1/31/11

Fever

Mallory fell ill Friday night with what has now been determined to be strep throat on top of flu. She had to miss a birthday party sleepover Saturday night and, yesterday, had to communicate by Magnadoodle messages because it hurt to talk. Poor girl.

I went to check on her around midnight on Friday and found her very, very hot. I woke her up to give her some Tylenol and then sat with her while she fell asleep. "Mommy," she said, "before you came in here, I think I heard the Kleenex box talking to me."

"Did you?" I said, startled, as you would be too.

"Yeah...and it kind of freaked me out. So I said a prayer to my guardian angel to protect me, and after that the talking stopped."

"Well, I'm glad that worked," I said.

"Yeah." A moment of silence. "Do you ever pray to your guardian angel?" she asked.

"Not for a long time, I haven't," I said.

"I think it really works. Mrs T" -- her third-grade teacher -- "told me all about it one day when I was worried about taking a times test. And I passed the test, so it must really work."

"That's good," I said, wondering why her guardian angel couldn't manage to nudge her past her three-times table.

"Mrs T is a good teacher," Mallory mumbled. "You know, especially when it comes to Jesus."

I don't know if it was the fever talking or just a weird dream. Either way, I think I'll let Mrs T know that she's making an impression.

1/18/11

Bad attitude on display

Chris needs a cornea transplant! Do you have a spare?

My father-in-law spent the weekend in the hospital. He’s fine, full recovery and all that, but I keep thinking, selfishly I admit: I’m not ready for this kind of thing.

My car requires $700 worth of repairs. We don’t just have $700 lying around. I guess we’re going to be eating a lot of rice and beans and Cheerios (not all mixed together) in the coming weeks.

I’m turning almost-40 (i.e. 39) tomorrow.

I’m really tired of the cold weather. My fingers haven’t been warm since before Thanksgiving.

Mallory is resisting, with all her strength and might, learning her multiplication tables.

Neither child can go more than five minutes without complaining about some kind of bodily pain. My finger hurts! My stomach hurts! My nose hurts! My foot hurts! My complete lack of sympathy has yet to staunch the whining.

I always thought that by the time I was almost-40, I would just have $700 lying around. Hmph.

(I don’t mean to go on about the $700. We’ll make it work. It just sucks.)

My boss is taking his grandson to Disney World in March and is telling me about all his plans, including making reservations for not one but two Character Breakfasts. I am consumed with guilt for not making similar reservations when we went, even though the reason I didn’t was that such dining experiences were hugely expensive ($40 per child, $60 per adult, see above re: not having $700). My kids don’t know what they missed and had a fabulous time anyway. Why do I let such things bother me?

I’m taking the day off work tomorrow, and for some reason I volunteered to help out in Phoebe’s classroom. Instead of, say, spending the morning in bed with a book, or something relaxing like that. Why did I do that?

The next time I post, I’ll be almost 40. And less whiny, I promise.

1/11/11

On the lighter side

Here are some funny things Phoebe has said recently:

"Hey Mom, my butt kind of hurts."

"I'm real sorry to hear that."

Pause.

"Ohhh...I just figured it out! Why my butt hurts!"

"Okay..."

"It must be because this is Tuesday, and I'm still wearing my Monday underpants."

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Whilst playing with Mallory:

"Don't run away from me! I'm going to wrangle you! And my people are from Texas, so I know how to wrangle!"

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The girls were singing along with the radio one day when Mallory suddenly burst out laughing. "You'll never guess what Phoebe thinks the words to this song are!" she giggled.

The line went: "Say what you need to say..."

Phoebe was singing: "Sandwich you need to save..."

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Phoebe often drops the last syllable of certain words. "Hey Mom, I'm thirst," she'll say. "I need a cup of wat." Or, "I'm hung, can I have an app?" Or my favorite: "Could you help me get dressed? Here's my pajams, and here's my unders."

:)

1/10/11

Can't think of a title either

“You can admire the human species, but you have to be realistic,” was the first line of a news report I heard this morning. I laughed, and then listened with interest as the reporter explained how human history may have been influenced by the size of newborn human babies – who are proportionately much larger than the babies of other primates, and also more helpless. Humans therefore had to arrange their lives around the fact that, essentially, parents of small children who want to get anything done have to be able to hand them off to other people once in a while. It takes a village.

This was a nice story, but it was immediately followed by a report about the little girl who was killed in Arizona on Saturday. She was nine years old. I couldn't listen to the whole story and I can't write any more about it and I can't imagine what her parents are feeling. And I can’t say I have much faith in the village right now.

1/2/11

Happy New Year

Is there any day more melancholy than the last day of Christmas vacation? The tree has been untrimmed, the Advent calendars put away, the last bag of presents has been unpacked, the chocolate crinkles have all been eaten. The girls are spending their last hours of freedom with their friend across the street while I think dolefully about packing their lunches and finding their backpacks and wondering where their school shoes are.

It was a good Christmas, a happy two weeks, with snow and a trip to the kids' museum and new toys and games. Now it's back to homework and carpool lines and planning Girl Scout meetings and, oh yeah, cookie sales.

Oh well. Time marches on, right into 2011. Hope yours is happy.