tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-78211687753570778232024-03-05T00:35:22.146-05:00Up The Hill BackwardsMom of two, has a Doctorate in education and runs a school. Used to be fun and wild and now just needs a nap.Suziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13150191994661266181noreply@blogger.comBlogger318125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7821168775357077823.post-13814546913866086892013-11-21T20:24:00.003-05:002013-11-21T20:24:48.388-05:00My HouseMy house day time:<br />
<div role="article">
<div class="_1x1" style="margin: 15px 0px; padding: 0px;">
<div class="userContentWrapper">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg40b4k4z_KveZf0u30OjxXZFBYl8mWLpWsfbIf8-te_OMRvLT4BGa3vPa-rNbR3WgA3mqeNN_WGpOiDst7KpyAxkq4xUCILjl8slwXmqXTtweu3i5NIi71QZCpyt3Gie8qkoQQHoUDVtY/s1600/happy+sun.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg40b4k4z_KveZf0u30OjxXZFBYl8mWLpWsfbIf8-te_OMRvLT4BGa3vPa-rNbR3WgA3mqeNN_WGpOiDst7KpyAxkq4xUCILjl8slwXmqXTtweu3i5NIi71QZCpyt3Gie8qkoQQHoUDVtY/s200/happy+sun.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="_wk" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><br /></span></div>
<div class="_wk" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><br /></span></div>
<div class="_wk" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">Mommy are there pink grapes? Magenta? What does the word future mean? Why aren't there any asteroids crashing into the earth right now? Can you make something lava proof?<br /><br />Me: Honey lets take a question break just for a little while.<br /><br />Mommy what's a question break mean?<br /><br />Me:Its when you stop asking me questions for a little while<br /><br />Oh....... How many seconds are there in a little while?</span></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="fbTimelineUFI uiCommentContainer" style="margin-bottom: -12px; margin-left: -12px; padding-top: 3px; position: relative; width: 510px;">
<form action="https://www.facebook.com/ajax/ufi/modify.php" class="live_10201776662611070_316526391751760 commentable_item autoexpand_mode" data-live="{"seq":"10201776662611070_5961314"}" id="u_jsonp_2_g" method="post" rel="async" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
<div class="fbTimelineFeedbackHeader">
My house night time:<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh02ijoXZX8dq8FNWJElvfAezwXy5APMoT4_d_kolxD8Nm0Qx2fpob-OM1vW6Tyngog5vHY_XQXUeYg63y36S5Lvna5IGMdRP_1mRlptxqbi1ceFJTnxL6O3ULhAuFLuZMThL-fkEZ1vz0/s1600/happy-moon-635255.jpg"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh02ijoXZX8dq8FNWJElvfAezwXy5APMoT4_d_kolxD8Nm0Qx2fpob-OM1vW6Tyngog5vHY_XQXUeYg63y36S5Lvna5IGMdRP_1mRlptxqbi1ceFJTnxL6O3ULhAuFLuZMThL-fkEZ1vz0/s200/happy-moon-635255.jpg" /></a>That's it! The next one who gets out of your bed gets a consequence.<br />What if I have to go potty?<br />You just went<br />What if there's a fire?<br />There wont be a fire<br />What of a robber comes and says he'll rob us if we don't come out of our bedroom?<br />There's no robber<br />What if I have an disease and the only way to get better is to sleep in the living room<br />That's it one more word and consequence<br />NOOOOOO!!!!<br /><br /><br /><br />I gotta go potty</div>
<div class="fbTimelineFeedbackHeader">
<br /></div>
<div class="fbTimelineFeedbackHeader">
<br /></div>
</form>
</div>
Suziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13150191994661266181noreply@blogger.com47tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7821168775357077823.post-59977398229577871612013-06-18T10:43:00.000-04:002013-06-18T10:43:21.090-04:00The Nigeria Project<span style="font-size: large;">Today was the final day for my son's third grade Nigeria project. The project that was supposed to be and I quote, "A little something we'll be working on in class" instead its been the center of my families universe.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Every conversation with my son starts with, "Have you done blank with the Nigeria project today?" and ends with someone crying (usually me). I wrote a dissertation that was over 300 pages and took me four years but this pales in comparison to the Nigeria project.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I have made Nigerian food at 11pm at night when of course someone forgot to tell me something was due the next day. I googled Nigerian music, googled Nigerian fashion we have a Nigerian flag hanging on our wall. I know all about the Super Eagles the Nigerian soccer team and I don't even know which game The Yankees play (baseball? hockey?).</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Its the end of the year for goodness sake. I thought it'd all be field trips and movies but no! Every day there's another task about NIGERIA!!! </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I'm sure it's a nice country, no offense to anyone from Nigeria. </span><span style="font-size: large;">I've learned all about its beaches and culture and its great</span><span style="font-size: large;">. But after the last few months of this project hell </span><span style="font-size: large;">no one in our house will be able to talk about romantic trips down the Niger river without facing my wrath. And if anyone has any </span><span style="font-size: large;">erias they need to talk an aspirin and tell someone who cares. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>Suziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13150191994661266181noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7821168775357077823.post-86030191919131686072013-06-07T10:30:00.002-04:002013-06-07T13:01:21.920-04:00Friday's Poetic Thoughts About Saying Goodbye<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u>An Ode to the Gate I Have Opened Each Morning for the Past 14 Years</u><br />
Dear old ugly storefront gate<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s you I truly truly hate <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You’re heavy and old and often covered in pee<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Hearing your creaky squeak each morning does not fill me
with glee<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I was sick and heavy with child<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My poor body you did beguile<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Even after operations on my spine<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You made sure to stick and whine<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And now as I get ready to say a-due<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I pretty damn sure I will not miss you<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<img src="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRyk4kWRnRI-2Ee1kwTo6_F-rfO_wRPMa4pRrPRTJKGN_KUqNMx0A" /><br />
<br />
<h3 class="post-title entry-title" style="color: #fba502; font-family: Trebuchet, 'Trebuchet MS', Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 20px; margin: 0.15em 0px 0px; padding: 0px 0px 4px;">
<a href="http://upthehillbackwards2.blogspot.com/2013/06/an-ode-to-time-clock.html" style="color: #fba502;">An Ode To The Time Clock</a></h3>
<div class="post-header-line-1" style="color: #191919; font-family: Trebuchet, 'Trebuchet MS', Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.6875px;">
</div>
