Tag: sharin

Overheard

My kids are pretty funny. 

best.dress-up picture.ever

They come by it honestly, I suppose. I mean, I’m the funniest person that I know. I kid. No, really, I am pretty funny.  Well, sometimes, but never when I intend to be. But whatever.

Anyway, the girls and I spend quite a bit of time in the car going to and fro, fro and to school, gymnastics, the always dreaded Kumon and the like.  When Vivi burst onto the scene we had to do some creative configuring in the car to accommodate everyone and their carseat.  Mo was already in a booster, and upgraded (that’s debatable) to a spot in the very back of the car.  Co kept her five-point harness and first officer position behind the passenger seat, while V took prime real estate behind the driver.

This arrangement worked out well for a while, until Mo and Co realized having a conversation was really impossible. Mo would lean forward to ask Co a question. Co was so ensconced in her carseat, all she could do was flail her arms and legs as she fruitlessly tried to turn her head in response.  Quite a bit of shouting, “What did you say?” took place.  Add to the fact that dear, sweet Co was all thumbs when it came to buckling up her car seat, no matter how many times I  implored dear, sweet Morgan to help her. I found myself doing Gabby Douglas type contortions to reach round and snap her in because inevitably, she would wait until I was all buckled up to announce, “I’m having a problem with my car seat”, or simply grunt, grunt, grunt in frustration that she couldn’t make the clasps close across her little bird chest.

Yes, I know that I could have (and probably should have) just gone around to the side of the car to check on her before I got in my own seat, but that would be the smart, and practical thing to do. Besides, she’s got a Montessori, “I-can-do-it-myself” mentality and who am I to get in the way of progress.  And of course, if I had done that, well, then I wouldn’t have anything to talk about now, would I?

*full disclaimer* I make sure that my children are properly secured in their seats before operating an automobile.

Anyway, the seating was less than ideal. Eventually, Co made weight (finally), which meant she could move to a booster.  Woo-woo!  Talk about a graduation day; I flipped the seats around and now, Mo and Co were seat mates once again.  Catching them in the rear view mirror was like watching a Waldorf and Statler reunion, albeit a modern day version starring two elementary aged Black children, but I digress.  It’s the dialogue that has got me shaking my head.

For instance, over the week-end, they had watched My Little Pony on the Hub (yes, I let my kids watch TV. Probably more than I should, but hey, sometimes, I like to pee without an audience). The next day on the way to school, I was informed that I would be taking Rainbow Dash and Prance-a-lot  to the Pretty Pony Academy in – – -wait for it – – – Canterlot. Oy. I don’t watch MLP, so I don’t know if this is made up or not, but whatever.  On the ride, every time we passed some landmark they knew, Rainbow Dash, or maybe it was Prance-a-Lot, would exclaim, “Oh look, pony sister! Only a few more miles until Pony Academy in Canterlot. I’m so excited, I’m tossing my mane!”

Seriously.

This said in all serious and with accents, mind you.  I mean, not like British or French accents, but the type of voices little girls do when they are trying to convey gravity and maturity. For my girls, that’s something akin to a Southern Belle impersonation in a high register.

Fast forward to after school the other day.  Mo and Co settled into the backseat, passing snacks between them and plotting what they wanted to play once they got home.

Mo: Well, we could play Monster High. I could be Clawdeen Wolf and you could be my sister, Howleen.

Co: No, we did that last time we played Monster High. Let’s play Mermaid Splash palace and put the sprinkler in the backyard.

*and here’s where I had to stop that little seed from taking root.  Sure, it’s 70 degrees outside, but it is January, after all. *

Mo: Let’s play princesses!  What princess are you going to be? But wait, Co, you have to pick one of the brave princesses, like Merida or Pocahontas or  something.  NOT one of the “Help! Help!” princesses.

^^ That right there was a proud mommy moment!

Later on, I reminded the girls that whatever they decided to play and wherever they decided to play, they would have to clean it up when they were done.

“Yes, Mommy,” came the monotone response.  Then there was a pause followed by this little gem.

