An Irish mouse. Just kidding.
On Sunday, Clairey was standing in the pool sans bathing suit top, singing a song to me. It was a rap. About a naked mole rat. And Cheese Micks (Cheese Nips). It was a fine little diddy--went something like this;
"When I say 'Mole Rat', you say 'Cheese Micks'! 'Mole Rat'! 'Cheese Micks'! 'Mole Rat'! 'Cheese Micks'!
If you put a mole rat trap down your pants, and you add a piece of cheese, you might catch a mole rat in your pants!"
I'm not sure how the rest went. I was crying, because i was laughing so hard. There were motions to go along with this, too.
This kid is too much.
Aug 31, 2010
Aug 27, 2010
Locust Watch 2010
I grabbed my cup of coffee and moved to the formal dining room, where i sat to watch for the bus. The girls stood at the front door, inspecting some kind of large bug that lay on the front porch, upside down, in a fierce fight for it's life.
"Go turn it over with a stick," I said.
"Ewwww!" Jenna's such a wuss.
Clairey spoke up: "I'll do it!" Of COURSE she will.
Clairey walked outside and flipped it over with a stick. It was a locust. Couldn't walk, it's wings were dirty, it started lumbering along. Slowly. I went back to my chair and my cup of coffee, listening to the chicks chatter in the background.
"It's limping," said Clairey.
"It's going to fall off the sidewalk! Go save it, Clairey!" yelled Jenna.
So, again, Clairey goes outside to save the locust from certain death...you know...from falling off the walkway. I remained in my chair, with my coffee.
Clairey comes in--the Locust Saver--and the girls continue Locust Watch 2010. The poor thing is limping down the walkway. Jenna sighs a deep sigh, then says (quite forlornly), "It's going to die." So, of course, I immediately belt out, "It's the ciiiiiiiiirrrrrrrcle of LIFE!!!!! And it moves us alllllllll....." I mean, seriously, what else was there to do?
Then the whole family joins in. Let me paint a mental picture:
Me, sitting in the rocking chair, by the window (much like Norman Bates' dead mother) with my coffee cup, singing "The Circle of Life"; Tito, hops up on the piano and starts walking around on the keys (providing musical backdrop); Clairey doing an interpretive dance; and Jenna, at the door, waving to the dying locust.
Yep, normal morning in our house.
"Go turn it over with a stick," I said.
"Ewwww!" Jenna's such a wuss.
Clairey spoke up: "I'll do it!" Of COURSE she will.
Clairey walked outside and flipped it over with a stick. It was a locust. Couldn't walk, it's wings were dirty, it started lumbering along. Slowly. I went back to my chair and my cup of coffee, listening to the chicks chatter in the background.
"It's limping," said Clairey.
"It's going to fall off the sidewalk! Go save it, Clairey!" yelled Jenna.
So, again, Clairey goes outside to save the locust from certain death...you know...from falling off the walkway. I remained in my chair, with my coffee.
Clairey comes in--the Locust Saver--and the girls continue Locust Watch 2010. The poor thing is limping down the walkway. Jenna sighs a deep sigh, then says (quite forlornly), "It's going to die." So, of course, I immediately belt out, "It's the ciiiiiiiiirrrrrrrcle of LIFE!!!!! And it moves us alllllllll....." I mean, seriously, what else was there to do?
Then the whole family joins in. Let me paint a mental picture:
Me, sitting in the rocking chair, by the window (much like Norman Bates' dead mother) with my coffee cup, singing "The Circle of Life"; Tito, hops up on the piano and starts walking around on the keys (providing musical backdrop); Clairey doing an interpretive dance; and Jenna, at the door, waving to the dying locust.
Yep, normal morning in our house.
Aug 23, 2010
School's in session--2010-2011
Ah yes...did you hear me this morning? The scream, that is...
I have been waiting, quite patiently, mind you, for this day for weeks. The day that the girls go back to school. The day where I don't have to worry about a babysitter for meetings, run them to and fro to various camps, or tune out their harried Barbie battles. And, just for the record, Barbies fight, they can be thrown out of the dreamhouse, and they can be eaten by cheetahs. In case you were wondering.
