i swear it was just a muffin...

i have an issue. i am not picking on a particular religion, because honestly, i don't even know which religion(s) i would be picking on. (dangling paticiple again...)

we are a nation based on basic freedoms. some of those basic freedoms involve being able to worship whenever and however we choose, so long as the worshipping does not violate any of the local laws. (i mean like sacrificing virgins and stuff.) i get that. some of those basic freedoms guarantee that we should not be perscuted nor forced to participate in anything that may violate our religious beliefs. i get that, too. what i don't get: parties - more specifically the lack thereof.

i am a room parent. i have the responsibility of planning events that correspond with the calendar year, in various forms. for example, valentine's day, cinco de mayo, memorial day, martin luther king day, and of course the much-talked-about plethora of winter religious holidays. oh, and birthdays. there are some children in class with my children who practice a faith that does not allow them to celebrate anything. nothing. not even groundhog's day. not the passing of the seasons. not even birthdays. birthdays????

we, as room parents, try very hard to work around the "not celebrating thing" so the kids don't feel left out. we have friendship celebrations instead of thanksgiving parties - even instead of valentine's parties. we had a book parade where we each dressed as a character from a book, then we did fall activities instead of halloween. we are not "allowed" to sing happy birthday to a child when these special religious children are in the room, so do you know what happens? they have to leave the room. their parents tell the school to make them leave the room. they have to sit in the hall and color a boring old picture, while listening to their friends sing songs and eat cupcakes and do crafts. how the hell do you justify taking away a little fun from a child? four- and five-year olds are brought to tears when they know it's someone's birthday.

whose god hates birthdays anyway? and WHY????? i am inspired to write tonight because i was trying to be extra sensitive today. my ds2 had a birthday over the weekend. when i asked him what treat he'd like me to make to bring to class, my boy asked for me to bring muffins. apple muffins. no frosting. no candles, no sprinkles. brown-colored, apple streusel muffins.

when i arrived to pass out snack, one of the two special religious children in the class asked, "are they for a birthday?"

i replied, "no, his birthday was yesterday. these are just for a treat."

she stood up and walked to the other side of the room and told the teacher, "i can't have birthday muffins, and neither can he," pointing to the other special religious child. they took their snacks (one had a little debbie and the other had fruit gummies and they both had juice boxes) and went into the hall. they were just muffins. aren't special religious children kids too? or are they not really children, they just look that way?

people who don't allow their kids to have fun: please...you don't come into the classroom and see your babies faces when they have to leave the room. is their god punishing them for something? please explain what the deal is. i like to share and it breaks my heart to exclude them!

i just wanted to share muffins with everyone!!

arese over teakettle

Many of you (some not so much) are aware that the eastern seaboard was hit with a mighty Nor'easter this week. Our neighborhood escaped relatively unscathed. We were not among the 107,000 without power for 2-3 days in temps with windchills below zero. We didn't get a whole lot of ice, so we didn't lose any trees either. With school and work cancelled, Fergus & I spent our Valentine's day lounging in pajamas until we decided to shovel the walks after lunch.

We bundled up the kiddies and ourselves and headed outside for our midwinter gym membership supplement. Nothing like a good snow to show you how out of shape you are. At some point, I lifted a shovel too full of show and some sort of ligament or tendon in my pelvic area let me know. It was one of the ones damaged by carrying my 9-pound Hercules in 2001. Yeah - one of those. Amid the cries of our young, "Can we go in yet?? It's too cold. You don't have to shovel the whole neighborhood. C'mon! Please can we go in??" we were satisfied with the drying pavement in the driveway and decided against cleaning off the cars. We left them with their windshields completely covered with about six inches of snow and icepack. Wow. What a horrifyingly stupid idea.

The next morning, I lay in my bed groaning, next to Fergus, who happened to be lying in my bed groaning too. Schools were cancelled again and he called out "sore" for the half-day he was scheduled to work. I could barely walk upright, due to that special tendon of mine. I kind of half-shuffled, stooped-over like Gollom from LOTR. By noon, however, the Aleve had kicked in and Fergus & I were feeling good. No work, no school, the sun is out...this is a pretty good day. Our neighbors had watched us cautiously through their windows the day before. Now they were cursing themselves and us for getting the work done yesterday when it was less windy, warmer, and not re-frozen; they were having one hell of a time finding their own driveways. Nobody even touched the sidewalks. The hard-packed snow and sleet, with a fine layer of powder on top, was crappy for shoveling, making snowmen, snow forts, and snow balls, but would make for some awesome sledding! So we bundled up the kiddies once again, and headed for the park.