Co: I don’t have to clean my room because I never play in there. tra-la-la-la-la.

Okay, she didn’t really say tea-la-la-la-la, but she might as well have! I mean, that was too much.  If that’s her thought process at 5? Oy, are we in for it.

During the Super Bowl last night, Mo tossed up the following tidbits:

(during Alicia Keys singing of the National Anthem) “Take that, Beyonce!”

(when they showed a picture of Colin Kaepernick on TV) “Wait, is he Persian?!” — I’ll admit, I haven’t followed the 49ers since I would play Tecmo Bowl on the Nintendo and hit Jerry Rice high and tight for the Hail Mary touchdown pass.  First time I’ve seen the 49ers on TV all season, so I asked the Hubs, “Is he Persian?” and who knew? Mo had been listening the whole time.

(during a commercial for the Beyonce Half-Time Show) slapping her own forehead “Ugh! She’s SO dramatic! I can’t take all her drama!”

Let me clarify all the shade that Mo is tossing towards Bey.  She’s overheard me talking about how I’m just OBed (over-Beyonced).  The chick is everywhere.  I’m not detracting from her abilities as an entertainer.  She’s the consummate performer. I listen to her music when it comes on the radio. I workout to her songs on my iPod.  HOWEVER, I’m tired of seeing her all over the place. Like Taylor Swift. And Lena Dunham. Ugh, don’t even get me started on those two.  It’s like that scene in Mean Girls when Gretchen keeps trying to make “fetch” happen.

In this, case however, it’s happened. The world domination of Beyonce has happened.  I get it. Stop beating me about the head with it! I’m liable to get a concussion.

Better not say that too loudly.  Somebody’s bound to repeat it.

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IN: ON: February 4, 2013 TAGS: , , , BY: Hilary
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History in the Making

I stay away from airing my political views on any form of social media. It’s a volatile subject and I know there are some whose views don’t align with my own.  Still, when it comes to significant events in history, it doesn’t matter on which side of the aisle you find yourself.  It’s important archive that experience for your own personal history.  

This morning, I turned on the TV to have a bit of a distraction while I folded umpteen piles of laundry.  I guess I had left the station on CNN, because that was broadcasting as I sorted and folded.  I called the girls into the room as Wolf Blitzer announced the swearing in that was to take place in the blue room.  I heard the President being announced and begin his recitation of the oath.  When I looked up, this is what I saw. 

We will all remember when President Obama was elected for his first term.  Now my girls can remember where they were when he was sworn in for his second.  

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IN: ON: January 21, 2013 TAGS: , BY: Hilary
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recipes

Recipe Friday on Thursday

The flu has come to our house and it is slapping us around like we owe it some money.  The girls have fallen like dominoes, one right after the other, starting with Mo on Sunday, Co on Monday and Vivi on Monday night.  Nothing saddens me more than seeing all three of them all deflated in their beds as the fever and coughing saps them of their energy.

(image)

They all had the flu shot, as did the hubs and I.  Thankfully, he is still well, whereas I’ve got something blooming in my throat that makes coughing feel like someone taking a hammer to my chest with each exhalation.  It’s been a long five days to say the least. I have dosed everyone with alternating cocktails of acetaminophen, ibuprofen, expectorants and suppressants.  The oft described fever dream is real, let me tell you.  At least twice during the last few days, Mo has wandered downstairs in the middle of the night, glassy eyed and burning bright, looking for Co.  Co, has been sitting in her bed, one leg protruding from under the covers for some relief, singing a song about “Where’s my banana?”  and Vivi? She’s just a lump formerly known as baby, clinging to my hip and shoulder like a koala.

