Lessons on being pushy

Forgive me if I write very little tonight. Just baked a batch of sausage balls, cleaned up the kitchen, did a homework check and took a shower all after going to S's middle school soccer game. There is a stomach virus going around and we have friends who fell prey to it...well 4 out of 5 of them, and we were in close proximity. I have also been trying to mentally prepare for the "I threw up!!!" 1am wake up call that I pray will never come. So here I sit, writing and preparing to go to bed early. Okay, earlier than yesterday. "Sleepy Hollow" is on, so I hope that I can go to sleep without being too creeped out.

Like I mentioned earlier, S had a middle school soccer game against the Catholic school girls they beat a week or so ago, but on their turf this time. We handled them even better this time than last. I'm not sure if it was because we knew what to expect or if it was because we were playing on what felt like a miniature field. Either way, the girls did a pretty darn good job. 4-1 if I am correct. My girl had one player, number 14, up in her business the whole entire game. I wasn't even playing and it was making me crazy. She was also a tripper, elbower and pusher, so it got really annoying quickly. At one point, she got knocked pretty hard and the look on my baby's face was one of complete rage and psychosis. We all saw it and laughed a bit, because she is not really a rage-y kind of kid. It made her mad enough to get teary, which made her even angrier. So after dinner and homework, the hub gave her lessons on being pushy towards pushy people without getting a penalty. Pushy lessons. Kind of funny.

Going to bed now. Ichabod Crane has helped save the day again. Night.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

They are finished...and so am I

Ding dong the dioramas are done...la la la...la la la. By the time we stood over one child to write shark facts and another to type up a "short report" to go with the project, we both needed a mid-afternoon beverage. His? Coffee. Mine? Strawberry Airborne fizzy water. We go for the hard stuff in the hard times, friends. The result was a stark, but lively vision of sea life and an honest glimpse into the reality that was Cherokee life back in the day. I'll give you a taste of the Cherokee life...just a glimpse of dinnertime preparations:



And, yes, go ahead and say it. Wallace and Gromit's creators would be proud. This Cherokee family is apparently having "Were Rabbit" for their meal. Shrinky Dinks are unpredictable in their shrinking percentage. One quarter sized piece may shrink to the size of a dime and the same sized one might shrink to the size of a pencil eraser. Who knew that the rabbit we drew would shrink to the size that was taller than the two people who were having it for dinner...and ten stop. I was too tired to force the issue of drawing and coloring another one. Hopefully fourth grade won't count off for incorrect proportion.

Afterwards came a trip to the grocery store for emergency sausage ball ingredients and meat for the hub's wonderfully grilled burgers. I left just in time to see a man, who was a size akin to that of Santa, hop on the shopping cart and attempt to ride it through a busy and dangerous parking lot. He narrowly missed a car that was backing up and bit it right as he reached the cart return. His assumed significant other followed him several steps behind, shaking her head and eating a freshly purchased banana, unaffected by the spectacle he was creating. Whatever gets 'em going, I guess.

Enjoy what remaind of the evening, my friends. I am heading towards my nightly cocktail of grape flavored Delsym, Mucinex and various herbal supplements. I am the definition of living on the edge.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Soccer Saturday Sunburn

Okay, people. This is a bit much. It is the month of October. A month that is full of pumpkins and scarecrows and hot chocolate and hay rides and flannel shirts and colorful leaves. Why am I experiencing weather trends that are akin to June and July? I wore a tshirt, flimsy workout pants and Chacos to the soccer fields today and got burnt to a crisp. A crisp. I've got those zig zag lines on my feet from the shoes. I watched several soccer games, including those of G and F. S and the hub traveled to Harrogate, taking their lives into their own hands, and returned victorious. Her team has a history of being physically brutalized by the girls up there and our parents get brutalized by the parents up there. I forgot to slip cash into S's bag in case someone needed to be bailed out, but luckily it was not needed. The boy's game was a different story. With no ref(since S was at her own game), anarchy was king. Everywhere else in the world, it is called football. American soccer today turned into flailing about like banshees and whomping and pushing and rolling all over the field. I was exhausted watching it, holding my phone in my hand in case I needed to call 911.

I now sit with my feet up, feeling as though steam or smoke or the sound of sizzling is coming from my skin. I'm going to slather up with aloe gel and hit the hay. Living the dream, friends.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Light at the end of the glue gun...

After cleaning and straightening and cleaning again, I went to work on doing the grown up stuff for the dioramas. Lots of hot glue-ing and Exacto knifing and baking of the Shrinky Dinks. My fingers are now the color of a horribly sunburned redhead at the beach in July. Luckily they aren't red with blood from cutting myself with the knife. These darned dioramas make me get so flipping detail oriented that it goes from elementary school level material to beginning art class in high school. The boy wrote out his facts about sharks for his diorama. We have still not decided how to display those facts in a way that is fitting for his tastes and age. His request for a Great White with bloody remains in its mouth will probably be nixed as it may be deemed too Speilbergian for the First Grade. They need a bigger boat. But here it is as best as I could take. A bit spartan, but I think the shark ate most of the living things:



