On Easter, my daughter hit the mother load. She won the money egg at the Easter egg hunt with $20 in it. In an effort to have her not turn around and spend the money at Justice the next day, I foolishly suggested that she start a bank account.
Ever since that day she has been hounding me mercilessly to take her to the bank to start her account. This is why I banking is not my favorite thing, we always have to go as a party of four. There is a bank teller that our family LOVES. She is a grandmother and she treats my children as if they were her own grandchildren. Meaning, she gives them each three suckers, cookies, and any other candy contriband she may have behind her desk. This means that the visit will begin well, but if we need to be there for more than five minutes the kids will begin running and will not stop just because they hit a wall, they will simply change direction.
So one afternoon, I was feeling like I needed to be punished, so I dug up their social security numbers and took the whole gang to the bank. They ran up to their favorite tellers window and she loaded them up with goodies. Then I found out I had to wait to see the woman that could help me open the account. This gave them plenty of time to not only finish their suckers, but for the teller to notice and give them more. I could feel the tension building inside my body.
Finally! It was our turn. The kids instantly take a seat and begin to crawl and scoot all over the poor unsuspecting woman's desk. I plead my case to her as I take her stapler from my son and replace it on her desk. I pray for her to be speedy like I have never prayed before.
"Has this bank ever been robbed?" George blurts out.
"Unfortunately, yes." The woman replies sheepishly.
"How many times?" George is a persistant little thing.
"Two." The woman answers in almost a whisper. In my mind I am yelling HOW LONG DOES IT TAKE TO OPEN UP A BANK ACCOUNT!? And when I thought things couldn't get any worse, someone from my party farted. I though I am just going to pretend that didn't happen and hope she does to.
When suddenly in a high pitched voice that only has one volume comes, "Sammy toot! Mom, mom! Sammy toot." Yes, yes I heard you Sammy. I am busy right now looking for a hole to crawl into.
In the end, we got the accounts opened and all it cost me was my pride.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Monday, April 19, 2010
Me and My Shadow
My daughter and I are very similar. Perhaps too similar. I read somewhere once, in one of my parenting books, that any traits you have will be shown in your kids only magnified. Unfortunately, I have some nasty traits. Yelling is one, the occasional freak out is another. Sure as the sun comes up, I have seen these traits thrown back in my face like a vengant boomerang.
Needless to say, this can create some trying moments with my daughter and I. When she went to bed the other night, I was exhausted. Perhaps she didn't get enough sleep the night before (I let them stay up to watch Jamie Oliver's Food Revolution. Crazy Friday night, I know) or, perhaps it was the two doughnuts she had had that day but she was a bear. I cried. I cried because I found that I did not even enjoy her company that day. I did not even want her in the same room as me because I knew there would be a request or emotional breakdown that would drain me of my last ounce of energy.
I just kept thinking that tomorrow would be a new day. So I put her to bed on time that night and finished the doughnuts myself (it was a sacrifice I had to make). The next day began only marginally better. I was really working to get the house looking like if a social worker walked in she wouldn't have to think twice about weather the children could stay. Just as I was making some headway, I headed upstairs to tackle that situation.
One glance at the floor revealed that my two-year-old had gotten into my scrap paper and scattered hundreds of little pieces of papaer all over the floor. This was my breaking point. I just sat down in my chair and began to cry. I just needed a moment to let it all out before I tackled this latest disaster. I was a little irked when my daughter walked in before I could compose myself. I mean crying over a mess, how old am I, really? I didn't want her to see that. But she did. She leaned over and gave me a big, genuine hug. It felt nice. It was really the first time in a while we weren't at odds. I explained to her my problem and she quickly began to resolve it. "I'll clean this room, George will clean the kitchen and you'll clean the family room. We'll have this place clean in no time!" It made my heart melt.
So we each went to our posts and she cleaned the upstairs room and she really did a good job. George, on the other hand, decided while cleaning the kitchen that he wanted a snack of oatmeal so that was really counterproductive. But her ability to see I was having a tough time and help me out touched me deeply.
My daughter has challenged me in ways I have never been challenged in my whole life. I will be a better person because of it. Tomorrow was a new day, and it was great. I love you Riley.
Needless to say, this can create some trying moments with my daughter and I. When she went to bed the other night, I was exhausted. Perhaps she didn't get enough sleep the night before (I let them stay up to watch Jamie Oliver's Food Revolution. Crazy Friday night, I know) or, perhaps it was the two doughnuts she had had that day but she was a bear. I cried. I cried because I found that I did not even enjoy her company that day. I did not even want her in the same room as me because I knew there would be a request or emotional breakdown that would drain me of my last ounce of energy.
I just kept thinking that tomorrow would be a new day. So I put her to bed on time that night and finished the doughnuts myself (it was a sacrifice I had to make). The next day began only marginally better. I was really working to get the house looking like if a social worker walked in she wouldn't have to think twice about weather the children could stay. Just as I was making some headway, I headed upstairs to tackle that situation.
