Now that's a visual image

Charlie excels in many areas. Keeping food in his stomach is not one of them. 

We've had everything checked out. It seems to be more of a sensory issue/gag reflex than anything more serious, and it's definitely not contagious. The problem is, though, that you can't always tell when it is contagious, except by the frequency patterns. 

So each barf has this little waiting period following it in which we try to determine what is to be done about it. 

So this morning, it happens again.  Dowlan takes the girls to church while I do laundry and keep an eye on him. I appreciate it happening on a non-work day, actually, but we are hosting a weekly church small group right now, one that hasn't actually met in three weeks due I other mishaps. It's a bit important to get a plan B established early on. 

So I am texting a friend this morning. It should read: Charlie threw up this morning. 

Only I thumb blundered and it autocorrected to: Charlie threw up this Mormon. 

And I suddenly imagine this little dude holding a stack of pamphlets free-falling out of Charlie's mouth, tie askew and limbs flailing. 

And I cannot stop laughing. 

Go Cheese!

The school I teach at (and Charlie attends) feeds into a high school whose mascot is the Chiefs. Today, the Chiefettes (cheerleaders) came and cheered at a pep rally at our school. 

On the way home, Charlie had many opinions about the cheerleaders. Most specifically, he was concerned about their choice of cheese as a mascot. Here are some of his reasons:

-cheese cannot 'go' anywhere, because it has no legs. Unless a mouse was carrying it--then it could go places until it got eaten. Still, this is not quite the same as the the cheese having legs of its own

-nobody doesn't like cheese, so it is hard for the other team to be against you. Even picky eaters can like cheese. Everyone has no reason to be angry at it. 

-how do you dress up for your team? 

Even after a point of clarification, the anti-cheese-mascot logic continued. 

-it is hard to have cheese in a parade

-cheese does not care about sports

-there are different kinds of cheese, and that could get confusing

I chose to not go into the whole Wisconsin thing. 

Avocado Theology

Charlie: Holy pockamoley!

Melody: Charlie! That's inappropriate!

Mommy: 'Holy guacamole' is fine to say.

Melody: But guacamole isn't holy.

Mommy: Yes it is. It's the closest thing to God that you will ever put in your mouth.

Melody: Mommy! Why would you put God in your mouth. Are you a cannibal?

Mommy: God gave us guacamole so that we wouldn't have to put Him in our mouths. 

Melody: That's just wrong.

Mommy: Trust me. Guacamole brings us closer to God.

Opposite Day

The girls are gone to Girl Scout camp this week. When they went to camp last year, it was Friday before Charlie first mentioned the sisters, then looked puzzled and asked where they were. I consider it progress that this year it only took until Tuesday night to ask about Dixie. Melody, so far, is still not mentioned.

I took Charlie to the psych yesterday to reevaluate  his meds. For months he has had headaches, and, after ruling several other things out, we decided to see if it is med-related. She gave us the option of switching to something else right away or taking a week off meds to see if the headaches are gone. I decided to go  home with a prescription 'just in case' we couldn't go without meds for a week.

I made it until 7:56 a.m. before hitting the pharmacy this morning.

Charlie declared that it was Opposite Day and even wrote it on his calendar, except that he wrote it on the square for yesterday because yesterday is the opposite of today. Later, I found his calendar still on my bed. Asked him to put it away, to which he replied, "You have to pick it up. I'm rich and you're poor, so you work for me now!"

I followed him to the living room and repeated this to Dowlan, who shrugged and said, "He found a penny on the floor."

My van is being repaired and we are down to one car, so we  had to take Dowlan into work. Charlie decides that it is Opposite Day and so daddy has to drive Charlie to work and that he has to sit in his sister's booster instead of his carseat. I'm not entirely awake, courtesy of Dowlan bringing name Tylenol PM instead of Tylenol this morning, so I'm all  fine with him driving instead of me. On the thirty minute round-trip, Charlie makes the following rules:

Charlie can say bad words and I can not.

He can have two pieces of candy anytime I tell him he can have one piece of candy.

I have to play outside while he plays inside.

He cooks the lunch and I put the dishes in the sink.

He can give me spankings all the day long and I can't spank him even just once.

He gets to decide how to spend all the money and he will get cashback at every store.

I realize that this doesn't seem so bad, but it is impossible to replicate in this format the shrill, cackling voice, punctuated with kicks to the back of the seat, in which it was delivered. Or that I was on the highway when he unbuckled the seatbelt and began rolling down the window. Or the additional demands that I have effectively blocked from memory in an act of self-preservation.

The real tragedy? The pharmacy didn't open until 9.

Planning Ahead

Charlie likes to plan ahead, perhaps moreso than is actually practical. He will save a sucker 'for dessert the next time that it is Tuesday and we eat macaroni and cheese' or decide that this toy needs to stay there until a certain child comes to play again (who may not come for months).

