Category Archives: my girl

What gender is YOUR food?

Posted in family outings, Food Stuff, joy found, laughter, my boy, my girl by

Jacob has made it known – without actually saying it – that he is a vegetarian. There is not a single meat he will eat, except maybe McDonald’s chicken nuggets, which you can’t really count as meat… or even food. So we avoid those. Which means then that yeah, he eats ZERO meat. I can’t even sneak it into stuff, because he won’t eat something that resembles a casserole or has an ingredient he can’t see. (Neither will his dad, but that’s another story.)

There are very few things Jacob will eat. I’m going to list what I’ve tried so you all know and can give me suggestions, which are welcome. Encouraged, actually:

  • PB sandwiches, plain or with jam usually works. PB with honey? Nope. Unless he’s at Grandma’s.
  • Beans? Sometimes. Re-fried with cheese and sour cream is a success about 50% of the time. Which, let’s face it, 50% of the time is a success. Green beans no more. Whole beans (kidney, black, other) about 10% of the time.
  • Noodles? Never with a capital N.
  • Fruit? Usually – because it’s sweet and sugary.
  • Veggies? Only red, orange, or yellow bell peppers. Not green. The others are sweeter. (But technically, they’re a fruit, too. I won’t get into that, though, since it will likely result in my husband calling me a nerd.)
  • Cheese? If it’s string cheese or Havarti slices from Costco packs. Yes, he’s that picky. Or orange Tillamook cheese on a grilled cheese sandwich.
  • Bagels? Sometimes. With cream cheese usually, but then he sometimes just licks the cream cheese off.
  • Oatmeal? With brown sugar and blueberries. (a.k.a. “Bare-boobies.” For those of you that don’t know that special story, I’ll post it below.)
  • Yogurt? Usually. But not plain greek, which is about the only kind not full of sugary stuff or other junk. (Let me know if you know of a good idea there.)
  • Chips, crackers, fruit snacks and any other processed garbage full of sugar? OF COURSE! Only, we don’t like to buy that stuff, so…

That’s it! Other than that, I’m out of luck. Most of his meals include a PB sandwich and a cheese stick, with hopefully some fruit or bell peppers (not green.)

Today’s lunch menu was a grilled cheese sandwich, a banana, and a glass of milk. I need to go grocery shopping. It was either that or PB, which I get tired of watching him eat.

Annalise and I sat eating ours, while Jacob sat with a scowl. Something like this face he gave to my cousin after being asked to eat a hot dog. (I forgot to inform Andy that Jacob doesn’t eat meat… even hot dogs):a

Yep, that’s my strong-willed little boy. I have no idea where he gets it from.

“Jacob, you need to eat your grilled cheese sandwich, please.” I started gently.

“NOPE! I. NOT. GONNA.” He was a little more firm in his reply.

“But you like grilled-cheese sandwiches! Mommy made you something special that I know you like!”

“Nope, I DO NOT LIKE THEM!”

Annalise, observing the forming struggle turned to me and whispered, “Mommy, you’re calling it a girl–cheese sandwich! No wonder he doesn’t like it!” She turned to her brother, “Jacob! Silly mommy just forgot. MINE is a girl-cheese sandwich. YOURS is a boy-cheese sandwich. Will you eat it now?”

Jacob paused, looked at it for a bit, his furrowed brow softened. And then he laughed, “Silly mommy! I am not a gew-wohl. I will eat my boy-cheese sandwich.”

And he did. Silly me. Dogs eat dog food. Of course boys eat boy food and girls eat girl food. Duh.

 

And now, the blueberry story. In case you didn’t already know:

Jacob loves, loves, LOVES, blueberries. Last year, he asked for them all the time. Only he called them “bare-boobies.” I found it utterly hilarious and laughed every time (like an 8-year old boy… remember? My husband found me awfully immature,) until I found myself in the produce section of Costco with my 1 year old in the cart screaming with excitement while waving his arms, “BARE-BOOBIES!!!!!!!!!!!”  Then I just wanted to crawl under the bananas and die. The end.

Creepy Crawly Crazy

Posted in my girl, teaching by

I used to not be a very squeamish person. While I wouldn’t want them hanging out in my shower or anything, rodents, reptiles, and even spiders didn’t wig me out. Open wounds, blood and guts? Kind of intriguing, actually.

Things have changed a bit, and I know exactly why: Bugs hate me. They have it out for me. They are determined to turn me into a squeamish, screaming, entomophobic with sweaty palms and rapid breathing at the sight of them.

