We are in the "Uno" phase of life. I didn't know such a phase existed, but apparently, there is a point in the development of a young child when every waking minute is consumed with the desire to play Uno. Princess daughter is obsessed; so much so that she has changed the rules so that her objective is to avoid giving out all her cards, and thus, delay ending the game. And I often find her dealing 10, 11 cards rather than the typical seven or eight to start with.
She is brutal. She loves to put down cards that contain the word "draw" - she even has an evil laugh that goes along with that action. The funny thing is, we all know exactly what she has in her hand since she hasn't quite developed the dexterity to hold the cards fan-style, but lays them out on the table. It's hard not to develop a little bit of strategy when you're able to see what you're up against.
The minute dinner is finished (which is usually in less than five minutes for this active school-girl) and the requisite request is made for "bessert" (sometimes granted, sometimes not), the Uno cards come out. It's become a nightly ritual. Uno! I mean - so long.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Saturday, December 20, 2008
'Twas the Night Before
'Twas the night before a party and all through the house,
A child was hurling allover my spouse.
The sheets were changed several times with care,
In hopes that the next set would soon be spared.
The child was nestled surounded by trash cans
While visions of panic stomped out tomorrow's plans.
And Hubby in his daze and I in my sleep deprivation,
Knew we had to be at the party out of obligation.
When down the hall, there arose such a splatter,
We jumped from our bed to see what was the matter.
Away down the hall, we flew like a flash,
Tore off the sheets and threw out the trash.
And you can guess the rest..
After 5.5 years, Princess Daughter hurled. We knew it would be bad - and it was, especially when you're dealing with it between 1 and 3 AM, but finally the house was at rest at 3:30.
Yes, we were up for a bit that night, but part of that state of awakeness was due to concern about what was to be done later that day. About 12 hours from that time, I was scheduled to set-up and manage Princess Daughter's school party, and a certain hubby was scheduled to arrive dressed as a certain saint. What were we to do if she was still sick and we both had to be at the school?
Fortunately, as children do, she bounced back quickly (more quickly than I did having lost key REM cycles) and by mid-morning, she was running laps around the family room. We all made it to the party. It was a big hit with the kids, particularly the visit from one jolly old elf whom I laughed when I saw inspite of myself.
A child was hurling allover my spouse.
The sheets were changed several times with care,
In hopes that the next set would soon be spared.
The child was nestled surounded by trash cans
While visions of panic stomped out tomorrow's plans.
And Hubby in his daze and I in my sleep deprivation,
Knew we had to be at the party out of obligation.
When down the hall, there arose such a splatter,
We jumped from our bed to see what was the matter.
Away down the hall, we flew like a flash,
Tore off the sheets and threw out the trash.
And you can guess the rest..
After 5.5 years, Princess Daughter hurled. We knew it would be bad - and it was, especially when you're dealing with it between 1 and 3 AM, but finally the house was at rest at 3:30.
Yes, we were up for a bit that night, but part of that state of awakeness was due to concern about what was to be done later that day. About 12 hours from that time, I was scheduled to set-up and manage Princess Daughter's school party, and a certain hubby was scheduled to arrive dressed as a certain saint. What were we to do if she was still sick and we both had to be at the school?
Fortunately, as children do, she bounced back quickly (more quickly than I did having lost key REM cycles) and by mid-morning, she was running laps around the family room. We all made it to the party. It was a big hit with the kids, particularly the visit from one jolly old elf whom I laughed when I saw inspite of myself.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
And the Winner Is...The Brown-haired Man Who Likes Chili
Hubby got up extra early so he could be at the polls when they opened this morning. When he returned before heading off to work, Princess daughter asked where he'd been. He told her he'd gone to vote for president of the United States, to which she asked "Did you vote for the man who likes chili or the man who likes tacos?"
Barely stifling his laughter, he said "The choices were John McCain, the man with white hair, and Barak Obama, the man with brown hair." "I know," she said, "Did you vote for the white-haired man who likes tacos or the brown-haired man who likes chili?" We later learned that this is the way her teacher explained the election process to the students - that both are good, but some people like chili and some people like tacos.
And now we're all going to find out how much we like chili.
Barely stifling his laughter, he said "The choices were John McCain, the man with white hair, and Barak Obama, the man with brown hair." "I know," she said, "Did you vote for the white-haired man who likes tacos or the brown-haired man who likes chili?" We later learned that this is the way her teacher explained the election process to the students - that both are good, but some people like chili and some people like tacos.
And now we're all going to find out how much we like chili.
Monday, November 3, 2008
You Can Lead a Voter to the Polls...
I helped at the mock election at Princess daughter's school today. It was fairly sophisticated - they had laptops set up with cardboard boxes placed around them to recreate the feeling of voter booths. I was there to help with the 1st-, 3rd- and 6th-graders, which was eye-opening and quite amusing.
When the 1st-graders came in, the 3rd-grade helpers had to be reminded to read to the voter the ENTIRE list of candidates, not just say "do you want to vote for XXX?" One 12-year-old was extremely disappointed that her vote wouldn't count in the real election. When asked if she needed help, another voter said "I just know I vote Republican all the way down."
