Sunday Jungle

Never smile at crocodile,
No, you can’t get friendly with a crocodile,
Don’t be taken in by his welcome grin,
He’s imagining how well you’d fit within his skin.

Roughly translated, this song is saying: Avoid becoming a primary teacher at all costs.

Sure, those kids come in with their pretty dresses, cute little mini-man suits and their hair all done nicely. For the first few weeks they allow you to get comfy, maybe even feel like you’re making some progress in teaching them.

But, what they’re really doing is lurking in the muddy waters of misbehavior waiting to strike when you turn your back.

The other day I described my job in the primary as being a bouncer.

The odd thing is that I’m enjoying it. Maybe I’m the Primary Crocodile Hunter. I love the rush of seeing how close I can get without actually allowing them to win. I live for the look of disappointment on their freshly scrubbed faces when they realize that they haven’t gotten the best of me yet.

No, primary isn’t really about teaching children. It’s more about survival of the fittest. I feel like I train all week at home with my kids, and then I go to the primary jungle on Sundays and test out my new skills.

So far, we’re neck and neck. Some weeks the crocs win and I’m back to the drawing board. Some weeks I win and they go home with their tails between their legs.

But, no matter who wins, at the end of the lesson I pull out some Reese’s Peanut Butter cups and we regroup before going in to Sharing Time. After all, Sharing Time is a whole new ball game and we need to get our strategy down. Who knows what kind of animals we’ll find in there!

It was Nellie!!

A few years ago, back when we had TV reception rather than just a TV picture with some classical music instead of dialogue, Steve and I would watch Little House on the Prairie. That show is grade A, classic stuff! I’ve been watching it since I was probably 8 years old – maybe younger, maybe older, but I’m too lazy to find out when the show actually came on.


Anyhow, after watching how much trouble Nellie Oleson (I got the spelling right! I promise!) was always causing we decided that when something went wrong at our house we’d blame Nellie.

For example:
Who didn’t flush the toilet… AGAIN? Must have been Nellie.
Whose dirty dishes are still sitting on the counter? Nellie’s.

You get it.

Fortunately, I’m discovering that I can also use Nellie to cover up some of my less than stellar parenting moves.

For example:
Who taught them to give people the stink-eye? Nellie.
Who taught them the phrase “for the love…”? Nellie.
Who taught them to burp at the dinner table? Steve. Oh, I mean Nellie.

I feel like I’ve stumbled onto a gold mine with this whole Nellie idea. And, as a socially responsible person I felt it my duty to pass it on to you. Feel free to use it all you want. I will.

In fact, if I say something on this blog that you find offensive or stupid, it was probably Nellie typing it. She’s such a brat!

A Horrifying Conversation

The other day at our house something really bad happened. Not earthquake-in-Haiti bad, but makin'-your-Mama-look-like-a-bad-egg bad.

My sweet, used-to-be innocent, 4 yr. old discovered the word "boobies". GASP!

Last week I decided to be more proactive in the friend area and invited a little girl from our neighborhood over to play with Cadie Lu. (Also, Els has afternoon kindergarten and I needed Cadie Lu to be kept busy for once!)

The play date was going swimmingly. The girls were playing some sort of princess game involving Ariel, among others. I was doing some PTA stuff - which means I'm easily and willingly distracted - and listening in to some of their conversation when I heard this:

Cadie: "Let's pretend Ariel's boobies are all sparkly and her fin is purple".
Friend: "Okay!"

Me: "WHAT?".....

Playing it cool, like good moms do, I decided to address it after Friend went home. Of course, parental obligation made me mention it to Friend's mom when she came to pick her up. I swore to her that I never used that word and was sorry if Friend picked it up.

Later, over a cozy lunch of pbj's, I asked Cadie Lu where she'd heard the word.

Cadie: "Uh... I think my arm pits told me." She lifted up her arms and pointed to those sneaky little pits. Nice move. But it didn't get me off her trail.
Me: "Okay, well it really isn't a nice word. Could you maybe say chest instead?"
Cadie: "Uh...." she paused while her wily eyes glanced around the kitchen for a moment. "No. Chest is boring and it gets a thumbs down from me." She held up her hand showing me the thumbs down sign. "But I REALLY like the word boobies. It gets a big thumbs UP from me!" And she held up her thumbs up sign really high in the air to drive home the point.

I will admit, I almost cracked and smiled when she told me she really liked it and that it gets a thumbs up. Because that's kinda funny. Then I remembered, if she uses that word in public then everyone will think she picked it up from home. Back to the task at hand.

Me: "Well, I think boobies isn't a nice word and would really appreciate it if you'd stop using it."
Cadie: She climbed down off the bar stool and as she walked away she said, "I don't think so Mom. Boobies is too fun. I love it and think I'll keep using it."

I'm still speechless. The entire thing went wrong. (As opposed to when these little talk actually work out!)

So, if you come to visit and hear a little voice down in the playroom talking about sparkling boobies, please, PLEASE don't judge me. I tried. Boobies won.

Mama Knows Best

The other night while reading bedtime stories to my girls I realized something:

I’ve learned more about parenting from reading The Berenstain Bears books than from any other source. No matter how many books I’ve borrowed, bought or checked out at the library, I can always find more down home practical tips from Mama Bear. (Also, she uses small words!)

With such classics as: Bedtime Battle, Forget Their Manners, Get the Gimmies and The Messy Room I have a veritable treasure trove of useful information when I come upon tough parenting situations!

I’m not ashamed to admit that I’ve stolen ideas from them on occasion. And when there is something I think my kids need to work on, I’ll hit Wal-mart in search of a Berenstain Bears book on the subject. I’ve yet to be diassapointed. (This technique works because they’re getting a lecture, without any lecturing. Sa-Weet!!)