In June, we were driving in PennyVann and had this conversation:

Charlie: Why does Dixie always get the mail every day that there is mail in the mailbox?
Gretchen: Because it is her job. It's how she is a helper.
C: But what if I wanted to get the mail?
G: I suppose that would be fine as well. Would you like to get the mail today when we get home?
C: No, not today. (thinking) . . . What is the time that is before Christmas?
G: Christmas Eve?
C: Is that a day or a lot of days?
G: A day.
C: What is the time that is before Christmas that is a lot of days?
G: You mean November?
C: Yes. I think I will bring in the mail when it is November.
G: Okay. It can be your job to bring in the mail for the month of November.

A few minutes pass.

C: Is November a lot of days?
G: 30 days.
C: Does the mail come on all of those days?
G: Not all. It won't come on any of the Sundays, Thanksgiving or Veteran's Day. It will come 23 or 24 days, depending on how many Sundays there are in November. I have not checked.
C: That is too many days. Are there Fridays in November?
G: Yes, November will have 4 or 5 Fridays.
C: Okay. Then I will get the mail anytime it is a Friday in November.
G: Sounds like a plan.
C: Do not forget this. It is important that I have a job to do to be a helper.

I did not forget. He has brought the mail in three times now. I'm a little bummed we won't be in town for the fourth Friday in November--I failed to consider his heavy responsibilities while making holiday plans--but I'm betting Uncle Gary will go for his mail being brought in.

Performances, Planned and Impromptu

So tonight is the fourth grade music program. Six songs, twenty speaking parts, one song has three instrument parts and they break out into singing in four parts, one song has two part singing while twenty kids go stand in the back and play the recorder and the front row plays the tambourine, two songs feature kazoo, all sorts of craziness. And my girls have piano tonight. So life is already going to be a bit nuts.

Then they call a staff meeting.

Then, after the staff meeting, I learn that, as hospitality head, in charge of a bosses day gift for both bosses for Monday. So I deal with that.

Then I take my kids to my room so I can set out instruments, check the lighting with the projector, print out homework passes and tidy up so that everything will be ready. Then we can go home, eat, I can freshen up and then Dowlan can take the kids and I can go back to school.

Except that I walk in and toss my keys on the cabinet, the seven foot tall, twelve foot long cabinet that weighs 300 lbs empty and then they slide to the back and fall through the crack between the base and the credenza.

Oops


So I empty the text books, teacher editions, art supplies, 2 keyboards, sixty tambourines and composer statues from the top. Then I empty the four sets of handbells and chimes, 14 years of ballet costumes, etc, etc, etc from the bottom.

Then I still can't move it.

Meanwhile, the girls are trying on the costumes and Charlie is digging through my treasure box and then they all go onto the stage in the gym and start to make up their own show. I call to the fourth grade teachers' rooms and one kind man is there and willing to help.

It moved. Whew.

Along with my keys, we find a cornucopia of random, errant items that I happily abandon there. I turn around and realize that, in one hour, eighty five children are going to occupy this space that looks like a music room threw up in it because, well, it did.

I call Dowlan to come pick the kids up at school, as dinner and primping are clearly not going to happen.

We start out organizing and end up shoving. Dowlan appears to help and I leave him to it so that I can print out homework passes. I format, copy, paste and all that fun stuff and hit print.

Guess whose printer doesn't work?

Fun. More cleaning, more wires, more $(&)@!?.

My kids cannot possibly leave, as they have a very important performance to put on that we cannot possibly miss. With minutes before parents arrive and nothing set up yet, we go in to watch.

It was fabulous. Charlie announced them. Girls came in in tutus, girls danced. The plot was intriguing, the dancing exhilarating. Charlie came and sat next to us. The story reached a point where they needed a volunteer from the audience and, wouldn't you know it, Dixie picked Charlie instead of me.

More action, then resolution. Charlie informed us that "this is just chapter one; there are one hundred chapters" but we needed to save those for another day, as I heard people arriving for the 'real show'.

And while my show was good and I'm incredibly proud of my students tonight, I am so glad I paused long enough to enjoy the other show. It came from the heart.

9:32 a.m.

As I sit to write this, it is 9:32 a.m. I awoke at approximately 8:00 this morning, and have therefore been awake for 92 minutes.

On August 1st, I had sinus surgery. I'd taken the kids to my mother's the day before and she returned them to me yesterday. As a result, I think it's safe to say I've done more in the last 92 minutes than in the previous 168 hours.

For example: I awoke to the sound of Melody in the kitchen. She poured her own cereal and milk, brought them to the coffee table and then brought me coffee. (Amazing child, yes? You know you are all jealous.) In the next 30 minutes, I explained to her genetic traits, how geography and climate relate to skin color, how trade routes led to exploring then led to intermarrying amongst what had previously been isolated pocket cultures.

At this point, I broke out the pen and paper and taught my eight-year-old how to use a Punnett Square to diagram dominant and recessive genes, then explained about the 23 chromosomes and how you end up with the traits you have.