<div class="post-body entry-content" style="color: #191919; font-family: Trebuchet, 'Trebuchet MS', Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.6875px;">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Time clock time clock on the wall<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You always made me feel so small<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You tracked my days hour by hour<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And never once did you produce a flower<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You almost always decided to break<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I was leaving and it was late<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To fix you was an awful job<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I wished out the window with you I could lob<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In a cold lobby I shivered and shook<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
While your operating system I would look<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Come snow or rain you always crashed<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And you machine I wanted to bash<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I will say goodbye and soon<o:p></o:p></div>
<br /><div class="MsoNormal">
I hope someone hits you with a broom<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<img src="https://encrypted-tbn1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQKSfRB8GSt9DVvQXrSeDQDp0hRVb-4jv7jeF9ysSHpCyG0ruBB" style="border: 1px solid rgb(0, 0, 0); padding: 2px;" /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.727272033691406px; line-height: 17.99715805053711px;"><u>Mouse Haiku</u></span><br style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.727272033691406px; line-height: 17.99715805053711px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.727272033691406px; line-height: 17.99715805053711px;">Mouse in my office</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.727272033691406px; line-height: 17.99715805053711px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.727272033691406px; line-height: 17.99715805053711px;">Have you come to say goodbye</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.727272033691406px; line-height: 17.99715805053711px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.727272033691406px; line-height: 17.99715805053711px;">I never liked you</span></div>
</div>
</div>
Suziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13150191994661266181noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7821168775357077823.post-69405106722093381612013-05-29T11:55:00.000-04:002013-05-29T11:55:05.023-04:00Wordless Wednesday<div dir="ltr">
You know what's funny? </div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
Giving your kids corn on the cob when they have no front teeth. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjp22N-dcz67J4Nv_pjbVwFpcAsmfqkCJm6zzScZbCfiocVdcRXI_OBGRLrzGCBaO2Lb-vti4fztp3G8ePK1hGngW30c5xXtJ9vC2gF3uTpiCPkUO8a3Uv6x1qSiI8EZe4Q9rIisLqMDU/s1600/20130518_124249.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjp22N-dcz67J4Nv_pjbVwFpcAsmfqkCJm6zzScZbCfiocVdcRXI_OBGRLrzGCBaO2Lb-vti4fztp3G8ePK1hGngW30c5xXtJ9vC2gF3uTpiCPkUO8a3Uv6x1qSiI8EZe4Q9rIisLqMDU/s320/20130518_124249.jpg" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOlgU3duixk09VzJWSTyKVyniLq1smTP02dNsqLGDX1b8GpOvHzTzgzPBTepUdVuL4X7_TBgqXV9okGyTJ-iwL1pQhI76VnFkLJzWHL0982F0cZpD4-b0kUFSZAZ2Du99Vnq5JjnGEjaE/s1600/20130518_124237.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOlgU3duixk09VzJWSTyKVyniLq1smTP02dNsqLGDX1b8GpOvHzTzgzPBTepUdVuL4X7_TBgqXV9okGyTJ-iwL1pQhI76VnFkLJzWHL0982F0cZpD4-b0kUFSZAZ2Du99Vnq5JjnGEjaE/s320/20130518_124237.jpg" width="240" /> </a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO0xDTbfEu9w6gQ1xP4RY9BPnT_Bg_RFTvqlytFN0n3K4hXHdZh5LaCgqbUY96CfWe_r2ivF4K2zPvujofY_cNwTdC7tS0wjnIvm2_qZYxaDJCXYFXG7KEaodS3Db4OaMyrmICSLWhpok/s1600/20130518_124252.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO0xDTbfEu9w6gQ1xP4RY9BPnT_Bg_RFTvqlytFN0n3K4hXHdZh5LaCgqbUY96CfWe_r2ivF4K2zPvujofY_cNwTdC7tS0wjnIvm2_qZYxaDJCXYFXG7KEaodS3Db4OaMyrmICSLWhpok/s320/20130518_124252.jpg" width="240" /> </a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3Gw10GfBN5xCAkYSgeX6yNEk2PcMHAJzWdmlBGMpqnQ2Zv5MwnlzCKE8YwfFrYU2_t0V6FTkHLoayxZvTTrrhl9b2oY4BBrX0jNN5prgC5_NMrOaidr2eW2hHkltBCXldJpeCpYbIaJw/s1600/20130518_124306.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3Gw10GfBN5xCAkYSgeX6yNEk2PcMHAJzWdmlBGMpqnQ2Zv5MwnlzCKE8YwfFrYU2_t0V6FTkHLoayxZvTTrrhl9b2oY4BBrX0jNN5prgC5_NMrOaidr2eW2hHkltBCXldJpeCpYbIaJw/s320/20130518_124306.jpg" width="240" /> </a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Please note not one kernel was harmed during the filming of this Wordless Wednesday</div>
Suziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13150191994661266181noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7821168775357077823.post-66786072185325539882013-05-17T13:35:00.001-04:002013-05-17T13:38:21.654-04:00Little B Solves Hunger and Homelessness <span style="font-size: large;">Last night I came home to a line of ants walking through my children's bedroom window. My son was sitting by the window with a strange look on his face trying to kill the ants as fast as they marched in. I walked in and let out a little cry of shock at the band of ants quickly taking over my house. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Little S looked up at me and smiled.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"B did it! He did it its all his fault punish him." pigtails bouncing and the little gap with the two missing teeth shining in the ant light.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">"Did what I ask? " not really wanting to know what crazy scheme had ended with my house over run by black ants.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">"Fed the ant blueberries. He opened the window and fed them blueberries!" </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">"Why B? Why?"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">My son cleared his throat and with a look of pride announced , "They were hungry so I fed them blueberries. They were cold so I opened the window." </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I'm not sure if I should be proud or ground his little butt until next Tuesday. </span>Suziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13150191994661266181noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7821168775357077823.post-45607863731283932842013-04-16T11:52:00.002-04:002013-04-16T11:52:31.610-04:00Calling the President Todays the day. The day of the dreaded test. My poor son has had nightmares and anxiety attacks about this test. Its gotten so bad I actually called the president to complain. Not the PTA president the president of the USA.<br />
<br />
I waited on hold for about 45 min. I felt patriotic waiting to share my thoughts with the president the commander and chief the big todoo. I felt I was doing my duty as an american and letting my president know about the issues facing me and my family. When I finally got through I was inspired I told my sad story with elegance and compassion. I told them about how my son now hates school. How class time revolves around preparing and is no longer about learning.I told them how my son's curiosity has been squashed. I poured my heart out to Obama. When I finished the operator said to me, "So you hate standardized testing and think it should be done away with? Should I check that box?"<br />
<br />
Yes check that box.<br />
<br />
