Social Gracious

Hey, Dummy, Are You Listening? It's Me, God

  At my office, there are very few people with young children, hence, when 5:00 rolls around the place is still humming with activity.  I typically try to come in by 8 and leave around 5 or come in at 730 and leave around 430 or so.  My office mates tend to come in later and leave later.  This doesn't generally work for me because my kids want to eat dinner by 6 and go to bed at 730.  If I leave at exactly 5, get home at 530, then I can get dinner on the table by 6 and we can spend an hour together before they go to bed.  If I stay later, I am taking time from the kids so I'd rather log in later from home after they are in bed if I need to.  Still, I always feel as if there is a contest to see who can sit at their desk the latest in the evenings at the office.  I am forever getting these reminder calls from UberGeek at 5:05 inquiring as to whether I have departed, then 5:10, then 5:15.  He usually leaves around 4:30 from work as his office is a ghost town by 5.  UberGeek is always on me to just come on home to be with them.  Still, I feel weird heading off down the hallway when everyone else sits fixed in front of their terminals.

Sometimes God speaks to you, but in my case, apparently God has to repeat the message, more than once.  When I was in my early twenties my stepmother, Lynn, died of cancer at the age of 44.  At the time, both of her biological children, my brother and sister, were under the age of six.  Before they were born, Lynn's work was everything to her, she was published in a number of academic journals, loved teaching, lecturing and traveling.  I still remember the assorted lab frogs living on the back porch during the summer.  Once my brother and sister were born, work was no longer everything to Lynnie, and she simply would not commit her time in a way she once had.  She was still a very passionate person about nursing, about biology and about research, she simply could not give it twenty four hours a day as she had for nearly fifteen years. 

In hindsight, it was a good thing Lynnie was so dedicated to her family, she certainly didn't know she would be given so little time with them.  I remember not long after her terminal cancer diagnosis she said to me, "Kristie, this will be the thing that kills me, but I want the treatment to give me more time.  I can't die yet, the kids are just too little."  They were too little; when I think about it now, it crushes my heart to know what that did to her, having to leave them without a choice.  The treatment did buy her more time, she was given a prognosis of a few months and she lived about a year.

I am 35 years old, nine years younger than my stepmother when she died.  My children are the age that her oldest child was when she died.  Although I often miss her, and I ache for my brother and sister, I also realize that I learned one of the most beautiful lessons in my life from her.  Today, I was editing a website at work and I came across this quote from Stephen Covey, "Most people struggle with life balance simply because they haven't really paid the price to decide what is really important to them."   I was around to watch that price be paid.  As I read that quote, I started reflecting; I have been given a similar message in several different ways, from several sources lately, so perhaps my ear should be perking up.

A couple weekends ago, I was in church and the focus of the sermon was Psalm 39:4, "Show me, O Lord, my life's end and the number of my days; let me know how fleeting is my life."  The pastor continued to talk about the power of that reading, that our days are numbered, that we only get one chance, one chance to be a child, one chance to be a teen, one chance to be a young adult, there is no going back. "You have made my days but a hands breadth; the span of my years is as nothing before you. Each man's life, is but a breath."  I could feel emotion well up inside me as I squeezed UberGeek's hand as he sat next to me in the pew.  OK God, I'm listening; be patient with me, sometimes I'm a slow learner.

A Fish Story

About a year ago, we bought two fish for the kiddos.  Like all low rent fish who are not cared for by people who have a certain yen for the care of creatures that dwell in aquariums, they eventually died.  The first to succumb was Diva’s fish, who she named Hannahbelle.  I noticed the lady Hannahbelle floating belly up in the little tank late in the evening, and alerted UberGeek to our plight.  Then I grabbed the little green handled scoop and “fished” her out.  We gave the fish an unceremonial flushing and bid her farewell while she circled the drain.  I told UberGeek I would talk to Diva in the morning about the demise of her fish; that’s not his thing. 

In the morning, as I was showering, a terrible thing happened; Diva woke up and noticed the fish was gone.  She approached UberGeek, and he panicked. UberGeek said the first thing that came to his mind, “Hannahbelle went on vacation!  She wanted to see the world like Nemo.”  UberGeek was thinking to himself that he would replace the ill fated Hannahbelle with a similar fish and save his daughter the heartache.  She would never know the difference, right?

