Prom for Preschoolers

Feb. 24, 2008
Subj: Prom for preschoolers

Hello Everyone,

Happy Tuesday. I know I've been remiss about writing more often, but the fact of the matter is, I've been actively avoiding the bonus room (where the computer is), for fear that the quilt I'm supposed to be making (yes, another one, but this one is supposed to be for Baby #2 - or as the girls in the neighborhood call her, "Adeline 2) will jump into my lap and insist upon some attention. So as a result, I have been using this time to perfect my napping skills.

We've been having more computer problems, and I suppose it could have something to do with the bubble wands Addie inserted into the fan area of the hard drive, but I just can't imagine how something as low tech as bubble wands (that's right, not just one, but two), could effect such a highly scientific and advanced thing as a computer hard drive. I'm more inclined to believe it's the quilt (it's not even a quilt yet, just a pile of fabric, but in spirit it's a beautiful baby quilt) exacting it's revenge on me.

Little does it know I can still go to the library to use the computer. It has no idea what kind of procrastinator it's dealing with - I will overcome!

Addie's preschool hosted a father/daughter dance for Valentines, and moms were only allowed if they were helping out with something. Of course Jeff wasn't going to go unless I was there, so I dutifully signed up for ticket taking, dressed Addie in her finest Christmas dress, and off we went.

Now, since this was a preschool function (although it was open to the public), we thought Jeff would be fine in a sports shirt and slacks. Of course, we forgot to adjust our thought process to east coast time. Jeff was by far, the most under-dressed of all the 100+ dads there. Suits are of course the most logical next step up from a sports shirt, but there were dads in tuxedos (remember, preschool dance here). And at least half the girls had corsages and outrageous up-dos (also known as Prom Hair). Many of the girls had visibly spent time at the beauty salon, and had even had their nails and toes done for the occasion.

After watching all these dolled up kiddos come and go, I realized that this must be where beauty queens come from . . .

Aside from all the outrageous hoopla, there is nothing cuter than a room full of dads dancing the night away with their exhausted little girls (the dance didn't start until 7pm, so most of us didn't have a fighting chance to last the whole night).

Good news, we took a hospital tour, so now we know where to go when #2 is ready. And, as luck would have it, while I was sitting in the maternity ward waiting room, I had a chance to peruse my new favorite magazine, "American Rifleman." It truly is the "world's oldest and largest firearm authority." Do you think a lifetime subscription the American Rifleman would be a more suitable birth gift than a quilt?

Jeff and I have taken up bicycling on the weekends, and have quickly discovered that in fact, we are invisible. You'd think that two adults and a bike trailer (which we refer to has the princess chariot because Addie loves it so much) would be at least a little visible, but every time we try to cross an intersection (mind you, from the sidewalk, when the hand is green) we nearly get creamed by someone trying to turn right. But the good news is, we have found what we believe to be the only bike rack in the whole city. Conveniently, it's located in front of the local hippy market in town.

Addie had her first haircut today, and she did wonderfully. Admittedly, Great Clip's haircut sale was really what spurned me into action (you just can't beat $6.99). That, and I didn't want to have one of those kids who goes through school with their hair wrapped around their waists because their moms just won't let them cut it. And, I think if Addie's hair got too long, it might become problematic in the potty training area.

Speaking of poo, (let those who don't have children be forewarned - we will be talking about another well kept parenting secret), I had another one of those moments when I just sat back, and thought, "good lord, how did I get here?"

As if catching vomit with your hands isn't bad enough. . . Addie had a little bottle in the shower, I looked down and it had a little dark thing in it. Clearly not thinking, I picked up the bottle, looked at it, dumped it out into my hand, and realized almost immediately, that I had poo in my hand. Of course the first question I asked myself was, "how did I get poo in my hand?" But the second question that I know you are all asking yourselves is, "how did the poo get in the bottle in the first place?" I wish I knew.