I hate those stupid tests.Suziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13150191994661266181noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7821168775357077823.post-77940354630784914552013-04-05T15:21:00.004-04:002013-04-05T15:21:50.466-04:00The Evil Spring Break<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You may have wondered if I have taken another leave of absence from my blogging. have I abandoned ship, skipped town, tripped the light fantastic? The answer is no. I was being held hostage by the evil villain also known as Spring Break.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Spring Break is the time when there is no school for a long, long time and parents still have to work. It is a time of fear, terror and of course the time when the evil words are uttered with complete abandon "I'm bored."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I guess I'm lucky cause I can bring my kids to school with me. However since they're not so little anymore they just tend to run around the school terrorising the babies and saying things like "You can't tell me what to do!" to the teachers who are trying to quiet them.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I had an important meeting this week and I told my kids under no circumstances were they to come in my office while I was meeting with the big boss. So being the literal crazies they are they stood directly in front of my office door jumping around trying to get a good look at my boss and saying things like, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Is that the Big Boss?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> He's always mean to mommy? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He doesn't look so scary. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You go poke him!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">and other gems that I'm sure will help my career. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So on Wednesday I packed those backpacks up with a smile on my face knowing I had escaped the dreaded Spring Break .....until next year</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Suziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13150191994661266181noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7821168775357077823.post-61741119652673521462013-03-28T09:12:00.002-04:002013-03-28T15:19:47.939-04:00Guess What A Small Child Hands You At 1:30 am?<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Last night at about 1:30 am I was awakened by my daughter handing me something. Past experience has taught me that anything handed to me in the middle of the night by a small child is not something you want to hold onto. Typically it's a booger or head lice. So it being 1:30 am and with this prior knowledge tucked firmly in my mind I took the offending object and hurdled it across the room.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Little S looked up and me and smiled. Even in the dark I could see a hole where her tooth had previously been.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCxht5KN50zOPGc8qRBrptqLHLoZtDgG_H4nhn-zJaWX6ZrlCSaPjmnN-zIcy-9FKdmxLYCpHPlpTvJt0tCBoriGYZr8ot8TFxlhyphenhypheno4aT7KEkdQqsC9G4u4niUiN-FkIBBNmT5IJiRqHo/s1600/tooth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCxht5KN50zOPGc8qRBrptqLHLoZtDgG_H4nhn-zJaWX6ZrlCSaPjmnN-zIcy-9FKdmxLYCpHPlpTvJt0tCBoriGYZr8ot8TFxlhyphenhypheno4aT7KEkdQqsC9G4u4niUiN-FkIBBNmT5IJiRqHo/s200/tooth.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Mommy it came out! I lost my first tooth! Should I put it under my pillow? Will the tooth fairy come tonight?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Suddenly it hit me. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I had had thrown my daughters first tooth somewhere in the dark. So at 1:30 am this morning the great tooth hunt began. Armed with Kindles and flashlights we searched the great expanse of the rug. Boy those little baby teeth are small. After several panic filled minutes I found it stuck to the bottom of my foot.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I think were waiting for that tooth fairy's visit for tomorrow night.</span>Suziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13150191994661266181noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7821168775357077823.post-76389350422017107462013-03-21T09:08:00.004-04:002013-03-21T09:08:50.005-04:00The First Night Away From Home<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Tonight is going to be the first night I've spent the night away from the kids unless you count a hospital stay for gallstones (which in my book writhing in pain doesn't count). So in my totally not insane fashion I have prepared everything for tomorrow morning. There are post-stick notes everywhere the eye can see. It is like a field of yellow sticky paper telling my Hubby what to do next.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Its not like he's not a competent guy but I'm sure my detailed step by step directions of how to do pigtails will make all the difference in their morning. I rehearsed it with my son last night and I cant say it went very well. He couldn't seem to make the hair bands work and there seemed to be lots of hair pulling and wrestling to the floor involved which I generally don't do when fixing my daughters hair. I'm a little paranoid about the hair since I had lice in my eye while teaching pre-k but that's a whole other story. So I do insist on it going up. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There are detailed direction about socks and lunches. There are even details about which bear goes where for bed time. He should be all set. I have packed multiple lunches I have done laundry, written notes to teachers ahead of time even prepared dinner in little plastic containers which I know no one will eat. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My son says he's going to be Mommy tomorrow. My daughter says she'll be Mommy too. I guess there's going to be a lot of people telling each other what to do. Which should be fine cause three people being on charge of ..um...no one is totally a recipe for a smooth morning.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So I'm relaxed, totally relaxed not at all paranoid that something horrible will happen and everyone will get sick, get lice, forget to go to school, get lost, set something or someone on fire, drown in a horrible scuba diving accident or loose a limb while using a can opener. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Totally ...fine...and relaxed</span><br />
