Journal Time

Every Wednesday, Darian's class ventures over to the local P-Patch to find a spot of their own and journal. Wednesday is Free Choice, so she can write about whatever is on her mind. Currently, her free choice is a comic about crazy cats. (When she says the word 'crazy' she uses jazz hands for punctuation.)

Today she got into the car and exclaimed, "The P-Patch was so amazing! There were lots of cool spaces where you could just sit and think about what you wanted to write. The weird thing is, there weren't a lot of peas there."

I had to ask, "So, was it just a bunch of r's, s's, t's and the usual v's?"

She answered, " No, just a bunch of clover." I smirked. She added, "You should come next Wednesday and write with us. It's not like you have a job or anything."

Snarky little journalist.

Burnt

Can I just tell you how burnt out I am on resume sending? I am picky with the companies I choose to apply to, so that could be one of the reasons this process is taking so freaking long!

Oh, and I have a *fifth* interview tomorrow with a prospective employer.....FIFTH!!!

It makes me think about my friend's mom who had eight, count 'em, eight interviews with a boutique type grocery store. After all was said and done, she did not receive the position she worked so hard to get. Instead she ended up playing Ms. Claus for them one holiday season.

Cross your fingers that I will not have to go through 3 more interviews with the same company again. Or that they will ask me to dress up in a chicken suit at a trade show.

This one goes out to all my peeps

I can't believe that Easter is here and I have completely forgotten about one of my all time favorite recipes:

Resurrection Buns

1 can of refrigerator biscuits
1/4 cup melted butter or margarine
1 cup sugar and cinnamon mixture
1 marshmallow for each biscuit (Peeps are the best)

Place a peep in the middle of each roll and pull the side around the peep and seal it in. This is important. When they are baked, the peep melts leaving the inside empty. If you do not get a good seal around it will just ooze all over the pan. I roll mine into a ball after I seal it. Then you roll it in the melted butter and then the sugar and bake according to the direction on the package.

'I am the resurrection, and I am the light' -yellow peeps 2005

The voices in my head

For the past couple of weeks, I have been hearing strange voices talking to me around the same time every morning. At first, I thought there were people outside walking toward the bus stop located 2 blocks from my home. Looking out the window, I would find no one. I would sleepily ask my husband if he heard anyone talking.

"Listen, " I would say, " closely. The voices sound a bit muffled like there is someone outside, or hidden in the basement."

"No, honey. I don't hear a thing, " Scott would mutter as he rolled over.

"You're not listening hard enough. Stop snoring and listen."

But then all I would hear were the snores of Scott.

I started to get scared. I mean, why am I only hearing these voices? One morning it sounded as if I was eavesdropping on the play by play of a ball game. Why me? Why can I only hear this? Sure, I have had my share of emotional traumas, but to start hearing voices? A psyche ward is not the place I want to be right now!

Thursday was a bad morning. I heard the voices again and this time they were louder. They're coming to get me, I thought! I am being consumed by the voices in my head! Trembling, I reached over to Scott and pleaded with him to listen for these voices. First he said he could not hear anything. Then he got out of bed and climbed over to my side.

He heard the voices, too!! Giggling, but not too hard as to make me feel inferior, he said, "Honey, you are hearing the sounds of your alarm clock set to talk radio. You don't notice that it goes off since you have all these books piled in front of it."

Oh, Hallelujah!!! I am not crazy! I'm just clueless!

Captain Underpants

In a word, my dog is weird. First of all, he has severe separation anxiety and wants to be with only me. He growls at my husband whenever we are talking and barks incessantly at him every time he walks in the door. I am not sure why he does not trust my husband, who grew up with this breed of dog and knows far more about dogs and raising them than I ever could, but he does. Our dog is a Pomeranian.

