Wednesday, February 02, 2011

February Family Snapshot

I haven't done a family snapshot in a while, so I'm feeling the overwhelming need to connect in words with what everyone is doing.    I'm diving in head-long . . .

MOTH is working.  He went to his annual national sales meeting last month.  It's affectionately dubbed "ortho-palooza" by me.  It's essentially a four day party with a couple days of training and some fancy dinners in the evenings.  It's mandatory and good away time for him.  But when he calls me from a sailboat in the Pacific, the logic has to kick in.  Really?  Required training.  Horse shit.  A wee bit of training peppered with team building and fun.  His company is providing iPads for everyone.  Rock on.  I'll get mine back.  He's looking forward to the next ski trip and has started researching the specs on my next set of wheels.  My lease is up in May and I'm giddy with excitement.  I love leasing.

I am working.  Am I not always working.  I'm mothering the youngins, and leading the PTA, neither of which has been a small feat these last few months.  The youngins are fabulous.  PTA . ..  well, I'm ready to exit stage left.  May 3rd will be my last official meeting to run.  Yeah.  There are a couple of difficult folks this year.  I suppose that's not different from every year, but this year, I'm a bit more OVER it.  I lack the patience required for this position.  Someone tell me how smart I am to recognize that.  Work, work . . my REAL work is stressful.  See post on financial stress.   The year started off stressful and I'm clinging to the hope that it will settle down, even out and be fine.  The good news is 20% growth will come by the end of first quarter.  The bad news is part of the growth will take a while to materialize.  I sometimes wonder how I went from patient care to this circus, but it's okay.  I miss working with moms and babies.  I miss the moment of delivery.  I miss being a REAL nurse.  But . . . . I don't miss working 12 hour shifts.   I choose this.  I started peddling bags with Thirty-One Gifts on the side back in August or September.  I just did it to get my own product, but holy hell . . those sucks sell like funnel cakes at a street fair.  I'll keep it up as long as the keepin' is good.

Big is so frustrated with her volleyball team, I can smell it seeping from her pores.  They suck.  Bad.  Initially, there was an age limit on the team, but miraculously, after all the parents shelled out cash for pre-tryout clinics and tryouts and all the associated fees, they were a few girls short of making two teams -- so they extended open invitations for a few extra girls.  Low and behold, two little nine-year old munchkins got put on the team.  It's hard to train a girl to set when the passers keep ducking when a ball comes at them.  They've lost every game.  She cries on the way home and is so, so, so sad.  I don't think I can give the "sports are for developing character" speech again.  I just want her to win one.   She did a great job with her science fair project -- testing truth in advertising with toilet paper commercials.  Science fair was a huge debate for parents at school and I  am just happy that we had a good experience with it.  She made the Battle of the Books team and is excited about it.  She's developing some moves and a hilarious sense of humor.  She's officially a certified baby sitter now.  My life is about to change.



Middle lost her iPod.  A good four weeks without it.  It was so, so sad.   It's been found, thank heavens.  And that's the biggest of the stories for Middle.  She's freakishly smart.  It kind of scares me.  Very talented academically.  She's the logical thinker of us and always sees the 'other side'.   There's a mini storage up the street from her gym.  She asks, "is there a big storage further up?"   There's a sign nearby that says "no trespassing 7 pm to 7 am" . . . she wants to know, "does that mean you can trespass all you want between 7 am and 7 pm?"  She's walking the fine line between voicing her opinion and being a talking-back smart-ass.  Teetering precariously on a very, very thin line.



Little is a dancer.  Well, not really . . . but they are doing a dance unit in gym and he's cracking me up singing the songs and showing me the steps.  He has no fear about the 'boy factor'.  And he's got loose hips . . . he's got moves.  I've elevated my status by leaps and bounds by being the best at wii just dance 2.  Finally!  A video game that I can beat him!!  He's into Ninjago.  One has his name and he's suddenly bonded to little spinjitsu dudes.   He has aced five spelling tests in a row.  His handwriting is perfect; he's a whiz in math; and he's made two new little dude friends. 


Mimi started pre-school.  And gymnastics.  I spend a lot of time in creative play being Miss Cole (which is really Ms. Nicole . . her preschool teacher) or Miss Karen (her gymnastics coach).  She's great at school.  Using scissors is a bright spot in her day and she really loves to paint.  She's helpful in the kitchen . . . loves to wash dishes.  She's suddenly BIG, from words to actions.  She's such a fourth child . . blunt, raw, loud.  She's the one that will stand at the dinner table and shout, "do you want to see my butt?  do you? do you? do you?" as she points to each person and demands an answer.   Little girl words like 'bum' have been exchanged for big kid words like 'butt'.   The Pacifairy came while MOTH was at ortho-palooza.  She's lost interest in her Beezer, too.  With no paci and no blankie, she seems like a much older child.  We're still speaking in Mimi-language.  "I don't know" is "not know."  Our family favorite is "your" which comes our "orn".  She sings and dances . . . we especially love "hit me with ORN best shot."  "I don't want to" comes out "but I don't."  And when she agrees, her little noggin bobs up and down while she exclaimes, "yea, and ME TOO!!!"  Oh, and she LOVES black olives.

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