Time went by as it does, grocery lists lengthened, laundry loads hummed, until finally over a year had passed.  The lovely Hannahbelle, despite all the good intentions, was never replaced.  Recently, we were out shopping at Wally World picking up some necessities when the kids begged to pass by the pet supplies area.  As we walked past the tanks Diva began to sniffle, “I miss Hannahbelle, she went on vacation a long, long time ago and she never came back. Daddy, where is Hannahbelle?”

Eddie turned to look at his sister with a very serious look on his face, “Diva, that fish is dead and it’s never coming back!  Fish don’t go on vacation.”

I suppose Santa Claus is next.

Step Away from the Quarters Diva

The kiddos go to a little yellow school not too far from our house. Each Tuesday, we do our best to remember their chapel money.  This is when we scrounge around our pockets, wallets, bureau tops and desks for various silver money to send to school with them as an offering.  Vaguely, I remember that it goes to some sort of charitable endeavor, but mostly it's another thing to cross of the list on Tuesday mornings.

Last week, as you all know, a terrible earthquake struck Haiti and UberGeek and I struggled with what we would tell the kids about it.  We explained that an earthquake had happened to a country not too far from us in Florida, called Haiti, and that many people now did not have a home or food.  Imagine our surprise when Diva and Eddie looked at us like we were the dumbest people they had ever seen.  "Mama, we know where Haiti is; that's where our chapel money goes.  The kids there don't have enough to eat and we send all our chapel money for food and clothes and stuff they need." Um, duh.

Eddie seemed to really reflect on the news of the earthquake, he looked at me and said, "Mama, so now they don't have any house to go to? No food? No toys?"  It was so hard to tell him the truth and yet so important.

We told Diva and Eddie that our family would be sending some money to Haiti to help the people there.  Since the kiddos have change jars stuffed with their allowance, and their money is divided into save/spend/give,  I reminded them that if they wanted to we could go ahead and count out their funds.  They could choose any charity they wanted for their gift, including Haiti.  Both decided that was a good idea.

UberGeek proceeded to count out all of their dough.  They each came out to close to $30 so he rounded them both up to $30.  Then, he did his best to explain the percentages for save/spend/give.  Typically it is 60 save 20 give 20 spend.  UberGeek wanted them to really understand breaking up their money this time and they weren't getting it.  So, he gave them each 10 quarters. 

He asked Eddie, if he had ten quarters how many of those he would keep and how many he would donate.  Eddie pushed forward six quarters.  "Great," said UberGeek, "you will keep six and give four to Haiti?" "No!" Eddie said, "I will give six to Haiti and keep four, Daddy, they don't have any food!"  UberGeek complimented him on his generosity and moved on to Diva.  Diva looked at the shiny silver money and pushed forward two quarters. "Diva!" said UberGeek, "that's very generous, you want to give eight quarters to Haiti and only keep two?" "No, Daddy, don't be silly" she said, "two for Haiti and the rest are for me." UberGeek struggled to keep from laughing then looked at her seriously and reminded Diva that the people in Haiti didn't have anything to eat, or houses to live in.  She gave him a dirty look and pushed forward two more quarters.

Touchdown Wishes and Gridiron Dreams

Just the other afternoon UberGeek came wandering toward me where I was working in the office, as he approached I noted a definite twinkle in his eye. "Kristie, do you know what Eddie just told me?" he asked. I didn't. "He said that one day I am going to be watching him on the television!" So you might be wondering, is that because my bright and beautiful boy is aspiring to a career in public service, or journalism perhaps? No, of course not, Eddie is referring to football! The kids don't watch much TV but during football season it's a television marathon each weekend. My son, at five years old, knows many teams by the color of their uniform, calls out plays to UberGeek when he is in another room and is just generally football crazed.  UberGeek has tried to involve Diva similarly, but she generally insists on doing dance moves across the living room during the games. Still, both Diva and Eddie are probably more educated in the ways of football than I am.

When UberGeek thinks of his son playing football he dreams of the two of them tossing around the ol' pigskin in the yard, discussing strategies and watching instant replays together. When I think of my son playing football there are three things that occur to me, spinal cord injury, brain injury (a concussion counts as a brain injury), and disability. "Kristie, he won't be a defensive back, he's not built for it, those are the guys who get spinal cord injuries, they take the hits." Uh, hem, he is five years old, he's not built for anything really in my mind. I do understand that having a child who shares his passion for football is a dream come true, I just wish the dream would remain on the couch or the living room floor with a Nerf ball.