Somehow I think the answer to that would lead to all the answers to all the most difficult questions out there.

In the headlines this week: "Fort Mill teen charged in Dairy Barn Burglaries."

If you're anything like me, you were probably hoping for some great modern day cattle rustling story, but alas, the story didn't actually have anything to do with cows at all.

I'm afraid I have nothing more to report. We pretty much stick to a rigid schedule of eating, napping and playing. It's grueling and exhausting, but someone has to do it.

Take care.

Love,
Kate

Move over DAR . . .

Jan. 31, 2009

Good Morning and Happy Saturday Morning,

I've finally achieved Martha Stewart level 4 Super Homemaker Status . . . Envision if you will, a pregnant and barefoot Kate baking cookies with a '50's style waist apron tied around her ever-expanding belly, whilst a gaggle (or is it herd) of girls sit at the breakfast table nicely playing with Playdoh. I know, I know, you're all a little bit jealous. Okay, so maybe some of you are gagging a little too - Domestic perfection is not for the faint of heart.

There are times in all of our lives when we sit back and think, if someone had told me this is what I'd be doing in X amount of years, we all might have headed for the hills.

I've never been known for great patience, and have already expressed my issues with potty training, but today we reached an all new high (or is it low?).

In an effort to optimize potty time, I've taken to noting what time of day our delightful (and oft stinky) daughter has BM's (for the sake of the non-parents out there, we shall use abbreviations - we don't want to reveal all the secret joys of parenthood), thus making sure she sits on said potty at that particular time. Thankfully, my much-more-patient-than-I husband has taken on this task, and now sits with Addie for 30+ minutes at a stretch.

Now you'd think with this kind of upper level science being used, we'd have more success, but alas, she's on to us.

Bubbles was attacked by a neighbor dog a couple of weeks ago, and since she's already surpassed her life-time spending limit, we chose to doctor her at home and hoped for the best (of course each of us have a different definition of "best" outcome, depending on the number of cat bites received in the doctoring process). The very same irksome nine-year-old from the last email thought it was a good idea to take Bubbles to his house to play, and low and behold, their boxer thought he'd brought her a new toy. We've since determined that he was not in fact present for the attack, but I still think there's more to the story then we've heard. His 13 year old brother was there, is still traumatized (city kids are so sensitive) by the memory.

Just after it happened, the mom came over practically in tears and told us Bubbles was stuck up in a tree and both cat and dog were covered in blood. So Jeff went over, ladder in hand, and dragged Bubbles home. She was in fact covered in blood, but after a nice relaxing bath with grapefruit hand soap (we all know how much cats like baths, and I drew the short straw for that particular task), she looked like new.

Later that night, the parents came over apologizing for the attack, and since he's in insurance, trying to subtly determine whether we were the suing type. We tried to explain that it is the nature of cats to come and go, and it's best not to get too attached.

Apparently they don't share our feelings on the subject of cats, and now think us unfeeling monsters.

For a few days after the attack, Bubbles stuck close to home, but is now back to having sleep-overs at the neighbors. One day while their daughter was over playing, she let it slip that her mother feeds Bubbles salmon . . . See, it's not just her home life Bubbles is running away from.

Jeff has taken to bribing the cat in an effort to buy her loyalty. Every morning when he lets her in, he gives her a piece of salami and a fresh bowl of water (I'm telling you, the cat has a weird affinity for fresh water). So far, no changes on the loyalty meter, but he's hopeful. And besides, it's a great way to get rid of expired meat . . .

I've never been one for mixing business with friends, but since I'm still trying to make friends here, I put my personal feelings aside, and went to a Southern Living at Home party. For those of you who don't know, this is like a Tupperware or Mary Kay party, only with products seen in Southern Living magazine. This is one of those times when I've had to force myself to acknowledge what my life has become. I suppose it's all part of becoming a domestic goddess, and should just embrace it.