While I know for certain this is truth, I’m not exactly sure why they’ve singled me out. Although it may have something to do with the fact that about once or twice a year, I go completely rambo on every mosquito, fly, moth, fruit fly, and spider in the house, killing all in sight with a wet towel while shouting things like, “You’re going DOWN you stupid BUG! TAKE THAT!” All while leaving their dead carcasses on the walls to clean up when the massacre is finished and I have calmed down. Sometimes I even leave one or two up as a sign to other potential home-invaders, you know, to intimidate them. They need to know what I am capable of. Maybe that has backfired. Instead of intimidating them, it has just caused them to rally together their bug army and begin their attack on my psyche.

You all remember Attack Number 1: fly eggs in my fajitas. It used to be a once a week meal at our house (fajitas without fly eggs, that is). I’ve only made them once since that first attack back in June, and I could barely gag them down. True story.

Attack Number 2 was actually a series of 3 attacks in one day. Clearly their attempt to wear me down.

Attack Number 2, Part A: The kids and I noticed a yellow jacket-looking thing on the window in the dining room. Only it was much, much bigger and all black. I’ve seen various wasps, but this one was different. We stood 15 feet away and watched it’s massive body creep up the window. I’m fairly certain we heard it’s bug feet hitting the window with each step. Yes, it was that big. I sent the kids to their room for protection and swatted it (read, leaned over with a broom handle and took my best whack at it from as far away as possible.) When it was good and dead but not smooshed entirely, I examined it closely. Google says it was a black wasp, which apparently is not any more dangerous than a yellow jacket and supposedly not aggressive. Maybe not more dangerous, but seriously more intimidating. That sucker was 1 and 3/4 inches long. So while it didn’t actually come at me, I call it an attack because I’ve never seen one before or since, and because it was ONE and THREE-FOURTHS INCHES, PEOPLE. True story. I measured.

Same day, just a few minutes later. Attack Number 2, Part B. I called Matt to tell him of the crazy giant death-wasp in the window. I was standing right next to the window as I was on the phone. And suddenly, a hummingbird flew at full speed right at the window, crashing loudly and scaring me to death. I know birds often fly into windows that are so clean they seem invisible. And maybe that is what the hummingbird was doing. That was my immediate thought: Stupid bird didn’t even see the window. Except then I realized that I was on the other side of the window, and it still flew at full speed… right at me. It was on a mission to attack me with it’s long hummingbird razor beak, but my clean window (ha!) saved me. The band of bugs have enlisted the help of other creatures in their attack against me. Obviously.

Same day, after kids had gone to bed. Attack Number 2, Part C. The bug army must have noticed that while I was shaken, the giant wasp and the miniature bird attacks weren’t having their desired affect. So, they resorted to what worked in the past: eggs. No, I’m not kidding. Only this time they weren’t in my food, they were on my couches. I noticed several large moths as I entered the room. I grabbed a paper towel to get them. A couple of them tried to escape but failed. The third didn’t even try to move. Hmmmm. Why so lethargic, large moth? Ohhhhh. Because you’re LAYING EGGS on my COUCH! I didn’t even know moths would do that. Google says this sometimes happens in clothes, area rugs, and even on furniture. It takes about 5 days before they hatch and become teeny tiny caterpillars that destroy your clothing, carpet, or couch. (Adult moths don’t make the holes in your clothes. It’s the larvae that do.)

Here’s the thing: my couch doesn’t fit the description of the type of environment they prefer. It is kind of a faux suede, smooth with no crevices for hiding or fibers for clinging to. Nope, this moth was trying to send me a message right out in the open. It was a full-on attack. Don’t believe me? Take a look at this:

The final attack came yesterday, and it was the battle that won the war…

After arriving home from a long but fun weekend away, the kids and I took the dog for a walk. We went our usual route, out the driveway to the right, right at the stop sign on Main. While we often walk in single file while playing “Follow the Leader,” this time, we held hands and walked side-by-side. Jacob held Izzy’s leash in his right hand, then my hand in his left. Leesie was to my left holding my other hand.

Just after turning the corner onto Main, I felt something in my nose, as though a bug had flown up it. We stopped while I swatted and blew quickly, trying to get it out. As I swatted, I noticed a little yellow thing on my arm, so I gave it a flick. When I turned my eyes to flick it, I saw in my peripheral vision there was something in my hair, like a big piece of dandruff. I gave it a shake, then noticed it fell on the front of my shirt. It looked like a little worm, less than a centimeter long. I flicked at it as well. We began walking again, when I realized the “dandruff” was still clinging to my hair. It hadn’t fallen on my shirt after all.