Since children often speak what is going in their minds, several enlightened me as to their decision-making process: "I like that name," or "I like the name of the party - reform - that's a good thing," or "I think he's pretty cute," or "I've heard of him," or "I like his signs." Hopefully, adults will take a more informed approach to their decision-making, but you never know...
Perhaps the most interesting part of the election is the two county proposition questions. I had done advance voting, so I was familiar with the language, but even as an adult, had to read them a couple of times to make sure I was voting for what I intended. (Which raises another issue as a communicator - why can't they write these things so the average person can understand???) So I spent a good part of the time with students explaining these two questions, which presents the challenge to not insert my own bias - try it some time, it's a good exercise.
In summary, the first proposition asked if voters were okay with judges continuing to be appointed by a commission or if they wanted to have more say in the process by voting for the judges. The second proposed a sales tax increase that would raise the sales tax in our county to 8% to help fund $15 million for medical research at three local universities.
On that second proposition, one astute 6-th-grader said "Wow, that's a hard decision. I mean, I don't want things to cost more, but it's important to do research and find cures to things." No one could have summed up better the election process - it's all about trade-offs. No decisions are easy, no outcomes are simple, nothing is straightforward. The best we can do is choose the issue that most centrally speaks to us and our values and vote from there. Happy voting on November 4th!
When the 1st-graders came in, the 3rd-grade helpers had to be reminded to read to the voter the ENTIRE list of candidates, not just say "do you want to vote for XXX?" One 12-year-old was extremely disappointed that her vote wouldn't count in the real election. When asked if she needed help, another voter said "I just know I vote Republican all the way down."
Since children often speak what is going in their minds, several enlightened me as to their decision-making process: "I like that name," or "I like the name of the party - reform - that's a good thing," or "I think he's pretty cute," or "I've heard of him," or "I like his signs." Hopefully, adults will take a more informed approach to their decision-making, but you never know...
Perhaps the most interesting part of the election is the two county proposition questions. I had done advance voting, so I was familiar with the language, but even as an adult, had to read them a couple of times to make sure I was voting for what I intended. (Which raises another issue as a communicator - why can't they write these things so the average person can understand???) So I spent a good part of the time with students explaining these two questions, which presents the challenge to not insert my own bias - try it some time, it's a good exercise.
In summary, the first proposition asked if voters were okay with judges continuing to be appointed by a commission or if they wanted to have more say in the process by voting for the judges. The second proposed a sales tax increase that would raise the sales tax in our county to 8% to help fund $15 million for medical research at three local universities.
On that second proposition, one astute 6-th-grader said "Wow, that's a hard decision. I mean, I don't want things to cost more, but it's important to do research and find cures to things." No one could have summed up better the election process - it's all about trade-offs. No decisions are easy, no outcomes are simple, nothing is straightforward. The best we can do is choose the issue that most centrally speaks to us and our values and vote from there. Happy voting on November 4th!
Saturday, November 1, 2008
The Day After Halloween
Many of you may have already read this - it was written the day after Halloween 2007. My predictions are coming true, but she still held my hand this year. :-)
Day after Halloween
Leaves of gold and orange bathe in the warm sunshine, reflecting God’s goodness. Ever notice how every season has a beauty? Just when you think “this is my favorite,” another color, another hue enters your line of sight, and that season moves to first.
As I crunch in the leaves the day after the night dedicated to candy, I notice remnants of the night before…a red feather off a costume. Was she a diva with a boa frivolously thrown across her shoulder? A cackling witch with feathers peaking from her pointed hat? Or was she a roaring 20s girl with far too much make-up for her age – “Can I ple-e-e-ase wear lipstick, too?”
Next year it will be different. "Can I please go with my friends? We’re dressing as rock stars and boys are coming, too." Next year you will have to hide in the shadows, no holding hands. She won’t sing about Halloween at the top of her lungs as she runs down the street. She’ll want to go to every house, two blocks won’t be enough. Next year when she declares “trick or treat” at the opening of a door, there will be no “twicks” and no “tweats.” She won’t show you every sweet she gets. She’ll barely know you’re there.
Then on the ground lay Superman’s sweatband, a miniature version for a mighty superhero. Did he struggle over which man he wanted to be? Did he look at his muscles, hold in his stomach and stick out his chest? "I want to be strong like daddy!" Did he run through the house with his cape out behind him and jump from his bunkbed, sure he could fly? Next year it won’t be like that. No superheros, no good guys, no conquering evil. Next year is gruesome and gross, disgusting and scary. Next year he’ll go and you pray he’s okay. Next year he’ll hang with some dudes, you’ll wonder what’s a costume and what’s just clothes.
You’ll try to hold on, try to grasp those fleeting moments of childhood. You take photos and laugh. You know you won’t forget how they look tonight, how they sound, what they say. But as you tightly grip, they go on and you’re left with a sweatband in your hand…a red feather floating to the ground…
Day after Halloween
Leaves of gold and orange bathe in the warm sunshine, reflecting God’s goodness. Ever notice how every season has a beauty? Just when you think “this is my favorite,” another color, another hue enters your line of sight, and that season moves to first.
