tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-73993174350897281052024-03-05T22:16:20.818-08:00My Crazy Life - Live, Laugh, LoveBarb Velascohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02042581398620520073noreply@blogger.comBlogger379125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7399317435089728105.post-50904316876333256992017-08-11T15:09:00.001-07:002017-08-11T15:09:47.713-07:00My 12 Days of ChristmasWe survived the Christmas season. Barely.
'Tis the season to be jolly and merry. Or, if you have "luck", 'tis the season to be cursed and frazzled.
Day 1 - Car accident. No injuries, just a guy who cannot drive nor admit fault. Had a police officer mock my car antlers and Rudolph nose. But, the other driver was cited so all's well that ends well.
Day 2 - Get rental car lodged up on a snowbank. Husband, all dressed for work, was helpful but not amused.
Day 3 - House alarm and visit from police.
Day 4 - A badly cut finger.
Day 5 - Another badly cut finger.
Day 6 - Snowed in for 4 days - inmates were running the asylum.
Day 7 - Another badly injured finger.
Day 8 - A fun 45 minutes with a plunger.
Day 9 - One very startled grandfather meets a flying Nerf pellet.
Day 10 - A broken shower faucet and a flooded bathroom.
Day 11 - Christian meets the Dean and Santa. And gives both a piece of his mind. No holds barred.
Day 12 - Fighting, boredom, tears, dishes and laundry.
Decorating cookies, wrapping presents, addressing Christmas cards, attending office parties were some of the highlights of the season. Attending a family office party involves dressing the kids up in suitable clothing (and buying suitable clothing). It also means I have to explain to my 5 year old son how he will and will NOT behave, including a list of approved and NOT approved topics to discuss while meeting Daddy's boss. Explaining to the kids that they cannot have a live dog or an overpriced robotic dog was another fun holiday memory. The Christmas holiday was busy and fun. We sprinkled reindeer food on the lawn and explained to Christian that we did not expect him to clean up any reindeer poop. Where does he come up with this stuff?? We laid out cookies, carrots and milk. Again, explaining to Christian that he could NOT eat Santa's cookies. No matter how hungry he is. Sara left long notes justifying her past behavior and making outlandish promises to be saintly and angelic in 2014. And she also asked for Santa's autograph.
Christmas morning we watched Christian open his presents with the enthusiasm of a rabid dog going after a bone. We just made sure to keep our fingers and toes away from him.
After Christmas, we spent the day in Chicago with some friends. Christian spent the day terrified he was going to be eaten by a dinosaur skeleton. Who knew taking a little boy to a museum full of mummies and dinosaur bones would be so traumatizing? Barb Velascohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02042581398620520073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7399317435089728105.post-45581658387299315302017-08-11T15:08:00.002-07:002017-08-11T15:08:36.929-07:00The Disappearing ActTravel update - almost everyone survived in tact. One person was hospitalized but I am assured my kids had no role in the cause.
In one week's time, I will disappear for 3 days and 2 nights with my husband and WITHOUT my children. This will be our first getaway in 5 years. My friends (I hope I can still call them that next week) offered to watch our kids. Well, I made sad eyes, begged, pleaded, cajoled and bribed them. It's the best possible escape. We have free child care, warm weather and I do not have any responsibilities! I do not have to attend a single work function. Bon voyage, so long, farewell, sayonara, eat my dust, folks!!! I am crossing my fingers, praying, lighting candles and hoping that my kids behave reasonably well for the kind folks who have agreed to clothe, house, feed and watch over my kids. I feel like a should prepare an operating manual. Some helpful tips - feed early and often. When in doubt, feed them again. Then throw some snacks at them for extra protection. Do NOT fall for the big, sad, tragic blue eyes. My kids make Puss in Boots like an amateur in the hoodwinking department. Also, they hibernate like bears. When in doubt, tell them to go to sleep. And approach with caution when they are tired or hungry. Or just run the other way. Your motto for 3 days should be "survival at any cost".Barb Velascohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02042581398620520073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7399317435089728105.post-82357990732454348812017-08-11T15:06:00.002-07:002017-08-11T15:06:49.827-07:00Words To Live ByWrote this 3.5 years ago and not much has changed.
Days are long. Life is short. Some decisions are easy. Some are harder to make. And stick to. Some people change for the better. Others for the worse. As I watch my daughter navigate the murky social waters at school, I see her struggle with confidence and acceptance. She needs to accept herself for who she is. She also needs to accept others for who they are. Some people will not like you, no matter how hard you try. You need to know when to walk away. If someone make you feel bad about yourself, run, don't walk in the other direction. I see her put herself out there only to be rejected. Where is the line between "keep trying" and "they are not worth the effort"?
As adults, we face the same struggles. People will lie to you and about you. People you relied on and trusted will let you down. Once someone reveals who they really are, believe them and protect yourself. I am all for second chances. I have been given second and third chances. I learn from my mistakes. I have asked for and given forgiveness. I have trusted the wrong people. I have been burned. I have picked myself up and I have helped others in need. I find it strange that my 10 year old daughter and I are facing the same social turmoil. I have seen girls make her feel bad about herself. Why is the voice of another 13 year old girl more powerful to my daughter than her mother's voice? Why are we more willing to accept and believe the worst about ourselves than the good? I am far from saintly. I struggle daily, even hourly, just to be a good person. Most days I think I do a pretty good job. I stick by my friends who need me and can be trusted. I give people the benefit of the doubt. Being a person who runs and hides from conflict and confrontation, I have kept people in my life too long. Eventually, I realize "I have not had a positive encounter with this person in 5 years. Why are they still in my life?". Some people are selfish, not thinking or caring about the impact their actions and words have on others. Some people are selfless and always think the best of people. I like to think I am somewhere in the middle. Barb Velascohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02042581398620520073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7399317435089728105.post-30406917493964387992017-08-11T15:05:00.001-07:002017-08-11T15:05:37.085-07:00First Grade - Trial by FireFirst Grade was equally amusing.