Suddenly I froze. I realized that the something in my nose and then on my arm and then in my hair and then on my shirt were four of the same thing. I began to examine the kids and dog, who were all right next to me the entire time. Nothing on them. Phew.

We continued to walk, when I began to feel my skin crawl. Only it wasn’t the creepy crawlies. It was crawlies creeping. All over me. A few on each arm, several on my leg. A bunch stuck to my shirt and skirt and a few in my hair where I could see them. I was covered in about 30 little worms that had rained down from the sky, directly onto ME and only ME. Like a crazy woman, I started screaming and flicking them all off and hollering at the kids to check every part of me.

I did realize I was causing a scene on a busy road and was just about to tell myself to calm down, when I noticed a little yellow worm crawling into the V of my v-neck shirt. Calming down was now out of the question. Jumping, screaming, reaching into my shirt and discovering one – cover your eyes for this next part, dad – in my bra. (Dad, I know you didn’t cover your eyes, so you’ll just have to get over the fact that I wear one. As does every other woman. Except that lady we saw at Wal-Mart the other day. But really, she should have been, too.)

A full on aerial attack, missing all 3 of my walking companions, but completely covering me. I looked up and saw massive webs full of the little creepy crawlers, ready to dive-bomb me at any moment. We ran. Only not our usual route home. We ran through the back yards of what I’m sure were nice but now terrified old ladies, in damp grass all the way to our back yard… and locked door. Annalise was just steps behind me the entire way, providing me with constant updates on the whereabouts of more worms on my back and legs but not having the courage or decency to flick them off me. Thank you so much, my dear daughter.

Continuing the crazy, I pounded on the locked door, frantically hollering for Matt to open up. The moment I was inside, I began stripping all my clothes off and throwing them on the kitchen table for further examination and determination of whether they should end up in a burn pile. Now completely naked, I ran to the bathroom to examine my hair. An “all-clear” was made, and the crazy subsided. Dressed in clean sweats and shirt, I sat down to Google once again. This is what I learned:

From Wikipedia, “The fall webworm, Hyphantria cunea, is a moth in the family Arctiidae known principally for its larval stage, which creates the characteristic webbed nests on the tree limbs of a wide variety of hardwoods in the late summer and fall… The adult moth lays her eggs on the underside of leaves in ‘hair’-covered clusters of a few hundred. Eggs hatch in about a week…“

ONE moth lays a cluster of a few hundred eggs. In that giant oak tree on the Southeast corner of Main and 19th, you’ll see thousands, THOUSANDS of little moth larva, pale yellow caterpillars raining from the sky, or oak tree as it may be.

And they have won the war. I am officially creeped out, buggy crazy, sweaty-palmed hyperventilating over the thought of bugs and their eggs, and especially their larva. And how do I know for sure? Today, while teaching, I felt something in my nose and ran – no, skipped/climbed/jumped/leaped/clammered while making little shrieking noises all the way to the tissue box. I whacked one kid in the head with my flailing arms, and- only when I blew my nose and discovered there was nothing out of the ordinary in there – did I realize that I was in my classroom, 27 sets of 8 and 9-year-old eyes looking at me, wondering why their teacher just went crazy.

You win, dumb bugs. You win.

Summery Summary

Posted in joy found, laughter, my boy, my girl, my husband, parenting (aint for sissies), the relatives by

I am a list girl.

I make ’em. I categorize ’em. I stick to ’em. I stress when they aren’t getting crossed off quickly enough. When I defer from them and accomplish something else, I add it to the list just so I can cross it off. When I begin tasks without a list and later make one, I always, always include everything I’ve already done so I can remind myself I haven’t wasted my time.

And just between you and me, sometimes, when I need a victory – a bit of motivation and feeling of accomplishment for having actually gotten something done other than referee pre-school fights – I add this to my list: Make to-do list. It’s an automatic win.

…I just had a thought. I should add that to my lists, too. Referee pre-school fights. Another guaranteed success. And while I’m at it, I may as well include change a thousand diapers and feed bottomless pit children…

So at the start of this summer, when I usually make my long list of things to accomplish before school starts back up, I had a thought. I need to stop. The lists, while they just feel so good to cross off, seriously make me crazy when they sit, staring at me void of lines. A list of 27 items not crossed off is a list of 27 ways I’ve failed. 27 reasons to stress out – no, to panic – and start acting like a crazy woman because nothing else matters but those 27 stupid things. So, at the start of THIS summer, I decided to not make a list.