I woke up the kids at 635am--the bus was to arrive at the stop at 729 am--to get them ready for school with plenty of time to spare. They were ready and down the stairs by 645. I kid you not. This is the fastest Jenna has ever done ANYTHING. It usually takes her 10 minutes to just THINK about going pee. But I digress. Anyways, the chicks sit down to a leisurely breakfast of Eggo Waffles, which we NEVER have (thanks, Amy), so they were absolutely delighted in every way. Breakfast plates were cleared, kitchen cleaned, lunchboxes fetched (I even packed them the evening before! What planning!), and we piled out to the front porch to wait for the aforementioned Bus 'o Freedom. Note: The bus's "freedom" i'm speaking of is actually MY freedom. Note 2: Although "Bus 'o Freedom" sounds Irish, alas, it is not. Irish it was though. Bwahahaha! Did you see that? "I RISH" it was?? I'm so, so funny.
Back to the story: So 729 am comes and goes.
The chicks are getting restless. They start throwing acorns into the street to see if any cars will run over them. I go in to check the time---739. "Hmmmm..." I think, "last year, the bus didn't arrive until 740 each morning...so we're okay."
Clairey's bored. She's making up a song about a squirrel who drinks coffee. I believe his name was "Jacque." He's French. Duh.
I check the time again--754. Seriously? My party was supposed to begin no later than 740. You know, the party wherein I walk into the middle of my house and listen to the silence. Then dance. Because it's quiet.
HEY! There's the bus--right there at the corner! Is it ours? Yes, it's the right bus number! Hurrah! We run to the end of our walkway and wait with bated breath--the girls eager to get on the bus, me eager to SEE them get on the bus. Everyone's so excited!
The bus doesn't turn on our street. It goes straight and forgets that the proper route goes by our house. Right now, I have an internal hatred for all bus drivers and their next of kin.
We have no choice but to drive to the school. It is crowded. I have to park a block away. And walk. With a large package of school supplies. And a wee child with limbs the size of mini-pretzel sticks. Do you know how fast mini-pretzel-stick-legs can move? Not fast. Giraffe-limb child is way ahead of us. She can smell the scent of manilla paper and is practically floating across campus to find the fresh sheets and a sharpened pencil.
I'm sweaty. I'm carrying a lot. I'm irritated. And I'm trying to talk myself into being positive. Are you freakin' kidding me? They didn't MOW the playground? Irritated. That has nothing to do with the story. But it WAS irritating. I pay high school taxes; the playground should be mowed. Moving on...
The school looks like Chipotle on "free burrito" day. It is packed. There are kids and parents everywhere. All the parents are irritated, sweaty, and probably mad that the playground is not mowed. What? They probably are. I'm just saying.
I take Clairey to class. Her teacher is 12. She has really blonde hair and long eyelashes. I decide she must be 15 at least. A 12-year old can't have eyelashes like that. She hugs Clairey, so I like her. Clairey looks tiny in the classroom. I contemplate just sticking her in my pocket and leaving, but then realize my car keys are in my pocket and Clairey won't fit. So i leave her at school.
I take Jenna to her room. Her teacher is proper teacher age. I'm not sure what age that is, but she looks old enough to buy alcohol without getting carded. Success. Jenna sees no one from her previous GT classes and commences freak out. I tell her it's okay. She whispers, "But I made straight As all last year! Did they take me out of GT?!" Wait! There's another GT kid. Jenna calms down a bit, but still has a deathgrip on both me, and her cheetah messenger bag. Look! Another friend! All is well.
I dodge parents whom are fully clothed because they work in a real office, and think how lucky I am that i'm wearing running shorts, a sports bra, and a t-shirt from Mexico. On second thought, I probably look homeless. Oh well.
I get out of the school, and RUN to my car. For real. I RUN. And again, curse the fact that the playground isn't mowed. And once again, i ask, "WHY?" Yet, i feel quite nimble as I dodge knee-high grass patches, large tree limbs, and misplaced mulch. I am so lithe. Much like a gazelle. Not really.
I finally make it home to work in the lovely peace and quiet. Before i know it, it's 330--the girls should be home soon. And...335. Then 345... Oh, look! It's 4pm. And 415. I'm getting irritated. They bus arrives at 445. I guess i should be happy that it dropped them off instead of just going straight.
They get off the bus and proclaim their undying love for school. Because they are my children. And they love school. I'm so lucky.
That damn bus better stop tomorrow.
I have been waiting, quite patiently, mind you, for this day for weeks. The day that the girls go back to school. The day where I don't have to worry about a babysitter for meetings, run them to and fro to various camps, or tune out their harried Barbie battles. And, just for the record, Barbies fight, they can be thrown out of the dreamhouse, and they can be eaten by cheetahs. In case you were wondering.
