Tag: the lass

I went in to help the lass and her class cook up a snack yesterday morning. It was a fun hour or so. We cooked up a variation on Rice Krispie treats. Instead of putting it in a pan, we gave the kids a wad of the mixture to shape into a ball which they then put a popsicle stick to make a treat on a stick. Because everything tastes better when it’s served on a stick- like hot dogs, or ice cream.

Well, that’s what I’ve been told anyway.

My job was just to help out and provide a little light comic relief. Probably about the most I’m capable of handling. The lass was so overjoyed at having me there, she went into show-off-for-my-friends mode. Luckily, the teachers love her so it was no big deal. That and they’d had other parents in before to help out on other Cooking Fridays. They’d seen the act before.

Luckily, I got to leave before the sugar started to do it’s work. With the potential for 10 kids all getting a sugar high simultaneously, I was happy in the knowledge I wouldn’t have to deal with them.

The lass’ T-ball game this morning was especially brutal. Don’t know if the weather had anything to do with it or if it was just one of those things. The kids just weren’t into it. Not by any measure. But then, it sure seemed like they had a good time.

Of course, their good time didn’t have much to do with fielding or hitting. Oh well, on to coach pitch.

A seemingly annual spring activity for me is building compost bins. I started with one, which got filled easily over the course of a Spring/Summer cycle. So I built a second one and harvested some of the compost from the first. Unfortunately, the second one also got completely filled and I also filled the first one again. So I needed a third bin, in addition to trying to harvest compost from the other two.

Understandably, I wasn’t to keen on getting the job done because it’s messy, unpleasant work. There are bugs everywhere and even if the temps were below freezing, I’d be perspiring like it’s the middle of Summer. I finally did the deed yesterday and, while I was moving compost between the new bins, the lass decided she was going to help. So she fetched a small pitch fork the Wife typically uses for spreading mulch.

Unfortunately for the lass, and myself, she isn’t tall enough to toss the compost over the fences that make the bins. She was only able to get at the compost because I’d fashioned a rather crude gate for the front. So she did her best to scoop up compost as I was. Then she’d ask me to do something with it. So I’d take the pitchfork from her, toss it into a bin and hand it back to her.

Well, that happened exactly 3 times. Because on the 3rd time, as I went to hand the pitch fork back to her, I felt the unmistakable impact of the pitchfork handle on her nose. It also made a soft combo smooshing-crunching noise that actually had me initially concerned I’d broken her nose.

I dropped everything and went over to tend to her. She was crying pretty hard and she exclaimed that her nose was bleeding. She’d cupped her hands beneath her nose. I got a quick glimpse of her face and there was no swelling, so I was relieved that I hadn’t actually broken anything. So I pinched her nose and walked with her back up to the house. By the time we reached the house, the crying had downgraded to soft whimpers, and by the time on got her on the counter she had settled down completely.

She looked in worse shape than she actually was- blood was caking on her lower jaw and had soaked into the sleeves of her shirt. The Wife came down to see what had happened and we started cleaning her up while making sure we get her nose pinched to stop the bleeding.

While we were cleaning her up, she asked only 1 question: did she get any blood on her shirt? It was a “Hello Kitty” shirt and was her favorite. The Wife took care of soaking the shirt sleeves to get the stains out.

Good to know she was worried about the important stuff.

With opening day coming up this weekend, the lass finally had her first t-ball practice today. Having watched her brother go through t-ball last year, and then persevering through his coach pitch practice this year, she was very excited to finally have “her turn.” How long the loving feeling will last is anyone’s guess.

The situation actually brings to mind one particular parental trap we’ve found ourselves in with the boy and the lass. The boy is, effectively, 2 years older than her. So in absolute terms, the lass has started her extra-curricular stuff a year sooner than the boy did. For instance, last year the boy was in t-ball as a kindergartner. The lass, by contrast, is starting out while in pre-K. While we would prefer to let her wait another year, practically speaking it’s not happening- she’s been tailing the boy for the entirety of her short life and she’s not interested in being left behind any further than absolutely necessary. Her patience stretches about as far as a dry-rotted rubber band.

Swinging back to t-ball, she’s not the only girl on the team. All three of them seemed to know one another, so she’s got that going for her. She was excited to see some of her class mates on the team as well. She even knew how to run the bases and did so with great gusto (hey, with the 5 year-old crew, nothing can be taken for granted).

The only thing she doesn’t like is her team’s name- “The Bees.” She preferred her brother’s team name from last year, “The Raptors.” I tried to point out that this will be her team and she should be excited that she doesn’t have to follow in her brother’s foot steps. She gets to have her own path; her own teammates; her own coaches(excepting myself). But she wasn’t having any of it.

Hopefully, she’ll be able to comes to turn with that heavy burden.

“Dad, does anything really happen if you don’t respect the pouch?”

