Volunteering with the Old People

Tomorrow will be a big day! A National Holiday and the Presidential Inauguration! Wow! Martin Luther King, Jr. holiday! So Daddy and I thought it would be nice to volunteer, as a family on this holiday since he was about service. My suggestion was to volunteer with the elderly. There is an assisted living facility nearby- actually just a five to ten minute walk. I just thought it would be different and I have a heart for the elderly. "Aren't they old people?" our son asked. "Well, yes but doesn't elderly sound better?" I responded. "And we need to respect our ElDERS." I added. More questions followed: "So what are we gonna do with the old- I mean the elderly people?" Our eleven-year-old chuckled. I didn't ask what she was laughing about. I'm not elderly yet but wise in my own right. I was once a little, silly, girl too. "Well, we you and your sister could read to them. They would appreciate that." "They don't read the same books I read Mama," he replied. I tried to suggest other things. "Well, the people who work there may have suggestions. When I was a teenager and volunteered a lot, I played games like BINGO with the elderly and they enjoyed that." Surely other activities have been created after 25 years. Smiling, his sister said, "Maybe we could let them listen to music on our MP3 players." She can be so charming and creative. "Do we have to go help old- I mean elVerly people we don't know?" he asked. "I know some, old, elVerly people we can help." "It's elDerly. Who?" I asked. "Grandma and Papa!" I'll probably break a nail calling them to tell them this! My parents are in in their early 60s and so are my in-laws!

Bob

Okay...we've always-well I've always used big girl words with the kids when referencing body parts. Boys don't have "little wee-wees" and girls don't have "pocket books". And we have always purposely allowed them to see us be affectionate with one another. They need to see hugs and kisses. And we like to have conversations when topics come up. We had planned to talk with our nine-year-old son about sex soon. Well we should've sped it up. We planned to use our big words too. SEX! Not "Bob". So he comes home and just jumps right into it... Targeting me. He looks me up-and-down, deplorably, and asks, "Mama...you had Bob with Daddy two times?" Now I teach students how to use context clues to figure out new, unfamiliar words so I put the clues together. Caught off guard but too cool to be embarrassed, I calmly used my big girl words, "OMG!" He just continued on. "Well technically you did it THREE times because you [voice goes down with some slack] got IMpregnant with that other baby who didn't make it- And Mama I think that was gonna be a boy BUT that makes THREE times Mama!" He held up those three little fingers. I did the only thing I knew to do at that moment... "Boy! Look at your fingernails! Go get the clippers. Makes no sense and you questioning me. I'm grown!" I flipped on him so quickly that it got him off track. Briefly. While I clipped his nails slowly, he watched me. He looked as if he didn't know me. The mom he'd had since May 2003. He is wise. Knew I had the clippers. Waited until I clipped the last one then said, "Mama?" Apple don't fall far- "What's this 'Bob' mess you talkin' about?" He explained that on the playground he and other boys use it as a giggly code word. After some interrogation on my part I discovered he didn't find out too much on the streets- I mean playground. After wrapping up- no pun intended- for bed and saying prayers, he walked upstairs and said, "Well, when I get older I don't know about having a baby with my wife." I laughed. "Your wife would HAVE the baby. Not you." "But I gotta process all that with her."

Lego Shoes

Happy 2013! Wow! When I blogged for the first time our daughter was just entering kindergarten and our son was in daycare. Now she has started her first year of middle school (6th grade) and he is in fourth. She is trying to find herself- and I am trying to find her too!! Our son is cool but doesn't know it and... he wants to be taller. How tall does a fourth grader need to be? I think he has been comparing himself to the wrong kids. "Ma... this one kid is really tall- he is almost the same height as her (pointing to his sister as if he doesn't know her name)!" Without looking up at my book I asked him, "How old is he?" "Well... he almost 11." Huh? "He's really smart and he is really tall," he added. "Um, naw. He's supposed to be tall and he is SUPPOSED to be in a higher grade," I assured him. "Maybe two grades higher." Silence. He had to think about it. I thought that would cure the height issue that plagued him. Then, last night, just before bed he came downstairs and asked, "Do I look taller?" I looked over and noticed he had on his black and purple high-tops. Upon further examination I saw that the heels looked indented- and he had a peculiar stance. "Something is wrong here," Daddy said. Our son tried to create height by putting his lego blocks in the heel of his shoes! We should have made him wear them like that!