I decided that, then I made one anyway. It was 2 pages, 2 columns per page, typed in 12 point font. C’mon, what did you think? Addicts don’t often quit cold-turkey.

So yes, I made the list, but then I folded it up and set it aside. Available, but not in my face.

And then I made a new summer to do list:

  1. Live slowly
  2. Love deeply
  3. Laugh often.

Aaaand I stuck to it! Yay, ME!

Ok, so maybe I didn’t exactly live slowly, but I did attempt to live in the moment. I did live fully, enjoying the right now. And I loved and laughed. A lot.

What I didn’t do is write about it all. (Because I was living fully in the moment, remember?) So now I will attempt to summarize. Our 2012 summer and first few weeks of September:

  • July: Play hard. Beach, berry-picking, VBS, play-dates, walks, bike rides, Edaleen Dairy, slip ‘n’ slide, campfires at Grandma & Grandpa’s, and lots more.
  • August: Family. Long lost sisters! Cousins, cousins, and more cousins.
  • September: Back to routine. School/work, ballet & tap, Kids’ Bible Class, new (and also awesome) babysitter.

Our family’s personal highlights:

  • Annalise: Definitely not when she sprained her finger. Definitely moments spent playing with her long lost cousin, Ellia.
  • Jacob: Definitely not riding the dragon roller coaster at the fair. (They let him off – sobbing – after one lap.) His summer favorite is a tie between: 1) Getting a new dog. (Dog loves him. He loves her. Best friends for life… which (hers) may not be long if Matt has something to say about it.) and 2) Playing at the park with the new love of his life, Julianne. Too bad she’s about 17 years older than him.
  • Matt: Not sure he really had a summer. It was more like 2 full time jobs. But his highs were when we were around and he had time to be with us. Lows were when we spent a week in Nevada without him. 😦
  • Me: Hmmm… How do I choose? What’s not to love about spending 8 weeks not working and enjoying every moment with people I love? I know, lame. But seriously the truth.

Summer/September notables:

  1. Annalise went from a size 11 1/2 shoe to a size 13. And she is officially wearing clothing sizes that I remember wearing. Ack!
  2. Jacob didn’t learn his lesson and stuck a raisin waaayyyy up his nose. 24 hours of forced nose-blowing, pepper-induced sneezes, and flashlight shining up nostrils later, the long lost raising was recovered out of his crib.
  3. Matt shot 15 weddings and about 5,000 other shoots and spent every spare second of summer editing. If he wasn’t drinking all the coffee around here, I mighta thought he had fallen off the planet.
  4. I lost some weight before summer started. Good thing, because what once was lost now has been found. UGH. While I could blame my poor summer diet or seriously lacking summer exercise “routine,” I’d rather just blame my mom and sisters. Because really, I pretty much gain weight any time I am with them or when I stay at my mom’s. Clearly, it’s their fault.
  5. Izzy. She’s the new dog. a.k.a. “Dizzy.” She’s cute (part Yorkie), but I am embarrassed to admit that she is also part chihuahua. Just call me Paris Hilton. Yes, I do own doggie sweaters for her, but they were inherited with the mutt. A package deal. You can really start worrying if you see me carrying her in a bag. (She’d fit nicely in my current purse.) As my older sister says when she looks at her, “Yo quiero Taco Bell.”
  6. Minnie. She’s the new van. A mini-van. Love her. More than the new dog who may or may not have just peed on my couch.
  7. We *might* have alerted the staff in the polar bear section of the Point Defiance Zoo that there was a reindeer walking past our car in the parking lot. And the zoo staff *might* have gotten on the walkie-talkie to the keepers at the reindeer/bison exhibit to warn them of a potential escape. And that reindeer *might* have just turned out to be a regular old deer with velvety antlers. Who knew? (Not us, clearly.)
  8. While Jacob is great at spotting chewed gum on the ground in public locations (must be his closer proximity), only TWICE did he pick it up and chew it. But no worries… he put it back right where he found it both times.
  9. If you’re ever going to get pulled over for a driving a stolen vehicle, make sure you have several adults, 4 kids, and a dog with you, not to mention a trunk full of suitcases. You’ll look less suspicious. Oh, and make sure the vehicle isn’t actually stolen.
  10. Every minute of August was a notable. Lots of memory making with family. I am so grateful.