We adopted Ellie (Elrond, the Elf King) exactly 3 months ago. Just in this past month, he has taken to messing around in the dirty clothes baskets and pulling out underpants. He especially loves my daughter's. When he first discovered underpants, both my daughter and I were sleeping, while Scott was at work. When Scott came home late that night, he was surprised to find several pair of underpants- and a bra- in front of the fireplace. He also found a pair or two at the bottom of the stairs to the basement. My husband wondered what kind of party Darian and I had the night before. :)

Ellie is quite content to grab a dirty pair of underpants, lay them in front of the fireplace, then sit upon them to chew on a bone. One time, he grabbed Darian's underpants from her as she was stepping out of them. A chase ensued and Ellie put up a good fight before relinquishing the underpants.

He ended up choosing socks to lay on that evening.

I said No!!

Today I think I hurt my daughter's friend's feelings not to mention, I've pissed off her mom.

Long story short, my daughter has a very good friend who comes over often for sleepovers. I can always count on her arguing with just about everything I ask of her; more or less backtalking. It's gotten to a point where I have had enough and said to her mother this morning that I am tired of her daughter's attitude. Her mother looked surprised, took her daughter aside and had a conversation. I am not sure what they said, but when they came back into the room, it was obvious that the little girl had been crying. From the time they returned, until we parted company, the little girl would only glare at me- trying to force out the evil eye from hers of blue.

Come to find out that in this little girl's family, everything, and I mean everything, is negotiated. (collaborative decision parenting is what this is referred to.???) She is not used to hearing another grownup tell her to do something without being able to express her feelings about it. When I tell her that we are going to do something a certain way, she wants to be able to say how she feels about it, first, before any action happens. (Uh, how then does this work when she is in school for most of the day?)

I'm sorry, but that's not how things work in my house. I say, this is when we are leaving, or eating, or cleanup time, or whatever, and my daughter generally grants my wish without giving me a song and dance about each request. Not her friend! I flat out asked my daughter if she talks back to her friend's parents and her friend answered for her, 'She doesn't.' Why, then, must you talk back to me, 6 year old friend of my daughter?

The kicker was when my husband was talking about cheddar and the little girl said that cheddar was not a cheese. After Scott explained that it was, she actually said, 'Whatever.' I should only hope that my child does not brush off an adult in such a disrespectful manner.

Granted, our daughter is an only child with 2 attentive parents, and we tend to talk to her as if she were an adult. However, we respect what she has to say, we try not interrupt, and we do our best to adhere to her wishes. But for Christ's sake, the 6 year old is not in charge and when the parent says No, she/he means No!!

Now, did you understand my words?

Darian's Power Point assignment

Darian came home today with a print out of her Power Point assignment that she did last month for Black History Month. I wish I had the photos to share; I hope you can imagine the images with the text:

Freedom March
by: Darian

* Hi, my name is Kitten and I am a black person. The bus was fun and great. There were 40 busses by my bus! I was happy to see Dr. King speak!

* I was marching and my sign said FREEDOM! I got to say, 'Give Black people freedom!' There were over 200 people in the march. I had a fun time in the march.

* Dr. King is speaking now! He said, we black people need our rights. He said, I have a dream. He said, my 4 kids will join hands with white girls and boys. He is fighting for freedom. He is happy.

* The people were saying, 'Go Dr. King!' I was sitting by a tree. I had a great lunch by the reflecting pool while I heard Dr. King. I got to shake Dr. King's hand.

* We all left for home. I had a good time marching. I hope freedom comes. Bye for now. At home we will work to help Dr. King's dream come true.


How cool is that?

Pet Peeves

I concede that I am a very petulant person. I find things bothersome that most others would not. Take, for instance, the use of the word 'regards'. I cannot *stand* to hear someone say, 'I'm calling in regards to..' or reading a letter that states, 'We are writing in regards to your...'. It's REGARD, regard, regard, regard, regard. Regard, if you will, the meaning, and learn the proper way to use the word, people!!

Grammar aside, my other big peeve is where people choose to park. I live on a quiet road with a double driveway and plenty of on-street parking. That means that people can park either next to my car in the driveway, or in front of my house on the street. Why, oh why, do people choose to park behind my car, blocking the sidewalk? It happened just the other day, and my friend was quite shocked when I asked her to get back in her car and move it off the sidewalk!! In more crowded neighborhoods, tickets are issued for sidewalk blocking. Common sense, people!

