As of late I've been feeling like a lousy mother again. I try my best but I just feel like I'm screwing it all up. With that in mind we go to church on Sunday...
As Jon and I are walking our class to sharing time we pass Simon's class coming from sharing time. Simon is mad. Furrowed brows, stomping feet, and my personal favorite---the declaration of unhappiness, "I'm so angry!" Apparently something super cool happened in sharing time and he wasn't one of the chosen few called on to participate. (Which when you are only 4 I can see how that can be devastating.)
I decide to stay with Simon in his class for a few minutes until the crushing blow has been forgotten. Fortunately Simon has like wonder woman for his teacher and she can talk him into doing just about anything. Within minutes she has him with her playing an obedience game. Unfortunately she let Simon be the leader and as I left class he has the kids doing crazy ninja jump turn kicks...
After church our home teachers stop by. Trying include Simon in the lesson (and bless their hearts for trying) one of them asks Simon what he gets to do when he turns eight. Simon looks at us, smiles and says "I get to poo." I send him the look of death and he jumps up in between the two men on the other couch.
Undaunted the home teacher proceeds---showing him a picture of the twelve apostles. "Who are they?" he asks. Without hesitation Simon announces they are "bad guys".
Next comes a photo of the prophet. "And who is he Simon?"
"President of the bad guys."
That's right. President of the bad guys.
Well, what do you expect? It's not like Jon works for the church or anything.
After being shamed we bid farewell to the home teachers and head up to my family's house for dinner. The drive to my parents was peppered with tiny conversations about Simon thinking that the sun was melting him and how his heart is turning bad because he's so tired.
Upon arriving at my family's Simon sits up to the table where he announces that he doesn't want to pray and that the food looks "sick". That's when my grandpa says, "You're a mess! Who are you anyways?" And Simon says, "My name is Simon and I like chocolate."
Chocolate Shmocolate. My name is liz and I still love my little twirp.
Here's to hoping that we do better next Sunday.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Monday, May 18, 2009
Next time I'll Choose Death
My sinus infection is back---plugged ears, congestion, sore face and teeth, swollen lymph nodes, headache---the usual. I can barely function this morning. I know I need help. Since we live in no mans land I load up the kids and drive to the closest place I can...an urgent care center.
Oh man. I walk in and the place is packed with puffy-eyed bed heads coughing up a storm or laying back in the nasty chairs with their eyes closed waiting for death. I log in. We sit down.
With in minutes a weirdo has found me. She pulls up a chair next to us and starts asking me 75 million questions about my kids. Ages, birthdays, how much they weighed at birth, how long they sleep, what they ate for breakfast, on and on.
Meanwhile I notice that Simon has smuggled in a peanut butter sandwich which he is using as a truck and driving it up and down the arms of a germ covered chair. I go mental and make him throw it in the garbage. Unfortunately before letting it go he became possessed by the Lord of the Germs and took a magnificent bite out of the crust which he proclaimed was "tasty".
While this is happening a mom comes in with her girl and tells her to "go play" while she checks in. Where does she chose to play? On the seat that Simon vacated on his trip to the garbage can! There she begins to lay out a full sized afghan, an armload of books, and a pile of play jewelry. As nicely as I can I explain that this is my son's seat and to please find another chair.
Maybe she didn't understand me or maybe she didn't understand not getting her way because even though she seemed to be at least 5 I ended up physically moving her stuff over a seat and then she spent the next 15 minutes trying to load her stuff back onto the chair on top of Simon while her mom talked on the phone.
As if the crazy woman talking to me and the girl burying a disgruntled Simon weren't enough, another mother brings in two children which she also sends to "go play'.
Now, I'm going to stop right here for a minute to say A DOCTORS OFFICE IS NOT A PLAYGROUND SO #1 DON'T JUST SEND YOUR KIDS "TO PLAY" WHILE READING A MAGAZINE AND #2 A DOCTORS OFFICE IS WHERE YOU GO WHEN YOU ARE SICK SO INVADING THEIR PERSONAL SPACE AND CARRYING ON LONG CONVERSATIONS WITH THEM IS BAD FORM. NO ONE WANTS YOUR SICKNESS AS WELL!
Ok, as I was saying two more children arrive. And as soon as they see eliza they swarm. Petting her head and face, trying to feed her, and rearranging her blanket. Again, I'm trying not to be rude so I ask them to just look and not touch my baby. At which point the mom says something to the effect that they just love babies and are so careful with them and tells them to be gentle with her.
Be gentle? How about taking a hint and keeping your kids with the jello cream boogers away from the baby? Now I'm holding eliza, trying to keep Simon from murdering the princess next door, and carrying on the never ending conversation with the kooky close talker.