Apparently there is a trend out there to "party swap," (it has nothing to do with politics as I was inclined to believe), but two individuals who are representatives for two different companies agree to exchange forcing each others products on their friends. As it turns out, I'm not a very supportive friend.

My most recent at-home party invitation is to a Pure Romance Party (another party swap, but who thinks that "marital aids" is a fair swap with cheap jewelry?). I'm actually considering hosting this one myself, as there is nothing sexier than a pregnant woman with bladder control issues . . .

When I'm not attending these special special parties, I've taken to going to storage unit auctions. This week I stood out in the cold for three hours watching the auctioneer sell off the contents of six storage units. The big finds that day were a large box of pornographic magazines (some lucky person picked that little find up for $3.00), and a very nice, hand-blown water bong. Since the auctioneer can't legally sell off drug paraphernalia, they say things like, "remember, you're bidding on the box only." They also can't sell off paint, so when a storage unit full of painting supplies came up, they auctioned off 5-gallon buckets, and the paint inside was just a bonus.

In the news this week:
South Carolina Born Sweet Tea Vodka is Coming Home. This staple in everyone's liquor cabinet was invented here, but due to strict distilling regulations, had to be moved to Florida. Since the SC unemployment rates keep increasing, we're all thankful for any industry that wants to set up shop here. And since we've already determined that Southerns drink like it's their God given privilege, I think this little product is the real reason sweet tea is so popular here.

For those of you who don't know, Jim and Tammy Fae Bakker's Heritage Land was erected in Fort Mill, SC (just up the road). Since Jim's shameful falling from grace, Heritage Land has been abandoned, and is now a collection of abandoned buildings, which (among other things) include several castles and an outdoor coliseum.

But there's bright news on the horizon. Another religious group has made a deal with the city to take over the abandoned hotel (imagine the scene of a horror movie, and you've got Heritage Towers), and will be putting in retirement apartments. After all, who doesn't want to buy a space in a hotel that's been abandoned for nearly 20 years?

Those of you who can claim DAR rights (privileges?), now have another group to aspire to: Dames of the 21st Century. Apparently there is a new (new to me anyway) society of women who get together to do who knows what, and the only qualifying consideration is whether your forefathers were here from 1600 to 1699. The article gave a definition of the modern-day Dame, and detailed how one might begin researching said family lineage.

I'm just excited about finding a new hobby.

Love,
Kate

31 weeks pregnant and Addie throwing a fit in the snow.

More about those damn squirrels

1/16/09

Hi,

Well here it is Friday afternoon, and I have completed, and passed (at least preliminarily anyway) my PHR test - back to napping guilt free, yippee!

Since moving here, I have learned many interesting and useful things (examples: whooping is alive and well in the south, Carolinians are bad drivers, and the merits of Confederate Flag Day), but have recently learned a new phrase and thought I should share it with you . . . Meat and Three.

I'm still struggling with its actual meaning, but have come to understand it as dry meat and three soggy sides. I am willing to concede I could be a little bit wrong about it's meaning though.

On a recent trip to Wal-Mart (I still want to cry every time I admit it) I discovered a new product that I can't believe has not become an overnight success - injectable honey glaze.

This little tantalizing treat comes with its own syringe and a list of suggestions of what to inject said glaze into. I realize that food companies have been injecting meat for years, but it's always been in the privacy of their own plant. Just the idea of bringing injectable goodness out into the open is at the very least owning up to one's guilty pleasures, but more than that, it seems down right scandalous.

Once the world gets a taste of self-honey-glaze injecting, where will it stop? Why stop at honey glaze? Why not injectable butter (at the least), or injectable gravy, or for that matter, injectable mayonnaise?

As if that wasn't enough excitement for one trip, while I was checking out, I got into a lively conversation with the checker about the merits of gardening with Wal-Mart bags - one layer of plastic bags, one layer of dirt, one layer of plastic bags, one layer of dirt . . .