<br />Suziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13150191994661266181noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7821168775357077823.post-76177882089513579892013-03-18T12:04:00.000-04:002013-03-19T08:42:18.707-04:00Getting Hit With The Old Flu Stick<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">About a week ago everyone in my house was sick. The whining was monumental. My son whined for soup the soup was too hot then after cooling it it was too cold. My daughter was thirsty but her taste bugs made everything taste funny. They took turns keeping me awake all night. First my son threw up then my daughter couldn't breathe through her stuffed up nosy and needed me to blow it. Then my son was cold then my daughter was hot. It was a relay race of non sleep.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">They gooped on me </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">They coughed on me. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I wiped their little fevered brows. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I blew their little snotty noses.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> I could feel the germs crawling on my skin and jumping aboard for the ride of the lifetime. And then as they miraculously turned a corner and felt almost all better, but still needing soup and cookies type of almost better I got hit with the big fat flu stick from hell.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It was a mean type of flu the kind where you rent movies like the Notebook which you've always wanted to see and yet after watching it you couldn't tell who had the notebook why they would even want one and why they just didn't buy a new one from Target. The kind of flu where taking NyQuil doesn't lead to a sleep filled with plaid elephants eating cheese steaks off Kenu Reeves backside and instead just has you waking up in a pile of green drool and snot feeling even worse.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It was no fun at all. My kids tried they really did. I awoke one afternoon to find I was covered in sparkles and home made get well cards. But most of the time I woke to the sounds of my kids killing each other. From my flu haze I still found myself yelling about things like:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> Let go of your sisters neck!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> and </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Stop sitting on your brothers head!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> Through a haze I searched for shoes, made peanut butter sandwiches and attended parent teacher conferences. I was on automatic mom and it worked not well but it worked.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV-1prEqD_JzSxK6ZqXlRgGysdRhNBzDMxof3xZOfNr9wcy34KCtHPSVKK2E17HWR42FWwxz2xzIUy4XWl-90k2QyCPN_g5XUssei0gFFgNWU6bDIaY9QNPbmQacu_gH3KWNr9TvZ4vtg/s1600/sneezy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV-1prEqD_JzSxK6ZqXlRgGysdRhNBzDMxof3xZOfNr9wcy34KCtHPSVKK2E17HWR42FWwxz2xzIUy4XWl-90k2QyCPN_g5XUssei0gFFgNWU6bDIaY9QNPbmQacu_gH3KWNr9TvZ4vtg/s1600/sneezy.jpg" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So 13 cans of soup, 12 episodes of Extreme Couponers and 23 boxes of tissue later, I have emerged from the flu haze and good lord what the hell happened to my house!!!</span>Suziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13150191994661266181noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7821168775357077823.post-17543997749828428102013-03-11T10:19:00.002-04:002013-03-11T10:19:25.240-04:00Thing Are Not As They Seam<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Every morning its the same thing. The days begins with B's battle cry:</span><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></i>
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">My socks don't feel right.Mom! They're bothering me!!!</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></i>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> It's the whining call of the morning like a bugler in the boy scouts letting everyone know the sun has risen. My mornings are spent adjusting sock and changing sock. I have a whole collection of different kind of socks big ones, thin ones, thick ones, silky ones, rough ones all waiting for their turn to be tried on the feet of B only to be thrown back down again in shame and ruin.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I have tired turning them inside out</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I have tried buying expensive unseamed ones</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I have tried yelling and just telling him to deal with it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I have tried ignoring the problem.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">But nothing works.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Its gotten so bad my son now wears his socks like this! </span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTlnUocR1vkRFEFGiTO0DkTvBfFkzKDN8PAdSMO8EmKb051xYYvqJ65DxUYFLyKdcylxW0kA3mF2FjBGrgFY453HkIUtmSVEvVPfBBfRVAqLc9AzklQsbH6sdBujhFjXtrmtfAsFWk8do/s1600/shoe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTlnUocR1vkRFEFGiTO0DkTvBfFkzKDN8PAdSMO8EmKb051xYYvqJ65DxUYFLyKdcylxW0kA3mF2FjBGrgFY453HkIUtmSVEvVPfBBfRVAqLc9AzklQsbH6sdBujhFjXtrmtfAsFWk8do/s320/shoe.jpg" width="191" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">No that's not the latest in shoe fashion those are the kid's socks pulled down in such a was that he doesn't feel the seam. The socks flop around on the top of his shoe like a Great Danes tongue. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">His teachers have written me notes about it. Apparently its hard to be a star in gym when you have dumbo ears flapping out of your shoes. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">People point it out to me on the street like I don't know my son's socks are pulled up around his ankles like a crazy cat lady might wear while roaming the streets looking for an alien space craft driven by a race of very large tabby's. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">My husband and I have taken to ignoring it hoping that one day he'll out grow it or get self conscious or something. Maybe the peer pressure will get to him and he'll wear socks that don't need their own zip code. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Don't get me started on the underwear.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<br />Suziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13150191994661266181noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7821168775357077823.post-46068433582535782132013-03-07T10:10:00.001-05:002013-03-07T10:32:29.518-05:00The TEST<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">There is this test they give kids in third grade. Not one of those little pop quiz things were all the kids groan and have to take their books off of their desk and take out their pencils. One of those:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> OH MY GOSH YOUR WHOLE LIFE DEPENDS ON THIS TEST IF YOU DON'T PASS YOU'LL BE HOMELESS AND LIVE IN A CARDBOARD BOX FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE TESTS!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My poor boy thought school was fun until he hit spring semester at school. He was no longer having his curiosity peaked and finding out all about the world and his place in it. No, now he was in a pressure cooker from hell!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My husband thought it was best to be low key about it. We would joke about it, lovingly telling him the test didn't matter and that if he failed "Which of course he wouldn't" it would be fine and he would only immediately burst into flames the minute his pencil hit the desk. And then we would laugh , ha ha ha ha.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But as this dreaded thing has gotten closer its gotten less and less funny. Everything is geared to to test. And although I am anti high stakes testing (something that's been a subject in my professional life of my research and publishing) I find myself saying things like you better make sure you have a period on the end of that sentence it'll be on the<i> test</i>, your'e not planning to sit like that for <i>test</i> are you? <i>THE TEST</i> is now not only an event it is a living and breathing thing that lives in our apartment throws it clothes on the floor and eats the peanut butter straight out of the jar with unwashed hands. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We have tutors, computer programs and handouts all to battle the <i>test </i>we plan around it we worry about it. This test is a monster. I know I'm not alone in this. My work mate has a third grader too. We plot we plan how to handle it. I think I spent less time planning for my wedding then we have figuring out how to pass this thing (and I had a big Jewish wedding). </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I got a note home the other day from the Chancellor of Education he said how wonderful the tests were. How not to panic even though this is the first time they administered these new things and they'd be tested on things they hadn't taught yet. He said I'm sure it'll all be fine. After all there's always summer school. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Really Mr. Wallcot? Really? Then come to my house Mr. Wallcot cause this <i>test </i>is not only driving us all insane its hiding under the bed scaring the cat, hogging the internet and is peeing on my floor. </span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7_hv9e6NTnhVehnVDJGQ3KbchCxckLLhNcW9dPyPfa8TE5G4_CE8UKQeQ_z4gT_6GVlCMmODm3nVascc8FL4ZSRuG7zW50kF0gTHWVLxkhoJsfh6YlbsLmjoBnYi-o3Z3xvWjzn2y6Z0/s1600/test.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7_hv9e6NTnhVehnVDJGQ3KbchCxckLLhNcW9dPyPfa8TE5G4_CE8UKQeQ_z4gT_6GVlCMmODm3nVascc8FL4ZSRuG7zW50kF0gTHWVLxkhoJsfh6YlbsLmjoBnYi-o3Z3xvWjzn2y6Z0/s1600/test.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />Suziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13150191994661266181noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7821168775357077823.post-28085245201734057792013-03-05T10:06:00.002-05:002013-03-05T10:06:39.090-05:00Dinners at Out House<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">My hubby and I have been guilted into starting family dinners. We frankly never did it before cause its just awful and we'd rather enjoy our dinners alone. But everyone says family dinners promotes family bonding, supports brain growth, stops cancer blah blah blah. When I think of family dinners I think of those Pillsbury commercials where everyone is smiling at the wonderful meal mom has cooked. They all sit happily around the table and eat whats served in front of them and talk happily about the day.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">This is not family dinners at my house. First off all family dinners seem to involve going to the potty about 50 times during the course of the dinner first one goes then the other. Then my Hubby goes apparently sitting at the table for dinner is a diuretic. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">As I proudly serve my dinner which I lovingly cook after after a 9 hour work daydreaming of my happy grateful family being nurtured and nourished from my hard work everyone groans: </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I don't want to eat it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Can I have peanut butter instead?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Can I only only eat one corner? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Look I'm like that guy on Bizarre Foods who eats the slugs I tried it twice. I still don't like it can I have peanut butter now?</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Then my loving, bonding, brain growing family starts fighting: </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I can't eat cause he farted.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She touched me!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He almost touched me!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She's thinking about touching me!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Aided by my hubby, "Gee I love family dinners what a great idea!"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Finally everyone settles down for about 2 seconds as I ponder the wonderful family togetherness we are creating and then the little one starts to wander. Its not intentional but its like the seat is made of some type of spring which ejects her from the seat every 2 to 3 minutes. She leaps around not eating but effectively knocking things over while the older one wines that he should be able to wander too. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">My son begins to slide down on the floor and my hubby rests his head on his plate in despair. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The table is covered in spilled chocolate milk lots of half eaten foods and tears and everyone gives a loud cheer as the signal is finally given to clear that table. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I'm pretty sure our family couldn't sell a crescent rolls to save our lives? </span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Suziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13150191994661266181noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7821168775357077823.post-19480536045449724702013-03-01T10:47:00.001-05:002013-03-01T10:47:22.643-05:00My Little JuvieWhenever they talked about kids misbehaving at school I used to laugh. Just throw back my head a gafaw. I mean my kids are demon spawn at home. My daughter as you may know if you read my blog is prone to having her head spin around and spew green vomit at the word "No". And I don't have to remind you about my son smashing in the shower door like Bam Bam on crack. But at school? No way! Not my kids until ...this Wednesday.<br />
<br />
On Wednesday I knew something was off the waffles were soggy and the underwear was too tight. But I wasn't prepared for a call from the principals office letting me know my son was now a juvenile delinquent. On Wednesday a roving gang on 3rd grade boys went nuts in the lunch room. They rolled across the floor they stood when they were told to sit, they kicked doors and made a poor teacher, trying to control the marauding band of berserking 3rd graders, cry. In short they were bad.<br />
<br />
My poor son was (after the fact) a mess not only had he never been bad in school before he had never gotten caught. He was in tears when I came home hiding under the covers. When I thought of my son behaving like that I read him the riot act. Thoughts of evil band of boys throughout the ages played like a lifetime movie through my head. I took away game boys, internet yes even his i-pad!In tears he told me he was ashamed and would never do it again. Satisfied I had put the fear in him I sent him to bed.<br />
<br />
Yesterday I was at work when the phone rang. Guess who my boy had gotten in trouble yet again during DETENTION! no less. What the... this boy has no sense! Who get in trouble while they're being in trouble? Yes my boy.<br />
<br />
So last night I read another riot act I took away the things I had taken away. I talked about responsibility how not to follow the crowd. I talked and talked and he cried and cried until vaguely satisfied I put him to bed.<br />
<br />