One glance at the floor revealed that my two-year-old had gotten into my scrap paper and scattered hundreds of little pieces of papaer all over the floor. This was my breaking point. I just sat down in my chair and began to cry. I just needed a moment to let it all out before I tackled this latest disaster. I was a little irked when my daughter walked in before I could compose myself. I mean crying over a mess, how old am I, really? I didn't want her to see that. But she did. She leaned over and gave me a big, genuine hug. It felt nice. It was really the first time in a while we weren't at odds. I explained to her my problem and she quickly began to resolve it. "I'll clean this room, George will clean the kitchen and you'll clean the family room. We'll have this place clean in no time!" It made my heart melt.
So we each went to our posts and she cleaned the upstairs room and she really did a good job. George, on the other hand, decided while cleaning the kitchen that he wanted a snack of oatmeal so that was really counterproductive. But her ability to see I was having a tough time and help me out touched me deeply.
My daughter has challenged me in ways I have never been challenged in my whole life. I will be a better person because of it. Tomorrow was a new day, and it was great. I love you Riley.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
An Easter mass I will never forget....and it wasn't because of the homily
Riley is in the children's choir at our church. Consequently, we had to arrive at church an hour before Easter mass so they could get a quick rehearsal in before show time. Anyone who knows Riley knows that this was her time to shine and she did not mind in the slightest getting to church early to fine tune her solo. The other two little ones, however, not so siked about the extra hour. By the time church finally began George starting whining, "is church ever going to be over!?"
To which I reply,"No son, church is never going to be over and we are going to sit here forever." Mature, I know. Sammy on the other hand did not know what to do with the explosion of energy that had built up in her tiny body. She wanted me to hold her, but she did not want to be still. It took all my energy to keep her in my arms. I put her down every chance I got. So I was relieved when she was content playing in the aisle next to me. The priest began to go nuts with the incense. I mean there was so much of that stuff in the air that everything was hazy and I began to wonder if he was trying to hot box the church. Which may be what triggered what happened next.
There was kind of a fuss in the pew across from us as a mom and her son (who looked to be about four) were leaving the pew. I glanced down at Sam to find her still content playing in the aisle then back up at the kid. Suddenly, without warning, vomit spilled from his mouth. Horrified, I'm sure, the Mom knelt down in front of him and began to wipe it up. Then, this image is one I'll never forget. It turns out the first vomit was just a warm up for the mother load. He puked again. Something about children that never ceases to amaze me is the way they never seem to know when they are about to throw up. I thought, really? You didn't feel that coming at ALL? You couldn't give your Mom a little warning as she was bent down in front of you? I mean was it too much work to tilt your little head to the side. I did not see the rest of the scene as I turned away in horror, grabbing Sammy Rose from the aisle. There is no doubt in my mind that that mother got some puke on her.
Then I did feel kind of bad because for some reason I could not stop laughing. There is something about being in church, when you try to stop laughing and it just gets worse. Like your laugh explodes out of your nose when you are trying to keep it in. I don't remember what Ben did, but his witty comment did not make it easier to stifle the laugh. I thought that in retaliation I should say, "step aside, this man is a paramedic!"
To which Ben replied, "yes, a paramedic can keep people from throwing up." to shae. I consoled myself by thinking, if I were in that situation despite the vomit on my Easter outfit I would have been laughing.
That is how I deal with situations like that. When I am thinking in my head, this can't possibly be actually happening, I laugh. So if you ever meet me and some sort of kid crisis is insuing and I am sitting there laughing, don't worry, I haven't lost my marbles that is just how I deal.
To which I reply,"No son, church is never going to be over and we are going to sit here forever." Mature, I know. Sammy on the other hand did not know what to do with the explosion of energy that had built up in her tiny body. She wanted me to hold her, but she did not want to be still. It took all my energy to keep her in my arms. I put her down every chance I got. So I was relieved when she was content playing in the aisle next to me. The priest began to go nuts with the incense. I mean there was so much of that stuff in the air that everything was hazy and I began to wonder if he was trying to hot box the church. Which may be what triggered what happened next.
There was kind of a fuss in the pew across from us as a mom and her son (who looked to be about four) were leaving the pew. I glanced down at Sam to find her still content playing in the aisle then back up at the kid. Suddenly, without warning, vomit spilled from his mouth. Horrified, I'm sure, the Mom knelt down in front of him and began to wipe it up. Then, this image is one I'll never forget. It turns out the first vomit was just a warm up for the mother load. He puked again. Something about children that never ceases to amaze me is the way they never seem to know when they are about to throw up. I thought, really? You didn't feel that coming at ALL? You couldn't give your Mom a little warning as she was bent down in front of you? I mean was it too much work to tilt your little head to the side. I did not see the rest of the scene as I turned away in horror, grabbing Sammy Rose from the aisle. There is no doubt in my mind that that mother got some puke on her.
Then I did feel kind of bad because for some reason I could not stop laughing. There is something about being in church, when you try to stop laughing and it just gets worse. Like your laugh explodes out of your nose when you are trying to keep it in. I don't remember what Ben did, but his witty comment did not make it easier to stifle the laugh. I thought that in retaliation I should say, "step aside, this man is a paramedic!"
To which Ben replied, "yes, a paramedic can keep people from throwing up." to shae. I consoled myself by thinking, if I were in that situation despite the vomit on my Easter outfit I would have been laughing.
That is how I deal with situations like that. When I am thinking in my head, this can't possibly be actually happening, I laugh. So if you ever meet me and some sort of kid crisis is insuing and I am sitting there laughing, don't worry, I haven't lost my marbles that is just how I deal.
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