After two weeks of staying with our neighbors while we were gone, Bubbles has decided she wants a new family. Nearly every time we let her out, she runs to the neighbors and refuses to come home. She has already spent several nights over there (they say she won't leave, and I say it's the tuna fish in their pockets), and launches an attack against me when I go to get her.

Bubbles has a thing for fresh water, so she jumps into the sink anytime she thinks you may turn it on, and Addie has discovered the joy of "washing her hands" while the cat is in said sink (read, turning the water on the cat's head). I realize this may not be an ideal home life compared to sleeping in our neighbor's bed and getting canned tuna fish whenever you're hungry, but after spending $600 on her, I'll be damned if the neighbors are going to get her.

I am fairly certain Bubbles is plotting how to achieve refugee status as we speak.

For those keeping track at home, I have just won the Upstanding Parenting Award.

We have a particularly irksome nine year old in our neighborhood who is around a lot, and has recently taken to tormenting Bubbles under the guise of trying to "make friends."

On one particularly trying day, he told me our cat was mean and was always biting him. I then (because I remembered that I was the grown-up in the situation) told him that was because we were training the cat to attack him.

Now you'd think I would have stopped there, but no. I then went on to tell him that in fact, we had a picture of him in the house and were working on training Bubbles to attack the picture every time we said his name.

Upon reflection, maybe that wasn't the best way to handle the situation.

Two recent headlines in our local paper read, "Squirrels Plot to Take Over." and the other, "The Joys of Eating Squirrels." Those are honest to goodness headlines, and both are near and dear to my heart considering my experience with the carnivorous squirrels in our yard.

Granted, the first article was about a shortage of acorns and how the squirrels are plotting and scheming to take over bird feeders, but I think the sentiment behind the article was the same - squirrels are scary scary creatures and steps should be taken so they don't take over the world (this is where article number two comes in . . .).

Take care and have a great weekend!

Kate

Christmas recovery

Well we're back in South Carolina, after two weeks in Oregon, and although it's nice to be home (in the sense that we're back in our house and back to our routines), we both really miss Oregon. As most of you know, there was a huge amount of snow when we arrived, but thanks to the Caddy-plow, we were able to get around quite well. Who knew Cadillacs were such good snow cars? Needless to say, Jeff has totally fallen in love with them (and to this day, swears that his '79 Cadillac Eldorado was the "smoothest ride" he ever had).

Jeff's favorite missed things were of course beer - he opened a bottle of Mirror Pond (which we used to keep on tap in Portland), and let out a long sigh, and said, "that's good beer." Somehow the Budweisers and Natural Lights just don't seem to do it for him.

In addition to the food (because as a companion hobby to napping, I have also taken up eating), I missed the Portlandness of it all. Whilst driving around town, we spotted a guy wading through the snow bank, playing his guitar.

Since Oregon is such an outdoor city, there were cross-country skiers and snow-shoers everywhere, and I even heard tell of a gal who skied across town for a blind date - that's dedication.

Food poisoning anyone?

Dec. 11
Hello and happy two weeks before Christmas!

Jeff and I both took turns having food poisoning this week, and lucky me, I had it about 10 times worse than he did. For those of you who haven't experienced vomiting while six months pregnant, let me just tell you, you're really missing out on something very special . . . and disgusting. Two days later, I'm feeling mostly better, but my insides hurt from all the heaving (sorry for the gross details).

I know many of you are eagerly awaiting trash talk about the Laurel Creek Christmas party, but alas, although a pleasant evening, it was utterly uneventful. Though, in keeping with their reputation, my neighbors did close the party down, many of them with a hearty dose of booze under their belts (hey, if it's free, why not, right?).

Always trying to keep up with Martha, I had to bake eight dozen cookies this week for a cookie exchange (add eight dozen to those trays you burn, plus extras to make up for less than pretty cookies, and we're talking 10 dozen). I came home with a ton of cookies, but since we were both sick, we haven't even tried any.