The park is far enough away that we decided to drive, in case of an injury or someone just too cold to walk all the way home. Which meant we had to chip out our windshields. I wish we’d thought to do that yesterday!! We had to do both cars because Fergus was parked behind me and he had to see to move his car out of the way….. Twenty minutes later, I could no longer feel my thumbs. We managed to clear the windows, swap cars and were on our way. I had the camera and the cell phone in the deep pockets of my Air Force issued field jacket. The first trip down the hill, the girls wiped out and Princess ended up with a scraped face, similar to road rash. It wasn’t serious, but she then insisted that we all go home. Not a chance. I cleaned her up in the car and then proceeded to teach my stumble-bunnies how to steer the sleds. Lots of fun, belly laughs, and screams followed. For some reason we were the only people at the park, even though these were some wicked sledding slopes.

We stayed out for a whole hour, which was better than I expected, despite the biting wind. We were all able to stand on the snowpack without breaking through, so it was just like sledding on solid ice. I have about 20 or so great shots for the scrapbook. We had a couple more minor injuries. Hercules insisted on sledding down the hill repeatedly without a sled, causing him to skin his chin and Fergus foolishly went down on his belly and demonstrated why we don’t sled on our stomachs on ice. He didn’t knock out his tooth, but it might be a bit loosened. When we all decided it was cocoa-time, I carried the littlest to the car and Fergus proceeded to sled the kids – downhill – to the car. Not such a bright idea. I managed to get the Princess into the car and get behind the car just in time to make a snap decision. Either Schmoo was going face-first into the tailpipe of the car, or into my tailpipe. I chose mine.

I’m sure it was an America’s Funniest Home Videos moment; Fergus assures me that I looked awesome going arse over teakettle in the parking lot. I remember a roller-coaster sensation and managed in mid-air to grab Schmoo by the scruff of his neck before landing squarely on the cell phone; my shoulder (injured in 1998) took some damage as well. My son’s sled stopped less than a foot from the car’s rear bumper. My work here was done.

Between the horrific rectangular bruise that will soon appear on my left hip joint, the searing pain underneath my shoulder blade, the bruised knuckles courtesy of my windshield, and the general malaise felt by one who has shoveled snow for the first time this season, I feel about 97 years old right now. My hands were curled into almost arthritic claws this morning, and I am no longer hobbling, but it will be a while before I say, “Yay! Let’s go sledding!”

Oh, and I just discovered that our heat is out for real this time. Apparently last week was just a practice run. Joy.

Queen's English

Everyone knows you need a passport and special documents and airport tax fees when you visit merry “oulde” England, but how about an English dictionary? Most of the differences in our two versions of English (basic American and the Queen’s) are minor, but some of them are so dramatic, hilarious and even hostile, I had to document them, for humour’s sake. That’s the British spelling, by the way. Besides the dreamy accent in Hollywood, most differences wouldn’t even be noticed until you actually set foot on the white cliffs of Dover, or the nearest Tesco.

I give you: An Introduction to the Queen’s English, part I, Vocabulary (and a hand gesture).

When we say…. They say...

hood (of a car) - bonnet

trunk (of a car) - hood

Chevrolet - Vauxhall

bike/biking - cycling

stroller - pram/pushchair

biscuit - scone, with or without fruit

cookie - biscuit

Snack before lunch -elevenses

salad dressing - salad cream (tastes like mayo)

french fries, julienne fries - chips

potato or corn chips - crisps

snack (around 4 pm) - high tea

popsicles - ice lollies

clear soda (7Up, Sprite, etc) - lemonade

lemonade - fresh-squeezed lemon juice

carbonated non-alcoholic drinks - fizzy drinks

go out to a coffeshop/café - have a cuppa (i still say that)

stovetop - cooker

vacuuming - hoovering

mail - post

on vacation/school break - on holiday

sidewalk - pavement

yard, outside play area - garden

garden (veg, flower, etc) - veg/flower patch

ranch-style home - bungalow

2-3 story home - house

duplex = semi-detached house

apartment - flat

smart - clever

well-kempt, neat, clean - smart

grumpy - mardy

sweetie, honey, darling - duck ("Hello, Duck!")

bachelorettes - hens (Hen Night Out at the clubs)

pacifier - dummy

diapers - nappies

panties (girls) - knickers

underwear (boys) - pants

pants, slacks - trousers

sweater - jumper

jeans - dungarees

running shoes - trainers

special shoes required for gym - plimsolls (don't even know the spelling)

boots, galoshes - wellingtons, wellies

WalMart - Asda

butt - bum

private parts - bits

You'll never hear of anyone wearing a fanny pack, not because it's out of fashion, but because fanny is vulgar slang for women's bits. They call it a bum pack instead. Kids never bonk their heads, because bonking is what the parents do with their bits after bedtime.