Kids Behavior Chart Freebie

If you're anything like me, managing your children's behavior is an ebb and flow type of thing.  You are on top of your game one day and a sorry loser the next.  There are days I feel like I really know my stuff, mother of the year material, yeah, that's me.  Other days my children reduce me to a hollering, driveling meanie who is reaching for the cheap chardonnay the minute they have gone to bed. I know what I need to do, what I am supposed to do, what the right thing to do is, I hear myself sounding like a broken record, it's just sometimes I am too tired to do the right thing, affirm the positive, be firm, get on their level, send them to timeout. Sometimes it's just easier to yell at them from the kitchen or my pile of laundry or whatever chore I am doing than it is to stop what I am doing, walk over to wherever they are wreaking havoc, and properly and positively discipline them.  Instead, yelling, "DIIIIIIIIIIVVVVVVVVVVAAAAAAAAAA, EEEDDDDDDDDDDDDDDIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE, whatever you are doing STOOOOOOOPPPPPPP it, and stop bothering each other or I am going to come in there and you will be SSSOOOOORRRRRRYYYYYYY."

When UberGeek and I are on our game one of the things we keep up with is a behavior chart for each of the kiddos. My mother inspects it when she visits to make sure the items on it are phrased positively. So instead of writing, "No beat downs on your sibling." My mother might phrase it, "Use hands for loving." Where you might write, "No talking back" my mom would phrase it, "Speak to adults in a positive and respectful way." She's really good at that having worked in the school system for many years.  It takes some getting used to but it does send a more positive message.

I thought I would share our simple behavior chart with you.  It's Excel based and you can change the font colors, text colors and picture for any holiday or character your child likes.  Happy holidays from me to you!

Download Behavior_Chart

How to Explain Hypothesis to Five Year Olds

Tonight Eddie Haskell walked past Ubergeek who was standing by the bar in the kitchen checking his fantasy football scores and casually asked, "Daddy, what's a hypothesis?" "What did you say Eddie?" UberGeek replied, making Eddie repeat himself, thinking he had heard something wrong. Eddie Haskell asked about the hypothesis again. UberGeek peered at me, and I looked open mouthed at Eddie. Then I told Eddie it was an idea you thought you had the answer for already but needed to prove. Eddie looked back at me as if to say, "Yeah, I thought you people were not too bright, but this proves it; that makes no sense at all."  I told him that I would find a better way to explain it then I went straight to Google.

Thankfully, PBS and their helpful website, anticipates 3-6 year olds asking this question, apparently their viewers spawn a lot of future Mensa members. I really want to know what happened to five year olds asking whether they can eat the kind of paste that comes out of a jar, is applied with a stick and smells good enough to eat?? Isn't that the kind of question we should be supplying answers to at this age? I like my kids being smart but sometimes I anticipate that they will be laughing at their poor dim witted mother by the time they enter high school.  I don't think I was asking what a hypothesis was at the age of 5; I am going to call my mom tomorrow and ask, seriously. I could read but that was because I was raised by two bookworms and it really was self preservation.

 PBS suggested that we explain the concept by letting the kids mix two different types of food coloring, guessing the outcome and then writing it down.  Thus explaining their guess as the hypothesis and the mixed color as the result. We are always up for a learning challenge and it would kill 15 minutes after bath time so we got out the food color and some clear glasses. We tried a better explanation, that a hypothesis was a guess you could test and that we were going to test some. 

I never would have imagined that two five year olds would so easily grasp hypotheses but they did.  We proved and disproved several and they enjoyed figuring out which mixtures turned into the colors they predicted/hypothesized.  Still, I was glad that after we finished they were back to kicking a blow up beach ball around the house, a decidedly less intellectual pursuit.

Skinny Kids

 
 

This weekend dear friends (dear since they took both of ours plus two of theirs for several hours and still said no to drugs) took our kids to a great city event.  They volunteered for this to help out UberGeek and I, since we would be getting ready for the kiddos fifth birthday party.   Several hours later all the kids returned home exhausted, spent and with a bounty of free loot that included a little paper from one of the local medical centers.  The paper had their current height and weight written on it.  I thanked my friend profusely, tucked the kids in for a nap and put the papers in the drawer for a later date.  Then UberGeek and I frantically continued our birthday party preparations.

Later, after the party was over, all was cleaned up and a sigh of relief was breathed, I dragged out the little papers.  I was curious as to how tall the kiddos were and those growth percentile calculators are readily available online. 