Now, let me tell you about the disabled space at my daughter's school: It's not for mothers in a rush and therefore feel they can park whereever they wish. Got it? This morning, for example, I was in the line to drop off my daughter, when one of those rushing moms decided to forgo the line, and the 3 other empty spaces in the lot, to park in the disabled space. Fellow Mom, do you feel that you are above the law; the reason you must park in that space is for convenience? That's not the intention of the large blue disabled painting!! I know you can read!

People seem to think that the rules of common sense, grammar, (not to mention the law) need not apply to them. That, my friends, is what boils down to my biggest of peeves.

Thank you very much.

i <3 wilsons

Have I ever told you about our neighbors? In a word, they are perfect. They radiate perfection. From their house: a big white farmhouse with a sprawling yard complete with gazebo, pond, and playstructure (in the city!); to their children aged 8 and 12 who scream Good Manners. They play well with our daughter; even play XBox with Scott, and let him win! When we first moved into the neighborhood, they decorated our driveway with a huge chalk mural welcoming us to the neighborhood!

Last night we hosted them for dinner; something we do not do often enough. Sure, our kids will be in each other's home for snacks or lunch, but a sit down dinner is a big deal over here at Monkey Hill! They were, naturally, gracious guests bringing a loaf of the best bread ever- rosemary- and a bouquet of gorgeous white tulips. We enjoyed wine while the children played, even giving us a preview of their upcoming piano concert. (We have a lovely petite baby grand piano sitting in our living room, and every time the Wilson kids come over, they go right to the piano to play. I *love* that!) We enjoyed my world famous lasagne for dinner and had bubbly conversation about neighborhood haps and peeps, school schtuff, and even car insurance! (I just wanted to make an omelet!) Desert was girl scout cookies, natch, and the kids ran off their sugar buzzes downstairs so that the grownups could finish conversation.

It was a lovely evening, to say the least, and I really hope to do it again. A sit down dinner with good friends should not be a rare thing, especially with fantastic neighbors like the Wilsons.

Whatever happened to...

So, I know you are all wondering what ever happened about going back to school. (And by 'you all', I'm looking toward my audience- the ones who are there to hear every quip and quibble I make under my breath.) (Yes, I do have an audience, even if they are only visible in my own mind!)

Well, I learned that funds allocated for dislocated workers can pay for a technical degree, not an academic. So, no writing classes. I certainly could use them!

I've had a temporary job through the holidays and just recently I consulted with a wholesale company until they had their full use of my skills. /glares at audience/

So, back to the old drawing board of pounding the pavement, networking, interviewing, and collecting that oh so generous unemployment check.

Hug O'War

Friday evenings are called 'Family Movie Night' in our home. We rent a movie, or choose one from our own library, order a pizza, and settle into the TV room hoping mommy does not fall asleep during the first hour of the film. (What it is about the Harry Potter series-especially the first one- I don't know. But darn it all, Darian can count on me falling asleep right before the sorting ceremony.)

Since Darian is on movie restriction (another post some other day), she decided we would hang out in my room, in bed, and she would read poetry to us. This is what she chose to recite:

I will not play at tug o'war.
I'd rather play at hug o'war,
Where everyone hugsInstead of tugs,
Where everyone gigglesAnd rolls on the rug,
Where everyone kisses,And everyone grins,
And everyone cuddles,And everyone wins.

So we played Hug O'War! In bed! With the cats and the dog, too! We hugged and giggled and giggled and hugged and giggled and giggled and giggled some more until we fell asleep with the lights on.

Our family movie nights are something we count on as a bonding experience; a night we all look forward to. While there was no movie watched, we relished in our family time, and thanks to a nudge from Shel Silverstein, we got a good game of Hug O'War in to boot.

New Shoes

Aaahh...how a girl loves her shoes. And when she can score these delightful pumps for under $50, how could she not be in heaven?