(For the record, we did warn Papa about inviting the kids over to the nativity on the glass-topped table, given their history.)
Friday, December 24, 2010
The reason for the season
(For the record, we did warn Papa about inviting the kids over to the nativity on the glass-topped table, given their history.)
So easily entertained
All those presents....And what is Sadie the most excited about? The bottle of nail polish.
(Well, that and the fact that I was somehow talked into letting her paint my nails "ALL BY MYSELF!")
And Sam is happy with a bag on his head.
(Well, that and the fact that I was somehow talked into letting her paint my nails "ALL BY MYSELF!")
And Sam is happy with a bag on his head.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
The evidence
I wrote earlier today about the haircuts my kids gave themselves.
From a quick inspection of their heads, I didn't think either one had actually cut that much off.
Later, I discovered some additional evidence.
Sam looked at it and said, "Is that my hair or Sadie's?"
From a quick inspection of their heads, I didn't think either one had actually cut that much off.
Later, I discovered some additional evidence.
Sam looked at it and said, "Is that my hair or Sadie's?"
Dining with the animals
My children don't sit still.
Ever.
Well, maybe once every six months or so.
For about 30 seconds.
I think it is my payback for the little boys I used to look at when teaching (before I had kids) and think "Why can't you just sit still!?! It's not that hard!"
I have come to accept that for some, it is apparently that hard.
And in the word "some," I include my own children.
Eating a meal with us is like watching a game of musical chairs, because someone is always getting up to do something or just to move around or has just fallen off their chair because their wriggling or bouncing or jumping around got a little too much for the chair to handle.
After one particularily frustrating day of trying to contain the kids long enough to get a few bites in their mouths, I may have posted on my Facebook status something along the lines of eating with my children was like dining with a pair of wild pigs with ADD.
A couple days later when I looked over at the table, this is what I saw:
My wild pig had been replaced by a monkey.
(And that is my Mt. Dew, not his.)
Ever.
Well, maybe once every six months or so.
For about 30 seconds.
I think it is my payback for the little boys I used to look at when teaching (before I had kids) and think "Why can't you just sit still!?! It's not that hard!"
I have come to accept that for some, it is apparently that hard.
And in the word "some," I include my own children.
Eating a meal with us is like watching a game of musical chairs, because someone is always getting up to do something or just to move around or has just fallen off their chair because their wriggling or bouncing or jumping around got a little too much for the chair to handle.
After one particularily frustrating day of trying to contain the kids long enough to get a few bites in their mouths, I may have posted on my Facebook status something along the lines of eating with my children was like dining with a pair of wild pigs with ADD.
A couple days later when I looked over at the table, this is what I saw:
My wild pig had been replaced by a monkey.
(And that is my Mt. Dew, not his.)
Snow movie
I wanted to capture the kids seeing the snow (the stuff that actually accumulated). They didn't go as over the top excited as they did last year about the first snow, but it's still pretty cute. (At least, if you are their mom.)
Snow! And then it really snowed!
A couple weeks ago (or maybe just last week - I have completely lost track of time in my most recent write-like-crazy-because-I-totally-slacked-off-at-the-beginning math book writing binge) it finally snowed here.
I say finally, since my kids seemed to think that as soon as the calendar said December lots of big fluffy wet snowflakes would start dropping form the sky...
It was barely a dusting, but the kids were determined to go out and play in it. I tried to explain to them that it really wasn't enough to play in, but they spent at least 40 minutes proving me wrong.
This is the pile they managed to make. Pretty sad little snowfall, huh?
A couple days later, Joe knew there would be an actual, recordable snowfall coming. So he and his elves put up the lights outside before it was too late.
And then it snowed again - and this time, enough to really play in!
I say finally, since my kids seemed to think that as soon as the calendar said December lots of big fluffy wet snowflakes would start dropping form the sky...
It was barely a dusting, but the kids were determined to go out and play in it. I tried to explain to them that it really wasn't enough to play in, but they spent at least 40 minutes proving me wrong.
This is the pile they managed to make. Pretty sad little snowfall, huh?
A couple days later, Joe knew there would be an actual, recordable snowfall coming. So he and his elves put up the lights outside before it was too late.
And then it snowed again - and this time, enough to really play in!
Planets and spaceships and rovers, oh my!
We took advantage of a free admission day at the Planetarium downtown last week, seeing as Sam is recently obsessed with everything planet and space-related. Here are a few pictures.
I thought we had covered this.
Setting: Me in my office, checking email. Children in other room.
[Enter grinning children.]
Sam: How's my hair look?
Me: Why?
Sam: Because I cut it.
Me: Why did you do that?
Sam: So it would look shorter.
Me: Where did you cut it?
Sam: All over - see?
(Thankfully, all over was just along his neck line, which needed a trim anyway.)
(But then I turn to Sadie.)
Me: Did you cut your hair, too?
Sadie: Yep!
Me: Where?
Sadie (pointing to large chunk of shorter hair on the side): Right here!
Me: Never do that again. Remember, scissors are for paper. Not for hair.
