Ode To My Blogging Community

There once was a blogger named Shauna,
Whose three young boys all called her "Mama."
Her life was chaotic,
Which made her psychotic
And filled every day full of drama.

One day she was sure she'd need therapy.
A bully was causing some hara-kiri!
She turned to the net
And what did she get?
A big group of friends and some family!

So thank you to those who support me,
Who cry and/or chuckle appropriately.
The comments you share
Keep me from despair
And help me stay sane . . . to some degree!

"It Was THIS BIG!!"

When Nathan told me about this morning's incident on the playground, he was pushed over by a second grader. By the time he related the story to Rachael this afternoon, it was a fourth grader. Immediately after that, he told the kid next door that the perpetrator was a seventh grader.

He's so young and yet so adept at the fine art of exaggeration.

The Wrath of Mother

It took five whole days of kindergarten to break Nathan's glasses. When he came home today with the mangled frames and only one lens, I was irritated. When he told me that they broke because one of the big kids grabbed him and made him fall before school this morning, the irritation became anger. Anger at the unnamed older child who bullied my kid. Nathan said one of the playground attendants (He called them "one of the school stack with an orange vest." I'm thinking he meant "staff.") saw the whole thing and came right over. So I'm hoping that some responsible adult at the school will ensure this doesn't happen again. Incidents like this can make a child hate school and I don't want my bright, inquisitive five year old to hate school.

So now we search for the lens because although there is a breakage warranty on the frames, a lost lens means buying a new one. Nathan thinks it is on the bus, but he is in no way a reliable eyewitness so the school secretary is checking with his teacher as well as the bus driver. At least we were smart enough to buy two pairs of glasses so Nathan will still have a pair to wear while we get the broken ones replaced.

And I'll sit here and attempt to think Christ-like thoughts. ("I don't want to beat up the bully. I don't want to beat up the bully. I don't want to beat up the bully . . .")

I Just Couldn't Resist

Yes, I realize that I am messing with the minds of my children. But the glee in Nathan's voice when he exclaimed, "I think one hopped out!" makes it totally worth it. Besides, it will give them something to discuss with their therapists when they get older.

"You Can't Catch Me . . ."

One of the things Nathan told me about his first day of school was that they made a gingerbread man out of real gingerbread. I assumed they also ate the gingerbread man. But it was wrong of me to make such a logical assumption. Apparently they made the gingerbread man and put him in the oven, following the strict instructions the recipe provided about not peeking. Today they returned to the oven to get him out and discovered that he was gone! He had run away, leaving clues (and crumbs) all over the school. Thus the chase began. They followed him all over (getting an excellent tour of the school at the same time), not quite fast enough to catch him in the office, the computer lab, or the library. They finally caught him in their classroom and carried him off to the gym where they stuck a knife in his stomach and then ate him. And yes. I do have a boy child that revels in the gory details. (I love Miss Burningham even a little bit more than I did yesterday. Not only is she giving me five mornings a week with only one of my offspring, but she is keeping my five-year-old happy and engaged while he is learning.)

Nathan was totally hyper when he came home. He told me the story about the gingerbread man and then told me he wanted to make some more gingerbread men to see if they would run away. With such a scientific question at hand, I couldn't resist. Now I know what some of you are thinking. Last time I attempted to make gingerbread, I nearly incinerated the kitchen. But that was working with an unknown recipe and today's recipe is tried and true. So don't fret. I didn't even scorch anything.

After Daniel got home, we made gingerbread men (and women, because although our numbers don't reflect it, we are an equal opportunity household). The big boys loved painting them with edible cookie paint (the cornstarch variety rather than the egg yolk one so that I wouldn't end up making a mad dash for the Benadryl five seconds after Matthew grabbed a cookie). During the entire process, the main topic of conversation was whether or not the gingerbread men would run away. There were even several choruses of the "I Hope They Don't Run Away Anthem," composed and performed on the spot by Nathan the Magnificent.

We made a gigantic, enormous mess and had a glorious, wonderful time. After all, isn't it about . . . time?

The Artist At Work

Concentrating

What Matthew Was Doing While I Was Rolling Out Cookie Dough


The Finished Product
(If you look very closely, you will see that the cookie in Daniel's left
hand is running. I love when my accidental mangling of cookies as I
attempt to get them on the cookie sheet actually turns out to be fun!)

The Three R's

Today was Nathan's first day of kindergarten. He was extremely excited, but I think I was possibly even more excited. Five days a week, it will be just Matthew and me. And he is still young enough to strap into the shopping cart, thereby eliminating any running away, wandering off, and sticking of stuff into the cart (as long as I park him in the middle of the aisle). But I digress. Nathan went to school. He rode the school bus for the first time. He waved with glee when the bus pulled up to the house when school was over. And he told me that he loves Miss Burningham more than he loves me. But that's okay. Those five mornings a week make me love Miss Burningham just a little bit to.

Backpacked and Ready To Go


I assumed this was a gingerbread man, but Nathan quickly informed
me that I couldn't be more wrong. It is a gingerbread "baby."

"Nice." (To Be Spoken With Sarcasm)

I have cold feet. Not in the metaphorical way, but in the very literal "my feet are like ice cubes" kind of way. Even in the summer, I occasionally get icy toes in the night and need to put on socks in order to get any sleep. And I have a particular pair of socks that I prefer for this job. They are thick and warm and they even have those little rubber grippers on the bottom so that I don't slip and fall on my bum when I have to visit the bathroom in the middle of the night. See the nice socks?


I also have a nice nightstand. It belongs to the set of very nice new furniture I got earlier this year. See the nice nightstand?


Does the shape of all the horrendous little marks on the nice nightstand look familiar? If not, refer to the photo of the nice socks.

It appears that the nice little grippers gripped themselves right onto the nightstand. And when I ungripped them (by picking up the nice socks), they pulled the stain right off of the nice nightstand.

Nice . . . not.

Thamnophis Sirtalis: Better Known As . . .

On the most ordinary of days, occasionally we’ll have an unordinary experience. Such was yesterday. At ten to five, as I was trying to pull dinner together, Daniel came running into the house with a look of surprise on his face. The story he told was that he was playing in the backyard when something fell out of the tree into the sandbox. It was long and wiggly, so he thought it was a worm. But when he went over to look at it, he discovered that it was a snake. So he ran right in to tell me. I grabbed the camera and we trekked back out to find the snake. By then it had slithered over by the fence. So I snapped a couple of pictures and then (since I’m not a great snake connoisseur) we googled “garter snake” to make sure that’s what it was. Daniel’s comments during the whole thing were expressions of utter engrossment: “Whoa!” “Cool!” And my personal favorite, largely due to the fact that it was uttered with the whispered awe that can only be inspired by a seven-year-old boy’s first encounter with a snake in the wild, “Wooow!!!”

Dinner was late.