Tag: the lass

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Family

OK- We’ll Ask

The lass got to spend more shopping time with the Wife tonight. The Wife passed on an amusing exchange with the lass during the ride home.

the lass: Mom, can me and my brother go to Meme and Grandpa’s house again this Summer without you?

the Wife: Of course- you really like going to Meme and Grandpa’s house?

the lass: Yep. We get to make my salad and my brother’s potatoes.

the Wife: What’s your salad?

the lass: It’s got lettuce and tomatoes and cucumbers and carrots and croutons in it and I like it better than your salad.

I’ll interrupt this conversation to note that during the summer we pretty regularly serve the kids a salad. It almost always consists of the exact same ingredients.

Back to the conversation:

the Wife: Well, how come you like it better?

the lass: Because I make it.

the Wife: Why don’t you make it here at home?

the lass: Because you never ask.

the Wife: OH….what are your brother’s potatoes?

the lass: Potatoes.

the Wife: Are they made with anything?

the lass: Potatoes.

The Wife gave up trying to get further details at that point.

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Family

Fixing Mistakes

Having finished her sandwich, but still being hungry, the lass was searching for something else to eat. So I pulled out some strawberries and blueberries and offered them as options. She did some kind of funny thing with her head which I interpreted as shaking her head “No.” So, I put them back in the fridge and left her to her own devices to pick something.

It turns out, my interpretation of the funny-head-thing was incorrect. She was actually just looking back and forth at the two options really fast. Or something. When I turned back around she was walking with the strawberries and blueberries back to her seat to finish her lunch.

She’d stacked the blueberry container on top of the strawberry container, and about half-way back to her seat, semi-disaster struck. The blueberry container fell, hit the floor, opened up and spilled half a pint of blueberries all over the floor.

The lass’ first reaction… was to whip her head around and look at me.

There was a time when the kids were younger where I would have scolded her for being careless, or whatever other fault might have led to the box of blueberries getting dumped on the floor. We did the same thing with the boy. I think a direct result of those choices were to make the kids terrified of making those mistakes. I remember as the boy got older and more capable and those mistakes continued to happen, the boy would get mad and sulk. The lass too, would have her own version of that reaction. The result was a tempering of my own reaction and shifting gears to get them to act to clean up the mess.

The lass’ instant head-turn was an artifact of that whole dynamic. She was checking to see if I was going to blow my stack or otherwise get on her case. Fortunately, I’ve learned a little bit and I barely reacted at all. I told her something to the effect “You can just pick them up and we’ll wash them off, no big deal.” She set the strawberries down and then got down on the floor and (carefully!) fixed the blueberry container so more blueberries didn’t end up on the floor. I went and grabbed her a bowl, and she spent the next couple of minutes cleaning up the mess. Then I washed them up and that was the end of it.

I’ve never been one to claim infallibility on my part. When it comes to something like parenting, it can be difficult to determine when I’ve made a mistake versus a judgment call that could have gone any of a number of ways. Further complicating matters, there are sometimes just flatout unpleasant moments that happen. All I can do is be a little introspective, and try to judge my actions, or inactions, for those less-than-scripted moments. I know I won’t always get them right and it may even take a few iterations to realize my mistake. But at least I can work to fix them.

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I Don’t Take Orders from 5 Year Olds

Lately, the lass has taken to trying to boss me. Nothing too major, most stuff that skirts closer to the nagging side of the spectrum than and overt command. But it’s pretty clear that the intent is there.

One of the things she, inexplicably, likes to ding me for is cleaning up. I say ‘inexplicably’ because cleaning up is definitely not her strong suit either. So her comments almost take on a ‘pot calling the kettle black’ quality.

Except, sticking with the cookware metaphor, it’s more like a little tin cup talking to a witches cauldron… On second thought, let’s not push that metaphor too far.

The point is, aside from the usual levels of laziness, I have reasons for not doing something right then. Often times, it involves having a kid do the job instead.

Like that empty dish sitting in front of me after dinner? The one she’s wagging her finger at me and saying “Daaaaddy, you’ve got to put your dish in the dishwasher.” To which I calmly reply, “No, I don’t. That’s your job.” Right after she finishes the wad of food in her mouth and whatever is left on her plate. Sometimes she’ll try to “cute” her way out of it. Most times it doesn’t work. The one tactic she occasionally uses that does work is to take forever-and-a-day to finish her dinner. If I wait that long, things will be growing on my plate before she gets to it.