I woke up the kids at 635am--the bus was to arrive at the stop at 729 am--to get them ready for school with plenty of time to spare. They were ready and down the stairs by 645. I kid you not. This is the fastest Jenna has ever done ANYTHING. It usually takes her 10 minutes to just THINK about going pee. But I digress. Anyways, the chicks sit down to a leisurely breakfast of Eggo Waffles, which we NEVER have (thanks, Amy), so they were absolutely delighted in every way. Breakfast plates were cleared, kitchen cleaned, lunchboxes fetched (I even packed them the evening before! What planning!), and we piled out to the front porch to wait for the aforementioned Bus 'o Freedom. Note: The bus's "freedom" i'm speaking of is actually MY freedom. Note 2: Although "Bus 'o Freedom" sounds Irish, alas, it is not. Irish it was though. Bwahahaha! Did you see that? "I RISH" it was?? I'm so, so funny.
Back to the story: So 729 am comes and goes.
The chicks are getting restless. They start throwing acorns into the street to see if any cars will run over them. I go in to check the time---739. "Hmmmm..." I think, "last year, the bus didn't arrive until 740 each morning...so we're okay."
Clairey's bored. She's making up a song about a squirrel who drinks coffee. I believe his name was "Jacque." He's French. Duh.
I check the time again--754. Seriously? My party was supposed to begin no later than 740. You know, the party wherein I walk into the middle of my house and listen to the silence. Then dance. Because it's quiet.
HEY! There's the bus--right there at the corner! Is it ours? Yes, it's the right bus number! Hurrah! We run to the end of our walkway and wait with bated breath--the girls eager to get on the bus, me eager to SEE them get on the bus. Everyone's so excited!
The bus doesn't turn on our street. It goes straight and forgets that the proper route goes by our house. Right now, I have an internal hatred for all bus drivers and their next of kin.
We have no choice but to drive to the school. It is crowded. I have to park a block away. And walk. With a large package of school supplies. And a wee child with limbs the size of mini-pretzel sticks. Do you know how fast mini-pretzel-stick-legs can move? Not fast. Giraffe-limb child is way ahead of us. She can smell the scent of manilla paper and is practically floating across campus to find the fresh sheets and a sharpened pencil.
I'm sweaty. I'm carrying a lot. I'm irritated. And I'm trying to talk myself into being positive. Are you freakin' kidding me? They didn't MOW the playground? Irritated. That has nothing to do with the story. But it WAS irritating. I pay high school taxes; the playground should be mowed. Moving on...
The school looks like Chipotle on "free burrito" day. It is packed. There are kids and parents everywhere. All the parents are irritated, sweaty, and probably mad that the playground is not mowed. What? They probably are. I'm just saying.
I take Clairey to class. Her teacher is 12. She has really blonde hair and long eyelashes. I decide she must be 15 at least. A 12-year old can't have eyelashes like that. She hugs Clairey, so I like her. Clairey looks tiny in the classroom. I contemplate just sticking her in my pocket and leaving, but then realize my car keys are in my pocket and Clairey won't fit. So i leave her at school.
I take Jenna to her room. Her teacher is proper teacher age. I'm not sure what age that is, but she looks old enough to buy alcohol without getting carded. Success. Jenna sees no one from her previous GT classes and commences freak out. I tell her it's okay. She whispers, "But I made straight As all last year! Did they take me out of GT?!" Wait! There's another GT kid. Jenna calms down a bit, but still has a deathgrip on both me, and her cheetah messenger bag. Look! Another friend! All is well.
I dodge parents whom are fully clothed because they work in a real office, and think how lucky I am that i'm wearing running shorts, a sports bra, and a t-shirt from Mexico. On second thought, I probably look homeless. Oh well.
I get out of the school, and RUN to my car. For real. I RUN. And again, curse the fact that the playground isn't mowed. And once again, i ask, "WHY?" Yet, i feel quite nimble as I dodge knee-high grass patches, large tree limbs, and misplaced mulch. I am so lithe. Much like a gazelle. Not really.
I finally make it home to work in the lovely peace and quiet. Before i know it, it's 330--the girls should be home soon. And...335. Then 345... Oh, look! It's 4pm. And 415. I'm getting irritated. They bus arrives at 445. I guess i should be happy that it dropped them off instead of just going straight.
They get off the bus and proclaim their undying love for school. Because they are my children. And they love school. I'm so lucky.
That damn bus better stop tomorrow.
Clairey--1st; Jenna--3rd
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