Sam: Oh yeah - we forgot that. Are you angry?
[Enter grinning children.]
Sam: How's my hair look?
Me: Why?
Sam: Because I cut it.
Me: Why did you do that?
Sam: So it would look shorter.
Me: Where did you cut it?
Sam: All over - see?
(Thankfully, all over was just along his neck line, which needed a trim anyway.)
(But then I turn to Sadie.)
Me: Did you cut your hair, too?
Sadie: Yep!
Me: Where?
Sadie (pointing to large chunk of shorter hair on the side): Right here!
Me: Never do that again. Remember, scissors are for paper. Not for hair.
Sam: Oh yeah - we forgot that. Are you angry?
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Something appears to have gone awry in Bethlehem
I walked by our nativity the other day and found this.
Apparently, Jesus and his parents escaped amidst the trouble, one wiseman somehow got lodged in the roof, and everyone else fell off the cliff.
The next day, someone had returned it to this state.
You'll notice baby Jesus almost made it back into the manger.
Apparently, Jesus and his parents escaped amidst the trouble, one wiseman somehow got lodged in the roof, and everyone else fell off the cliff.
The next day, someone had returned it to this state.
You'll notice baby Jesus almost made it back into the manger.
Santa? At my house?
For people who don't do the Santa Claus part of Christmas, how was this outfit in one of our kids' closets?
Our little elves
No more than 5 minutes after we walked in the door from driving back from NJ after Thanksgiving, my little elves wanted to help put up the Christmas tree.
Even though it looks like Sam is about to attack his little sister, I promise no one was injured in the assembly of the tree.
The kiddos inspecting my work.
Proof that Joe put some ornaments on - not a usual happening...
He has to get it in just the right place.
Sam got the honor of putting the star on top. (Note to my parents: He declared the pink and turquoise one "not like a star.")
All done!
Even though it looks like Sam is about to attack his little sister, I promise no one was injured in the assembly of the tree.
The kiddos inspecting my work.
Proof that Joe put some ornaments on - not a usual happening...
He has to get it in just the right place.
Sam got the honor of putting the star on top. (Note to my parents: He declared the pink and turquoise one "not like a star.")
All done!
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Thursday, December 2, 2010
My sweet night owl
Sam has developed a little habit lately of wanting to stay up late.
And the problem is that he is quite capable of doing so.
Some nights he happily looks at books, supposedly in bed, without a peep.
Other nights we hear constant chatter from his room, often requiring some sort of response from one of us.
He seems to know that on nights that I have a lot of work to do writing a book, if he just keeps up the questions I will eventually let him come lay on the bed in the office so I don't have to deal with leaving the computer to respond.
I always start out telling him he is only getting to come into the office because I have a lot of work to do and he has to be quiet or I will make him go back into his room.
Alone.
With all the lights out.
And the door shut.
Then he asks me some random question.
Out of habit, I reply.
Then he asks me something else.
Before I know it, we are having an entire conversation and I have, once again, failed to deliver on my threats.
Because I just can't do that to him.
(And I don't want to deal with the hysterics that would ensue if I did. Remember - I have a lot of work to do!)
We go back and forth for a while, each time I tell him that this time he really has to be quiet.
Then he starts up again.
I get annoyed.
Repeat.
Repeat.
Repeat.
But then he says, "Mama, I just have one more question. What would you like for Christmas?"
or
"Mom - good job getting a page done!" when he sees me mark off that I have just finished a page.
Then I smile.
Go over and give him another kiss and hug.
And tell him, "I love you, Sam. But this time, you have to be quiet!"
Eventually, he gives in to sleep.
(Tonight at 10 pm he finally said, "Mom, I think I'm going to take a little nap.")
And the problem is that he is quite capable of doing so.
Some nights he happily looks at books, supposedly in bed, without a peep.
Other nights we hear constant chatter from his room, often requiring some sort of response from one of us.
He seems to know that on nights that I have a lot of work to do writing a book, if he just keeps up the questions I will eventually let him come lay on the bed in the office so I don't have to deal with leaving the computer to respond.
I always start out telling him he is only getting to come into the office because I have a lot of work to do and he has to be quiet or I will make him go back into his room.
Alone.
With all the lights out.
And the door shut.
Then he asks me some random question.
Out of habit, I reply.
Then he asks me something else.
Before I know it, we are having an entire conversation and I have, once again, failed to deliver on my threats.
Because I just can't do that to him.
(And I don't want to deal with the hysterics that would ensue if I did. Remember - I have a lot of work to do!)
We go back and forth for a while, each time I tell him that this time he really has to be quiet.
Then he starts up again.
I get annoyed.
Repeat.
Repeat.
Repeat.
But then he says, "Mama, I just have one more question. What would you like for Christmas?"
or
"Mom - good job getting a page done!" when he sees me mark off that I have just finished a page.
Then I smile.
Go over and give him another kiss and hug.
And tell him, "I love you, Sam. But this time, you have to be quiet!"
Eventually, he gives in to sleep.
(Tonight at 10 pm he finally said, "Mom, I think I'm going to take a little nap.")
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