After another more overt attempt at telling me what to do, I informed her “I don’t take orders from 5 year olds.”

She giggled triumphantly and retorted “I’m not 5, I’m 6!”

I didn’t miss a beat: “I don’t take orders from them either.”

At that point, she put her hands on her hips, squinted her eyes at me while cocking her head to the side, smirked, and said nothing. Then she danced off to whatever was next at the time. I can only assume she couldn’t come up with a further retort at that time. Somehow I doubt that will always be the case.

Interestingly, the boy has not been trying to do likewise. Not that I’m complaining.

Because 3 people trying to boss me around is 3 too many.

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Family

The More Things Change The More They Stay The Same

When the kids were a bit younger (this seems a funny think to write, but a couple of years when they’re young makes a world of difference) I remember them learning to procrastinate around bedtime.

Back then, then weapons were endless questions while saying good night, extra hugs, whining about this or that, starting a conversation about the next day. I also remember thinking it would be nice when they got older an outgrew that stuff.

Well, here they are, a little older, and they are still procrastinators at bedtime. Except the weapons have changed. Now, they brush their teeth a little longer, they have to put on lotion, they have to put away laundry, they have to pick up dirty laundry, they have to clean up toys, they have to pull out clothes because they hate pulling out clothes in the morning.

Sigh

Maybe when they get a little older…

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Family

Contemplating Santa

Apparently, the big guy is never to far from the lass’ thoughts. Even when we’ve still got about 9 months (GASP!) until his next visit.

“Mom, how does Santa get rid all of the ash from the fireplace when he comes down the chimney? Does he just take a shower?” she asked this afternoon.

The Wife replied “Well, he takes a shower when he gets home because it’s hard work delivering all those toys.”

The lass soldiered on, “I bet I know how he gets all that ash out of his suit: He puts it in the laundry for, like, 2 hours.”

The Wife chuckled and agreed that would probably work to clean up his suit.

Not much existential questioning there. More like a logistical consideration: Santa obviously gets dirty from the fireplace, so how does he deal with it? Personally, I assumed that anyone who could come down a chimney when the fireplace is lit would have little trouble dealing with a little ash.

But that’s just me.

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Family

Suffering the Consequences

There’s a natural tendency to loosen the reins on kids as they get older. Parents don’t have to bug them to go to the bathroom, or brush their teeth or do their homework or whatever, as much because they’ve come to realize that not doing those things have some consequences like sitting in a mess or having bad-breath or having their parents nag at them.

But lately, the Wife and I have loosened the reins even more noticeably, and deliberately. The boy and the lass play together a lot, and often times the lass will try to rough-and-tumble with the boy. I’m speaking now of those times when it’s clearly all in good fun.

For a long time now, the Wife and I have closely monitored this stuff because we didn’t want the boy accidentally hurting his sister. It wasn’t unusual for one of us to completely cut it off after a point because it seemed like a sure thing something was going to happen. And if we weren’t telling them to stop outright, we were telling them to watch out for this, or that, or don’t break this or that.

But somewhere along the way, we both stopped doing this. It’s like we both decided at the same time that it was high time they learned themselves what can happen. Now, the only thing we tell them is to go and do it somewhere else since we’d like to have a little peace and quiet.

And the other day for the first time, at least that I can remember, something happened. I was upstairs at the time, but I heard the crash followed by the panicked wailing of the lass. When I got downstairs, the boy was sheepishly hanging back while the Wife was checking out the lass’ chin. She was still crying pretty hard at that point. In the end, she got a good bruise on her chin from her fall and that was it.

I still don’t really know the full details, but I do know that the two of them were going around and around with each other before it happened. So all I did was go up to the boy afterwards and calmly told him to try and be more careful next time. But I didn’t scold or punish him because they were both equally to blame for it. Actually, I’m not even sure “blame” is the right word. Fact is, stuff happens and it’s not always pleasant.

It just so happened that this time, the lass took the brunt of consequences. Next time, maybe it’s his turn in the barrel.

