Fun at the Park!!

Imagine our delight when the weather was in the mid to high 50s this past weekend and we actually got to walk to the park! You know, we hadn't been since January!!






I love watching this girl walk.




Evan was really excited to get to play again. He's been begging to go to the park for weeks now!!





Julia followed Elisabeth everywhere! Thankfully, Elisabeth is a fabulous big sister and actually plays with Julia.






I love these two.

This would be a very angry Julia protesting having to go home.

She stares longingly back at the other children still getting to play.

Those other parents are not near as mean and nasty as her own parents.

Poor Julia.

I like Evan.

Sometimes I hate reading magazines geared towards women. It's not because of the constant beauty tips and how-to's (although, that is a giant reason). It's not because they're constantly making me feel bad for not feeling bad that I don't want to pay a bajillion dollars on clothes and decorations for my house (cause I don't). What really gets me upset, is how the editors and writers in these magazines assume that my husband and every other husband is an idiot and that I need to read their articles to learn how to make my "hubby" do what I want him to do without seeming like a bitch or a nag or a psycho.

And it's not just magazines. How many commercials are out there that depict the husband/father figure as a full blown idiot who either can't eat or drink without spilling bright red things all over the floor (paper towel commercials) or choose the correct food for the kids (all JIF commercials) or manage the children (most commercials with a family unit involved).

What really got me riled up about this was the Olympics. Every other commercial were these very heart warming scenes of moms taking their young kids to hockey practices or ice skating or talking about how saving money right now is their way of helping their kids achieve their dreams down the road. And while a few of them were cute and right on target, all of them--ALL OF THEM--ended with, "Thanks, Mom." Not, "Thanks Mom and Dad" or even a separate one that said, "Thanks, Dad". They were all geared towards moms.

So, who do you think that made Apollo Ono's dad feel? Cause he raised Apollo solo after he and his wife divorced. It was Apollo's dad who took him to practices, paid for those dangerously sharp speed skates, and has been in the stands cheering him on for 3 Olympics now.

I guess what gets me so riled up about this, is that I really like Evan.



A lot.

We've been together since high school (11 years in April), and while I could make a list of things that he does that make me roll my eyes and sigh impatiently, I won't. Why? Because #1.that's not very respectful of him and our relationship and #2.dude, I don't want him making a comment on this post about all of my flaws. That'd be embarrassing.

Evan and I are complete partners in parenting. Just because I'm the mom doesn't mean that I am the parenting leader. Evan is so natural at being a dad. We both knew that being male and female doesn't mean that there are different levels of parenting responsibilities. It's both of us, day in and day out, that are raising our girls. Now, that doesn't mean that we don't disagree on things or fight over who's the most tired and grumpy. Cause we do. But, I know that I can depend on him to being the strong one when the girls have beaten me down to a mommy-blob. And I have learned when Evan could use a break for a while, too.

I'm not out to start a women vs. men war. Every one of us make rude, sexist assumptions that are unfair and uncalled for. I realize that there are a lot of couples out there who do have problems maintaining balance in their relationships. I don't want to minimize their hardships.

I'm not wanting to say that there haven't been commercials where women are depicted as idiots. I've seen some of the old commercials (or, heck, even the new ones where the woman of the house is so in love with the new Swiffer Sweeper, because she's the woman and must clean all the floors. Um, in my house, that would be Evan who appreciates anything that cleans the floors better, not me).

I would just like to see a few more things in the media showing the husband/father figure in a caring, competent manner without the wife/mother figure behind him fixing all the things he did wrong.

Because, my husband? Well, I think he's fantastic and I definitely do not tell him that enough. I mean, if you had to deal with me and still managed to be sane, you'd be fantastic too.

Cause I totally make him play Yahtzee with me, even though he hates it.


And even though we disagree, we don't really fight.


He makes me laugh till I snort. And does little things to make me happy, like saving the last Diet Coke in the house for me or letting me read and ignore the world even though he'd rather be talking my ear off.


But, most importantly, he's a fabulous parent. Fabulous.


You know how I know he's such a great dad? Well, the girls absolutely adore him.












Of course, he had an excellent role model on how to be a good father.


I am quite lucky.

Random thoughts and pictures.

-I am very ready for spring to officially be here. I am tired of not being able to go outside at will. I am also excited about my potted plant garden that I will be planting this year. So far, I am definitely planting basil, tomatoes, oregano, cilantro, dill and strawberries.



-I am reading a book that I'd rather be watching a documentary on tv about. I'm almost done though. And I like it. But, I'd rather be watching it and crocheting while listening to people talk about it.



-I do not know what to do about Elisabeth. She had a horrific day of poor listening. She forgets what we tell her to do the second after we've told her. I think she needs a brain transplant. Although, the check list is working out well. Maybe I should limit TV. As in, almost cut it out entirely. I will ponder this more...



-St. Patrick's Day is fastly approaching. I'm going to have to think of how the leprechaun has alluded her trap once again...