And this:

Thanks, Ann Voskamp. I feel better about #4 now.

To all, LOVES.

A rose by any other name

Posted in joy found, laughter, my boy, my girl, parenting (aint for sissies) by

Last week, Annalise had a great time at a beach-themed VBS with her friend Payton. (Thanks for the invite, Rachel.) On the last day, she brought home a purple beach bucket full of all her crafts from the week, her name written neatly on the outside of the bucket in gel paint. She was quite proud.

Except she has apparently inherited some OCD/perfectionist qualities from, ahem, I have no idea where, because she was bugged by a slight smudge on the second letter “a” in her name, right along the stem of the letter. Now let me be clear when I say that whoever wrote her name – in gel paint, on a round bucket – did an amazing job. Perfect printing in a perfectly straight line on a curved surface, all done from a squeeze bottle. I was impressed at the obvious talent of one who most certainly was a fellow perfectionist.

But as flaws often do, the smudge on the a wore at my little 4-year-old idealist. First, she pointed it out to me. “Do you like my bucket, Mommy? There is just a little smudge right here though.” I told her I loved her bucket, and I didn’t even notice the smudge. But now that she pointed it out, I liked it. It gave the bucket character. (I’ve had practice with this sort of thing, you know. I may have had to use that line for myself once or twice before.)

Then she announced – more to herself than anyone – that the smudge was “no big deal” and did her very best to ignore it. But I could see as she played with her perfect purple bucket with her almost-perfect name, it was still bothering her. She’d stop every once in a while to rub the smudge, pinch it, trying to squish away the imperfection.

Finally, she had enough. “Mom, I don’t like that smudge. I’m taking it off!” Before I could stop her, she had the corner of the letter a and promptly ripped that smudge – and entire stem of the a – right off her bucket… Leaving a perfect letter c behind.

Now as any perfectionist knows, a misspelling is much much worse than a minor smudge.

She gasped. “OH NO! Now I have a c instead of an a!” Panic on her face, she stared at the torn letter. “A-N-N-C-L-I-S-E! Mom, what’s my name now????”

I didn’t hesitate. “Ank-leese,” I said matter-of-factly.

Another gasp. “But I don’t like the name Ank-leese! It’s not even pretty!”

“I don’t think it’s so bad,” I responded. “Here. Let me take a picture of you with your new name, Ank-leese.”

“Well, I’m not smiling if you do. Ank-leese is not a happy name.”

I took the picture anyway, laughing the entire time. “Say ‘cheese‘ Ank-leese!”a

It’s very clear to me now why Jacob gets such a kick out of tormenting his sister. She just makes it so fun.

“MOMMY! It’s NOT FUNNY. How would you like it if your name was Hol-key?”

Hol-key? This girl is too much. I laughed harder. “That wouldn’t be so bad, Ank-leese. I don’t think I’d mind.” Still laughing.

“Well, I’m gonna start calling you that! Stop laughing, Hol-key!”

“That’s mom-key to you, Ank-leese.”

Apparently sarcasm and teasing don’t go well with a perfectionist’s frustration. Poor girl. So I told her that no matter what her name is, I will always love her the same. Annalise by any other name… even if that name is Ank-leese. Either way, she is mine and she is God’s and she is perfect to me.

We talked a bit about the bucket, and how she let a little thing bother her, and by trying to make it perfect, she only made it worse. That it is sometimes really hard, but that we have to be okay when something isn’t exactly how we want it, or isn’t what we think is “just perfect.”

And since she sometimes struggles with negativity, we talked about how we need to be thankful for our many blessings, and focus on the so many good things and not focus so much on what we think are bad things. 

Then I asked her about the story they learned in VBS that day. Ank-leese told me they heard the story about Jesus washing the disciples’ feet. We talked about how Jesus was perfect, fully God and fully man, that he could have come as a rich king, or however he wanted, but that he came into a poor family as a baby. I said how amazing it was that he, God, would do that, that he would wash the feet of the disciples. “Do you know what that means, Annalise?”

She thought about it, scrunched up her face and responded. “Yeah. It means he had some really dirty water.”

Lesson over.

“It is God who arms me with strength and makes my way perfect.” ~ Psalm 18:32

Oh, and I almost forgot… Jacob maybe learned his lesson about eating his boogers. No more floss needed. Yesterday he came to me and said, “Mommy, I picked my nose. But do not woo-wee. I did not eat it. I put it wight back in my nose.” Aaaand onto a new lesson…