Is there a payoff to our new non-interventionist mindset? Mainly, I’d say it’s reduced stress level. Not playing the part of the ref in a fight takes quite a bit off our shoulders. Plus, the kids may figure out quicker what they can and cannot do without our input. After all, it’ll be their mistakes and by this point, they understand what’s appropriate and what’s not.

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Stubborn

“I’m not going to sit here and argue with you; you didn’t take a shower yesterday,” I stated to the boy, ending our argument.

The boy had just finished his homework, spelling words and some reading. The lass had finished her shower several minutes ago. I’d made a deal with them: after finishing up his homework they could watch one episode of their current favorite cartoon, Beyblades. It’s a show about battling tops. No really, that’s what it’s about.

So the boy had finished up his homework and wanted to watch the cartoon. I told him he had to go take his shower. He’d gone outside after getting home from school and taken advantage of the nice weather. Plus, he hadn’t taken a shower in a couple of days, so it was time.

His argument was that he’d taken a shower last night. Now, I had suggested he take a shower last night since he’d returned home from martial arts all sweated up, but he had hemmed and hawed, told me he’d taken one a couple days ago and I’d given up.

Now, he was claiming he had in fact taken a shower that he hadn’t taken. Not only that, he was quite emphatic about the point. I went around with him a couple of times before I finally told him the argument was over. To be honest, at that point I really didn’t care if he took a shower, but I wasn’t going to tell him that and give him a ready excuse to have his way.

He was silent, trying to decide what to do. Finally, he blurted out an exasperated “FINE! I’ll take a stupid shower even though I already took a shower last night and now I shouldn’t need a shower for the rest of my life.”

And off he went. I sat quietly, reading on my Nook.

I sent the kids to bed a bit earlier tonight because they like to use stall tactics to extend their up time. They balked initially, but I persisted and they relented without too much difficulty.

When I got upstairs, the boy happened to be the first one ready to go down, so I said my “Goodnight” to him and clicked off the light to his room.

As I entered the lass’ room, she still wasn’t quite ready for bed. She was putting away her school clothes. She was being very meticulous about getting it on the hanger and then into the closet. In other words, she was stalling.

Finally, she finished with a flourish, hopped in bed and asked, accusingly, “Dad, how come you always say Goodnight to my brother first?”

Sigh

There’s nothing they won’t pick a fight over.

As I walked over to the bed, I told her that I don’t, in fact, always say Goodnight to her brother first.

“Yes you do.”

Really? This game? Right before bed?

Idiot that I am, I egged her on. “No, I don’t.”

“Yesyoudo.” No smirk. No hint of a smile. She seemed to be completely in earnest. How do they do that?

I gave her a kiss and said “Goodnight” to her, and as I walked to the door, I told her “No, I don’t.”

“Yesyoudo.”

Thankfully, she was in bed and I was heading downstairs for the rest of the evening. “Goodniiiii-iiiight” I called back.

No reply this time.

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Family

Hockey Ends

Today, at long last, the hockey season came to a close. The boy had his season ending game in the morning and the lass’ finale was mid-afternoon. When it was all said and done, we went out to dinner to celebrate.

For posterity’s sake, the boy’s team lost. Badly. The boy did seem to play harder, but as the game wore on and his team’s scoring attempts continued to fizzle, the boys effort also did. Most of his teammates as well. There were plenty of potential lessons to be learned there I suppose, but I’ve learned that I can’t teach them. They’ll have to seep into the boy’s psyche on experience at a time. The only thing I did tell him is that it won’t be the last time he’ll lose. For once, he didn’t argue.

Interestingly, he was plenty mad when he came off the ice. It was like he actually cared about winning the game. A little later, though, I think he remembered that he’d decided he didn’t like hockey and that the season was over so it didn’t last long.

The lass’ team, on the other hand, went out with a bang. Actually, it was more like a KABOOM. And an earth-shattering one at that. They actually stopped keeping track of the score at the end, that’s how big they won.

The lass also played well. She even scored a goal for her efforts, which was the family highlight of the day. She’d come down the boards in the offensive zone and there was a mini-scrum for the puck. She was on the outside of the scrum and noticed that the puck had popped out. So she just kind of skated over and took the puck and no one followed her. She kept right on skating towards the net. By that point, she was almost parallel with the net. Because of the extreme angle and the way the goaltender positioned himself, it didn’t look like there was any chance to score. But she kind of flicked the puck towards the net and, wouldn’t you know, the puck found enough space to squeeze through for a score.

