during the off-season meant watching reruns of Gunsmoke, so can you really blame a girl?
My favorite person to watch the game with to this day is still my dad. He's hilarious, entertaining, and continues to enlighten me with little tidbits about the game that I have yet to learn. And he's always right. Nobody knows a horse-shit call like my dad.
This season I'm thrilled to be going to my second live Packers game with some girlfriends. Apparently they caved somewhere along the line too and became football girls, so we get along well. I can't wait to be there on the sidelines cheering on my favorite team.
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