Parenting, as I’ve said before, is a challenge.  When everyone is down for the count, including Mom, it feels near impossible.  Once I get one little person squared away, another is coughing and croaking kurt requests for juice, tissues, or story-time.  I’m pin balling between rooms, have the washing machine going double time to keep the sheets clean and you’d think we’d been drinking the hand santizer given how much we’ve gone through to keep the germs at bay.  I started to feel like “stir fried-s#it” (to quote the hubs) on Tuesday afternoon.  It’s turned in something that’s probably the flu (I’m going to the doc today), despite having had a flu shot already.  This isn’t the first time I’ve fallen ill during the Christmas holiday.  I can recall at least three other instances and one of which where I’m pretty sure I had bronchitis and a touch of pneumonia, I just didn’t go see the doc because — everyone else was sick.  I know I can’t be a help to anyone if I don’t take care of myself, but the kids are looking like they’ve been run over by Santa’s sleigh and wiping their noses on pieces of coal.  I’ve been trying to get them on the mend and tending to myself afterwards.  Raise your hand if you know of what I speak.  Yeah, I thought so.

I’ve called in all my favors from when I injured my leg.  I’m pretty sure my parents have blocked my number.  The babysitter came for a bit so I could at least go out and stock up on supplies, but I don’t want her catching this crud.  Last night, I implored the hubs to stay home, something that I was loathe to do, but my health had taken quite a turn for the worse.  By this morning, I must have looked like crap on toast, because not only did he stay home, he called the pediatrician and set up appointments for the girls, then he dosed me with some hot salt water with which to gargle and sent me back to bed.  I’ve got a keeper.

Anyway, it’s about noon. The girls diagnosis has come in as the flu, but unless you get diagnosed within the first 24 hours, they can’t give you anything to knock it out except a suggestion for some DM laced cough meds and a “go with God”.  Our house is littered with tissue packets, cough drop wrappers, ear covers for the thermometer, and the like.  The lovies have been handed out, pi’s are on and so is the TV; I don’t even care at this point.  Naps will be had all around.

Last night, I was awakened by Mo’s persistent cough. It just broke my heart because I know how painful it must be for her.  I brought her some juice, some medicine and some cough drops.  I put some Vicks Vapo on her chest and the bottoms of her feet.  She snuggled into my arms and let me stroke her hair as her breathing became less labored and more even.  Between coughing fits, she said, “You really know how to take care of a cold, Mom.”  My poor little schmoo!

I’m just doing what I remember my own mom doing for me.  Propping up pillows, wiping down my face with a cool washcloth, and just sitting with me.  We used to have this cool mist humidifier that my mom would place on my nightstand to help eradicate some of the dryness in the room.  She would tell me not to touch it, to let it just do it’s job, but as soon as she left the room, I put my whole face right up on it to get at the cool vapors.  My face and hair thoroughly dampened, I would lie back on my pillows and drift off into a Robitussin filled sleep.  Sometimes my mom would bring me a hot toddy — I was older by this point — and that honey,lemon, bourbon combination would ease the lightening bolts of pain in my throat and help me drop off to a more restful sleep.

The girls aren’t quite old enough for that yet, so we’re just doing some regular tea with milk and honey.  When their coughs were at their worst, I just gave them teaspoonfuls of honey to coat their throats.  That was the first time I saw them smile in a long time.   I tried it myself, but I prefer my honey diluted with some lemon and tea. While I wait for this Mucinex to kick in, I’m going to stir up a home remedy. Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow for Recipe Friday. . .if not, I’ll probably be in the bottom of my tea cup.

Dr. Pat’s Hot Toddy Cold Remedy

Ingredients
2 ounces whiskey (we use Jack Daniels)
1 tablespoon honey
4 ounces water (hot from the tap)
1 teaspoon lemon juice (we use the stuff in the plastic lemon)
1 slice fresh lemon (if we don’t have this we don’t use it) (optional)

Directions
1. Place the whisky in a large microwave safe mug*.
2. Add the honey.
3. Pour the hot water into the mug over the spoon you used for the honey to get off the last little drops.
4. Add the lemon juice and stir well.
5. Place the mug in the microwave for 1 minute or until it is piping hot, but not boiling.
6. Add the lemon slice and serve.
*If you don’t have a microwave, which we don’t, you can pour the whiskey in a small cup or glass and submerge it in some boiling water until it’s the right temperature.

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IN: recipes ON: December 20, 2012 TAGS: , , , , , , , , BY: Hilary
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