Right now, all th hockey equipment has been washed and laid out for drying and subsequent storage. The boy left himself the possibility that he play again in the fall. I think that’s about right. The lass wasn’t talking about it. She was glad the season had ended and is looking forward to having normal weekends again.

So are the Wife and I.

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Family

The Lass Speaks Her Mind

The Wife instituted a “chore chart” a week or two ago. The idea being to allay the problem of the kids arguing over who did what when or last. That way, we don’t have to deal with arguments like “I emptied the dishwasher last time” and so forth.

The lass finally told us what she thought about the Wife’s new system, “Mom, the chore chart really isn’t working for me.”

That’s too bad for her, since she’ll have to continue to deal with it. But thanks for the laugh.

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The Boy 1 – The Lass 0

Earlier this afternoon, the boy wanted some space from his sister. His sister, for whatever reason, wasn’t in a mood to oblige him. Finally, he appealed to authority (me) and I told the lass to layoff for awhile and respect his space.

So then the lass says to me, “Dad, what kind of game do you want to play tonight since we’ll be eating early?”

The boy immediately chimed in “I know! Let’s see who can stay quietest the longest.”

The lass replied “Hmmph. I don’t like that game.”

The boy: “You lose.”

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Family

Less Snow More Fun

Sometimes, less is more.

Take the snowfall amounts this year, which have been minuscule to non-existent. The kids have both been complaining that they hadn’t had a chance to play in the snow this year. They wished there was more snow to play in, like last year.

And there’s the key: like last year. We had so much snow last year, it was easy for them to assume that’s what every year is going to be like. I even remember telling them not to assume we’d have another Winter like last year again, perhaps ever. But it fell on deaf ears. Play in the snow? There’s always next Winter.

Then next Winter arrived, but the snow didn’t.

They were both overjoyed to learn that snow was forecast for today. The talk around town was for an early dismissal because it was suppose to start falling about midday. I actually got the alert around 9 this morning. The snow start falling around 11:30, only a little before the lass arrived home. In fact, because of the timing of the storm, there’s an expectation that tomorrow will have a delayed opening. It’s one of the dirty little non-secrets of the public school systems that “half” days don’t count as missed days, meaning they don’t have to be made up like a cancellation does. Thus, someone imagines a snowflake falling in the woods somewhere and next thing we’ve got a 2-hour delay, or a shortened day.

The lass arrived home around noon. The boy got home around 1 or so with the early dismissal. They both were hoping there would be FEET of snow. Alas, we’re only supposed to get up to 5 inches or so.

But it’s proving to be more than enough.

Once it started to stick, they both kept an eye on the ground to judge when a good time to head out and play in it would be. Last year, there was 2 feet plus out there for most of the Winter. We had to throw them outside to get them to go play. Today, there’s barely 2 inches on the ground and they couldn’t get their stuff on and get out there fast enough. The lass was talking about making snow angels and throwing snow balls for the dogs. The boy decided to make the snowman above, with some help from the lass.

It was a year in the making, but I’d say they learned a lesson. Maybe even attained a little wisdom.

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Another Moment for the Lass

Today is a day for which the lass has been waiting for 2 years now. She reminded me about it when the school year began. She reminded me about it a couple of weeks ago when the lessons had turned to the subject at hand. Today, it finally came to fruition.

What could it possibly be? Why today, I brought our parrots in for a show-and-tell type presentation. I did the same thing 2 years ago with the boy’s kindergarten class, thus beginning her long, slow march towards her own moment in the Sun.

From a rational standpoint, I have a hard time understanding it. Sure, it’s exciting to have a parent come in to school so a child can show them off. Suddenly, the parent is on the child’s turf so there’s a subtle power shift. Even so, 2 years she’s been looking forward to it.

For what it’s worth, the event went fine. The parrots were agreeable little guests in the room and all the kids were very interested in them. I talked about some of the boring stats like their size and how long they live. All of them got a chance to touch the birds. That’s the hardest part, because the parrots aren’t used to little hands reaching for them. They (the parrots) take a rather dim view of the little hands, actually. I counter act things by holding the kid’s hand and helping them to touch the birds beak and their feathers. They still get a kick out of it, even though they aren’t like a dog or cat when it comes to holding them.

