Archive for the ‘Day in the Life’ Category
Our first organized team-sport season ended.
Three- and four-year-old soccer. Otherwise known as a pack of preschoolers chasing a ball, without regard to which direction they’re headed.
For 6 practices and games, there was at least one poor child (usually mine) crying at some point or another. The first few weeks for Miss M, it was almost torturous (for her AND us). She would barely move out on that field, and she’d stand there in her pigtails and soccer uniform and cry. It was always a different reason. “My tongue hurts” or “my cousin tackled me” or “My nose is running” or “I’m cold” or “I don’t know how to kick the ball” or “I can’t run as fast as the other kids.”
Now some parents might coddle their little ones, take them home early, or at least let them sit on the sidelines for a while. There were certainly many of those kind who didn’t show up after the first couple of games, not wanting to bother with 3-year-old drama.
And then there were the other parents, forcing the preschoolers out for more torture.
Yep. That was me. But really, it wasn’t demanding and mean like it sounds. Really!
Little Miss M had so much fun the last two or three games. You know why? Because we made her go every week and get out there and play. She is shy, hesitant, cautious, and slow to warm up to new situations. And with 10 other screaming kids, and multiple parents and grandparents as spectators yelling “Kick the ball! Run! No — the OTHER way!” it was too much commotion for her. She got over that hesitancy by the end and even looked as if she were actually enjoying herself. She even kicked the ball a few times during the game!
I’m not sure that she’ll play again — we’ll see if she wants to in the fall. But by forcing (or shall I say gently guiding) her — yes, even at 3 1/2 years old — to try new situations, she’ll build her self-confidence and learn how to better adapt to unfamiliar activities. All we kept telling her was that as long as she tried her best we’d be very proud — she didn’t need to be the fastest runner or score any goals. And you know what? She wasn’t, and she didn’t. But by the end, she tried, she had fun, and she’s so proud of her certificate and her team picture.
And so are we.
I’m not complaining,
Really, I’m not.
My husband will often do the grocery shopping. Not more often than I, but he’ll certainly be willing to tackle our supercenter on a Sunday afternoon (yikes!) or head to our corner gourmet marketplace. Of course, I make out the list for him, and he still calls multiple times while he’s out, which sometimes makes me wonder why I just don’t go myself and get some time alone anyway!
But this past Sunday he went to BOTH stores, because he thought the deli meat would be better coming from the local privately-owned gourmet International marketplace. No problem. The first time he called he said there were great specials at the superstore, and did I need Pop-Tarts? No. Pop-Tarts are a sort of once-in-a-while treat I buy, usually when I’m at the store hungry. But certainly not a staple or necessity, and definitely not needed in 4 or 5 boxes, which is what he had to buy to receive the “great” deal. And . . . Pop-Tarts were not on the list, were they?
After a few additional phone calls, he returned, laden with the big plastic bags (I know, I know — the horrors! We haven’t exactly moved to a “green” household just yet! yikes!), and I began to unload the groceries.
My husband, who is NOT a dessert lover, came home with FOUR — count them — FOUR different treats/desserts. Entenmann’s chocolate chip cookies, Little Debbie oatmeal cream pies, mini canolis from the marketplace, and a massive chocolate frosted fudge brownie from the marketplace. When I looked quizzically at him, he said they were “treats for his girls,” meaning the little girls.
Um, our girls are 3 and 1. They don’t eat this kind of junk! He was also quick to point out that the treats were for the kids, because I always tell him NOT to bring home some sort of goodie or dessert from a restaurant or bakery. It’s something his dad does for his mom, which is very sweet and thoughtful, yes. But it’s not for me. I’ll get my own, and to be honest — I’ll just eat it and feel sick. So buying me calorie-laden sweet goodies doesn’t really work for me. (Ice cream, though? That’s a different story!)
(although I have to admit that I was secretly pleased about the Entenmann’s cookies, and yours truly has eaten most of the box, with a few little ones given to Miss M).
OK, so too many desserts. No problem, right?
Oh, but there’s more.
Mister Man, who would be out of town for most of the week, purchases a pound of salami, a pound of turkey, and a little bit of bologna. Now, Miss M will eat some of the salami and turkey, but that’s about it. In fact, she would probably eat the bologna, too, but it disgusts me so I don’t want to give it to her! And then he doesn’t take his lunch Monday, and after I MAKE his lunch for Tuesday, he forgets it in the fridge. So now I have enough lunchmeat to feed the whole block, and hardly anyone to eat it!
And then, the piece de resistance . . .
Incredulously, I unload a large jar of creamed herring, and a large jar of pickled beets. *gulp* What? I just shake my head, and tell him I’d LOVE to see him actually finish the whole thing. He has good intentions (as this isn’t the first time creamed herring has been in the fridge), and eats a little immediately, and then lets it languish in the refrigerator, while I have to look at it every day (and, I swear, smell it, although I know I really can’t. It’s just the idea that it’s in there that bothers me!)
Hmmm . . . a tiny 8 oz. jar of cherry juice concentrate. For $5.99?!?! Oops — he said. He hadn’t known the price. I asked what we were to do with this? I don’t remember his reply, but it didn’t exactly go with the label, that indicated to add it over ice cream or to pancake batter. This better be some good stuff.
Of course, I know the REAL reason he wants to go out to the store. It gives him a good excuse to stop by the wine shop nearby, and come home with more wine! He says that, since I’m pregnant and can’t share in the libations, he’s drinking for two. Thoughtful.
Again, I’m not really complaining here, because there are men who do nothing to help around the house and wouldn’t be caught dead in a grocery store trying to find the Yo Baby organic yogurt! But I’m just perplexed as to the how and why of his grocery contents.
Oh, and those Pop-Tarts? Yep . . . he came home with TWO boxes!
I wrote this “post” before I even started my blog! I was debating on writing (which I do now SO infrequently anyway), and I started a list of topics that I titled “Musings for a Blog.” So this one was written about 9 months ago, and is quite true. I suppose when people asked me “What do you DO all day?” when I was home on maternity leave, or when some think “How is it that stay-at-home moms don’t seem to have time to do certain things?”, here is a small snapshot of an answer:
Why it takes 45 minutes to eat 8 oz of yogurt
- 9:30 remove yogurt lid
- Realize 2 ½ year old probably needs to use potty
- Run to potty
- Wait till she goes pee and poo poo
- Clean up potty chair
- Help wash hands
- Realize 6-mo-old has pooped
- Take her out of walker, see poop all up her back
- Take baby upstairs to change and put down for nap
- Begin changing, poop all over!
- Not comfortable with “cleaning” her with wipes
- Run bath water
- Find new outfit
- Run to other room where the clean folded laundry is (and hasn’t yet been put away) to find the matching pants to the onesie.
- Give baby bath
- Dress baby
- Put down for nap
- Take previously worn onesie and clean it out in laundry tub
- Separately bag the offending diaper and multiple wipes and throw in laundry room
- 10:15 sit back down to lukewarm yogurt.