You can't properly get mad at someone and give them the finger, without knowing which ones to hold up. That's right, plural. Hold up your first two fingers, (index and middle) with the back of your hand to the victim, give them a little wiggle or a sharp upward thrust, and you've got it. Those first two fingers were (as it was explained to me), used to pull the bowstring back in the day. A punishment for some serious crimes was having those two fingers lopped off. Men who managed to escape with out such punishment waggled those two fingers triumphantly at his assailant, and we have today's rude gesture.

This is all I can come up with for now. I think I'll try and come up with some for baking, driving and child-rearing as I experienced it. Ta!

why, i oughta....

(insert Yosimite Sam mumbo-jumbo in here)

MEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I hate spoiled-by-their-mothers-so-they-can't-function-within-their-own-home assholes of men!!!

DH & I have been having this argument for as long as I have been making the food in our family. Yeah. That long. He just doesn't get it. How friggin hard is it to take the leftovers to work?!?!? That's why I spent a fortune in tupperware. I didn't buy it so it could sit in the fridge and grow funny fuzzy, odd-smelling life forms for the science fair. I didn't buy it because I was hormonal. I didn't buy it to make color-coordinated stacks in the cupboard. It has a function. It's called carrying your MF lunch!!

Now, let me be very clear. Many years ago, at the first sign of trouble, I asked for his input.

HE: I don't know what to take. There's so many choices and I'm tired and in a hurry when I'm packing my lunch. Aside from opening every container and looking inside, I don't know what is in there to eat.

ME: Darling, what could I do to make your poor, dark, lonely mornings of packing a difficult meal into a small, square bag easier? How can I help you without actually leaving my nice, warm dreamland at 5am each day?

HE: I don't know. Maybe make me a list of what's in there so I know what to chose from. Or tell me the night before where my lunch is for the next day. Nothing shrot of a neon sign really catches my attention before work.

Right. And we all trust him in a moving vehicle at speeds that exceed 65 mph before work.

So we have the designated "leftover shelf" in the fridge. Nothing is stacked on that shelf except food for him to take to work. I bought a small dry erase board and put it on the freezer door (at eye-level) and wrote what meals are left over in the fridge. I put the oldest items on top, and the freshly-left on the bottom. I bought colored markers so that he knows that manicotti = orange dish, chili = green soup mug, dinner rolls = clear plastic bag (written in black) and salmon = purple freezer container in the freezer. I group stuff together, like a baked potato in foil, with a small container of sour cream and a zipper bag of bacon and cheese atop the container with green beans and a bbq chicken breast. I write all those things together on the menu on one square - as one meal. I even check at lunch time to see what he's taken and erase it for him off of the dry-erase board because even that is too much for him to handle. I can't do anything more except drag my ass outta bed and pack the f*(&^er for him every day. I refuse to do that, b/c he'll get used to it and expect it.

With all that I do for him, why, why WHY then did he take sloppy joes today (enough for all three of my kids to have leftover sloppies at school, which they LOVE) when there was a full container of spaghetti, a complete salmon meal, and clam chowder to choose from? HE DOESN'T EVEN LIKE SLOPPY JOES!!!! I said, while putting away the joes the other night, "Yay, theres' enough leftovers for all three of the kids. They'll like that." I didn't write it on his special menu. Yet, the boys were in tears when they found out Daddy ate their favorite lunch. Again. This isn't the first time he's taken their joes.

I know there's nothing else I can do at this point, but I just feel better screaming in colors! He obviously doesn't hear what I say. It makes me mad enough to set his hair on fire sometimes. Do ya think he'd notice that?

When God Closes a Door...

I am so stupid sometimes I surprise even my own self.