One of the kids got a bonus when I set one of the parrots on his arm. The bird decided he’d finally had enough and flew off, leaving one of his flight feather behind. The kids who were there (most were putting on coats and hats and getting ready to leave) thought it was pretty cool how the bird had flown. I handed the flight feather to the boy the bird had flown away from. He held it like it was a priceless treasure.

So, in the end, no one was bitten, one boy got a feather, and the lass got to strut her stuff in front of her friends. The most memorable moment for me?

When I first came into the room, the kids were having snack and the lass was holding court. She said something to the effect “My Dad brought in my birds…” Funny, for them being “her” birds, I don’t recall her ever cleaning the cage.

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The Lass in My Corner

The Wife came downstairs and explained how she had locked the bathroom upstairs because she’d been pouring Drano down the pipes up there. Exciting stuff.

Not more than a moment after she’d finished her explanation, the boy (who missed it all) called down from upstairs “SOMEONE LOCKED THE BATHROOM DOOR!” My guess is he was trying to implicate his sister. On that front, he was bound to be disappointed.

The Wife called up to him “We Know…” at which point I decided to interject with “Mom plugged the toilet upstairs and had to poor a special liquid down the toilet. It’ll take an hour or so to work, that’s why the bathroom is locked.”

The Wife was only mildly amused with that, simply giving me a “Ha ha.”

The lass liked it a lot better. She called out “Good one Dad!”

It’s always nice when they’re in your corner for a change.

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Wrong Side of the Planet

There’s getting up on the wrong side of the bed, and then there’s the lass this morning.

It all started innocently enough. She was eating her breakfast, but at a snail’s pace because her attention was on the TV and the show her brother was watching. He had already finished his breakfast and was dressed and ready for the day. The lass, by contrast, was still in her PJ’s and barely ready for the next mouthful.

I told her to eat her breakfast, which simply resulted in her turning to take mouthful of food and then turning back to the TV, jaw barely working. Beginning to realize the foe I was up against, I enlisted my Nook Tablet in deploying a counter measure: I had the boy turn the TV off and handed him the Nook so he could watch his Netflix show on that.

My strategy had the desire effect of prompting the lass to finish her breakfast. It also had the side effect of darkening her mood considerably. It’s almost like one of Newton’s laws: for every action, there is a disproportionate reaction.

She had hockey this morning at 8:50. So naturally, it being around 8:00 at this point, she decided to sit down and turn the TV back on so she could watch “her show.” When I told her to go start getting her under garments on for hockey, she groused, stomped around the house, declared that she “couldn’t find her stuff” and went back to watching her show.

My blood pressure was rising, but I kept myself in check. Remember- don’t feed the monster. I located her clothes for her, told her where they were and told her to go start getting them on. She started moving and, satisfied that things were kinda-sort-of on track, I decided to go take a shower.

When I finished up, the Wife informed me that she’d gone downstairs to find the lass sitting in front of the TV, again, still in her PJ’s with some of her hockey stuff sitting next to her. The Wife had her turn the TV off and that’s when things started to go downhill. Fast.

The lass started complaining, loudly, that her thermals were itching her. She even declared “That’s all this stuff does is make you itchy- it doesn’t keep you warm at all, just itchy.” Then she wanted to know why she needed to go to hockey. The Wife ignored her. The lass persisted. The Wife continued to ignore her. The lass persisted louder. When the Wife continued to refuse an answer, the lass sat down on the floor, folded her arms across her chest and declared she wasn’t going to hockey.

So I stepped back into the fray and told her she’d lost Wii and DS privileges and she’d be going to bed early tonight. She countered with “I don’t care.” Total, unadulterated BS, to which I simply replied “You will.” She started getting dressed again. Then she stopped. We prompted her to get going because she was going to be late for practice. Even the boy had realized they’d normally have been on the way to the rink by now. The lass started to cry because she wanted the Wife to put her hair up.

I took this as a sign that the tide was turning, slowly, in our direction. Thankfully, I was correct. She continued to drag her feet, but she was moving forward, not stuck in neutral anymore. After a final few altercations about elbow pads and her jersey, she was finally ready to go and out the door.

