Monday, September 28, 2009
As TftT passes it's landmark first year in operation, I decided to post a blog for one of my most ardent athletic supporters...Anna. She is my inspiration and a fellow parent (which is probably the only thing that really makes this post relevant for TftT). This may also be the last post since, in one solitary year, we seemed to have solved all the key parenting issues (and some of the non-key ones, too, dog-gone-it!)

Anyway, when I asked Anna for inspiration to lubricate a recent dry spell, she offered up some fodder that has taken shape below....

It's hard to be a male unicorn trying to poop, but not as hard as it is to be his wife:

On the way to school the other day the kids were shooting each other (and occasionally me) with the Nerf guns that my son got for his recent birthday. I was late for my PTA board meeting and still had to make sure that I was properly turned out for such an occasion. It was then that it stuck me (with about the same force as those pesky Nerf gun bullets) that being a woman is really a man's job.

Not only was I recovering from my recent encounter with the Swine Flu, spelling tests (this week it's "an" words. Yippie!), vomiting 3-year old, counting to 100 projects, facilitating an activity filled morning with 20 first graders, and preparing an absolutely gripping PTA newsletter, but I also had to think about writing responsible advice and general information for parents for my new job, research whether my Nerf gun toting children qualify for NRA membership, and get a balanced, healthy meal on the table (or floor) up to 3 times per day. All that before I can even really think about showering (and drying), cleaning up unicorn poop, and, of course, all the unicorn's toys.

After taking a quick look at my watch (which I couldn't read due to the thin layer of some dried out substance that may have been yogurt), I decided that I just needed to man up and realize that the only person who could really do my job well is a man. After all, the only way to really approach this day is to eliminate things methodically and linearly from from my cerebral list without asking for any directions.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Things are looking up on the school front this week. All the spelling words relate to the word "at"...cat, rat, fat, pat, etc. Thank God for small favors 'cause I was really dreading having to google "how many times can you repeat first grade if your mother can't teach you to spell".

On the downside, the kid who can't yet spell "said" has to write a personal vision statement. I just want to know if he can also do mine at the same time.
Friday, September 18, 2009
What a strange couple of weeks it has been. I know I'm badly behind in updating my blog, but life has swept me away again in its undertow and the life raft just caught up with me. (Too bad the life preserver hit me in the head before I caught it.)

On the bright side, school and preschool have started and I've got myself a cute little writing job writing (responsibly) about parenting for Examiner.

On the dark side, school and preschool have started and I've got myself a surprisingly time consuming little job writing (responsibly) about parenting for Examiner.

Some other random thoughts about the past two weeks....

My son's first grade teacher is a mathaholic. I am not. When the homework sheet announced "test on ordinal numbers on Friday", I had to google "ordinal numbers" to find out what they were.

My son's teacher doesn't seem to like to give detailed directions and suggestions for how to complete homework. Given the fact that I am a newbie elementary school parent with a Master of Education in Language Arts, I have no idea how to teach a tired, albeit smart, 6-year old how to learn to spell 10 words in 4 days. When he gets tested, I am, too. First grade should not be nearly so stressful for me.

My beautiful little girl turns 3 in 36 hours and when I reflect I am astounded at how much life has been lived in these past 3 years. I should have known I was in for it when, after 5 fun-filled days in labor, my little bundle of joy shot into this world without enough warning to get an epidural (despite the 5 days of notice, that is). Didn't know you could get PTSD from having a baby, did ya? Well, just remember that next time you go in to the hospital at 42 weeks with labor pains and a "slow leak" and they send you home saying you are fine! Five days and three hospital visits later, I thought I was having a nervous breakdown (and so did the nurses). Yes, I know, I tell this story too much. I feel like I really earned this one though. And, yes, I'm still bitter, but I digress....

Having said all that, my little one is amazing. She knows what she wants and she settles for no less. She is independent, smart, funny, and has VERY high standards, even at 2 am. I try to remember, when my will is being tested, that these things will make her a force to be reckoned with. I try to remember that this is the woman I want her to be when it is her turn to be 36 and I am probably dead from lack of sleep. I know in my heart that when I google "woman", I want to see her picture on the wiki-page that comes up. When I remember that I know I will survive.

Oh, did I mention. Somehow I ended up joining the PTA board. Huh? I resisted the urge to google "PTA". It was more fun to think of all the possibilities.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Check me out here. You click. I get paid!
EMMA: Mommy, my foot hurts.
ME: Really? Do you have a bug bite? Is it itchy?
EMMA: No, not a bug bite! My skeleton hurts.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
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