-Evan and I are almost done with season 1 of The Sopranos. Excellent show. Ten years later, of course.



-I wish I had been alive in the 60s to see Sinatra play The Sands. I would have been in pure heaven. Sigh.



-I kind of worked out at the gym today. I super didn't want to go, but made myself anyway. I walked started walking my regular two miles but stopped after one because the old man next to me was screaming at the old man next to him. I left before recommending hearing aids, which would have been rude. Then I went to ride a bike and managed to sit on the only two bikes that were out of service with giant signs saying "OUT OF SERVICE". Once I got over being an idiot, I rode one for a while. Then, I couldn't find the cleaning spray, so I used the guy's next to me and managed to squirt his leg with the cleaner. He was nice about it, but when I tripped over my bike trying to put the cleaner back and managed to squirt the lady next to him in the leg as well, I went to get Julia and call it a day.



-I am of the opinion that the Food Network shows influences you to talk to yourself while you are cooking as if you have an audience. Not that I am speaking from experience or anything...And why is it that the Barefoot Contessa always has friends over who are so "shocked" that she's made these fabulous meals? And why does she seem to think we all have endless butchers at our disposal? And how much liquor does Sandra Lee have in her house? Because her "cocktail times" always need random liquors that I do not own or have even heard of. I kind of think she's a lush. And I really, really wish that Giada (aka: The Boob Lady) would quit saying pasta with an Italian accent. Dude, you have a Californian accent. Deal.



-Julia does not like it when I dance. She's kind of rude about it. I don't think I dance that poorly. It's not like I'm Elaine Benes. She also doesn't like it when I sing either. Actually...no one really does. Sigh.



-After reading Sarah's blog on toxins in beauty products, I decided that my eczema flare ups may have more to do with the gross chemicals in my lotions and body washes instead of just the weather. So, I've decided that as the old products are used up, I shall replace them with products that score a 4 or less on the toxic scale. I bought a lotion from the Sunflower Farmers Market, and can I please tell you the gigantic difference I've been able to tell in my skin? Yeah. Probably should have thought of that a loooooong time ago.

Daddy's #1 Fan.

Punks.

Today while picking up Elisabeth from school, a group of junior high boys were walking in front of us. They were typical junior high boys in that they were dressed in clothes too big, their hair was too long, they talked too loudly, and they resembled a pack of puppies. I was about ready to warn them that I was soon going to overpass them (teenage children never seem to be in a hurry, have you noticed?) and to watch out for my grumpy baby in a stroller, when I noticed something. All the other adults waiting for the elementary kids were skeptically glancing at the boys as they walked by. Some of the people were even moving out of the way of the pack, as if the kids might yell or bite at them for not moving.

As I got closer to the doors that Elisabeth is dismissed from, I saw that the group of boys had met with another group of boys and were all laughing and pushing each other. I kind of smiled to myself because they reminded me of my old students and I still miss teaching those kids. I passed them the same time another parent did. She looked over her shoulder at them and then said, "That's not good."

"What's not good?"

"It's never good when a bunch of teenage boys are in a group like that. You never know what they're talking about."

I stared at this woman for a second. First off, I did know what they were talking about because I'd overheard them when I'd walked by. For goodness sakes, they were practically screaming over each other for attention of a couple of girls grouped near by. They'd been talking about their shoes. Telling each other to not step on their shoes because they'd just cleaned them. It's all my students used to talk about too. I used to reward my students with clorox wipes for good behavior so they could meticulously shine their shoes. Secondly, what were they doing that seemed to give off any impression that they were menacing?

The lady seemed to get the fact that I didn't agree and quickly added, "I don't mean to sound stereotypical or anything. But, they shouldn't hang out in groups like that."

Hm.

Most of you know that, in DeKalb, I worked at a therapeutic day school for students who, for one reason or another, were not successful at their home schools. The districts would send them to us where the class sizes were smaller, there were social workers available to the kids all day, and where the teachers and staff were trained to deal with emotions and outbursts that often occurred.

I taught junior high and high school English. I had never taught students that old before, and I was nervous. Nervous that I wouldn't be able to handle teaching the curriculum and, of course, worried that I wouldn't know how to deal with the kids.

Now, I know that the population of students I worked with mostly came from terrible backgrounds. Lots of our students didn't have good home lives, some had traumatic events that no child or adult should ever have to experience, and some just suffered from mental and emotional issues they were born with and had no control over. A typical day included me being called a "bitch" every class period, having chairs thrown at me, and having students leave the classroom resulting in either myself or my classroom assistant to have to convince the student to come back to class. It was stressful and overwhelming, but I loved working with those kids. I still miss it.

