word of the day (revisited)

This post was originally published September 30, 2010.

School starts in a week from Monday for my girls (Nola’s going to kindergarten!), and this post epitomizes why I love being part of the community I am.

The word of the day today, July 27, 2012: Perseverance.

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Five days a week, I load up the car precisely at 7:52 am. Myself, Piper, Nola, Gage, my cup of coffee, and even the dog.

We all drop Piper off in her classroom just a minute before 8:00am, hugs and kisses are given, wishing her a great day.

Every morning after the drop off, we play in the playground with the same few other moms and their preschool aged children. We laugh, we cry, tell stories and give advice. We connect over warm mugs and prepackaged snacks. Ah, community.

In one corner of the playground, there is a gigantic chalkboard. Each morning we decorate it with a new “word of the day” for the kids to discover when they run out for recess. Often, the word of the day is reflective on one of us is feeling.

Yesterday

5038525447 7854d4121a word of the day (revisited)

Before the new word can go up, the past must be erased. Symbolism at it finest.

5038527253 4335d6525c word of the day (revisited)

Today

5039149930 efb6e76535 word of the day (revisited)
Feeling very thankful today, the word Gratitude just seemed appropriate.

no good news and goat cheese ice cream

Have to admit, we’ve had a no-good-horrible-very-bad week at this house. No worries, we’re going to be OK. It’s just been, you know, hard.

Before we got the no-good-horrible-very-bad news, I had planned on writing a whole post about the love addiction I’m having this summer with my ice cream maker.

I made ice cream, took photos, and of course had specific affiliate links ready to be embedded so you all would click on them and make me the richest mommy blogger on my block.

That post died. I just don’t have it in me to write about ice cream. My heart and mind is 10,000 miles away from authentically writing about ice cream.

But I do know how to write about eating my emotions off my face, because that’s one thing I’m good at.

Tonight, Piper and I self-medicated with the ice cream that will never be written about.

It was a Toddler & Tiaras marathon, washed down with the best goat cheese roasted cherries ice cream you’ll never hear about.

7606821026 f456c1c09d no good news and goat cheese ice cream

Everything will be fine. Someday, hopefully soon-ish. In the grand scheme of things, this has to be, will be, minor. But right now, it’s OK and natural that we’re feeling let down, heavy, mad and often sad.

But we’re healthy, and we have each other. We have ice cream and we have (what might be) a looooong summer.

Should have just stuck to hanging out with the primates.

Oy My Crap, it hit 100 degrees here today in Indianapolis. As the days continue to melt my face off, I have no option but to leave the house with my three children or risk decomposing in our very own home. The A/C here is a joke, and it’s been over 85 degrees in the girls bedroom now for over a week. I know, First World problems at their very finest.

Heading the the community pool is out of the question, the news lady said that the water is 94 degrees (she didn’t confirm if that temperature reading was before or after all the day camp kids visited)(whatever, you know what day camp kids do in the pool when nobody’s looking), which isn’t exactly refreshing for the mind or body.

Trying our best to do new things, I’ve been mocked on a few occasions for not ever bringing my kids to the Indianapolis Museum of Art. See, people love it. It’s free, the air conditioning works really well, and it’s all sorts of culture that makes you feel all stone cold smart and stuff when you leave.

So naturally, I needed to get my kids in on some of this.

5962064084 c8a68f67f8 Should have just stuck to hanging out with the primates.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Around noon, I gathered up my little hobos, skipped the hair brushing and proper footwear, and headed out. The only exhibit that mattered? The contemporary exhibit of course!

Guess what? You can’t take photos in the contemporary exhibit. It’s a copycat rights thing apparently, and it’s taken very seriously. The funny thing is, that there are no signs to tell you this. Fortunately for the rule breakers like myself, the museum has hired very devoted people to scold you as you’re trying to pose your kids for the photo opp. It doesn’t matter, they don’t care if you’re a mommy blogger.

Because I’m a law abiding patron, I of course deleted the photos immediately to never been seen again put them on the internet. Duh.

5961525781 fa89f95871 Should have just stuck to hanging out with the primates.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I swear I did my best to have them look, but don’t touch (honestly, I did, I even raised my voice in a whisper zone). And I tried to  keep the meltdowns to a minimum, but for the love the acoustics made it sound way worse than it really was.

5961515059 e685913d62 Should have just stuck to hanging out with the primates.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Honestly, I really did attempt to keep them off the glass. This isn’t the zoo, it’s a fine establishment for the most refined.

WE SHOULD HAVE GONE TO THE ZOO, TO HANG OUT WITH THE BABOONS AND HAVE A FECES HURLING CONTEST! It’s really where we belong.

Dudes, I know tons of you people bring your kids to the “adult museum”, and I don’t know how you do it. Are your kids that much better than mine? Doesn’t the mere thought of having your kids inches away from priceless painting and sculptures make your heart palpitate?

A change, will do me good?

We’ve almost completed the first week of the rest of our middle-aged lives. You know, being a parent of a school aged child, who goes to school.

I didn’t think it would be a big deal, but it is.  It’s already changed the whole family’s daily schedule.  Getting all 5 of us out of the house before 8 am, on a daily basis, is no small task. (This is also where I applaud those of you moms that work outside of the house, and have been doing this from the beginning.)

The school we chose for PK does not have much of a bus system, so I’ve become the bus.  Incidentally, this driving my kid to and fro also collides with the same time my other 2 kids like to sleep. It pains me to the core to have to wake them up just to get in the car for a few minutes around 7:30am and 2:30pm.  But what’s a bus driver to do?

I’m working on a few carpooling options, so hopefully that will pan out soon. 