Deep down I know I’ll never attain the characteristics of Mama Bear. In fact, while searching for pictures for this post I stumbled across the official Berenstain Bears website. Here is a brief bio on Mama Bear:

Mama Bear: Warm, wise and witty. She is president of the Bear Country Garden Club and is a champion quiltmaker. Mama's favorite recipe is honey cured salmon. The only real problem she has in life is Brother and Sister's messy, messy room.

Ha ha ha. I laugh. Here is how I’d stack up against her:

Aspen: Cold, Crazy and Careless. She is president of the Davis County Doesn’t-Want-To-Garden Club. She is a champion of sleeping under quilts. Aspen’s favorite recipe is anything she doesn’t have to cook. One slightly annoying thing in her life is her children’s messy, messy room.

I’m holding out hope that one day the Berenstain Bears will come out with a series about dealing with adolescents. Until then, I’ll continue to be amazed by the cornucopia of ideas that can be found in such small books!

Oh, and Steve… the answer is “NO”… you can’t have too many Berenstain Bears books.

No Promises

In past years I’ve been a fan of jumping on the bandwagon and making a list of New Year’s resolutions. You know, the usual stuff: Be less sarcastic, pretend to care, laugh more, grumble less, allow my hubby to have an opinion etc.


Sadly, the year I’ve had the most success was the one that I jokingly resolved to gain weight. Who knew how well that would go! Even I am still amazed by my shocking results!

After some reflection, it turns out that I don’t like to be told what to do. Even by myself.

So, this year I decided to try something new. I’m going to treat myself like the child I apparently still am and use a little bit of reverse psychology.

My one resolution for 2010 is this: Do whatever you want, see if I care!

I’m hoping that if I step back and just let myself think that no one cares what I do, eventually I’ll make the choice to improve on my own, without someone forcing me.

It makes perfect sense if you re-read it about 50 times.

And just between you and me, so far it seems to be working! But let’s keep that on the down-low. I wouldn’t want to catch wind of it.

PS. Happy Birthday today to my spunky Cadie Lu. I love you!

Friendship

I ran into a friend of mine today that I haven’t seen for at least 8 years. Maybe more. At one point in my life this person meant a great deal to me. Still does. It brought back a rush of memories as we chatted for just a moment before we were both pulled in different directions by the commitments of life and my toddler begging for fruitsnacks.

As I’ve gone about the rest of my day I’ve spent some time reflecting back on my friendships. It’s amazing to me to realize how friendships come into your life when you need them, and fade into the background when those needs have been met. But you never forget.

And years later when you see those friends, you feel suddenly catapulted back to the time when they were everything to you. The emotions are still there even though you may no longer know the day-to-day realities of each other’s lives.

So, to my many friends that have come and gone – and to those who are still with me daily – I say thank you. You won’t get a lot of sappy love posts from me, so I hope this one tides you over for the next 8 years or so… ‘til we meet again.


QUOTE: “I think of my … friends as a raft we make with our arms. We are out there in the middle of some great scary body of water, forearm to forearm, hand to elbow, holding tight. Sometimes I am part of the raft, joining up with others to provide safe harbor. Other times I need to climb aboard myself, until the storms subside and I can see my way clear to swim to shore. The raft drifts apart when it’s not needed, but never disbands, never forgets.” - Beverly Lowrey

Out with the Cold, in with the Flu

This year I decided I’d make a true effort to have the Christmas spirit and be festive. I decorated my house, I listened to the music, I read stories to my kids, I watched movie, after movie, after movie. I joyfully purchased gifts for my family and baked goodies for the neighbors. I drank eggnog by the gallon.

What I didn’t do was dance like a sugar plum fairy around my home with a can of Lysol.

Trust me – that WILL be on the list for next year.

Just days before Christmas I was given the gift that keeps on giving. A virus.

I speedily sought medical attention from my trusty local doctor. I whined a bit about how Christmas was in two days and I’d sure like to enjoy it. Seems that he too was in the giving spirit this year, because he kindly gave me my second gift of Christmas – a penicillin shot in the buttocks. (This was administered by his nurse in case you were worried, like my hubby.)

Funny thing about viruses…. how they don’t respond to antibiotics and all that. Drat.

In fact, I’ll share with you this tasty morsel that I found out by Googling the word “Virus”: Antibiotics do not harm a virus, they are shape-shifters -- they mutate from one cold season to the next.

The phrase “shape-shifters” makes you think that viruses are all sci-fi or something. Here’s what it really means: BUCKLE UP!

Okay, fine, I understand that there is opposition in all things. I may not necessarily embrace the statement, but I acknowledge it as fact. Virus = Opposition.

Here’s my beef. Can’t our pal Opposition take a little break for the holidays? I mean him and his minions work hard all year to ruin plans and cause heartache. You’d think that he’d like a little time to sit by the fire (or IN it), surrounded by his friends of darkness, and reflect on the past year and the problems they’ve caused. Maybe use the time to vamp up for the New Year. I’m just sayin’…

Well, here’s what I have to say to you Mr. Opposition. You may have my body. You’ve done your best to get in the way of my carefully crafted holiday cheer! You’ve got my sore throat, crusty eyes, runny nose, cough and general intestinal discomfort. But you’ll NEVER have my mind. No sir!

I will rise above your reign of terror and sing Christmas songs even though it makes my head hurt and my throat feel scabby. I will revel in opening gifts from my loved ones. I will set aside a bowl of goodies for when I can taste again.

And last, but not least, I will spike the eggnog with Sudafed and drink until the pain goes away.

Hmm... maybe this whole virus thing wasn’t so bad after all. I’ll let you know when the drugs wear off…..