Until the year 2003, I had never locked my keys in the car, never locked myself out of my own home, never found myself on the outside of a public building, after hours with my belongings, including purse and keys, locked inside. 2003 was a banner year for me and keys, because not only did I do all of those things, but I did them often and I did something else truly spectacularly memorable along with it. Like, not only did I lock my keys in the car, but two of my four children were inside, buckled into their carseats and unable to get out and open the door. Twice. Once was in the heat of summer and the police helped me get into the car before they fried. The second (and last) was in the pouring, freezing November rain. I was wearing my pajamas and slippers, dropping the other two of the four off at school. The janitor handed me a door wedge and a wire coat hanger and I got right to it. They did not laugh at me within earshot and I thanked them heartily for that before I left. I have gotten into the habit of purposefully holding my keys in front of my face before locking any door. It seemed to be working until today.

If you have been to a hotel within the last ten years or so, you'll know that they have a security slide lock that beats the pants off of any silly chain. It is heavy duty and it means business. If someone tries to open the door while the lock is engaged, everyone on the damn floor will hear the crash of the door decidedly NOT opening. In our last apartment, I became increasingly worried about the shady characters waltzing through my building on the way to drop off the rent. Or partial-rent. Or excuse for not paying the rent. You get the point. I demanded some kind of security lock to protect me and my brood from the inside. We had very little and if anyone wanted to steal from us while we ere gone, so be it; I just didn't want any stray bodies entering while I was there. So we were allowed to install the slide lock. It was very handy in deterring our curious toddlers from walking out of the apartment and getting lost in the laundry room. No joke. Moving into our new house, I replaced the silly chains with the industrial slide locks on both doors. Which brings us to today.

I noticed that my middle-schooler again failed to take her backpack with her to school this morning. The backpack with her house key inside. I was supposed to volunteer at the elementary school, which meant that I would not be home to let her in when her bus arrived at 3:05, so she would have to stand outside in the cold and wait for 35-40 minutes until I got home. Although that lesson might make other kids decide to take their backpacks to school, mine hasn't got it yet. So I decided to figure out a way to leave her key right there in the door, without leaving the key right there in the door (she doesn't take hints like "look under the rock" either). I tied a piece of twine to the slide lock, tied a clothespin to the other end of the twine, and hung a small gift bag from the clothespin with her key inside. This clothespin has been hanging on the slide lock since we moved in to this house; it isn't something I just dreamed up today. Here comes the spectacular part. While closing the door, I apparently pulled the twine j-u-s-t far enough to engage the lock, very, very effectively locking me out of my own house, with keys in hand. And guess what? The goddamn lock held. And guess what else? I distinctly remember walking around the house before bed last night, checking to make sure the windows were locked. Fucking great.

Anytime I have no idea where something is, or what I should do, I call Fergus. Not that he always has the right answer, but it just seems like the thing to do.

( Does he have the answer this time? Click here and find out!)

curse & blessing

they are both a curse and a blessing, these little things of ours. they can make life difficult and they are extremely high maintenance. other people look at what we've done with them and make a snap judgement of "amatuer!" or a raised eyebrow and an inward comment like "i wish mine were like that." i don't usually do a whole lot with mine; high maintenance makes me weary. but tonight, i feel like going all out.

they have made me proud. i am truly thankful for them. they will be pampered tonight for their outstanding performance. once again an emergency room visit was averted during my sojourn with the chopping board. once again, my fingernails saved my fingertip from becoming part of the stir-fry.

weird science

i've never been big on science. i can conjugate verbs in several tenses in several languages. i can demonstrate spatial relationships in artistic pieces. i can write in iambic pentameter. (i can, i just don't like to...) i'm interested in natural sciences like meterology, geology and petting small furry things, but that's as far as it goes. participating in science fairs was not mandatory where i grew up, so i didn't do anything related to them. my poor dd has had to endure the pain of participating two years running and will continue for many years, since participation is required every year, 4th grade and up here. grrrrr. i don't particularly care for science fairs. they are lots of work for very little reward.

so here's a big laugh...i've never seen dry ice. i mean i'm sure i've seen it on tv in shows, cause it makes fog, right? we ordered from omaha steaks today and i asked dh what i was supposed to do with the dry ice. i was vaguely aware that it was bad. something about touching it and having your skin melt off.... he said to me, "throw it in the bathtub and run some water over it."

i don't know who was more excited, me or the kids. i was hovering, snapping pics with the digital camera while the kids watched it bubble away. we did a couple of experiments, like dumping shampoo on it and using hot water instead of cold. so i have foggy pics of the kids waving washcloths at each other, surrounded by fog in the bathroom. and pics of rubber duckies floating in the mist. and little soap-bubble-ice-cubes floating on the surface of the water. good clean fun was had by all. and i can honestly say i am looking forward to dd's science fair this year...as long as we do something with dry ice!