Diva used to be a cute chubby baby, well, not so much chubby as fat.  UberGeek and I fought over who had to carry her, "No, I'm not carrying Jaba, you carry her, I'm taking the skinny one in the carrier." Even her feet were fat, I couldn't fit them in any normal shoes, I had to purchase extra wide baby shoes for the fat pads that crept over the top.  She was a soft, squishy, huggy, happy baby. Then she started walking and it was all over, it became obvious that UberGeek's metabolism genetics had blessedly been passed down to her.  Within six months or so my child became thin.  Now, at five, she is a little taller than average, just over the 79th percentile but only in the 2nd percentile for weight.  So 98 percent of kids her age are heavier than she is.  Thank goodness Osh Kosh and Children's Place make slim pants with adjustable waists. 

Eddie Haskell has always been skinny.  At birth he was just under six pounds, stark white and bruised after having been kicked by his twin sister mercilessly in utero.  He was long and lean, already tall as a baby.  With most babies people comment on how beautiful they are, my mom took one look at him and said "Poor little thing, he just looks like a turtle out of his shell."  It was true, wrinkled and wise, with a furrowed brow he looked up at us as if to say, "Really, could you put me back in for just a couple more weeks? It was my sister who was ready to be born."  He has been around the fifth percentile for weight since birth. 

Once he scaled the heights of the 25th percentile before he started walking, and when I began supplementing breast milk with formula.  As soon as he was mobile it was back to the fifth percentile.  He is warm to the touch most of the time, a little metabolic oven in action, all sharp knees and elbows akimbo.  Eddie looks just like childhood photos of UberGeek, so much so that it tugs on my heart, I wonder if it touches his mother as much as it does me to see how alike they are.  Probably it is more so, since she has all those little boy memories; I only have pictures. I checked his percentiles and he is predictably in the 7th percentile for weight and the 97th for height. 

I used to worry about my kids, afraid that I would take them in for one of those regular check ups and the pediatrician would give me the evil eye.  Instead she asks me if they eat (they do), then she asks me what kinds of foods they eat (all kinds unless in a picky phase) and general questions about their diet and habits. Then she looks at their history and pronounces them sound and healthy.  UberGeek never worries, he just gives me a look, "All those growth charts are skewed now by all the obese kids.  Our kids are fine. We just have skinny kids, at least they don't eat candy."  Subject closed.

Rock Obama

Recently I was washing Eddie Haskell's hair in the shower, scrubbing away while he chatted about this and that.  He looked down at himself, turned his palms up, then down as if inspecting his skin for a bug bite.  Then he said, "Mama, there is someone in my class with brown skin and brown hair."  I said "Yes, just like Mama's friend Miss Y and her family, remember them?" One of my best friends who lived just down the street had two sets of twins but sadly for me, and the kids since they had nearby playmates, they moved two years ago to another state.  "Also, our President, Barack Obama has brown skin too" I said.  "Rock Obama!" he replied. Eddie was quiet for a minute, soaping himself, then he piped up with, "And just like Diva has brown hair and I have blond hair."  "Yes" I said, "just like that, people have all different colors of hair and skin."  Then he was done and onto his next topic. 

I wish it was just like that, for his whole life.  Now, in preschool, my children are unaware of prejudice and racism, kids are kids to them.  Another mom and I were talking about the way our kids describe other people.  They never, ever identify them by race, but rather a clear description of their hair color, eye color, skin color, activities and other factors.  It's such a beautiful time of innocence and it is sad to me that at some point they will begin using the common words we use to categorize different ethnicities rather than their much more accurate current descriptions.

UberGeek and I grew up in Northern Virginia, near Washington, DC,  for much of our lives. There is such a richness of different cultures, ethnicities and religions and diversity is easy to come by.  Now, transplanted to another locale, I often miss how easy it was to find and make friends with people from other cultures,  in our Virginia home they were my co-workers, neighbors and members of social groups I belonged to. During a recent trip home to Northern Virginia I was driving to the grocery store when a man in a canary yellow turban drove by me.  I immediately called my friend, who is also from the DC area, but now lives in Ponte Vedra Beach.  "I just saw a man drive by in a bright yellow turban" I said "I've really missed being at home." She laughed and said, "I know what you mean."

There is diversity in my community here, but I find I have to seek it out.  I love to learn about other people's cultures, try out their foods and ask their opinions on different things. Sometimes the best mirror of yourself and your society is a reflection in eyes that see things not as you do.

Just Another Day

Last Thursday was a typical day for me, but it just goes to show you how crazy life can be with a career, two kids, hubby and a hobby. 

6:00 Shower, dress, get kids started on cereal, set out their clothes, put on makeup, dry hair. UberGeek applies sunscreen to the kids, supervises them getting dressed and groomed.