Broccoli and Rice

It's certainly true that some of us will do anything for our children. Especially for that youngest one! Daddy was actually going to make our youngest, sit at the table, and eat the rice and broccoli! "You need to eat that broccoli and rice before you get up." Poor baby. He just dropped his head. Feet dangling from the chair. Such a sad sight. Where was I in this kid? He didn't have any game? Some stuff should just be common sense or inherited! I was disppointed in him. All he had to do was get a few napkins. Gradually put spoonfuls of the food in a napkin and hide it. Then, when everyone was busy doing other things, go back and get the napkins and discard them. Everyone knows that! He nibbled a bit on the rice. Head still down. I thought about all the times one of my relatives made oatmeal. Every morning during the summer when she didn't have to work. No flavor. I don't remember any cinammon or apple-flavored oatmeal. The box just said OATMEAL! Never understood why she would make that big old pot of oatmeal, knowing we didn't like it. Every morning? Just like our youngest now, I couldn't leave the table until it was gone. Being the creative, clever and heroic child I was, I taught everyone how to get rid of that nasty stuff. Didn't need much: Napkins and the area under the sink, behind a small bucket. We didn't have a garbage disposal then. It was killing me! Sure Daddy was sitting nearby but he was watching football! Deon Sanders was commentating- Prime opportunity! I couldn't take it anymore. I went to the kitchen. I motioned for our son, who was sitting at the table in the dinning room. Daddy was talking to the television so I snuck over to the table and quickly heaved a spoonful of rice into my mouth, then darted back into the kitchen. I was wise enough not to put it down the disposal. Besides, I liked the rice. His little feet started to swing more and he was sitting up smiling. I waved at him and told him to stop that! He couldn't do that! Daddy would know something was going on. I had to pretend to look for something when commercials came on. Daddy would look around then. I wasn't gonna caught. I did this about three times, careful not to clean his plate as it would create suspicion. As I chewed the last jawful, our son asked, "Daddy can I get up now since I ate most of my food?" "You may as well," he told him as he changed the channels. "And tell yo' mom thank you. She helped you out." I stopped chewing. Guess my clever days were done.

ALL THE QUESTIONS!

Daddy and I have really been trying to stay healthy. We have cut back on breads, fried foods and sweets. Maybe I should stop with the French... HE has cut back on sweets.
And our kids have really been cheering us on!
"Mama, I thought you said you weren't gone have anymore kids," our youngest said, while nodding toward my stomach.
Such a sweet and thoughtful child. Cracking my knuckles now just thinking about him.
So there, I've said it- sweets are my downfall. This is why I guess I can understand, somewhat, why Daddy interrogated me recently about some donuts.
I was sitting in MY van in the garage. The door had just gone down, when he opens the door. Well, he "jerked" the door open!
Smiling, he peered in the van and asked, "Whatcha doin' out here?"
"I just pulled in here! I'm coming in," I assured him.
So he actually had the nerve to stand there and hold the door open for me.
Not normally this chivalrous.
I just gathered my things: purse, keys and a bag.
Now I did put the bag in between my chest and purse, only because it was easier to carry.
I was NOT trying to conceal the bag as he implied.
I sat down to relax and he continued with the interrogation.
"What's that white, sticky stuff around your mouth and hands?"
I'd had enough!
"Okay, okay!" You know the store up there where we get gas sometimes?" I began. "Well, I know you aren't gonna believe this, but they were giving out free doghnuts."
He sat back and folded his arms.
"Free donuts?" he smiled.
"YES! A free Krispy Kreme  doughnut for every twenty gallons of gas! That is why I got two... I got forty dollars worth."
I knew he wouldn't believe me.
The kids came downstairs and saw the Krispy Kreme bag.
"Mama got free doughnuts from the store up the street yall," Daddy told them. "Tell Mama to take yall up there to get a FREE doughnut," he smiled.
"Two per visit, per day and I don't need any gas now," I rolled my eyes.

It's Showtime!

Happy New Year!
We are continuing with our movement to make sure the kids eat healthy and stay physically fit. It's not a resolution but a continuation of what we regularly stress. So I made our 10-year-old daughter, a doctor's appointment for her annual physical.
This would be a big deal because she is older and it would be a more thorough physical. I wasn't sure what to expect really.
And on the way in our daughter asked the question that many kids ask, "Am I gonna get a shot?"
"No. You have had your shots," I replied.
I didn't think she would.
The nurse was nice and patient. "Hun, you can take your jacket and shoes off then jump up on here so we can get your weight and height." (In her Flo from Mel's Diner voice)
Her weight was in the 75% range for others her age and in the 95% for her height... which is just a little under two inches to be even with me.
So the nurse took us in the room and asked her to get undressed. She told her she could leave her undies and socks on.
"Then put this on and you can use this part to cover your bottom half," the nurse added.
That was a hoot! She put the little shirtly-challenged paper on the wrong way and I never heard so much crinkling, as she sat waiting for the doctor.
But the worst part hadn't come yet.
The nurse scanned her chart and nonchalantly pointed out that our daughter needed two shots. Uh oh!
The tears quickly came. She cringed.
The nurse looked over at me.
"Ummmm...you are probably gonna need backup!" I warned Flo- I mean the nurse, as I tried to calm her.
It was about to go down!
The nurse brought in her cute little bag with the syringe, cleaning pad and medicine.
Our daughter had so many questions!
"How far are you gonna put that needle in my arm?
Yep! It was about to go down.
I tried to hold her but she's so strong. They suggested bringing in another, stronger, male physician, to help hold her still.
She heard that and began putting on a show! In the end, she finally got the shot. The TWO nurses and I were all sweaty and exhausted. Yes! Another nurse had to come in. I felt like I'd done hot yoga. Needless to say the ride home was quiet.

Threat to Santa

I thought, after all the intended hints I made during the weeks leading up to Christmas, that our son had accepted that Santa was us!

Last year he left a note for Santa and I did not try to use a different handwriting- I used my own to respond. But it was obvious by Christmas Eve night that he hadn't accepted it.

He needed proof.

His little fingers were moving late December 24th. He wrote a firm note to Santa and requested Santa's check to his elaborate "Yes" "No" boxes. He told Santa NOT to think about eating any cookies before reading and replying to his note. The little rascal and his sister neglected to bake the cookies after harassing me to buy them.

He also wrote for parents nor grandparents to sign or check the boxes. As if!

The letter was a hoot! I had to take pictures!