Dear lord what was that...I hope its not the phone.....Suziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13150191994661266181noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7821168775357077823.post-17958502410435607552013-02-13T15:47:00.003-05:002013-02-13T15:47:46.313-05:00Wordless WednesdayThis is what happens at my house when I leave the room for 5 min:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1DHs2_7uBpoyxxu9hOKJb1ZL6XEio4jodJ89CY5MvzS5QfJT3nx4Vo49lO_YD_EEW3kBe99VKY44G7e8h70urnOUVCw5kJuRxK_77t8u3a3bdZMIcSTtjTf49MuwuD6zcBVJp25bZi4Y/s1600/bad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1DHs2_7uBpoyxxu9hOKJb1ZL6XEio4jodJ89CY5MvzS5QfJT3nx4Vo49lO_YD_EEW3kBe99VKY44G7e8h70urnOUVCw5kJuRxK_77t8u3a3bdZMIcSTtjTf49MuwuD6zcBVJp25bZi4Y/s640/bad.jpg" width="380" /></a></div>
<br />Suziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13150191994661266181noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7821168775357077823.post-14286988622128834562013-02-12T12:54:00.003-05:002013-02-12T12:54:44.711-05:00Cooking and MeI don't know what my problem is of late but the whole cooking thing is not working out at all. It all started out a few days ago I thought I'd make a wonderful Indian dinner for my honey.<br />
<br />
After slaving over a hot stove for hours (o.k it was those packets you put in boiling water but still) I decided to cook some poppadoms up . I put them in the microwave and of course the minute I did the screaming began. Lately any time I turn around its like a debate about the second amendment on Facebook. I ran to the kids room to untangle my sons hands from my daughter's throat when a thick black smoke began to fill the apartment. I ran to the kitchen where I found the poppadoms were not only burned but were black.<br />
<br />
<img src="https://encrypted-tbn3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQ_r_LD_g6kt4AiQ9R5oUW87KGOQ0MR3UThW8onLeySLCSmKNjv" /><br />
My daughter turned to me and asked "Is that dinner" I nodded opening the windows to air out my fragrant meal and then she asked me with all sincerity, "is this my punishment?" <br />
<br />
I'm not really sure what she's being punished about but if she has to eat those papadums it must have been pretty awful.<br />
<br />
You know cooking and I are not friends. However every once and while I get inspired and I do a big pot of chili or stew enough for about 4 meals and freeze it. The problem is I never label anything and serving up a big plate of "Umm Brown Stuff" does not seem to please the masses. So now I just call everything "chili".<br />
<br />
So last night I thawed one of the frozen unnamed brown things and discovered it was a far cry from chili . It was cholent! I don't know if you've ever tried cholent but its this type of yucky stew Jews serve up on the Sabbath . <br />
<br />
A few months ago my son really wanted to make it and as my Unlce Frank has a good recipe I decided to make it with him. After working on this thing for over four hours it ended up looking like this: <br />
<img height="320" src="https://sphotos-a.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-prn1/45132_4505744574486_497418096_n.jpg" width="190" />Yes it has eggs in the shell in it. It's supposed to. However<br />
one of them burst so it had little pieces of egg shell all through it.<br />
<br />
I thought I had gotten rid of it all the disastrous cholent. I swear I threw it out but that cholent is a survivor and there it was in all its glory all thawed out and in the pot.<br />
<br />
So being the great mom I am I threw some hot sauce on it and called it chili.<br />
And they ate it...at least it wasn't the poppadomsSuziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13150191994661266181noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7821168775357077823.post-81942588762367023162013-02-08T12:18:00.002-05:002013-02-08T12:18:50.786-05:00I Quit!I don't want to be overly dramatic here but its finally happened I have reached my Mommy breaking point.<br />
After breaking up the 60th fight of the morning, dressing both kids and turning around and finding them completely nude, wrestling with my daughter to get some medicine in her only to have her spit it back out over my shirt, I have reached the end. I quit!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I announced it this morning and both kids looked at me with their mouths hanging open, "Yes you heard me I quit find a new mommy!"<br />
<br />
At first they kind of laughed, then when they saw I want smiling they got a little freaked out.<br />
<br />
I then announced it to my husband and told him he needed to find a new mommy cause I was done.<br />
<br />
I got on my coat and my hubby looked at me with horror in his eyes. "Not really right?"<br />
<br />
"Really" I'm done. "Maybe he should think about posting an add on e-bay cause I quit!"<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE2B4eInApgp0w2FisFDunfpBf3GndykPqkrCH8Y4qBawtJBEgjzMbltThuN-A74nGgRrdgBYpQ4t3RYEett8_GH14IXAcDWtmDDfCKYUhtje2PZdXvllghmjUIF1p7Rz7H26cBHdvSWU/s1600/quit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE2B4eInApgp0w2FisFDunfpBf3GndykPqkrCH8Y4qBawtJBEgjzMbltThuN-A74nGgRrdgBYpQ4t3RYEett8_GH14IXAcDWtmDDfCKYUhtje2PZdXvllghmjUIF1p7Rz7H26cBHdvSWU/s1600/quit.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />Suziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13150191994661266181noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7821168775357077823.post-82327580689350184752013-02-01T13:26:00.003-05:002013-02-01T13:26:51.644-05:00Friday's RantI love NYC isn't that what all the tee-shirts say? Well I gotta say I just don't! Its dirty, expensive the people are mean and there always seem to be some kind of a disaster. Hurricanes, terrorist attacks, the day the whole city smelled like maple syrup (which you know was some strange terrorist attack created by Jenny Craig or Weight Watchers to give us all a diet crisis.) just to name a few.<br />
<br />
Now I know a water main break is not a disaster but its sure is icky.<br />
<br />
Yes today we have a water main. Water pouring in the streets but none in the taps. The news keeps harping on subway troubles but come on really no water how yucky!<br />
<br />
<br />
Any NYC disaster brings out all the crazies. When I went to lunch 20 min ago people were camped out on the sidewalks with gallons of water drinking it like they had just run a marathon. People were asking strangers where the water went and would it ever come back again. Some very tall crazy man wearing a tiara and child sized purple rain coat with Dora on it was walking down the street yelling "Prepare yourselves for the end of days there is no drinking water in the city! The lord will take us all!!"<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<br />
And speaking of lunch I didn't bring my lunch today so since there's no water how is everyone washing their hands? And I work in a daycare so think about all the diaper changes done each day with no water to clean up butts or hands ick!<br />
<br />
And while I'm eating my contaminated sandwich I now remember that everyone uses my keyboard. I'm as always I'm eating and typing oh ick ick ick. I'm probably getting some illness that will cause my fingernails to turn blue and fall off and my eyes to turn into gooing orbs of fire.<br />
<br />
And don't get me started on the whole toilet thing cause in just a few hours it will no longer be known as the big apple but as the stink apple or the apple filled with unflushable poo.<br />
<br />
I love NYC? Not really, not today, sorry. Yuck<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Suziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13150191994661266181noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7821168775357077823.post-58622077995882448732013-01-31T09:18:00.001-05:002013-01-31T09:25:32.729-05:00Sympathy And Belly Buttons<br />