Since this neighborhood goes a little wild at Christmas, I invited Addie's preschool class over for dinner and a Christmas light walk. I'm sure those of you who saw Jeff's decorations in Portland were worried how they'd fit in here in here in the south - but no worries, there's something about a big yard that somehow makes them all a bit more tasteful looking . . . Or it could be the fact that every yard has an inflatable or three, so we just blend in.

I took the cat to the vet again (and we're due again in January), but alas, did not get put in the room with the Gun & Garden magazine. But I did have a chance to read The Christian Veterinarian, and it's all that you'd imagine it would be. I just can't believe I've gone my whole life completely unaware that these types of literature existed. And I called myself an English Major.

On the upside of a very expensive vet visit, I did find an add for a veterinarian mission trip to Mongolia to help train local vets in small animal care. Do you think my experience with Tiny Bubbles qualifies me?

About a week ago, Jeff and I were watching TV (okay, he was watching, and I was napping), and he poked me and said in amazement, "Do you see this?!" Normally, Jeff pays no mind to the unusual Southerners of where we live, so I was doubly amazed that he felt inclined to poke me. Anyway, the 10 o'clock news was doing a feature story on . . . wait for it . . . Jesus Christ. It was, and I am not making this up, a biography of the Savior himself. Now remember, this wasn't a Christmas special, or the religious channel, it was a mainstream Charlotte news channel just doing their part to spread The Word.

I realize that was probably normal for these parts, but coming from the Pacific Northwest, where you can't even sing the Pledge of Allegiance, I was awed.

The church where Addie goes to preschool puts on a huge Journey Through Bethlehem every year. It's an interactive reenactment of Jesus' birth with over 500 cast members, and since we knew the Baby Jesus, we felt obligated to go. It was well done, and definitely worth the free admission. Although we had no idea they spoke with such deep southern accents in Bethlehem . . .

As some of you know, we've been working at potty training with Addie for some time now, and to no avail. In an effort to move things along, I switched Addie to pull-ups, which has helped dramatically, but honestly, who has the patients for this? Addie now wants to sit on the potty all the time, particularly when we're out shopping. You'd think this would be great, and a step in the right direction, but we've had ZERO successes so far. Not only that, she's also quite particularly about where and how she sits. It has to be upstairs on her potty (never mind that we have a little seat and stool set up for her downstairs), Jeff or I have to be with her, and books and/or toys are a must. I realize it's my job to be supportive and all that, but good lord, 5:40am in the morning does not a supportive mother make.

Well, only one week and one day until we fly back to Oregon. For those of you who we won't get to see while home (ie you don't live there), Merry Christmas!!

Much Love,
Kate

Carnivorous Squirrels

Dec. 4

Hi there and happy Thursday,

Well, here I am avoiding studying again. It's amazing the things you can find to do when you have important (expensive) tests to study for (an Prof. in HR Certification test for those of you who don't know).

Addie got into Jeff's deodorant this morning, and let me just say, there's nothing quite like a two year old girl smelling like a musky man . . . I'm thinking of bottling the concept for Mattel or Fisher Price. If that doesn't work, I'm considering asking Brittany Spears to be the face of the my new scent - "Guess Who Got into Dad's Dresser?"

Christmasville starts here this weekend, which features over 70 holiday events, including, "Festival of Trees Cocktail Crawl," followed closely by "Single Malt Scotch Tasting." Who knew? I had never associated Christmass trees and cocktails, but if that's what helps you get through the holidays, more power to you.

Even bigger news, a coffee shop opened up downtown (since moving here, I have made it my goal to seek out and try each coffee shop in Rock Hill - a task that only took me about two days . . .), which was a huge day for me. So big in fact, that I pre-arranged to meet some of the other preschool moms there on opening day. They're off to a great start - out of three orders, they only made two mistakes.