Just when I am about to fill the room with upper cuts they call my name. Making a hasty retreat to the examination room I pull out the wet wipes and give Simon a piece of gum for his exceptional use of self restraint. Exhausted I flop down on the chair. Simon unwraps his gum, pops it into his mouth and with pure joy exclaims, "This gum is FANTASTIC!"
I laugh. Really hard. And the nurse comes in. As she is taking my blood pressure I see Simon take his gum out and roll it into a snake but before I can stop him we make eye contact and he pops it back into his mouth. AGHHHHHH!
By tomorrow he's sure to have hepatitis, gonorrhea, the plague, something awful. And all I can say is before I ever go to an urgent care center again I'll choose death first.
Oh man. I walk in and the place is packed with puffy-eyed bed heads coughing up a storm or laying back in the nasty chairs with their eyes closed waiting for death. I log in. We sit down.
With in minutes a weirdo has found me. She pulls up a chair next to us and starts asking me 75 million questions about my kids. Ages, birthdays, how much they weighed at birth, how long they sleep, what they ate for breakfast, on and on.
Meanwhile I notice that Simon has smuggled in a peanut butter sandwich which he is using as a truck and driving it up and down the arms of a germ covered chair. I go mental and make him throw it in the garbage. Unfortunately before letting it go he became possessed by the Lord of the Germs and took a magnificent bite out of the crust which he proclaimed was "tasty".
While this is happening a mom comes in with her girl and tells her to "go play" while she checks in. Where does she chose to play? On the seat that Simon vacated on his trip to the garbage can! There she begins to lay out a full sized afghan, an armload of books, and a pile of play jewelry. As nicely as I can I explain that this is my son's seat and to please find another chair.
Maybe she didn't understand me or maybe she didn't understand not getting her way because even though she seemed to be at least 5 I ended up physically moving her stuff over a seat and then she spent the next 15 minutes trying to load her stuff back onto the chair on top of Simon while her mom talked on the phone.
As if the crazy woman talking to me and the girl burying a disgruntled Simon weren't enough, another mother brings in two children which she also sends to "go play'.
Now, I'm going to stop right here for a minute to say A DOCTORS OFFICE IS NOT A PLAYGROUND SO #1 DON'T JUST SEND YOUR KIDS "TO PLAY" WHILE READING A MAGAZINE AND #2 A DOCTORS OFFICE IS WHERE YOU GO WHEN YOU ARE SICK SO INVADING THEIR PERSONAL SPACE AND CARRYING ON LONG CONVERSATIONS WITH THEM IS BAD FORM. NO ONE WANTS YOUR SICKNESS AS WELL!
Ok, as I was saying two more children arrive. And as soon as they see eliza they swarm. Petting her head and face, trying to feed her, and rearranging her blanket. Again, I'm trying not to be rude so I ask them to just look and not touch my baby. At which point the mom says something to the effect that they just love babies and are so careful with them and tells them to be gentle with her.
Be gentle? How about taking a hint and keeping your kids with the jello cream boogers away from the baby? Now I'm holding eliza, trying to keep Simon from murdering the princess next door, and carrying on the never ending conversation with the kooky close talker.
Just when I am about to fill the room with upper cuts they call my name. Making a hasty retreat to the examination room I pull out the wet wipes and give Simon a piece of gum for his exceptional use of self restraint. Exhausted I flop down on the chair. Simon unwraps his gum, pops it into his mouth and with pure joy exclaims, "This gum is FANTASTIC!"
I laugh. Really hard. And the nurse comes in. As she is taking my blood pressure I see Simon take his gum out and roll it into a snake but before I can stop him we make eye contact and he pops it back into his mouth. AGHHHHHH!
By tomorrow he's sure to have hepatitis, gonorrhea, the plague, something awful. And all I can say is before I ever go to an urgent care center again I'll choose death first.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Passport Photos
Today we all went and had our passport photos taken. They're stellar. Jon took one look at mine and said, "Every time you show yours you'll be stopped and drug tested." Then I looked at my photo.
He's right.
Oh well, they're only good for what, a decade or so? I'm sure I'll be more photogenic (or at least wearing makeup) in my 40's.
He's right.
Oh well, they're only good for what, a decade or so? I'm sure I'll be more photogenic (or at least wearing makeup) in my 40's.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Speaking of Wolverine
Speaking of Wolverine...there was this time in Elementary School when my school (Woods Cross Elementary) decided to get rid of the old Woodchuck mascot. A contest was held for the new mascot.
Using our new family encyclopedias I painstakingly drew a darn good picture of a water buffalo which I knew would be a shoe in for the new mascot. I was so proud. Obviously the other children had no vision. The new mascot became the wolverine and I was devastated. Stupid kids. Everyone knows that a water buffalo can take a wolverine any day.
And just for the record I NEVER wore my Woods Cross Wolverines shirt...ever.
