Happy Birthday to me!

We move from the ranting portion of the birthday to confession.

Amazon.com has not failed me yet. Today, after lunch, a new book arrived on my doorstep. A birthday present to myself. Yeah! It's another Yada Yada book, the second book of the second series. Yeah.

Now you can probably guess the confession part. Jacob is not nearly as demanding as Jared when he is sick. He has watched TV, played on the computer, wrote his teacher a thank-you note for his shenangins in the boys bathroom and is now reading a book as part of his daily 20-minute reading requirement.

Let's just say that I've more than satisfied my daily reading requirement, and I am shocked to learn that it is 2 p.m.!

Yo-Yo's and Fevers

Last night, as Gene went pink for volleyball, I dragged the boys to Jacob's end of season, flag football ceremony. It began at 7 p.m., so I was fairly confident it would be short. I mean, organizers are well aware that kindergarten and first grades participate.

Things moved right along and we eagerly awaited the special guest. Enter Salina native, Brent Dellinger, yo-yo extraordinaire. His tricks were quite impressive, and I was amazed more than once at what this 21 year old could make a yo-yo do. At some point, I began to tire of the tricks, perhaps after the plug for a $17 yo-yo. Or perhaps as Jared grew increasingly impatient next to me. I clapped happily at the end and was still naive to think I might exit the church with some dignity.

My boys go to bed at 8 p.m., sometimes it is 8:05 p.m. It is never 8:41 p.m. As we prepare to leave, Jared launches into his killer fit routine. My purse is heavy as it contains my camera and various other junk, but still I manage to scoop up the fireball and attempt the long journey to the car.

He does not go quietly into the night. Threats do not work. Pressure on his behind does not work. He kicks, punches, contorts and screams. I consider my options as I encourage Jacob to pay attention to the various cars leaving the parking lot. I practically drop Jared on the sidewalk and remark that he can just stay here if he chooses. Cue the sorrowful crying. OK, now maybe he will allow me to carry him in a somewhat calm matter. Ha! The little con artist resumed his torrential fit the moment I scooped him back up.

Looking back, I realize an important truth. That 8 p.m. bedtime is as much for me as it is for them. Jared is DONE. I am rapidly getting there. He requires a quick spank before he will sit up properly in his car seat. He avenges this by screaming at the top of his lungs for the entire trip home. I am surprised the glass in the car windows survive his pitch.

I am tired. My head is pounding. I am losing any commitment I might have held previously to motherhood. Enter Gene (thank you Lady Blues for winning quick!). As Gene steps into the hot seat, I fold the laundry on our bed at a feverish pace as I try to regain a piece of sanity.

This morning, Jacob comes into our room a bit before 7 a.m; he's had a bad dream. As he slides next to me, I realize immediately, as most mothers do, that my baby has a fever. But, I make Gene get up and confirm it anyway. After all, it is my birthday.

Chili anyone?

Jared (yes, the sick, feverish one as of late) is having a fundraiser for his preschool. BTW, he is feeling much better today. No fever. He is just fraught with naughtiness.

Sunday, Nov. 8: Chili fundraiser
Cost $7

It will be at the Fraternal Order of Police Lodge, 2649 SE 45th, 11:30-2 p.m.

If you want to go, call REGINA or e-mail regina.cassell@ washburn.edu. I am supposed to turn in orders Wednesday (Oct. 21), but I am running behind as usual.

Come have chili with the Cassells. We will head over right after church.

Fall (not spring) break

We just concluded the eighth week of a 16-week semester. Thursday and Friday marked our traditional fall break. In November, we have a three-day break for Thanksgiving, but at the moment I am lamenting my Fall Break. I worked both days (at the office). And I did not read a good book or have a garage sale. (don't ask)

I FINALLY did the dishes with some help from Gene, and I did a mountain of laundry and/or drawer switching as we prepare for cooler temps. I helped a friend out and added a couple of kiddos to my own two, took all four boys to Jacob's flag football game and froze while my 6-year-old ran around the field shivering. Then I met another friend and added her two boys to my four at Chuck-E-Cheese for lunch and some easy child entertainment (all such things exact their price, but we did have a nice visit anyway)

I'll leave you with this plea for parental support.

Me: "Jacob, find your coat and put it on. It's cold outside."
Jacob: "I am wearing long-sleeves."
Me: "I know, but you still need a coat."
Jacob (now yelling). "Only DUMB people wear a coat with long-sleeve shirts, AND I AM NOT DUMB."