I'm pulling for them though. And since everyone needs and is desperately waiting for my informed opinions, I gave them mine.

As most of you know, Jeff's alter-ego is a lumber jack, but since his dad convinced him to leave his chainsaw in Oregon with him, Jeff's been chomping at the bit to cut down some trees. Since someone wouldn't mail said chainsaw back to him (I'm talking about you Randy), Jeff got a brand new shiny chainsaw for his birthday (if anyone needs any advice on Stihl chainsaws, I'm your woman). All week Jeff had his eye on a dead pine tree behind our house (although not technically on our property, we figured dead trees are fair game), but sadly, the day before he was going to cut it down, it blew over in a wind storm (well, not really a storm, more of a strong breeze and some aggressive squirrels). You have never seen someone so crest fallen as Jeff was when he realized he wasn't going to get to fall (fell?) that tree.

But don't worry, Jeff got nearly as much satisfaction cutting the downed tree up into logs, and chopping firewood. Jeff is never quite so happy as he is when he's swinging an ax and using is manly muscles. I'd like to be able to say I helped him, but I believe I was taking a nap instead (since it is practically my new hobby).

I'm sure you are all relieved to hear that the tax free gun sales weekend was a big success. According to the article, the south is doing their part to keep the economy stimulated by taking advantage of no sales tax on all gun purchases last weekend. Apparently the combination of saving 7% and Obama's potential gun reform, there were mad rushes to every gun selling store in South Carolina. The weekend was affectionately referred to as "celebration of the second amendment weekend." I'm just sorry I didn't take advantage of it while I could.

Addie has a really neat new sleeping habit (or not sleeping habit). When she wakes up in the middle of the night, or during her nap time, and can't get back to sleep, she collects anything she can get her hands on, and puts it in bed with her. So far I've found four pairs of shoes (not matching pairs mind you), a whole pile of dirty laundry (it was piled on her back while she was sleeping, so I'm not entirely sure how she pulled that one off), spare socks (Jeff had just been wondering why her socks were all of the sudden coming up with mis-matches), every stuffed animal in her room (at least 20 of them), her belt buckle and belt (that's actually a favorite), and of course, every toy she can reach. It's a wonder there's any room for her in there.

We've also discovered a really fun game called, "Lets see if I can pull the cat under the door." Last week Addie was in her room not taking her nap, and the cat was outside in the hall. Since both are gluttens for punishment, Addie stuck her hands under the door, and waved them tantalizingly (like a worm on a hook), and of course, the cat bit them. Then the cat would take her turn sticking her paws under the door, and Addie would try to pull her through. Every few minutes you'd hear Addie cry and the cat howl. You'd think they'd learn, but this went on for a good 15 minutes.

And lastly, the carnivorous squirrels. This is actually old news, but I keep thinking about it each time a squirrel eyes Addie on our walks.

Jeff has two sets of mounted antlers that he got from his grandpa, and he dutifully hung them up on the trees in our yard once they were unpacked. Within a few weeks he noticed that the antlers were getting smaller, and that each spike had large (not just small nibbles) bites taken out of them. You might not think this so odd - bones (or bone-like substance) outdoors will get eaten, right? These same antlers had hung in the woods of Dallas for many years, with nary a nibble.

Within a few minutes of close surveillance, Jeff witnessed busy-tailed grey squirrels climb up the tree, unhinge their jaws and take shark-sized bites out of the antlers (okay, maybe they didn't unhinge their jaws, but if you'd seen these bite marks, you'd be asking the same questions). Needless to say, the antlers came down, and are now safely in the garage with the petrified frogs. And for the record, I'm deeply disappointed about that.

Tonight is the big Laurel Creek Christmas Party, so I hope no ones looking for a babysitter tonight, since some have been booked for this party since July. I'll tell you what though, if you want to start a neighborhood feud, try booking the most sought after sitters six months in advance.

Take Care and Much Love to All,
Kate