If you will notice, the mustachioed fisherman is riding in his boat and has caught a Clownfish. No, things are not to scale, but I cannot control the rate and amount at which Shrinky Dinks shrink. I drew the animals, but the boy outlined them and colored them in. I hope he gets an "E". I think he did a good job...with mom's help on the dangerous and possibly scarring parts.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

School project torture

As all three of you know, I have been battling this blasted sinus/allergy/snot assault for the past three weeks and I am really done. It makes things awkward when you get a good coughing fit going in the middle of Hobby Lobby, have an armload of diorama supplies and have to run to the bathroom so your bladder, somewhat compromised after three pregnancies, does not decide to unload in the wood cutout aisle. Luckily there was not a major run on flat wood cutouts of people, so the bathroom didn't mess things up. I left them to work on their projects while I was mowing the lawn and getting the stink eye from a neighbor...another story for another time. Upon lawn completion, I came in to find a straw roof on the Cherokee roundhouse and lots of drawings of sharks. The boy and I worked on his facts about Great White sharks. Let me say I am so proud of how he wants to write everything out himself and do the spelling himself, but for the love of everything holy, there is not a silent "e" in every word. He asked me that for everything. "Mom? I'll bet that 'shark' has to have a silent 'e' in it." " No. No it doesn't. Nor does 'hear' or 'teeth' or 'meat'. Those e's are pretty loud." G, on the other hand, was writing her report about how the roundhouses were constructed. She went in to great detail about how they sometimes lit fires inside the roundhouse and, if improperly ventilated, could kill everyone inside rather quickly. We felt this was not necessarily what her teacher really wanted to know, but she's insisting on keeping it in there. We might get some questions during the parent teacher conference if there is one. Or they might go straight to the family psych eval. Either way, at least they are all in bed now and I have a little break before we have to hit it again tomorrow. Thank goodness.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Thumb tacks and mental cracks

If I could slur in my typing, I would. I am tired and feeling sloppy in my keyboarding skills right now. The hub is currently working with a teary S on proportions. She is exhausted and angry with math right now. It is has always been her favorite subject, but at 10:12 at night, she is over it. She really needs to get to to bed, but the hub will not let her go up until he's sure she understands. I am so glad we have someone in this house who can explain this baloney to her. I know it is important for something, but I have never had to use that stuff in my adult life. Although one could argue that I would be using it right now with the children. I get it...don't get technical on me. I think she almost had a mental crack a couple of problems ago when it was determined that she had not been distinguishing enough of a difference between her "4's" and her "9's". This caused her mathematical errors which then caused a minor mental break. Meanwhile, on the second floor of the house, a mental break of a different type was happening as I heard about one of the mean girls of G's grade who has been repeatedly kicking her under their desks, stealing her school supplies and repeatedly attempting to poke through her arm with a thumb tack before then going out on the playground and picking fights with various kids from other rooms. It has been an insightful evening to say the least. I am hacking like a carton a day smoker, the hub is groaning from his poor back and the boy is itching from the little hair pieces on his back that he didn't thoroughly wash off after his visit to Jerry the Barber this afternoon. So between coughing, groaning, tears and the constant "I'm so ITCHY", silence is but a distant dream. I plan to chug a lug some grape Delsym(they shouldn't make that stuff so tasty) and at least eliminate one of the issues. S has turned on the boy's music that puts him in a sleep trance and G finally passed out from the exhaustion that comes only from avoiding flesh wounds in the fourth grade. Once again, living the dream, friends.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Book fair-a-holic

So it's Book Fair time at our school. Evil, evil bookfair. My children have almost driven me to the point of vacationing in a rubber room with their hints and not so subtle suggestions and recommendations for books they want out of the Scholastic ad. They are very diverse in their tastes: everything from "Captain Underpants" to books on shark attacks. Uhhhh, yeah. After every activity we did this afternoon, I got a "Annndd, now we're going to the Book Fair?". Finally, the long, torturous nightmare of waiting was over. We got to the school parking lot and BOOOOOK FAAAIIIIRRRR!!!! Right off the bat, G was disappointed because the one book she had coveted from the start was already out. Newman! She immediately went to the teacher wish board and found a book request for her teacher. The boy wanted anything that had a person or creature with some sort of weapon/lightening bolt/creepy animal on the cover, anything about science experiments or anything that involved setting some sort of a record or that involved Legos or superheroes or ghosts or dogs or origami or ninjas or skateboarders or athletes or Darth Maul. As you can probably guess, he was a little bit of a challenge to rein in. We ended up with a book on presidents, a Fly Guy book or two and one on sharks for him. G got a couple graphic novels and is waiting on one to come in later on in the week. I was sad that the newest Weird Al children's book was not included this year. We got his last one and love it. I got out of there without having to get another job to stop the bleeding. I also got out of there without the inexplicable stick with a pointer finger hand on it. I will never understand the erasers, weird pens and pencils and piddly stuff at a sale of books. Never. I also managed to get out of there without a poster of something weird. One year we got High School Musical 2 or 3 posters. One year S was convinced she needed the poster of the surfer girl who had her arm bitten off by a shark. That one didn't come home...no offense to her. So we got out with lots and lots of books and no piddly stuff. Now mom needs to go to bed.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad