Question: How much do you pay your kids in allowance?
Do you give your kids an allowance?
Our kids have chores; clean their room, clean their bathroom, sort their laundry and put away their clean clothes, take care of the cat, and when I'm really organized they help clean our main living area, unload the dishwasher, fold towels, clean their play room, and for the oldest, mow the yard.
For all this, they each receive $5 per month. The last time JT mowed, we paid him 10 cents a lap, around the house, skippers did not count. He mowed the whole yard and earned an extra $3.
A quick Internet search showed we are severely underpaying our children. At first, as I looked over the sites, I thought we were somewhere in the middle. Until I realized the rates the sites were quoting were per WEEK. Seriously, my 9-year-old should be receiving, roughly, $5 per WEEK. My soon to be 11-year-old should be receiving, in the ball park of, $7 per WEEK.
Hmmm. I don't think our budget would allow that kind of increase. On second thought, our budget may allow it, but I am not sure they would be ready for the drastic lifestyle change an increase of money to them would mean. "Oh, you need more toothpaste and shampoo, I'll drive you to the store honey so you can purchase your own. Oh, and that will be $1, each way, for the trip."
It would also mean more responsibilities. More jobs for them, means me figuring out how to organize the whole chore chart thing. That, and releasing many of my control freak tendencies when it comes to cleaning.
Question: How do you organize your chore charts?
Showing posts with label parenting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label parenting. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Thursday, March 8, 2012
Sorry, What Were You Talking About?
Communion at our church is not a regular occurrence, and therefore it is a little stressful.
Stressful, because of the absence of a regular routine it usually throws our children into left field. Young children are not going to remember, from 6 months ago, that their parents (and all the other adults sitting around them) will file up to the front of the church to partake in Communion, leaving all the children behind, unattended, without adult supervision.
See where I am going with this?
Heavens to betsy, one Sunday, several years ago, I looked at all the children (boys) sitting in our section (because we sit in the family section, it is harder to pin any noise on our family). I was certain, when we returned, we would find several swinging from the lights, performing acrobats on the chairs, and the remaining boys putting each other in headlocks.
Recently, the children have been invited to sit up front during Communion. Up front, as on the stage, facing everyone in the congregation.
I guess I can't call it a stage, being that we are Mennonite, that seems too ostentatious. The platform? The platform, which is the size of a small stage.
Anywho, with the children gathered on the stage like platform, our pastor will talk to them about Communion, which is think is a great Christian education moment, and then they will pass out grapes.
However, as the mother of two boys (i.e. they on each other), one of which has ADHD, I find myself holding my breath throughout the whole Communion service.
Did I mention our congregation is between 350 to 400 attenders on any given Sunday? That is a lot of people to move and serve.
One Sunday, during Communion, the kids were upfront, the adults were waiting for the sacraments (do we call them that in the Mennonite church?), the pianist is playing, and there is whistling.
Oh My Sweet Loving .... JT is whistling with the music. Thankfully, he was whistling "with" the music, and somewhat on key, or as "on key" as one can be when you whistle.
Fast forward a couple days, and we are back at church on Wednesday night.
A friend came up and said how GL appreciated watching JT, during the Communion service Sunday. He presented such a reverend attitude while the pastor was talking to them, and then during the prayer.
Ahhhhhhhhhh
Have no doubt, I probably blurted something out about him whistling during the service. Apparently, I can't take a compliment, even when it is about my children. The friend didn't remember hearing any whistling.
Which goes to show, though you may be fixated on a negative behavior by your child, others may only see the positive. I thank them for bringing those positives to my attention, because I need them.
Stressful, because of the absence of a regular routine it usually throws our children into left field. Young children are not going to remember, from 6 months ago, that their parents (and all the other adults sitting around them) will file up to the front of the church to partake in Communion, leaving all the children behind, unattended, without adult supervision.
See where I am going with this?
Heavens to betsy, one Sunday, several years ago, I looked at all the children (boys) sitting in our section (because we sit in the family section, it is harder to pin any noise on our family). I was certain, when we returned, we would find several swinging from the lights, performing acrobats on the chairs, and the remaining boys putting each other in headlocks.
Recently, the children have been invited to sit up front during Communion. Up front, as on the stage, facing everyone in the congregation.
I guess I can't call it a stage, being that we are Mennonite, that seems too ostentatious. The platform? The platform, which is the size of a small stage.
Anywho, with the children gathered on the stage like platform, our pastor will talk to them about Communion, which is think is a great Christian education moment, and then they will pass out grapes.
However, as the mother of two boys (i.e. they on each other), one of which has ADHD, I find myself holding my breath throughout the whole Communion service.
Did I mention our congregation is between 350 to 400 attenders on any given Sunday? That is a lot of people to move and serve.
One Sunday, during Communion, the kids were upfront, the adults were waiting for the sacraments (do we call them that in the Mennonite church?), the pianist is playing, and there is whistling.
Oh My Sweet Loving .... JT is whistling with the music. Thankfully, he was whistling "with" the music, and somewhat on key, or as "on key" as one can be when you whistle.
Fast forward a couple days, and we are back at church on Wednesday night.
A friend came up and said how GL appreciated watching JT, during the Communion service Sunday. He presented such a reverend attitude while the pastor was talking to them, and then during the prayer.
Ahhhhhhhhhh
Have no doubt, I probably blurted something out about him whistling during the service. Apparently, I can't take a compliment, even when it is about my children. The friend didn't remember hearing any whistling.
Which goes to show, though you may be fixated on a negative behavior by your child, others may only see the positive. I thank them for bringing those positives to my attention, because I need them.
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Fault Lies ... Where?
The kids were upstairs, playing together, playing well together, albeit a little loud, but I will accept what I can.
I was in the kitchen, cleaning and organizing.
There was a clatter of something falling, the sound of scampering feet, and total silence upstairs.
I walked around the downstairs, noticing nothing out of place I returned to the kitchen. Hey, if it is broken I will eventually learn about it. And, now there was silence upstairs.
A couple minutes later ED comes wondering downstairs and asks, "Mom, did you hear a crashing sound?"
Me: "Yes, do you know what it was?"
ED: "I heard the noise."
Me: "So, you were in your room? You weren't playing with your siblings?"
ED: "I heard a clattering noise."
Me: "Well, I don't know what it was. I'm sure we will learn eventually."
ED returned upstairs, and I returned to my cleaning and organizing. Soon after that exchange I hear children at the top of the stairs. Children chattering, and waiting. Waiting for mom to walk by so they could confess.
I discover that JT had created a slingshot out of his robe's belt, and had flung a beach ball from the top of the stairs, trying to aim for the kitchen (which would mean practically hanging over the stair's banister to reach the kitchen since the location of the kitchen is directly behind our stairs.) He did not reach the kitchen, instead he knocked down a couple of the iron letters, that spell "family", which sit on our mantel.
Hence, the clattering noise, and easy enough to pick up and return to their places, which I told JT to do.
At this point I saw ED, standing behind his siblings, and realized he had witnessed the sling shot incidence.
Me: "Wait a minute, ED, you saw the slingshot in action? You saw the letters fall down? Yet, you came downstairs, acting all innocent to not knowing what happened? Were you trying to get the other two in trouble?"
ED: "But, I just gave him the idea of a slingshot, I didn't knock down the letters."
So, to recap.
There was a crashing noise, and quiet children. ED came downstairs, acting as if he knew nothing about it; when, in fact he had witnessed the entire thing and knew exactly what had happened. When confronted, all he had to say for himself was that he only gave the idea of a slingshot.
The boys were told to put on their shoes and take the slingshot outside. No more slinging in the house, thank you very much.
:::sigh:::
I was in the kitchen, cleaning and organizing.
There was a clatter of something falling, the sound of scampering feet, and total silence upstairs.
I walked around the downstairs, noticing nothing out of place I returned to the kitchen. Hey, if it is broken I will eventually learn about it. And, now there was silence upstairs.
A couple minutes later ED comes wondering downstairs and asks, "Mom, did you hear a crashing sound?"
Me: "Yes, do you know what it was?"
ED: "I heard the noise."
Me: "So, you were in your room? You weren't playing with your siblings?"
ED: "I heard a clattering noise."
Me: "Well, I don't know what it was. I'm sure we will learn eventually."
ED returned upstairs, and I returned to my cleaning and organizing. Soon after that exchange I hear children at the top of the stairs. Children chattering, and waiting. Waiting for mom to walk by so they could confess.
I discover that JT had created a slingshot out of his robe's belt, and had flung a beach ball from the top of the stairs, trying to aim for the kitchen (which would mean practically hanging over the stair's banister to reach the kitchen since the location of the kitchen is directly behind our stairs.) He did not reach the kitchen, instead he knocked down a couple of the iron letters, that spell "family", which sit on our mantel.
Hence, the clattering noise, and easy enough to pick up and return to their places, which I told JT to do.
At this point I saw ED, standing behind his siblings, and realized he had witnessed the sling shot incidence.
Me: "Wait a minute, ED, you saw the slingshot in action? You saw the letters fall down? Yet, you came downstairs, acting all innocent to not knowing what happened? Were you trying to get the other two in trouble?"
ED: "But, I just gave him the idea of a slingshot, I didn't knock down the letters."
So, to recap.
There was a crashing noise, and quiet children. ED came downstairs, acting as if he knew nothing about it; when, in fact he had witnessed the entire thing and knew exactly what had happened. When confronted, all he had to say for himself was that he only gave the idea of a slingshot.
The boys were told to put on their shoes and take the slingshot outside. No more slinging in the house, thank you very much.
:::sigh:::
Thursday, December 29, 2011
I Done Good
My children know me so well.
Before Christmas break, the kid's school had a Christmas Gift store, kids could exchange their good behavior tickets for gifts.
EM "bought" me this:
ED brought home a red fleece blanket. I love blankets, especially fleece ones. My living room is covered in blankets. It is my personal belief that every living room in the world should have at least one blanket.
That is what my children gave to me for Christmas. A mother could not ask for anything more, affirmation that I am teaching them well.
Before Christmas break, the kid's school had a Christmas Gift store, kids could exchange their good behavior tickets for gifts.
EM "bought" me this:
A little notepad. Because I love making notes. I love to-do lists. I love note pads.
ED brought home a red fleece blanket. I love blankets, especially fleece ones. My living room is covered in blankets. It is my personal belief that every living room in the world should have at least one blanket.
That is what my children gave to me for Christmas. A mother could not ask for anything more, affirmation that I am teaching them well.
Friday, December 16, 2011
A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the ...
For some reason our accident prone child was carrying the hand saw. (Hubby and JT were carrying the tree, I was busy snapping pictures, and giving it to my 6 year old made me think OSHA would be jumping out of the woods and serving me with a fine, so someone had to carry it.)
ED's school friend was walking up the hill, towards us, also carrying a hand saw.
The boys saw each other, they yelled their names, and then :::gasp::: they began to run towards each other, saws in hand, raising their arms to hug each other.
"Put down the hand saws before you hug each other", I yelled.
:::sigh::: The book I could fill, with all the phrases I've said, as a parent, the sayings I never imagined coming from my lips.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
A Tale to Tell
"Mom, I have something sad to say about CE'" ED begins his confession.
At the time, I did not realize this was a confession, I figured he was tattling on his best friend.
He continues the tale of woe, how CE had to move his card to the worst color of all, blue, and how he, being such a good boy, stopped at red and only had to endure a lunch time-out (they sit at a desk, in the lunch room, separate from the rest of their class).
Um, back up a minute. How did we go from CE moving his card to ED being punished, because if he was eating lunch by himself that means that my "angelic" child also moved his card.
"Oh, yes Mom, but I only had to move it to red, CE had to move it all the way to blue."
First, I find this color system all very confusing. Blue is really bad, while red is an extreme warning, yellow is just a warning, and green means all systems go.
Second; "Child, what were you doing to warrant a move in your card, by THREE colors?"
This is how my son confesses his bad doings. He starts out tattling on a third party, probably hoping I won't catch on that he is actually talking about himself. This child may just grow up to be a spin doctor, because he is already practicing his sound bites.
At the time, I did not realize this was a confession, I figured he was tattling on his best friend.
He continues the tale of woe, how CE had to move his card to the worst color of all, blue, and how he, being such a good boy, stopped at red and only had to endure a lunch time-out (they sit at a desk, in the lunch room, separate from the rest of their class).
Um, back up a minute. How did we go from CE moving his card to ED being punished, because if he was eating lunch by himself that means that my "angelic" child also moved his card.
"Oh, yes Mom, but I only had to move it to red, CE had to move it all the way to blue."
First, I find this color system all very confusing. Blue is really bad, while red is an extreme warning, yellow is just a warning, and green means all systems go.
Second; "Child, what were you doing to warrant a move in your card, by THREE colors?"
This is how my son confesses his bad doings. He starts out tattling on a third party, probably hoping I won't catch on that he is actually talking about himself. This child may just grow up to be a spin doctor, because he is already practicing his sound bites.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
These are the Times
There are times, as a parent, when your child tells you how mean you are, maybe calls you evil, and you think to yourself, "Well, I must be doing something right".
Then, there are other times, like last night, when you realize you are doing something right. ED looked at me and said, "Mom, you are the best Mom. Other families have good moms, but you are the right Mom for this family".
When I tucked EM into bed she looked at me and said, "Mom, I love you so much, even when you are mean, I love you".
Yep, I must be doing something right. That, and the fact that I have yet to be able to clean up my heart because it just melted, right onto the floor.
Then, there are other times, like last night, when you realize you are doing something right. ED looked at me and said, "Mom, you are the best Mom. Other families have good moms, but you are the right Mom for this family".
When I tucked EM into bed she looked at me and said, "Mom, I love you so much, even when you are mean, I love you".
Yep, I must be doing something right. That, and the fact that I have yet to be able to clean up my heart because it just melted, right onto the floor.
Thursday, September 15, 2011
The Stuff that Come with Children
One of the joys of having kids is all the stuff they bring home from school. In preschool it was lima bean or marigold seeds planted in dixie cups, and left on my kitchen windowsill to grow.
One year it was maggots. Well, they wasn't maggots, they were some sort of dirt grubbing insect, before they turned into an insect. Maybe a beetle of some sort. Whatever they were, I was so excited that their teacher sent them to our house. They were thrown away ASAP.
Then come the dirt babies. Granted they are cute; nylons filled with dirt and grass seed, usually with a face constructed on the out side of the hose. Cute, for awhile. I have enough clutter in my house, 2 or 3 of those things sitting around tend to drive me slightly crazy. Then, add the fact that my children like to give them "hair" cuts when the grass grows a certain height, though neglect to sweep up the cut grass. Then the cat tries to knock them down, or someone bumps into one.
During the summer the one ED brought home from school, had grown its last grass, and was now dry and dead. So I threw him away. A couple days later ED noticed, and oh my the wailing and mourning that took place upon this discovery.
I kid you not, the words "He was like a son" came from that boy's mouth.
So now I have this hanging in my window:
Still cute. No grass to cut. And, does not take up space as much as the original. However, one of those days I will need to clean the window, and I'm thinking the picture will be moved to his portfolio.
One year it was maggots. Well, they wasn't maggots, they were some sort of dirt grubbing insect, before they turned into an insect. Maybe a beetle of some sort. Whatever they were, I was so excited that their teacher sent them to our house. They were thrown away ASAP.
Then come the dirt babies. Granted they are cute; nylons filled with dirt and grass seed, usually with a face constructed on the out side of the hose. Cute, for awhile. I have enough clutter in my house, 2 or 3 of those things sitting around tend to drive me slightly crazy. Then, add the fact that my children like to give them "hair" cuts when the grass grows a certain height, though neglect to sweep up the cut grass. Then the cat tries to knock them down, or someone bumps into one.
During the summer the one ED brought home from school, had grown its last grass, and was now dry and dead. So I threw him away. A couple days later ED noticed, and oh my the wailing and mourning that took place upon this discovery.
I kid you not, the words "He was like a son" came from that boy's mouth.
So now I have this hanging in my window:
Still cute. No grass to cut. And, does not take up space as much as the original. However, one of those days I will need to clean the window, and I'm thinking the picture will be moved to his portfolio.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Nothing is Sweeter
Want to watch me blow my temper in 5 seconds flat? Then be an 8-year-old who, every time we are in the car, worries over the gas tank gage. Apparently, it was too low for his comfort level, and felt it necessary to tell me every 2 minutes. ALL WEEK.
For the record, I do push my gas tank, but not to extreme levels. As soon as that light comes on I'm off to a gas station, even though I know I have at least 5 gallons left, or may be 6.
Every time he commented on his discomfort I would interrupt him and ask if he trusted me. I mean seriously, do I want to be stuck along side the road in this heat? With this he would protest that I did not let him finish what he was about to say, which would be the same thing he said 2 minutes ago. Nothing has changed. And, who encouraged my children to have a voice, and make sure that they were heard. I must draw the line at vocal children.
Yes, there we were, in the car, driving around town; he lecturing me on his discomfort with the gas gage level, and me with a temper hotter than outside and thinking I may drop him off at the next gas station.
As I write this, I'm wondering how may parents managed to never drop me off at the next gas station. Oh my, it truly is all nature, nurture is a load of crock.
You know all those parents begging their adult children to make them grandparents. It is not only that they want to be grandparents, all the benefits of young children without the sleepless nights and stretch marks. No, they also want revenge. Think about it, nothing must sound so sweet to a grandparent's ear then to hear the frustrations their children face as their grandchild behave exactly like their children at that age.
Sorry, I digress.
That weekend we were on the road. The gas gage was running low, Hubby was driving, I opened my mouth and stated that the gas gage was below half. ED says "that is OK Mommy, I trust Daddy".
Sweet revenge boy. I am already planning my sweet revenge.
For the record, I do push my gas tank, but not to extreme levels. As soon as that light comes on I'm off to a gas station, even though I know I have at least 5 gallons left, or may be 6.
Every time he commented on his discomfort I would interrupt him and ask if he trusted me. I mean seriously, do I want to be stuck along side the road in this heat? With this he would protest that I did not let him finish what he was about to say, which would be the same thing he said 2 minutes ago. Nothing has changed. And, who encouraged my children to have a voice, and make sure that they were heard. I must draw the line at vocal children.
Yes, there we were, in the car, driving around town; he lecturing me on his discomfort with the gas gage level, and me with a temper hotter than outside and thinking I may drop him off at the next gas station.
As I write this, I'm wondering how may parents managed to never drop me off at the next gas station. Oh my, it truly is all nature, nurture is a load of crock.
You know all those parents begging their adult children to make them grandparents. It is not only that they want to be grandparents, all the benefits of young children without the sleepless nights and stretch marks. No, they also want revenge. Think about it, nothing must sound so sweet to a grandparent's ear then to hear the frustrations their children face as their grandchild behave exactly like their children at that age.
Sorry, I digress.
That weekend we were on the road. The gas gage was running low, Hubby was driving, I opened my mouth and stated that the gas gage was below half. ED says "that is OK Mommy, I trust Daddy".
Sweet revenge boy. I am already planning my sweet revenge.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Some Things Always Remain the Same
Warning: If you are a mother of young children, and dealing with melt downs around dinner time, then don't read this. I would hate to burst that certain mantra you tell yourself to get through the evening.
The other evening we relived that phenomenon I thought reserved for only those with young children.
"The Arsenic Hour"
You know that time, when the adult in the house is trying to make dinner, the rug rats are grumpy due to low blood sugar and just tired from the day. Well, everyone is suffering from low blood sugar and end-of-day fatigue.
One child was melting down, for some reason, I'm not sure. Another child was melting down because I had abandoned him, or so he says. And, another child, had lost whatever self-control had kept him in check for that day.
Add into the equation an afternoon activity that ended at 4pm and an evening activity that began at 5:30, my patience was fairly short when it came to whining as I prepared dinner and organized children out the door.
Apparently, it does not end when children reach a certain age.
And, if you are that mother who did not heed my warning, this is the time for you to cover your ears, with your hands, shut your eyes, and begin to chant "lalalalalala, I can't hear you".
Maybe it had to do with the heat. Which, on a side note, I'm in denial in regards to its return. Last week's mild temperatures has lulled me into a false sense of security, and though I know it is July, I'm expecting the days to be pleasant, and evenings to be cool.
Anywho....
During these meltdowns a friend called and asked if I wanted to head to the new wine tasting store downtown. (OK, not so new. They have been open for a year, but the point is we finally made it.) With Hubby working late, and children melting down, I was there. Enjoying the A/C. I don't know where this heat came from, but I noticed how warm it was while walking to the store. What happened to the cooler temperatures of last week?
Yep, still in denial of so many things.
The other evening we relived that phenomenon I thought reserved for only those with young children.
"The Arsenic Hour"
You know that time, when the adult in the house is trying to make dinner, the rug rats are grumpy due to low blood sugar and just tired from the day. Well, everyone is suffering from low blood sugar and end-of-day fatigue.
One child was melting down, for some reason, I'm not sure. Another child was melting down because I had abandoned him, or so he says. And, another child, had lost whatever self-control had kept him in check for that day.
Add into the equation an afternoon activity that ended at 4pm and an evening activity that began at 5:30, my patience was fairly short when it came to whining as I prepared dinner and organized children out the door.
Apparently, it does not end when children reach a certain age.
And, if you are that mother who did not heed my warning, this is the time for you to cover your ears, with your hands, shut your eyes, and begin to chant "lalalalalala, I can't hear you".
Maybe it had to do with the heat. Which, on a side note, I'm in denial in regards to its return. Last week's mild temperatures has lulled me into a false sense of security, and though I know it is July, I'm expecting the days to be pleasant, and evenings to be cool.
Anywho....
During these meltdowns a friend called and asked if I wanted to head to the new wine tasting store downtown. (OK, not so new. They have been open for a year, but the point is we finally made it.) With Hubby working late, and children melting down, I was there. Enjoying the A/C. I don't know where this heat came from, but I noticed how warm it was while walking to the store. What happened to the cooler temperatures of last week?
Yep, still in denial of so many things.
Saturday, July 9, 2011
What An Imagination Will Create
Begin starting sequence:
Steering on, check:
Search, Load and Fire buttons, check:
Engines firing, check:
T-minus 45 minutes till Mom allows me to play on the computer. What unexplored galaxies can we find until then?
Steering on, check:
Search, Load and Fire buttons, check:
Engines firing, check:
T-minus 45 minutes till Mom allows me to play on the computer. What unexplored galaxies can we find until then?
Sunday, June 19, 2011
All For Love
My idea of roughing it is any hotel below the quality of a Hampton.
With that statement, it is obvious that I am not a camper.
Yes, I was Girl Scout. I did my fair share of camping, in tents, with spiders, and rocks as my mattress. I've paid my dues. And yes, I spent many a summer at camp. However, our cabins were more like dormitories than camp cabins.
When we married, Hubby commented on the niceties of going camping.
:::crickets:::
After having children he commented on taking the kids camping. He has my full blessing to take the kids camping, I'll stay and keep the house fires burning for their return.
With saying all that, we have been camping. It appears I love our children more than my husband, since they are the ones that have dragged me WAY out of my comfort zone.
We tend to camp a cabin, or a pop-up camper. Neither of which falls under my "Hampton Inn" criteria.
Why do I not like camping, other than I'm not sleeping in my bed, and the bugs, and the lack of A/C?
First there is the planning, and packing. I must pack WAY too much stuff, household stuff, for my liking. Then there is the arrival, and unpacking. The one night of no sleep, which equals to a feeling of constant fatigue for the remainder of the weekend. All through out the weekend dealing with bugs, and dirt, and rain, and no comfortable place to sit, and bugs, oh, and the rusty nail I stepped on.
Let me give a big old call out to my midwife who kept me on top of my shots!!!!!
Then, once arriving home, there is the unpacking of household stuff, and laundry. Oh. My. Lands. The laundry. How does one weekend account for 10 loads of laundry, ... and a call to the midwives office to check on my shots record.
Why do I do it? Because the kids love it. When we head to camp (which, seriously, accounts for 1 weekend or 1 week of my year, so I can stop gripping now) the kids have such freedom. They play in the stream, catching fish and who knows what else. They bike all over the grounds. The swimming pool is only a bike ride away.
And us parents? We are able to sit, and talk with adults. Enjoy a cup of weak coffee, and the great outdoors.
Last week, as we finished our breakfast around the fire, my friend sat down, coffee in hand, and sighing, "this is the life". And it was. It was peaceful. Almost perfect weather. The kids had rushed off to play, and we were sitting under a tree, next to a fire, enjoying God's amazing creation.
Unfortunately, God created me with a jaded streak. After RY's exclamation of extreme satisfaction I had to added in the desire for a spa next door, and maybe a couple fewer bugs ... and rusty nails.
All for the love of my children.
With that statement, it is obvious that I am not a camper.
Yes, I was Girl Scout. I did my fair share of camping, in tents, with spiders, and rocks as my mattress. I've paid my dues. And yes, I spent many a summer at camp. However, our cabins were more like dormitories than camp cabins.
When we married, Hubby commented on the niceties of going camping.
:::crickets:::
After having children he commented on taking the kids camping. He has my full blessing to take the kids camping, I'll stay and keep the house fires burning for their return.
With saying all that, we have been camping. It appears I love our children more than my husband, since they are the ones that have dragged me WAY out of my comfort zone.
We tend to camp a cabin, or a pop-up camper. Neither of which falls under my "Hampton Inn" criteria.
Why do I not like camping, other than I'm not sleeping in my bed, and the bugs, and the lack of A/C?
First there is the planning, and packing. I must pack WAY too much stuff, household stuff, for my liking. Then there is the arrival, and unpacking. The one night of no sleep, which equals to a feeling of constant fatigue for the remainder of the weekend. All through out the weekend dealing with bugs, and dirt, and rain, and no comfortable place to sit, and bugs, oh, and the rusty nail I stepped on.
Let me give a big old call out to my midwife who kept me on top of my shots!!!!!
Then, once arriving home, there is the unpacking of household stuff, and laundry. Oh. My. Lands. The laundry. How does one weekend account for 10 loads of laundry, ... and a call to the midwives office to check on my shots record.
Why do I do it? Because the kids love it. When we head to camp (which, seriously, accounts for 1 weekend or 1 week of my year, so I can stop gripping now) the kids have such freedom. They play in the stream, catching fish and who knows what else. They bike all over the grounds. The swimming pool is only a bike ride away.
And us parents? We are able to sit, and talk with adults. Enjoy a cup of weak coffee, and the great outdoors.
Last week, as we finished our breakfast around the fire, my friend sat down, coffee in hand, and sighing, "this is the life". And it was. It was peaceful. Almost perfect weather. The kids had rushed off to play, and we were sitting under a tree, next to a fire, enjoying God's amazing creation.
Unfortunately, God created me with a jaded streak. After RY's exclamation of extreme satisfaction I had to added in the desire for a spa next door, and maybe a couple fewer bugs ... and rusty nails.
All for the love of my children.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
It Can't be This Hard
Was it always this difficult?
We were organizing swimming suits, extra clothes, towels, bags, sun tan lotion, hats, sun glasses, and who knows what else. Granted, field day only happens once a year, but this was not our first field day.
It was a tad hectic, to say the least.
Hubby said it was because we now have 3 to organize, or get organized. I was giving them the lists, they were responsible for the rest.
There was much discussion, clarification, arguing, more clarification, reminders, and another discussion.
The idea of making the kids pack their own bags is to make my life easier.
With 3 kids, you hand over more and more responsibilities to the kids. It is supposed to make the parent's life easier.
However, I was still involved, highly involved; telling them what to pack, and how to pack.
Next step, telling 3 kids to get it done, and let them figure out what "it" is.
This helicopter mom needs to fly away. I'm thinking the Bahamas?
We were organizing swimming suits, extra clothes, towels, bags, sun tan lotion, hats, sun glasses, and who knows what else. Granted, field day only happens once a year, but this was not our first field day.
It was a tad hectic, to say the least.
Hubby said it was because we now have 3 to organize, or get organized. I was giving them the lists, they were responsible for the rest.
There was much discussion, clarification, arguing, more clarification, reminders, and another discussion.
The idea of making the kids pack their own bags is to make my life easier.
With 3 kids, you hand over more and more responsibilities to the kids. It is supposed to make the parent's life easier.
However, I was still involved, highly involved; telling them what to pack, and how to pack.
Next step, telling 3 kids to get it done, and let them figure out what "it" is.
This helicopter mom needs to fly away. I'm thinking the Bahamas?
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Did I Just Say That?
It is that time of year again, standardized test time. I am not a fan for standardized tests, but I keep my opinions to myself.
Regardless of my feelings towards something I see as limiting my children's education, my kids don't know. They will be taking the tests, so there is no reason to gripe about something they can't change.
Actually, as a rule, we toe the school line at our house. The kids may complain about this project, or that teacher, yet we simply tell them to suck it up. It does help that we have had amazing teachers, who don't ask for, or do anything, over the top. I have no problem supporting them at home, or at school.
At the beginning of the testing schedule ED was talking about how nervous he was about the tests. He was mainly worried about passing, so he could get the prize all who did pass would receive. I tried talking to him, telling him not to worry, he would do fine, and that the tests didn't really matter, and I didn't really care about the tests. The conversation went down hill from there.
Oops. Open mouth, insert foot.
The next day the stinker goes into school and announces to the whole class "my mother thinks the tests are a waste of time and she doesn't think we should take them".
Thankfully, his teacher has a sense of humor, and is much better at digging out of my holes than I am.
She laughed. I apologized, again, and again.
If your school has standardized tests you have probably received the note that informs you that tests will begin, that the kids should have a good night sleep, and have a good breakfast in the morning. Maybe, they should have also added something about parent's keeping their opinions to themselves. :::cough::: :::cough:::
Regardless of my feelings towards something I see as limiting my children's education, my kids don't know. They will be taking the tests, so there is no reason to gripe about something they can't change.
Actually, as a rule, we toe the school line at our house. The kids may complain about this project, or that teacher, yet we simply tell them to suck it up. It does help that we have had amazing teachers, who don't ask for, or do anything, over the top. I have no problem supporting them at home, or at school.
At the beginning of the testing schedule ED was talking about how nervous he was about the tests. He was mainly worried about passing, so he could get the prize all who did pass would receive. I tried talking to him, telling him not to worry, he would do fine, and that the tests didn't really matter, and I didn't really care about the tests. The conversation went down hill from there.
Oops. Open mouth, insert foot.
The next day the stinker goes into school and announces to the whole class "my mother thinks the tests are a waste of time and she doesn't think we should take them".
Thankfully, his teacher has a sense of humor, and is much better at digging out of my holes than I am.
She laughed. I apologized, again, and again.
If your school has standardized tests you have probably received the note that informs you that tests will begin, that the kids should have a good night sleep, and have a good breakfast in the morning. Maybe, they should have also added something about parent's keeping their opinions to themselves. :::cough::: :::cough:::
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Joy
Otherwise titled, why I'm glad my children are older.
Here is the annual routine:
Spring rolls around, the weather grows warmer, and the kids ask for their fans to be pulled out of storage, and placed in their rooms.
I hear the requests, but promptly forget about it; and so, it is never completed when I have the time to pull them out, wipe them down, and distribute them.
So they keep asking, I keep forgetting, until one day, when I have five minutes and am tired of hearing the constant requests, I will pull them out. Realize, that yes, they are dusty and the blades need to be cleaned, but I don't have the time, so I'll do it in the fall, when I put them away.
Fall rolls around, the frost has already arrived, and I finally remember to put away the fans ... after tripping over them for the umpteenth time and mumbling something under my breath about needing to put them away.
Which I do, when I have 5 minutes to spare. Again I look at them, realize they need cleaned, but why bother now, I'm just putting them in storage, I'll do it in the spring. I'll have more time then.
It is a vicious cycle.
Until this year. Yesterday, while I made dinner, I told ED (who had just asked for his fan for the 5th time in 2 weeks) to go ask Hubby to help him pull the fans out of storage. Then, the kids were charged with cleaning the fans.
Not a child's idea of a fun afternoon; then again, they got to take the fans a part and see the motor ... score!
This is why I like my aging children. They are getting their own breakfast ... just watch out for the cereal crumbs on the floor. They get themselves ready for bed. They clean their own bathroom, and the globs of toothpaste they leave in the sink after getting themselves ready for bed.
And, when they ask for, say, their fans. They can pull them out of storage, and clean them, themselves.
Here is the annual routine:
Spring rolls around, the weather grows warmer, and the kids ask for their fans to be pulled out of storage, and placed in their rooms.
I hear the requests, but promptly forget about it; and so, it is never completed when I have the time to pull them out, wipe them down, and distribute them.
So they keep asking, I keep forgetting, until one day, when I have five minutes and am tired of hearing the constant requests, I will pull them out. Realize, that yes, they are dusty and the blades need to be cleaned, but I don't have the time, so I'll do it in the fall, when I put them away.
Fall rolls around, the frost has already arrived, and I finally remember to put away the fans ... after tripping over them for the umpteenth time and mumbling something under my breath about needing to put them away.
Which I do, when I have 5 minutes to spare. Again I look at them, realize they need cleaned, but why bother now, I'm just putting them in storage, I'll do it in the spring. I'll have more time then.
It is a vicious cycle.
Until this year. Yesterday, while I made dinner, I told ED (who had just asked for his fan for the 5th time in 2 weeks) to go ask Hubby to help him pull the fans out of storage. Then, the kids were charged with cleaning the fans.
Not a child's idea of a fun afternoon; then again, they got to take the fans a part and see the motor ... score!
This is why I like my aging children. They are getting their own breakfast ... just watch out for the cereal crumbs on the floor. They get themselves ready for bed. They clean their own bathroom, and the globs of toothpaste they leave in the sink after getting themselves ready for bed.
And, when they ask for, say, their fans. They can pull them out of storage, and clean them, themselves.
Monday, April 11, 2011
The Mean Mommy Chronicles
Some of these phrases, may, or may not, have been uttered in our house:
The phrase "I'm bored" uttered from a child is followed by this response from mom: "Go to your room" or "In that case, you can clean ..."
Speaking of cleaning, a snow day, or day off of school, means the kids "deep clean" their bedrooms and bathroom. A deep clean includes dismantling all piles, and finding appropriate homes :::cough::: trash can :::cough::: for their stuff, dusting, sweeping, and giving the bathroom a good scrub.
When there is a difference in the definition of "clean" the child is given this directive: "If you want to leave your room today, you will go by Mom's definition of 'clean'."
The poor child is home early from school, due to a slightly elevated temperature: "Thanks, kid, for folding the towels for me."
"Oh, I'm sorry, that you don't like anything we are having for dinner. No, there are no substitutes, so if you don't eat, know that breakfast is over 12 hours away; and yes, you will sit with us at the table, during dinner, because this is family time."
What is your favorite Mean Mommy (Teacher/Child Care Provider) Moment, at your house?
The phrase "I'm bored" uttered from a child is followed by this response from mom: "Go to your room" or "In that case, you can clean ..."
Speaking of cleaning, a snow day, or day off of school, means the kids "deep clean" their bedrooms and bathroom. A deep clean includes dismantling all piles, and finding appropriate homes :::cough::: trash can :::cough::: for their stuff, dusting, sweeping, and giving the bathroom a good scrub.
When there is a difference in the definition of "clean" the child is given this directive: "If you want to leave your room today, you will go by Mom's definition of 'clean'."
The poor child is home early from school, due to a slightly elevated temperature: "Thanks, kid, for folding the towels for me."
"Oh, I'm sorry, that you don't like anything we are having for dinner. No, there are no substitutes, so if you don't eat, know that breakfast is over 12 hours away; and yes, you will sit with us at the table, during dinner, because this is family time."
What is your favorite Mean Mommy (Teacher/Child Care Provider) Moment, at your house?
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Add Another Task to the Job Description
You know that list of jobs a mother performs?
Chauffeur, House Keeper, Schedule Secretary, Cook, CEO, Nurse, Educator, Personal Assistant, ....
Well, there is one task that was forgotten.
Drug Pusher.
Oh, sure, nurse is in there, but for the past 7+ days, I'm more of a drug pusher. Amoxicillin, Claritin, cough medicine, cold medicine, ibuprofen, acetaminophen (because heaven forbid we combine the cold, cough, and fever reducing medicine in one bottle and over-medicate the children. In other news, my spell check is going hay wire since I have no idea how to spell any of those drugs. Apparently, neither does my spell check, it can just tell me that they are incorrectly spelled.)
I'm fine pushing the drugs, as long as they are not pushing their illness' on me, thank you very much. There is one thing moms cannot do ... GET SICK!
Chauffeur, House Keeper, Schedule Secretary, Cook, CEO, Nurse, Educator, Personal Assistant, ....
Well, there is one task that was forgotten.
Drug Pusher.
Oh, sure, nurse is in there, but for the past 7+ days, I'm more of a drug pusher. Amoxicillin, Claritin, cough medicine, cold medicine, ibuprofen, acetaminophen (because heaven forbid we combine the cold, cough, and fever reducing medicine in one bottle and over-medicate the children. In other news, my spell check is going hay wire since I have no idea how to spell any of those drugs. Apparently, neither does my spell check, it can just tell me that they are incorrectly spelled.)
I'm fine pushing the drugs, as long as they are not pushing their illness' on me, thank you very much. There is one thing moms cannot do ... GET SICK!
Saturday, March 26, 2011
A Quandary
JT won an Xbox 360. Yes, won. Via an "opportunity drawing".
It was actually a raffle, but VA law doesn't allow raffles unless you have a gaming license, or filled out an insane amount of paper work, or something crazy like that, so you call a raffle an opportunity drawing so it doesn't sound like gambling. Yes, "opportunity drawing" does not sound like gambling ... about as much as saying "raffle".
Sorry, I digress.
Anywho, we bought each of the kids 14 tickets, 14 tickets for $10 x 3 comes out to $30. It was for the school.
JT won the Xbox. EM won a teddy bear, ED won some cereal bowls, a game about Moses, and a baseball hat. He wore that baseball hat all weekend. Needless to say, everyone in our family left the carnival happy.
And, for one night in JT's life, he became the most envied kid at school. Everyone has to have one night like that.
So, now what to do?
We already have a Wii. We love the Wii. You can sweat playing the Wii. Sweat and video games don't normally go together, unless your fingertips are sweating. Surprisingly, we don't play the Wii enough.
The kids all received DSi's for Christmas.
They have become great discipline tools ... the DSi's, not the kids.
Now we have an Xbox 360.
Now what?
Do we keep all of these entertainment mediums?
What gaming device do we fund? We have enough games for the Wii, though the Just Dance series looks like fun. The kids are now responsible for their DSi games, they lose them, I'm not spending any more money on them. We have found several free games for the Xbox. OK, they are demos, but the kids (and Hubby) are having fun, and we haven't had to, yet, spend any money.
Until we decide what to do, the kids are having fun with the Xbox.
And, playing outside, A LOT. The rule seems to be, 1 hour of video gaming for every 2 hours they spend outside. JT's jump shot has significantly improved.
It was actually a raffle, but VA law doesn't allow raffles unless you have a gaming license, or filled out an insane amount of paper work, or something crazy like that, so you call a raffle an opportunity drawing so it doesn't sound like gambling. Yes, "opportunity drawing" does not sound like gambling ... about as much as saying "raffle".
Sorry, I digress.
Anywho, we bought each of the kids 14 tickets, 14 tickets for $10 x 3 comes out to $30. It was for the school.
JT won the Xbox. EM won a teddy bear, ED won some cereal bowls, a game about Moses, and a baseball hat. He wore that baseball hat all weekend. Needless to say, everyone in our family left the carnival happy.
And, for one night in JT's life, he became the most envied kid at school. Everyone has to have one night like that.
So, now what to do?
We already have a Wii. We love the Wii. You can sweat playing the Wii. Sweat and video games don't normally go together, unless your fingertips are sweating. Surprisingly, we don't play the Wii enough.
The kids all received DSi's for Christmas.
They have become great discipline tools ... the DSi's, not the kids.
Now we have an Xbox 360.
Now what?
Do we keep all of these entertainment mediums?
What gaming device do we fund? We have enough games for the Wii, though the Just Dance series looks like fun. The kids are now responsible for their DSi games, they lose them, I'm not spending any more money on them. We have found several free games for the Xbox. OK, they are demos, but the kids (and Hubby) are having fun, and we haven't had to, yet, spend any money.
Until we decide what to do, the kids are having fun with the Xbox.
And, playing outside, A LOT. The rule seems to be, 1 hour of video gaming for every 2 hours they spend outside. JT's jump shot has significantly improved.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
A Proud Momma ... not
When your children tell you about a friend, who was being picked on by another child, you are glad to hear that your children stood up for the friend who was being picked on.
It does a momma's heart proud.
Until, one son says, "I called the other kid a bad word", and the other son said "I threatened to hit him".
:::sigh:::
What started out as a "glad that you stood up for a friend" turned into a "let us talk about our choice of words, and how this situation could have been handled differently".
:::sigh:::
Just let me know that they will turn out just fine, eventually.
:::sigh:::
It does a momma's heart proud.
Until, one son says, "I called the other kid a bad word", and the other son said "I threatened to hit him".
:::sigh:::
What started out as a "glad that you stood up for a friend" turned into a "let us talk about our choice of words, and how this situation could have been handled differently".
:::sigh:::
Just let me know that they will turn out just fine, eventually.
:::sigh:::
Monday, March 7, 2011
It's Good to be Old
One night, while out with friends enjoying a celebratory dinner at a favorite restaurant, we, our group of 8 - 4 married couples and all a little closer to middle age than we want to admit, looked around and we realized that we were the oldest people in the restaurant ... albeit, a small restaurant.
The local restaurant is a favorite, great Mexican food and margaritas as big as your head, family friendly (during the week) and apparently a hot college hang out on the weekends. Who could blame them, with the aforementioned margaritas.
It is times like these when you discover that you are comfortable with who you are, and where you are in life.
Thank goodness for good marriages. None of us had any desire to return to that age, always looking, or looking out, for someone.
After several children, none of us have the body of a 20-year-old, but at least we know how to dress. "It doesn't matter how old you are, that dress is still too short." "Honey, even if you are 21, your thighs cannot wear that skirt, and you have no real friends, otherwise they would have told you that."
We knew to make reservations, and arrive by 6pm, before the crowds really start rolling in. And yes, we may have sat a little longer then needed, just to rub it into all those waiting college students, giving us the stink eye.
And, as our waitress pointed out, we were not the oldest people in the room, but those with the most party experience.
Which made us feel pretty hip, until we pulled out our coupons to pay for dinner. By 8 o'clock we paid the babysitter, and all sat down for a rousing game of Taboo. Our babysitter headed out, probably thankful for the cash now in her pocket since her evening was just beginning.
The local restaurant is a favorite, great Mexican food and margaritas as big as your head, family friendly (during the week) and apparently a hot college hang out on the weekends. Who could blame them, with the aforementioned margaritas.
It is times like these when you discover that you are comfortable with who you are, and where you are in life.
Thank goodness for good marriages. None of us had any desire to return to that age, always looking, or looking out, for someone.
After several children, none of us have the body of a 20-year-old, but at least we know how to dress. "It doesn't matter how old you are, that dress is still too short." "Honey, even if you are 21, your thighs cannot wear that skirt, and you have no real friends, otherwise they would have told you that."
We knew to make reservations, and arrive by 6pm, before the crowds really start rolling in. And yes, we may have sat a little longer then needed, just to rub it into all those waiting college students, giving us the stink eye.
And, as our waitress pointed out, we were not the oldest people in the room, but those with the most party experience.
Which made us feel pretty hip, until we pulled out our coupons to pay for dinner. By 8 o'clock we paid the babysitter, and all sat down for a rousing game of Taboo. Our babysitter headed out, probably thankful for the cash now in her pocket since her evening was just beginning.
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