<div style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;">
<img height="200" src="http://images1.snapfish.com/232323232%7Ffp%3B9%3A%3Evq%3D3238%3E967%3E2%3C4%3EWSNRCG%3D358%3A4%3B4396335vq0mrj" width="118" /></div>
<br />
I realize I usually post about the harrowing experiences of motherhood but yesterday I had one of those sweet aww moments that I thought deserved recognition.<br />
<br />
Little S is sick she was sent home from school with a hacking cough and slight fever. We had spent the day watching every kid movie ever made; Puss in Boots, Shrek, Barney Searches for the Wreck of the Titanic, Diego Makes Calamari With Some Cute, Bug Eyed, Squid He Doesn't Rescue. If they made it we watched it. Anyway it was around 5 or as I like to call it t<i>he hour when all children hit the wall and start to freak out</i>, when I gave S a bath. In the bath S took a long look at her navel and suddenly announced in horror "My outty is now an iny!" and promptly burst into tears.<br />
<br />
I took her out of the bath and explained it was ok all bodies changed. Causing her to only cry harder with those big sobbing bursts only a sick, totally unreasonable, child could make.It was at that point B came home from Hebrew school. He went up to his crying sister and gently asked her what was wrong. S relayed her grim tale shaking with grief for the belly button that once was.<br />
<br />
B pulled up her pajama top looked at her traitorous navel and asked her to stand up and suck in her belly. Slowly choking back tears S did as she was told and looked down. The button protruded and looked an awful lot like an outy.<br />
<br />
She cried in joy and threw her arms around her big brother. B then went over to his back pack and produced a coloring book and gave it to her saying, "I got this for good behavior but I think you need it more than I do." She smiled up at her hero with love and devotion in her eyes. I paused and took a mental photograph of the wonderful, empathetic, little boy I had helped to create.<br />
<br />
Then B farted and they both started laughing and running around the house like a cat on roller skates with a bad case of gas.<br />
<br />Suziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13150191994661266181noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7821168775357077823.post-47483530118015072762013-01-28T15:25:00.000-05:002013-01-28T15:25:34.683-05:00It's been so longI know I know where the hell have I been? Working parenting blah blah blah. I have forgot about you old blog old friend when something happened this weekend that made me remember why I love you so.<br />
<br />
It began Friday night when it started to snow. I went to the drugstore and the kids were all tucked in bed when B asked me to come back with some snow. So I did what any good mommy would do I wrapped my frozen fingers around the whitest spot I could find and brought it home. The kids were thrilled. B grabbed a handful and proceeded to eat it. Some of you folks in places other than NYC might think this is fine but in NYC all sorts of badness can be in that snow. Crack viles, dog pee, you name it its there. That's is why we have a firm no eating the snow rule in our house. <br />
<br />
Anyhow within about 15 min B found the filling in the pinata- rock salt. I don't know if you know what happens when you eat rock salt but it ain't pretty. The kid began to puke and puke like a foul smelling chunkie fountain. It was so bad I had to leave the room lest I join him.<br />
<br />
Within two minutes of stopping he ripped off all his clothes and began to run back and forth across our apartment screaming in naked glee.<br />
<br />
He grabbed his sister dragged her across the floor while laughing in delight. I finally cornered him in the bathroom and tried to talk him down. He turned from me and with a giant push he shoved our glass shower door and it smashed into pieces filling the tub with broken glass. <br />
<br />
It was then that I knew the blogging must continue.Suziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13150191994661266181noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7821168775357077823.post-62505443710989861942010-10-04T15:28:00.004-04:002010-10-04T15:36:41.793-04:00Wordless Whatever Day It isIt was Little S' birthday today<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLAjIERFImYmaiI8E4OC2ec-X_WsSsaQ1wqwIfl9DP1pYsyKP5Q-3sJEq3fdliatVgIuSnumQb68mTACPhz04IcBTDLAtXY5evJe7E-QlQuXQBPzVu26pvTC7bi6LYcDggu2b4ZQ6UGeE/s1600/birth.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLAjIERFImYmaiI8E4OC2ec-X_WsSsaQ1wqwIfl9DP1pYsyKP5Q-3sJEq3fdliatVgIuSnumQb68mTACPhz04IcBTDLAtXY5evJe7E-QlQuXQBPzVu26pvTC7bi6LYcDggu2b4ZQ6UGeE/s200/birth.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5524275245532449410" border="0" /></a><br />In Order to stop her brother stealing her thunder certain measures needed to be taken.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgefRjJwbcGuB48ugUKr6BkRyP4L03mP1_QLs44PiPf_XVDKMbyA6eq_Pu_5fxPNtkXZHnH6RbcCcASI4UHgJti3eUWDUz0HG83ve75-iBmQnEWVWaiI-5Q_mI2I-OYUUqoLmK6GED8puw/s1600/burry.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgefRjJwbcGuB48ugUKr6BkRyP4L03mP1_QLs44PiPf_XVDKMbyA6eq_Pu_5fxPNtkXZHnH6RbcCcASI4UHgJti3eUWDUz0HG83ve75-iBmQnEWVWaiI-5Q_mI2I-OYUUqoLmK6GED8puw/s200/burry.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5524275408542216338" border="0" /></a><br /><br />It didn't work<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtg66ZrJcyetA-Uit_NkOjeklRu-AYSikcow5ZZQjfjwMP2gBRsv20tguk3BGGilOahpqXEtmtnvqa_zZKrZaIpqd_eL_IBmjGrNRp1dDDoQO6uOJG2e0nALFPO9lsK0qMu5aUMQ7SL54/s1600/clown.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtg66ZrJcyetA-Uit_NkOjeklRu-AYSikcow5ZZQjfjwMP2gBRsv20tguk3BGGilOahpqXEtmtnvqa_zZKrZaIpqd_eL_IBmjGrNRp1dDDoQO6uOJG2e0nALFPO9lsK0qMu5aUMQ7SL54/s200/clown.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5524275480678720354" border="0" /></a>Suziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13150191994661266181noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7821168775357077823.post-46161777230678457842010-06-07T15:12:00.005-04:002010-06-07T15:35:54.209-04:00Where have all the cribs gone<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiywr6f06AmdPJtfcPc99_mKfDhQpJ_Aay3-f73qd9IpVoyvNWkK8cWPlsikOYlvDeq7qcey8zP-V6n7Gy0oFTfK01STgHmQL-uhdpVbAgIZBNKktj4IabUtKjxkSCb74BcCpBMX8-Y0X4/s1600/grudge.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 130px; height: 91px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiywr6f06AmdPJtfcPc99_mKfDhQpJ_Aay3-f73qd9IpVoyvNWkK8cWPlsikOYlvDeq7qcey8zP-V6n7Gy0oFTfK01STgHmQL-uhdpVbAgIZBNKktj4IabUtKjxkSCb74BcCpBMX8-Y0X4/s200/grudge.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480116100073561106" border="0" /></a> Since we've gotten rid of the crib its like a free for all in my house. You think its quiet. You think you can finally sit down have a little drink, watch TV when you hear it. At first you think its the neighbors. Maybe a little mouse. But no its worse its the distinctive sound of little feet. It's (gasp) my kids!!! Its like now that the crib is gone the cage has been opened and the animals at the zoo are running free.<br /><br />My son is stealthy little a little ninja. One time I went into the bathroom and closed the door before seeing him flush against the wall. Silently watching me. Sometimes at night I have the horrible feeling like something is watching me. I look up and there he is. Black rimmed eyes like the boy in the grudge staring at me. Waiting to ask me if Michael Jackson had ever gone to the moon to learn to moon walk or why fish never blink when they clearly have water in their eyes. Its eerie and frightening.