Also, at this school, you don’t just drop your kids off at the curb.  You park your proverbial bus and escort them into their classroom.  On one hand, this is great because you get to see your kids teacher every day.

On the other hand?  I need to go into public (with my 3 kids) at 7:30 in the morning.  Call me lazy, but I haven’t been in public at 7:30 in the morning for a really LOOOOONG time.  My current goal is to figure out what’s an acceptable appearance at this ungodly time of the day.  I’m thinking proper undergarments and real footwear for starts.

Ugh, I never thought this school thing would whip us into a routine and change us so quickly.  But according to my husband, a change will do me good.

I could just smack him for that.
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 In other exciting news…

 A change, will do me good?

My little urban garden is going bonkers, and I need to act fast.  I scored a pressure cooker off Craigslist last week but am too intimidated and afraid to use it. Any advice and/or encouragement is welcomed.  I really don’t want to blow my house up on account of a few jars of salsa.

H1N1: If we didn’t have it then, we surely have it now.

Yesterday I experienced one of the most traumatic, scaring experience in my life. The kind of tragic event that you immediately want to forget, but know you will carry it with you to your death bed.

It happened in public, at the grocery store pharmacy.

I was picking up a prescription (for a noncontagious aliment, I must disclose). The script was called in the day before, so I thought it would be ready and waiting for me when we got there. A quick in-and-out experience was what I had envisioned.

Naturally, it wasn’t ready. Apparently, there are a lot of sick people right now and the pharmacist was back-up like a Michigan State bartender during happy hour. I was told I was going to have to wait “just a minute”.

As I look around my surroundings, I see people who look like they just stepped off the set of MJ’s music video, Thriller. I see people not even able to stand, people clutching their stomachs, folks moaning. Moaning. This might sound like I’m making an exaggeration here for a good story, I wish that was the case. Honestly, I’ve never seen anything like it.

Since we only have to wait “a minute”, and I don’t want to come back to this mess, the girls and I decide to wait it out. Bad idea. If I’m not totally freaked out and paranoid to the point of paralysis already, the lady behind me (within arms reach) starts to vomit. into a plastic bag. I seriously feel like I’m in a scene of a bad Will Smith movie where everyone is dying of some unknown illness and the world is ending.

I am so grossed out and freaked out that I quickly move the girls and I straight ahead to the soap isle and crack open the nearest bottle of disinfectant we can find. While we’re lathering up, the barfing lady is called to the window and picks up her much needed meds. As she’s walking out, she has to pass us to get to the door.

And then it happened.

SHE TOUCHES ME ON THE SHOULDER AND APOLOGIZES FOR GETTING SICK. SHE TOUCHES ME (while the other hand is clutching her barf bag)!

I am obviously pregnant. I obviously had 2 small children with me. Why would anyone who is grossly sick touch another human on purpose? I could go on and on about this situation – how I feel about seriously contagious people going out in public. And did I mention she had a family member/friend accompanying her? SHE SHOULD HAVE WAITED IN THE CAR. OR AT HOME. OR OUT SIDE.

Because of this – I have vowed myself to never go into another pharmacy again. I will only take my business to pharmacies that have a drive-thru.

And I can’t get the sound of her very vocal vomiting out of my head, no matter how hard I try. I’ve been changed for life, it was even more damaging to me than the time I found a hair weave tangled in my cart wheel.

As I walked out out of the store, I made a comment to the girls that everyone should be asked to wear masks when going out in public. Little did we know, that when we got the mail later in the day, Aunt Betsy would deliver a little surprise in the mail.

 H1N1: If we didnt have it then, we surely have it now.
They insist on wearing them everywhere we go.

Godda Dollar?

My sisters and I would laugh at the time we were on vacation in Florida, and an inebriated homeless lady asked my younger sister Jenna for a dollar. She held out her shaking dirty hand and asked in her raspy voice “godda dollar?”

At the time it was kinda scary, somewhat funny, but we joke about it still. Did we give her a dollar? Nope. I’m not sure Jenna even had one to give.

Fast forward 15 years, and in the past week I’ve been asked for money from the homeless twice. Both times, I’ve been with my kids, on foot, less than a block away from my house. Both times I gave (but gave really poorly, giving only $2 each time).

I know I choose to live in this neighborhood. I want my kids to grow up in a diverse neighborhood NOT filled with people just like us.

These people live in my community. I believe we are called to help our neighbors. If any one of my neighbors knocked on my door tomorrow and asked to borrow something, I would give without a second thought.

When it comes to the homeless, I want to do the right thing. I do want to help. Set an example that my kids will remember. But I have reservation on the proper way to give. Reservations that keep me up at night:

1. I have a liquor store a block from my house. While I want to help the hungry, I do not want to enable an addiction. There is a big difference between being a helper and an enabler.

2. Since it’s happening so close to my home, when I’m on foot – I’m afraid if I give once, they will watch where I live and the next thing I know they will be knocking on my door asking for more. (yes this happens in my ‘hood).

3. Safety. Am I protecting myself and my children if I just whip out my wallet every time someone asks me for cash. I don’t want to be taken for a fool.

I would feel like such a cold hearted youknowwhat if I just turned the other cheek, told the person I had no money, and walked away. (holding my fancy deli sandwich, expensive gelato, and organic vegetables I just purchased on our walk).

I’m interested in what others do. Do you give? Do you claim you have no money? Do you strike up a conversation and try to help other ways? Or do you just walk away…

*Post addition: My Friend Jennifer left in the comments 2 amazing post written by I believe a pastor regarding this issue. They are awesome. If you have a minute, read them here and here.