That was the question at 7AM this morning. I don’t answer such earth-shatteringly important question directly. I always try to make them work for it:

“I don’t know, guess you’ll just have to try it. Do we have any ‘pouches’?”

In fact, we did. And she went and grabbed one to have with her breakfast. She then started getting all scientific:

“Mom, I’m going to do an experiment to see if anything happens if you don’t respect the pouch.” I wasn’t sure if she was just trying to work up the nerve to do it or what. Either way, she seemed genuinely intrigued by this little endeavor she had set herself on.

Unfortunately, she didn’t finish the drink before it was time to go to school, so her experiment had to wait. But she remembered when she got home from school (I, for my part, had forgotten) and finished the drink with her lunch. Then she announced “OK, I’m going outside to do my experiment. Do you guys want to watch me?”

We walked over to the door, but made sure it was closed. Hey- you never know. She puffed up the bag and then set it down on the deck. Then, she gave it a good look and finally picked her foot up and stomped down on the pouch…

Then she just stood there for a moment, looked left, looked right, shrugged and then came in the house to announce the results. “Nothing happens if you don’t respect the pouch.”

One mystery solved.

I happen to have a tin of peppermint Altoids in the car. The Wife gave them to me a while ago because she had something else in her purse. They’re handy to have for whatever reason the ol’ breath might be something less than fresh: garlic, soda, Gatorade, chili, whatever. They are indeed “curiously strong.”

After spending the afternoon raking and fertilizing the yard (which is remarkably snow free considering how much snow had been there), I had to take the lass up to her dance class. So, when I got in the car I popped a couple of Altoids in my mouth. I didn’t think anything of it whilst I did it; but, the lass was watching and decided to set herself in motion.

“What are those Dad? Those things you’re putting in your mouth?” She tries to be as specific as possible because if she isn’t, there’s no telling what I’ll interpret “those” to be. Could be a tree on the side of the road or the clouds in the sky. By specifying “putting in your mouth” she’s hemmed me in pretty good.

She’s learning.

“They’re mints” I answered, still oblivious to the trap she was laying for me.

“Why are you having ‘mints’ Dad?” she asked.

“Well, I just wanted to freshen my breath up a bit. After the Gatorade it felt kind of blech” I replied. As I made the statement I kind of shook my head and scrunched my face up. She giggled.

Then she sprang it.

“Dad, my breath is kind of blech. Can I have one of those that you’re having?”

Hook.

Line.

Sinker.

What else could I do? I handed her the tin so she could have her mint.

The boy and I had a Cub Scout den meeting tonight. It was a fun meeting since one of the parents is a science teacher at a local private school and she offered to help the kids earn the Science Belt Loop. The highlight for the kids was definitely the final experiment- the Mentos in a Coke bottle experiment. The kids were screaming for more before it was all done.

Upon returning home, the Wife filled us in on her and the lass’ evening together: dolls, projects and the like. Amongst the dolls played with was the lass’ Russian dolls.

While playing with the dolls, the lass made an amusing observation:

“Mommy, they’re Russian dolls, but they’re not really in a rush, right?”

She’s got a bright future with puns.

Shortly after I started this blog, I wrote up this exhausting confrontation between an unstoppable force and an immovable object. Today I finally had a replay of that confrontation, only this time it was the lass playing the part of the unstoppable force. I’ll state up front that it was not on the same level as the battle with the boy, but it was the first time she and I crossed swords in public.

As I was ushering the kids out the door this morning for their ride to school, the lass lamented: “We didn’t get to watch that much TV this morning, Dad!” Alright, it wasn’t so much a lament as a whiny protest.

In retrospect, I probably should have just shrugged this one off. But, for whatever reason, I took up her challenge thusly:

“Well, you got up late this morning, and it would have been later if I hadn’t threatened to have the dog come and jump all over you. Then by the time you got dressed, ate breakfast, brushed your teeth, and got your shoes- and all that with your dawdling in between- there isn’t much time left for …”

“Daddy, how come some people don’t respect the American Flag?”

She’s already talking about politics? At the age of 5? More importantly, how do I answer that question?

Like this: “Well, some people don’t really respect anything, so why would they bother to respect the Flag, right?” I know it’s bad form to answer a question with a question, but hey- I gotta make due.

“But you’re supposed to respect the pouch!”

What? What pouch? Did she really say “pouch?”

“Respect the what?” I asked.

“Respect the POUCH.” she answered emphatically.

Oooooooooohhhhhhhhhh, respect the pouch!. This is definitely a conversation I can handle..

I think.

“Yeah, sure. You should respect the pouch.” I reply.

“Yeah, or funny things will happen to you like your head will TURN INTO A BALLOON!” She started laughing when she said that last part.

And just like that, I’m not so sure I can handle this conversation. I decide to test the waters:

“You know that stuff doesn’t really happen, right?”