By that point, the Wife had commissioned the boy to start the car to warm it up. That move had as much to do with removing him for the scene as anything. I’d say it helped since he wasn’t there to tweak his sister about her mood.

Practiced started at 8:50. They left the house around 8:45, finally.

I can hardly wait for the teen years.

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The Center of the Universe

I was bringing a chair downstairs into our basement. The lass was already down there practicing with her new jump rope. She asked me what I was doing, because bringing a chairs back to where it normally resides definitely needs an explanation.

After telling her simply “I’m putting the chair back” she replied “OH! So you can watch me practice my jump roping.”

Yep. That was it.

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The Lass Gets More Than She Bargained For

We were out of the house for a bit today and took advantage of the outing by giving the lass an early birthday present: she got her ears pierced.

Continue reading “The Lass Gets More Than She Bargained For”
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Artwork

For something different, a little artwork from the boy and the lass.

After the jump.

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Entitled

So our Shelf Elf, Sparky, has been doing his duties: listening to the kids’ requests for toys, reporting back to Santa, leaving a little treat in the Advent House each morning for the kids. Most importantly, he keeps flitting to a fro throughout the house, occasionally reappearing where the kids request he go to next. In summary, the typical Shelf Elf stuff.

But the last two days, the lass has a complaint. She’s getting tired of the Kisses that he’s been leaving for her each morning. This morning, the lass even requested that Sparky give her a different type of candy for tomorrow.

The Wife told her “You should be happy he’s leaving you anything.” I actually seem to recall one of her stories dealing with this very topic. The main character is a particularly obnoxious “Pinkalicious” and she doesn’t like the treat that the Tooth Fairy leaves for her. Frankly, the end of that story would have been better if Pinkalicious had met with some tragic accident at the Tooth Fairy’s hands. But then we wouldn’t have been reading it to the lass I suppose.

Anyway, I’m thinking Sparky may be going into teaching mode pretty soon…

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Monday

The day started with the boy losing DS privileges and ended with him owing the Wife 75 push-ups. The lass fared little better since she has an early bed time coming. Both kids getting whacked, hard, like that can only mean one thing: it’s Monday.

Continue reading “Monday”
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Going to School

The kids were dragging a bit this morning. When I told them it was time to get going so I could take them to school, I got exactly zero reaction. Rather than ask again, I stated: “Well, I’ve got to run a couple of errands and I’m heading out to the car now.” I grabbed my keys and headed toward the front door.

That had the desired effect, mostly. There’s nothing for free though. In this case, I now had two surly kids on my hands. The boy groused “I don’t want to go to school. I’m not going.” Even though he continued to get ready. I paid him no attention.

The lass had strapped on her backpack and was “ready” to go. I check the temp outside: 25 degrees. I looked down at her and said “Put on a coat kiddo, it’s cold outside.”

She wasn’t having it, but tried to be agreeable and reason with me: “But Dad- look! I’ve got two layers on, see? I don’t need a jacket.” She was pointing to the long sleeve shirt and her red sweater that she had on over it.

Now it was my turn to not have any of it. When I insisted on her putting on a coat, her face fell into a frown and she threw off her backpack. “I don’t want to wear a stupid coat…”

She kept on going, but I tuned her out. The boy, remarkably, remained silent. I walked out the door to the car with him and started it up. As I walked out the door, I heard the lass start crying about something or other. Presumably, her coat was annoying her. Again, I offered no reaction. Didn’t want to know what the trumped up issue was.

I was looking for a scraper for the frost on the windshield when the lass came storming outside. She was dragging her backpack behind her and her coat was wide open. She was defying the cold. Her lips were pursed and her brow furrowed in her fury. “SEE! It’s not even COLD out!” The words poured out of her along with the steam. She stomped towards the car.

She had the look of causing small objects to combust if they got to close. I’m pretty sure she was daring me to say something. Instead, I continued to ignore her tantrum. Unable to find a scraper, I walked over to the driver’s door and hopped in. The slamming door behind me and the loud, deliberate HARRUMPH! from immediately behind me was confirmation enough that the lass had also climbed in. The boy continued to quietly keep to himself. He seemed content to let the lass vent for the both of them.

As I started out the driveway, the lass asked me a question. Their was no fury, only idle curiosity. Just as quickly as it had come, it was gone.

Just another morning on the way to school.