7:10 I was out the door, UberGeek takes the kiddos to school since the school is on the way to his company and his schedule is flexible. 

7:25 Pull into the parking lot and Eureka, a spot in the gated lot!

7:30 I arrive in cubeville to start my day.  I hold off on a first coffee until 9 when my coffee break pal has settled in and finished her preliminary duties.  The we slink off to the break room to whip up a coffee and breakfast.  Then it's back to the desk until lunchtime.  I had a meeting scheduled for 3:00 with some really energizing colleagues, it was both productive and fun, score! It also ran over. 

4:35 I was grabbing my bags and sprinting in heels to the boonies lot since I lost my gated spot at lunch.  Usually I like parking farther away since it increases my weekly steps taken but I wasn't liking it that day. 

I had to make it to the kiddos swimming lessons. Getting the kids on Miss Page's schedule is like getting an appointment with a gastro doc at Mayo, it ain't easy, there's a wait and you better not miss! The reason is pretty much the same, Miss Page is top of her game.  Anyhow, before leaving the parking lot I texted UberGeek that I was on the way, he had already picked up the kiddos and headed towards the beach to the lesson.  I arrived and UberGeek had gotten there a few minutes early, the kids were already finished with lessons. 

5:15 leave swimming lessons and drive Diva to ballet while UberGeek takes Eddie Haskell to get some dinner, just the boys.  While Diva is in ballet a group of ballet moms and I head over to Crabcake Factory to split some hummus and wait for our ballerinas.  

6:30 Diva exits ballet, we head home and play for a few minutes before getting the kids ready for bed. 

7:30 Kiddo bedtime.

8:00 Superfuzz arrives and we head off to run a few miles, we only get in three but it feels good to blow off steam. 

8:45 I make us all strawberry shortcakes and UberGeek, Superfuzz and I sit around chat, and talk fantasy football until she heads home.

9:30 Shower

10:00 Lie in bed, try to read a few pages of my book, fall asleep.

6:00 AM Repeat

The Good Twin Maker

In general I would say UberGeek and I do a good job with discipline. We watch Supernanny after all, have a sticker chart we faithfully review with the kids each night and do our best to encourage positive behaviors. I've gotta tell you though, there are some nights that I tell my kids they are going to make me change my mind about corporal punishment. Usually this occurs at the dinner table.

I get home around 5:45 or so, dinner needs to be on the table around 6. Typically UberGeek has already moved the thawed dish into the oven to cook by the time I get home and all that is left to do is prepare a salad. I get a chance to say hello to the kiddos, ask them about school and then command them to wash up, set the table and get ready for dinner. Then a transformation occurs. My normally well behaved children become infected with the sillies. The sillies as anyone with a preschooler knows, are extremely annoying to the human adult. They are even worse when two preschoolers are within eyeshot of each other.

Getting my kids both at the table for some reason means the sillies are in full effect. Diva is called upon to say grace. She prefers to sing it and suddenly she screws up her face into "silly Diva face", her voice changes and she gets a devilish grin. "God our Father, God our Father" begins but with a giggle in the throat and a silly look on the face. UberGeek, although mild mannered really likes civilization at the table. He gets "the look" when the grace becomes silly that says he is near to raising his voice. I wait in anticipation for him to totally lose it. I raise my voice all the time but when UberGeek does it, things are serious.

"Grace is nothing to be silly about, you will not be disrespectful to God at the table." Ah dinnertime with two preschoolers, so relaxing. Probably 25% of the time someone gets sent to time out and we can still hear them being silly, sitting on the naughty spot, calling like a siren to the child still sitting at the table who grins and giggles, lured into silliness by the "evil twin".

UberGeek reminds me that our nephew was the kind of silly that drives parents to drink the large bottles of cheap Chardonnay and he turned out great. Now he is fifteen and a great kid, helpful, smart, an honor student. He has a close relationship with his grandparents and is always helping out when he visits them. All things that should indicate that we will survive this stage and that our children will probably turn out OK too.

Still, some nights I long to abandon our sensible discipline plan for the more primal "good twin maker." The wooden spoon brand of discipline doesn't require thought about effectiveness, changing behaviors or any of those things, only a satisfying whack when there is an offense. I often tell my kids "y'all are going to make me change my mind about corporal punishment." I'm sure they don't know what I'm talking about but it helps me to imagine I still have the option. UberGeek just grins and we do our best to get through another night, trying to enjoy the times when the kids are pleasant and anticipating bedtime when they're not. I know they'll outgrow the sillies, I just hope we survive them.