Which led to nature vs. nurture.

Then the other two woke up, we all got dressed and took off to take the girls to their Cheer Clinic at school. I could not see through the sap on the windshield and so I stopped on the way at a coin operated car wash. I could not do a drive through because of the window that is stuck halfway down. It's a good thing Melody brought me that coffee, because I was *that* close to going through the drive-thru. That could have been soggy.

The next few miles were spent explaining to Charlie that he could not go to Cheer Camp, as he is not a 3rd, 4th or 5th grade girl student on that particular elementary school campus, but that in high school he would get his chance.

After dropping them off, Charlie and I had a lovely discussion of public vs. private property and insurance liabilities. As we're discussing why he can't just go play on that particular playground because we lack permission from the owner and his property insurance just wouldn't cover any injuries, he asks me quite the question.

"Mommy, if I'm playing on that playground and my head gets broke open like a pinata, what if no one likes the candies that fall out of my head because they are too spicy and too sour?"

For the first time all morning, I didn't have an answer for that one. I think I need a second cup of coffee first. 

Only Melody

A few weeks ago, we were all in The Betty, driving to church.

 I don't think I've introduced you to The Betty, Dowlan's car. It's a 12-year-old white Buick that we bought from Granny. On the drive home from put hissing, she hit 30,000 miles. Since life is in my head is a perpetually word association game, follow along.  


Granny car 
White car 
Old White people 
Betty White The Betty 


Are you with me? 


Okay,so it's wednesday afternoon and the son is getting low in the sky, with rays shining boldly through the side windows. Melody starts making shadow puppets. 


Think of the shadow puppets you made at age eight: 
Butterfly 
Dove 
Dog 
Turtle 
Fist 


 Not Melody. From the backseat, I hear, "look! It's Governor GoodHair!" 


Melody has made a Rick Perry shadow puppet. I'm laughing so hard that steering has become a challenge, so she defends herself with"but it has really good hair!" 


At the next light, I glance at the back of the passenger seat, where her maneuvered fists have left the shadow of a head with perfectly coiffed hair and a handsome chin. 


 That's my girl!

Sew Cool!

During the last few weeks of 2nd grade, the girls' school had enrichment time at the end of the day. They were allowed to choose from a variety of offerings and Dixie chose sewing. She brought home a cute little apron, with only a few missed seams.

Yesterday, I finally got the last of my sewing and craft things put away and organized. After taking the girls to rehearsal, I made my way through my mending pile and then returned to it after dinner. I got fabric I'd bought years ago and never even touched made into a cute blanket.

Charlie amused himself with Legos, Melody read a book, but Dixie sat and watched me. "You know I can sew in a straight line now, right?"

I've long said that if you can sew in a straight line, you can sew anything. Dixie proved me right.





If you know Dixie, you know that Baby Elephant is sacred. She has had Baby Elephant since she was a baby and nothing absorbs Dixie Tears like Baby Elephant Trunk.



Baby Elephant now has a blanket, pillow and mattress, made from a fabric I bought years ago, in case my friend Deanna ever had a girl.



Since we had a conversation with Dixie today about her birthmother that made for a bit of a hard evening, some crafty bonding over Baby Elephant was just what this mother-daughter team needed. It might even make going to sleep that much easier.

Days with Charlie

This summer, I am working as the vocal coach for a local community theatre group. It's a children's summer program and we are putting on 101 Dalmatians. I've really enjoyed going to spend an hour or two a day with a small group of motivated kids. It's so different than my usual gig of 400 kids before lunch that I don't really know what to do with myself some days.
The cast was skimpy to begin with and a few kids had to drop out for various reasons. At the end of last week, the director decided to throw my girls in to bulk up the song and dance numbers. Because the program is designed as a day camp, Melody and Dixie are now at rehearsal from 9-4 every day this week and next.

While their summer has been rather packed with activities, this huge amount of empty has been hard on me.  I'm having to put away my own dishes, if nothing else. It makes me rather glad that my original plan of being a stay-at-home mom for a few more years didn't pan out. Charlie is so content to play in his own little world that he rarely lets me in. I am being forced to deep clean and exercise in order to stay busy.

But some mornings, if I find just the right moment, Charlie will let me into his world.  This morning, Charlie was being a kitty and allowing me to be 'da gwown up dat plays wif da kitty'. When he got tired of the strings and laser lights and no longer wished to be petted, he grew wings. "Dat is why dey call dem flying kitties."

I tossed him over a shoulder and we began to fly around the living room and kitchen. As the pathway were were taking became bolder and more adventurous, he protested. "You hafta remember I am a new flying kitty dat was jest born. You hafta be careful wif new flying kitties jest born."

After a good hour as a feline, he's got play-doh out and is making minnows and worms. They, too, can fly if they are bent at one end to be shaped like a candy cane. Just like toy cars can fly, but only if they have their doors open like wings.

I would like to fly, too, but no one is volunteering me a ride on their shoulders.