As I crunch in the leaves the day after the night dedicated to candy, I notice remnants of the night before…a red feather off a costume. Was she a diva with a boa frivolously thrown across her shoulder? A cackling witch with feathers peaking from her pointed hat? Or was she a roaring 20s girl with far too much make-up for her age – “Can I ple-e-e-ase wear lipstick, too?”
Next year it will be different. "Can I please go with my friends? We’re dressing as rock stars and boys are coming, too." Next year you will have to hide in the shadows, no holding hands. She won’t sing about Halloween at the top of her lungs as she runs down the street. She’ll want to go to every house, two blocks won’t be enough. Next year when she declares “trick or treat” at the opening of a door, there will be no “twicks” and no “tweats.” She won’t show you every sweet she gets. She’ll barely know you’re there.
Then on the ground lay Superman’s sweatband, a miniature version for a mighty superhero. Did he struggle over which man he wanted to be? Did he look at his muscles, hold in his stomach and stick out his chest? "I want to be strong like daddy!" Did he run through the house with his cape out behind him and jump from his bunkbed, sure he could fly? Next year it won’t be like that. No superheros, no good guys, no conquering evil. Next year is gruesome and gross, disgusting and scary. Next year he’ll go and you pray he’s okay. Next year he’ll hang with some dudes, you’ll wonder what’s a costume and what’s just clothes.
You’ll try to hold on, try to grasp those fleeting moments of childhood. You take photos and laugh. You know you won’t forget how they look tonight, how they sound, what they say. But as you tightly grip, they go on and you’re left with a sweatband in your hand…a red feather floating to the ground…
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Pumpkins, pumpkins, we like pumpkins
Last Saturday, Princess daughter and I set out with a girlfriend and her daughters on a pumpkin patch excursion. Beautiful fall day, leaves beginning to turn, we headed to the country.
Our first stop was at a very crowded cider mill, which translated, means "all children must jump in a germ-laden bouncy house and climb through the inflatable obstacle course for several dollars per person or you will be tortured by whining all the way home." You're only young once...
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The mill's idea of a pumpkin patch was a bunch of store-bought pumpkins piled on haybales that you picked up, stood in line FOREVER to weigh, and paid too much for. After waiting in line for lunch and munching to the twangs of banjos and dulcimers, we decided we'd try a REAL pumpkin patch we saw back down the road a fur piece (remember, we're in the country).
Once we pulled off pavement onto gravel, we knew we were about to hit pumpkin jackpot! Ten minutes later, we spied the real pumpkin patch. Most pumpkins were about $6 each and there were plenty to pick from - in the field - still on the vine (of course, during the romantic idea of all this countrified living, we forgot about the prickly vine part and hadn't brought gloves.)
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The girls started out strong - intent on finding the perfect pumpkin.
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But then, at some point, I looked around, and my girlfriend and I were the only ones in our group actually looking for pumpkins. The three shortest members of our entourage were sitting in the middle of the dirt road having a tea party.
.jpg)
Our first stop was at a very crowded cider mill, which translated, means "all children must jump in a germ-laden bouncy house and climb through the inflatable obstacle course for several dollars per person or you will be tortured by whining all the way home." You're only young once...
.jpg)
The mill's idea of a pumpkin patch was a bunch of store-bought pumpkins piled on haybales that you picked up, stood in line FOREVER to weigh, and paid too much for. After waiting in line for lunch and munching to the twangs of banjos and dulcimers, we decided we'd try a REAL pumpkin patch we saw back down the road a fur piece (remember, we're in the country).
Once we pulled off pavement onto gravel, we knew we were about to hit pumpkin jackpot! Ten minutes later, we spied the real pumpkin patch. Most pumpkins were about $6 each and there were plenty to pick from - in the field - still on the vine (of course, during the romantic idea of all this countrified living, we forgot about the prickly vine part and hadn't brought gloves.)
.jpg)
The girls started out strong - intent on finding the perfect pumpkin.
.jpg)
But then, at some point, I looked around, and my girlfriend and I were the only ones in our group actually looking for pumpkins. The three shortest members of our entourage were sitting in the middle of the dirt road having a tea party.
.jpg)
Could we BE any older?
Recent comments from Princess daughter indicate that she thinks we're old. And she's probably right. By the time she's in high school, we will be several generations removed from the technology she lives and breathes every day.
"I don't want to walk to school this morning," she said recently. "We won't -it's raining," I replied. "But dad had to walk to school when it rained. Oh yeah," she suddenly thought, "they probably didn't have cars back then."
"I know a new song," she announced proudly at the end of one school day. "There's Sunday and there's Monday; there's Tuesday and there's Wednesday..." she began to the tune of The Addams Family TV show. "There's - what's next, mommy?" As I easily continued on-tune with "There's Thursday and there's Friday, and then there's Saturday. Da-da-da-dum. Snap. Snap. Da-da-da-dum. Snap. Snap." "Hey - how do you know that song!?" she yelled. "Well, the tune is from an old black and white TV show that daddy and I used to watch when we were growing up." "Black and white? What's that?" she asked.
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