She pauses. It’s too long. “Yeah, I know that Dad. But you’re supposed to respect the pouch.”

What do I say to that? Is there a right response? How did I end up in an episode of Seinfeld starring the lass?

“Daddy, I taught the kids on the bus the Godzilla song. They didn’t know it, but now they do. I sang it to the bus driver too.”

Is there a guy with a camera? Or has somebody mind-linked with her and is now messing with me? We’ve gone from respecting the flag to respecting pouches to Godzilla songs in a matter of minutes. Plus, she’s teaching it too other kids. What Godzilla song? Well, this one.

“Do the other kids know who Godzilla is?” That seems like a reasonable question at this point.

“Yeah. One of them has a D-V-D.” That last part is dripping with envy. I guess life would be complete with a Godzilla DVD.

“WOAH! That person is driving WAY to fast!”

Not as fast as the topics of this conversation though. Not even close.

One of the lass’ favorite gambits is to eat the portions of her plate that she likes, drink a big gulp of her drink (typically milk) and then claim that “She’s full.” She picked up on this game from her older brother, whom, mercifully, has outgrown the act.

From our perspective, it’s a tough call because a kid’s appetite seems to be a pretty variable thing. Are they growing? Did they run around a lot? Did they weasel a snack 3 hours ago? Knowing the lass like we know her, our default assumption is she doesn’t like what’s left on the plate and doesn’t want to eat it.

Now, if we left it at that her diet would consist of pieces of paper, eraser heads, cheerios, peanut butter, marshmallow fluff, candy and cookies. Roughly speaking. So sometimes we let her get away with “I don’t like it” and sometimes we don’t. We recognize that this kind of inconsistency is confusing to kids, but that’s life.

So anyway, dinner last night consisted of leftovers- some roasted chicken, potatoes and fruit. She ate most of everything, but didn’t clean here plate. We allowed that to slide because somehow her plate was actually portioned for her brother whom was having problems of his own at that point. I actually ended up finishing what was left on her plate after she decided she was “full.”

Naturally, an hour or so later she was hungry. She wanted some of the Girl Scout cookies we’d purchased. I told her no, no cookies- “But you can finish the ham sandwich you didn’t finish at lunch.”

“Is it going to be dried out?” she asked.

“It’ll be more dried out tomorrow when you eat it for breakfast.” I replied with a straight face.

“Will I have to eat it tomorrow?” she then asked.

“Not after you eat it tonight.” I replied.

Having gotten the message, she went over and shoveled the sandwich in her mouth. She was still working on half of it in her mouth when she said “I’m still hungry, Dad.”

“Why don’t you finish what’s in your mouth and then we’ll see if you’re still hungry.”

She gave me a big, chipmunk-cheeked, smile. Complete with a little food oozing out of her mouth.

So the lass’ fever went away over the weekend and we ended up sending her to school today. But she wasn’t right when she got off the bus. She was very subdued, no spring in her step. When she got inside and had eaten her lunch, she laid down on the couch and took a nap.

Two hours later she woke up and her fever was back with a vengeance, though she wasn’t exactly acting sick. I informed the Wife of the fever and we were able to get an appointment for her for late in the afternoon.

Turns out she has an ear infection. According to the Wife, the doctor had only just looked in her ear when he diagnosed her. The doctor also noted that she wasn’t acting very sick- she was babbling away asking him questions and watching him write his notes very intently according to the Wife. He gave her a prescription and they were on their way.

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When we put her to bed last night, she’d been in tears because her ear hurt. This was after she’d had her finger stuck in her ear- we’d just assumed she’d bruised it or something. The Wife gave her some meds to help and she fell asleep. But not before she took her favorite blue blanket and covered her ear with it. She said it “made it feel better.”

So tonight, when I checked on her before going to bed, sure enough she had her blue blanket on her ear again. Guess she decided to stick with what works.

Having just recovered from a cold, I was curious who in the family would be next. Early on, it seemed the Wife would fall victim as she started feeling a little out of sorts, but she now appears to be fine. But this morning, when the Wife came down the stairs, she informed me that the lass was complaining that her “belly hurt and she had a headache behind her eyes.”

Now, I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was initially dubious. She’s plenty clever and brash enough to come down those stairs feigning illness in an attempt at sympathy and a day-off from school (because when you’re sick, you stay home, rest, and watch TV! Honestly- how doesn’t that beat school if you’re a kid?) Especially right on the heels of my own experience.

However, when she came down the stairs she went right to her Mother, sat on her lap and stared at the pictures on the TV. I waited about 60 seconds during which time she remained completely silent and didn’t move once. At that point, I got up and felt her forehead to confirm what I was already sure of- she was indeed sick. We took a quick temp reading after that and it was official- a low-grade fever.

Wonder who’s next…