Using our new family encyclopedias I painstakingly drew a darn good picture of a water buffalo which I knew would be a shoe in for the new mascot. I was so proud. Obviously the other children had no vision. The new mascot became the wolverine and I was devastated. Stupid kids. Everyone knows that a water buffalo can take a wolverine any day.
And just for the record I NEVER wore my Woods Cross Wolverines shirt...ever.
Further Proof that Weirdos Love Me
Today at the gas station a guy gave me 4 used D size batteries. They "still have some juice left in them".
Then he proceeded to tell me how I need to go see the new X-Men movie because it will "really help" me "understand Wolverine better".
Do I need to understand Wolverine? Do I care about Wolverine? No, but now Simon has some batteries for his really big, really annoying flashlight. Thanks crazy gas station man.
Then he proceeded to tell me how I need to go see the new X-Men movie because it will "really help" me "understand Wolverine better".
Do I need to understand Wolverine? Do I care about Wolverine? No, but now Simon has some batteries for his really big, really annoying flashlight. Thanks crazy gas station man.
Monday, May 4, 2009
Weirdos Love Me
Weirdos love me. They really do. Always have. Starting in elementary school. Sure, I got my fair share of "Do you love me? Yes. No. Check one." notes but then I also got things like perfumed fake roses left in my desk at recess or the boy who would rub his bare feet on my legs underneath our table during group assignments.
Moving on through junior high and high school I encountered a long list of people like Manuel, who already had a mustache at 13, and constantly followed me around the halls licking his lips and giving me badges from Mexico that said things like "Besame!" or the guy with a mullet who gave me a bunch of jello one year for Christmas.
Don't even get me started on my college years---Mr.-I-Had-A-Dream-We-Should-Get-Engaged-By-This-Weekend, Mr. If-We-Get-Married-My-Grandma-Said-We-Could-Have-Her-Microwave, the Biology class stalker, the guy who held my toe because I wouldn't let him hold my hand, the guy who knelt down and kissed my hand every time we parted ways, the guy who looked like Eleanor Roosevelt...I could go on and on and on but I won't.
Suffice it to say I am a weird guy magnet. Unfortunately this hasn't changed even though I am entering my 30's. The weirdos have just gotten weirder.
For instance the other day at Wal-Mart I am loading flowers into the back of my MINI VAN with my TWO CHILDREN buckled inside jabbering to each other when some dude in his Jeep Cherokee pulls up behind me and tries to strike up a conversation...do I usually shop here? Red flowers must be my favorite. Would I like to come over and plant flowers with him for awhile?
Seriously?
Lest we forget I am loading flowers into a mini van filled with children and am wearing my wedding ring. For the love! Where do these people come from?
Like the dude that just quit the gas station who always wanted to buy my drinks or the over friendly lesbian book store worker who followed me around Borders for 30 minutes last week and kept giving me lame depressing cancer book suggestions. I can't escape they're everywhere!
I need to accept the fact that weirdos will always find me. Nay, they will always flock to me. I have a theory about why this occurs but this entry is getting too long so my theory will have to wait. Until then back off weirdos I need some space.
Moving on through junior high and high school I encountered a long list of people like Manuel, who already had a mustache at 13, and constantly followed me around the halls licking his lips and giving me badges from Mexico that said things like "Besame!" or the guy with a mullet who gave me a bunch of jello one year for Christmas.
Don't even get me started on my college years---Mr.-I-Had-A-Dream-We-Should-Get-Engaged-By-This-Weekend, Mr. If-We-Get-Married-My-Grandma-Said-We-Could-Have-Her-Microwave, the Biology class stalker, the guy who held my toe because I wouldn't let him hold my hand, the guy who knelt down and kissed my hand every time we parted ways, the guy who looked like Eleanor Roosevelt...I could go on and on and on but I won't.
Suffice it to say I am a weird guy magnet. Unfortunately this hasn't changed even though I am entering my 30's. The weirdos have just gotten weirder.
For instance the other day at Wal-Mart I am loading flowers into the back of my MINI VAN with my TWO CHILDREN buckled inside jabbering to each other when some dude in his Jeep Cherokee pulls up behind me and tries to strike up a conversation...do I usually shop here? Red flowers must be my favorite. Would I like to come over and plant flowers with him for awhile?
Seriously?
Lest we forget I am loading flowers into a mini van filled with children and am wearing my wedding ring. For the love! Where do these people come from?
Like the dude that just quit the gas station who always wanted to buy my drinks or the over friendly lesbian book store worker who followed me around Borders for 30 minutes last week and kept giving me lame depressing cancer book suggestions. I can't escape they're everywhere!
I need to accept the fact that weirdos will always find me. Nay, they will always flock to me. I have a theory about why this occurs but this entry is getting too long so my theory will have to wait. Until then back off weirdos I need some space.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)