Obviously, this lady didn't know this about me. I just smiled and told her they'd been talking about keeping their shoes clean and walked away. But, that whole exchange has been bothering me. I should have said this:

Those kids are just that--kids. They are 12-14. They are waiting for smaller siblings to get out of school so they can walk them home or to the car waiting for them. Most of those "delinquents" are someone's baby. They used to be an infant, a toddler, a preschooler and in elementary school. Someone still sees them that way. Those kids that seem so menacing still get excited over a new video game, still hug their mom and dad goodnight, still cry when their feelings are hurt, still watch cartoons. Those boys are growing faster than they knew they could and are constantly hungry, causing their parents to think about taking out a second mortgage so they can keep food in the refrigerator. Some of those boys are still scared of the dark. Some of those boys still have their old stuffed animals shoved in their closets or under their beds. Most of them still enjoy putting legos together. Almost all of them would be offended to know you thought they were scary.

When I was pregnant, some of the worst behaved students in my classes became gentlemen overnight. When I couldn't see the marker I'd dropped because my massive belly was blocking it, they'd all laugh and then help me pick it up. They reminded me to eat and yelled at me for drinking Diet Coke. They told me I was getting as big as a whale, but yelled at each other to get out of my plush seat if I looked tired. Some of the kids who were actually involved in very real delinquent activities outside of school all clapped and cheered when I told them I was going to have a girl. Every single one of them demanded I bring the baby to school when I had her. And on days when Elisabeth had to come to school with me for an hour or so, those kids were not only respectful and cleaned up their language when she was there, most of them offered to color with her or play stuffed animals with her.

As the girls and I were walking home, I saw that lady again, holding hands with her little boy. Seeing that, I realized she'd get it some day. When those pack of boys were all hanging out at her house or eating her refrigerator bare or complaining about their parents to her. She'd know they weren't scary. They were just boys. Gawky, awkward, loud, obnoxious little boys.

My stupid Irish mistake

In 2007, I did something really, really stupid.

I decided to have a leprechaun visit our house on St. Patrick's Day.

Elisabeth was 4 and excited about St. Patrick's Day. Her day care teacher was having a leprechaun visit their classroom and I thought that having one visit our house would be fun too.

Please please please, learn from my mistakes. DO NOT BRING A LEPRECHAUN VISIT YOUR HOUSE.

Okay, here's what I did. I told Elisabeth that a leprechaun had visited our house and we had to find him. I had it so the leprechaun had moved some things around to trick us (pictures in the wrong places on walls, the globe in the kitchen instead of the living room, nothing stolen, nothing broken, mind you). She immediately went into full fledge leprechaun hunt mode.

I knew she would. Eventually, she found a pile of gold he'd left and was extremely excited. She talked about making a trap for him next year and yadda yadda yadda.
We ate some deliciously dyed green foods and called it a day.



I didn't think a thing about it. She'd had fun and I patted myself for being a good, creative parent. We went about our business.

Then 2008 rolled around. Right after the new year, Elisabeth started worrying. She kept talking about St. Patrick's Day and the leprechaun that visited. At first, I thought she was excited about building the trap for him. But, I soon realized that the trap was to protect her. She was scared of the leprechaun.

Turns out, as she dwelled on the mischief the leprechaun had caused last year, instead of seeing it as funny and playful, she thought of it as scary. So, now, not only was she expecting a leprechaun to show up, she was freaking the eff out about it.

Evan and I tried to tell her that a leprechaun doesn't come to your house every year and that not all of them play tricks.

"He's coming. I know it. I have to be ready."

Awesome.

So, that year, I planned on having a nice leprechaun visit who, instead of moving things and being ornery, would take her on a treasure hunt.
He left green clues all over telling us things to do like: make green pancakes, which led to us finding note on the flour saying, play a game which led to a note on the game board saying to brush our hair, etc. etc.

She was leary at first and kept checking her toys to make sure they were all accounted for, but eventually got into it.

She ended up finding a small stuffed dog where the last clue told us to go. She loved it and was most excited.


I felt better thinking she felt better. We went about our business.

And then, in 2009, after the new year, she started worrying again. She needed to make a trap because we were living in Pekin with Evan's parents now and you never knew what the leprechauns in Pekin were like. Jana and Keith both tried to tell her that only nice leprechauns visited their house, but she was having none of it.

So, she built this.

She was convinced it would catch him and that the only way he'd get out was if he had a drill. She put a piece of chocolate in there to lure him in. I took a picture of it and sent it to Evan in Alabama where he was training and he laughed and laughed.
Needless to say, the leprechaun magically worked his way out, leaving lots of "gold" in the trap for her. No mean tricks were done and she was satisfied with his letter and loot he'd left.

She seemed reassured that St. Patrick's Day was not scary. I felt better. She felt better. We went about our business.

This year, right after the new year, Elisabeth started making serious leprechaun catching plans. You see, we live in a new state now. You don't know how the leprechauns here work. She feels like she should use a tin can this year. She's feeling good.

Evan blames me entirely.

Oh my lord. If I could turn back time, I would have never ever ever even thought about introducing a damn leprechaun to Elisabeth...