<br /><br />My daughter is less stealthy. She's like the Godfather in pigtails demanding goldfish and strawberry milk. She wanders the halls bumping into things and humming the Wonder pets theme song. <br /><br />Its getting so I can never trust a moments peace I know that at any minute my children may enter. I may never be able to watch a show that is not rated G again -just-in-case. Why cant they make a crib with the bars on the top so her mommy can have a little drink in peace. Is that so wrong...Suziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13150191994661266181noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7821168775357077823.post-56233985833887823022010-06-04T09:51:00.003-04:002010-06-04T10:04:42.800-04:00And Here It IsWow. Today by mistake I stumbled across my blog. Its been so long since I've seen it. Its not like I haven't thought about it. I do all the time. I write entries in my head while Im laying in bed or while Im bathing the kids or changing a diaper. I even wanted to post the picture of Little S's first poop here for wordless Wednesday but somehow it never happened. Between work and the kids I barely have time to brush my teeth. You know the story blah blah blah<br /><br />I am resisting the urge to go back and read all my entries. I know this parenting thing its been a hard but sweet road and life is never easy but to read it all laid out like this is very strange. Its like reading your old diaries. It always end up with a sick feeling in the pit of your stomach and an empty bottle of wine next to you.<br /><br />Instead these days I amuse myself with writing a status update on Face book. It seems like all I can manage these days. I post things like Someone Pass the Cheese Wiz and I feel like I said it all. I mean that is profound but there is something about bloging I miss. The feeling of laying it all out there for people to see. To reflect on if I ever get that chance.<br /><br />Ive got so much to say and so little time to say it. Even now this is a stolen moment I should be working. I should collating something. But it feels good to say hello again. Ive missed this and I hope it wont be months until I come back again to say hi and take a moment to breath.Suziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13150191994661266181noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7821168775357077823.post-69651966802141720552009-11-10T13:08:00.004-05:002009-11-10T13:25:08.845-05:00Send Me a Gooroo Please<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfiuNKZZ8mHvPmElEIDe4wBKgRNEHPj9JBznnp6oiors1wz-ZVik2jA0Nxhkh9PjnN52EYiyLzvbU0KQIjHfVKTln2fXhk_6Q3p2Wd__k12-dMbSuJyrF08pneASTTei0I-1QOgMAzJMc/s1600-h/cult.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 124px; height: 124px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfiuNKZZ8mHvPmElEIDe4wBKgRNEHPj9JBznnp6oiors1wz-ZVik2jA0Nxhkh9PjnN52EYiyLzvbU0KQIjHfVKTln2fXhk_6Q3p2Wd__k12-dMbSuJyrF08pneASTTei0I-1QOgMAzJMc/s200/cult.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402542651043775778" border="0" /></a>I'M sorry Ive been so MIB (again). Its been so hard just keeping up with everything. Every time I turn around a new crisis seems to be tapping me on the shoulder and sneezing in my direction. I hate to complain ( no really OK maybe I do) but who knew this whole working mommy thing would be this hard. So far this school year we've had:<br /><br />broken bones,<br />pneumonia,<br />several herniated disks,<br />school placement problems,<br />a pinched nerve,<br />and the most fun of all LICE!<br /><br />And just the normal things like trying to balance a full time job and running back and forth between two schools is just doing me in. The idea of cooking dinner and doing homework after working a full day,running back and forth between two school across town from each other in 25 minutes while pushing a stroller with a toddler complaining she cant breath and she wants to walk is as appetizing as a plate of cooked meal worms in a light broth. (phew)<br /><br />Every time I feel like I may have it under control I learn I really don't. It enough to make me sit around and waste my time dreaming of an early retirement or running away and joining some weird cult just so I can have new things to worry about.<br /><br />Anyway I'm still here just insane and bitter and overworked and ready to cry at the drop of a hat.<br /><br />Anyone met any good cult leaders if so send him my way I got my bags packed and I have a valid passport ready.Suziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13150191994661266181noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7821168775357077823.post-78464545305458602192009-09-17T10:11:00.007-04:002009-09-17T10:18:30.335-04:00Kindergarten UpadateThis was B on the first half day of kindergarten.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3bKJJEyB7KXMU2x79dG-pONmNlcr8El8HRBrF8rVMOBr-CNzgyIDt2_zdQsfV3OHJvlPEa7ul5YDxMkSHfqWd-jitCcnslshChmg1BSjRbBxOC8iIYaTxTg-zU0spwJ3SYzQbqXpBo6E/s1600-h/Ben3.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 160px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3bKJJEyB7KXMU2x79dG-pONmNlcr8El8HRBrF8rVMOBr-CNzgyIDt2_zdQsfV3OHJvlPEa7ul5YDxMkSHfqWd-jitCcnslshChmg1BSjRbBxOC8iIYaTxTg-zU0spwJ3SYzQbqXpBo6E/s200/Ben3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382439305334883138" border="0" /></a><br /><br />This was B the night of his 5th Birthday and the first full day of Kindergarten<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZuIsAgeltgGWILSs1R9f6mJOt1eOQgF_tTiKQdaFsoQ0QiC8J5Sr5dlqQmsRwKWuScbRfRx0z6YcYJjP175jkA5unxXnTGczdS4lVV5KQPcLayo_wik96Jxm7NBzQiGP-PJaEf_CymIk/s1600-h/hospital.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 160px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZuIsAgeltgGWILSs1R9f6mJOt1eOQgF_tTiKQdaFsoQ0QiC8J5Sr5dlqQmsRwKWuScbRfRx0z6YcYJjP175jkA5unxXnTGczdS4lVV5KQPcLayo_wik96Jxm7NBzQiGP-PJaEf_CymIk/s200/hospital.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382439179655883378" border="0" /></a><br />This is B today<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9ubJLuFjo9269FU0diG4zQVuw8gwXcppF5oNyKfUU1L8rH64IBiIHBAI9KzNJd6a41bMv63aPYlMUVGjzkby6TinssT-PVls8GhkcPLi_dPR06e9hyvlHhOhRUoB2DE3DvvYVsy41HgA/s1600-h/cast.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 160px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9ubJLuFjo9269FU0diG4zQVuw8gwXcppF5oNyKfUU1L8rH64IBiIHBAI9KzNJd6a41bMv63aPYlMUVGjzkby6TinssT-PVls8GhkcPLi_dPR06e9hyvlHhOhRUoB2DE3DvvYVsy41HgA/s200/cast.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382439031986254546" border="0" /></a><br />Yes B has fractured his arm falling from the monkey bars at school. He has fractured his growth plate and will be in a cast for the next six weeks. He has discovered that his cast is good for hitting his sister on the head with and is currently using as a new sort of weapon. Even though he is in a cast he is loving school and the attention he is receiving for his battle wound.<br /><br />Keeping you in the know<br /><br />Suzie<br /><br />P.S> I am so sorry I haven't gotten to reading anyone's posts for awhile. As you can see things have gone from nuts to nuts and I promise to get to you all just as soon as I can.Suziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13150191994661266181noreply@blogger.com28