As I conduct my own evaluation of his behavior, I am thinking it is going to be a long Kansas winter. Then later at church our pastor preached a very powerful message on the importance of prayer and the right kind of prayer. I wonder what kind of prayer long-sleeves fall under.

No soccer mom gene

Before I was a parent (and still knew everything about parenting), I used to cringe and force a smile when a mom would talk about having to miss something because of little Suzy's sporting event. The excitement of watching every single moment of your offspring's sporting attempts is lost on me. Completely lost.

Not only do I dislike sports, playing sports and heaven forbid, hearing about sports, but I also dislike kids sports. Even when my own kid is playing, so it seems.

I keep waiting for that magic mom moment when the planets align and the love of sports descends upon me. (Gene might be waiting for this also) Until then, I guess I'm just an old grouch who hates yet another intrusion on the weekend.

Good Deeds

Not many men would claim to be able to figure women out. Heck, I am a woman, and I can't figure myself out most of the time.

At the end of last year, I said I would be happy to record some books for my son's at the time kindergarten teacher (things went well and he's now in first grade). So, I have these 12 books all summer long. I see them every week or so and of course, feel guilt.

So night before last I decide I am going to knock out this project. I can read. I read hundreds of books to my kids, so I think I'm the one for the job. First, I hunt around for a microphone for the computer that I know I've seen in the last five years. After 15 minutes of poking around in the garage, my husband wonders what exactly I'm doing.

I tell him and he informs me that the microphone was an old way, no longer compatible with our Mac. "Good grief," I say. "Can I ever get a break?"

So he suggests using my iphone and recording the books using the handy-dandy voice memo application. Sure. It does, in fact, work, so I have my first four minute book recorded.

I think I can easily e-mail the file to my computer. Ha! It's too large. I try dividing it up multiple ways, but I just can't get it. Back this summer, my first iphone was stolen, and I have not exactly been good about getting my new one all in one spot. I did not want to synch my phone because that allows my computer's junk to go to my phone, but it erases my phone. What kind of dumb, backward idea is this? I mean seriously. By the way, this is the next day and I have now spent a good chunk of time on this project (and yes, I have PILES of other things I should be doing). I am angry and getting less reasonable as time goes on.

Wow! This rant has some length, but I don't care. In the end, my usual go-to guy is not much help (sorry, Gene). However, I ended up texting an iphone/Mac junkie who comes to my classes every now and again and makes fun of my blogs. Turns out, he had the perfect solution. So I stayed up until midnight recording the rest of the books.

And, I wonder why I was grouchy today when my kids were super obnoxious and all-out naughty as they battled (literally) for about 20 minutes in the backseat. Thankfully, my sister came to save me. The hour escape really helped, but I think my kids half-worried whether I was coming back.

funny, funny e-mail joke

We who have taught, or love children who have been taught, know this is funny!

From the diary of a Pre-School Teacher

My five-year old students are learning to read.
Yesterday one of them pointed at a picture in a zoo book and said,
"Look at this! It's a frickin' elephant!"

I took a deep breath, then asked...."What did you call it?"

"It's a frickin' elephant! It says so on the picture!"

And so it does...



" A f r i c a n Elephant "

Making the rounds

Some people see a holiday and see downtime and relaxation. Others see an extended holiday like an invitation to cram in as much as possible.

As the wife of a man who works sports for a living, I view free Saturdays a bit differently than the 9 to 5, Monday through Friday folks. So, I decided it would be a good idea to traipse all over Missouri to see my family on Saturday after accomplishing a few chores at home first.

We saw grandma in the nursing home along with my parents and grandma's sisters. Then we headed up the road to meet a new cousins new baby girl, Isabel. Stopped by to see grandpa and headed back to St. Joe for dinner with my parents.

Then I thought we really should head over to Gene's stomping grounds as well. We went to church Sunday and headed up I-70 to Marshall, Mo., Sunday afternoon. I drove (and sinned) all the way there. For those of you who don't know, failure to obey the posted speed limit is a SIN (boo!)

Knowing our boys are 4 and 6 and hate being in the car, some might call us insane. But, if we don't spend time with our families, how will our kids convince everyone that we are related to that we totally suck at parenting? We stopped on the way home and had dinner at Taco Bueno. Our oldest was pleasant. Jared was sleepy and insisted on sitting on my lap, but he sat down and ate. Knowing once we arrived at home, it would be quick showers and bed, I was glad to spend the positive time with the boys.

Most of the weekend, Gene and I took turns being on the edge of crazy as they fought, showed incredibly rude versions of their sweet selves, out and out defied any request we made and terrorized everyone at the dinner table.

Famous last words

My son, Jacob, in his flag-football uniform. And so it begins …