We survived Christian's kindergarten year. More importantly, his teacher survived it. She had one rule/law/guideline/suggestion - do NOT, under any circumstances, allow him to be in the same first grade class with his best friend. That dynamic duo is just a little too much to handle for any mere mortal teacher. Imagine the look of horror and fear on his face on "Meet The Teacher" day when he learned that his new teacher works out where Christian does taekwondo. The idea that his teacher and TKD instructor could meet and compare notes on behavior was too much for devious little mind. This is the same kid who tried to convince me that parent-teacher conferences were optional. However, if I felt the need to attend, he should accompany me to defend his honor and face his accuser. We decided Cub Scouts would be a good All-American hobby for him - teach him the pioneer spirit, survival skills, and all sorts of rugged and manly skills. While participating in a Cub Scout, he was nervous about his hiking "skills". Imagine his shock and delight when he learned that hiking is just "a long walk outside in nature". He was rather disappointed that making lava and building/ firing a cannon were not listed as potential badges/activities. On the plus side, he learned the difference between 'dissect' and 'decapitate'. Although I am not sure who was more nervous - his teacher or us.Barb Velascohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02042581398620520073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7399317435089728105.post-4871673945127079592017-08-11T15:04:00.002-07:002017-08-11T15:04:28.617-07:00He Was Framed!Update - we survived the kindergarten school year and are entering 3rd grade. Not much has changed.
Kindergarten started 3.5 months ago. We are still in the learning curve. First he thought it was too hard, had too many rules, didn't like the snacks and lasted too long. Then Christian discovered things like lunch, computers, recess and the bus ride. Suddenly, school was not so bad. He played soccer at recess, learned computer games and had buddies on the bus. But those pesky rules keep getting in the way. So far, he has gotten busted running into the classroom and sliding on his knees, like he is trying to steal second base, excessive talking, ignoring personal space, not keeping his hands to himself, difficulty following directions, and the all-inclusive - staying in control. I can tell the second he gets off the bus what "color" day he had. Green is good, yellow is caution, red is big trouble. I hear talk of a purple day - which is "outstanding". Christian assures me that a purple day is beyond his capabilities. He instantly tries to defend himself - he was framed, he was provoked or completely innocent. We assure him that his teacher and classmates are not out to get him and he better get himself under control. His defense mechanism are usually short-lasting. He pretty much crumbles and confesses when we volunteer to call the teacher and hear her version of his crime spree. Since no lawyer will take on his case pro bono, there is no trial with a jury of his peers. Frankly, I think they would sell him down the river. He has managed to con all the girls in the class. They play games at recess with him. He plays the "baby" and they are all his mommies. He tries to run away and they catch him. So much for playing hard to get. He was very proud that he got some little girl to make snowballs for him to throw at recess. Luckily, his teacher is immune to the baby blue eyes when he tries batting them at her. His parent teacher conference was equally amusing. First he tried to convince me that my attendance was not needed. He assured me he was doing very well in school and I should just stay home. Not being a complete and total fool, I attended. I know my child pretty well so I could imagine how the meeting would go. I assured his teacher that she has a great deal more credibility with us than the child who will stand there covered in chocolate and blame the missing baked good on his sister who is still at school 5 miles away. Now he has 3 adults who are on to his game. We had to explain (again) that the teacher does not need his input or opinions on what is being taught, or how and when it is taught. Barb Velascohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02042581398620520073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7399317435089728105.post-82147008771897324442014-10-01T18:35:00.002-07:002014-10-01T18:35:58.075-07:00The Kindergarten Honeymoon<strike>Christian has started kindergarten. Like most kids, he was conflicted. He was excited. He was nervous. He was pumped. He was scared. Luckily, he knew a few of the kids in his class. Yes, there would be girls in his class. His pre-k class was all boys, so he had trouble wrapping his brain around the concept of boys and girls co-mingling for extended periods of time. We explained how things would go. The bus would pick him up and bring him home. No, it would not get lost. He would hang his backpack and lunch bag up and sit in his seat. His teacher would be in charge. When she talks, he should listen. Sit quietly, keep your hands to yourself, raise your hand to ask questions. Be nice, be patient, be kind, be respectful. We thought we had it covered.
The first couple of days were great. He was excited and bursting with all news of the day. He told us who he sat with and what he learned. By around day 5, the bloom was coming of the rose. He wearily climbed off the bus dragging a backpack that covers most of his body. I asked about his day. "I don't think this kindergarten thing is going to work out for me, Mom. There are too many rules, it's too long and I don't like the snacks. We can try again when I am older." I explained that all the kids were adjusting to the new routine, schedule and rules. I assured him that he would get the hang of it in no time. The kindergarten honeymoon was over but he can't break up with it. Or his teacher. Who he thinks is cute so he is willing to give her another chance. Lucky lady.Barb Velascohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02042581398620520073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7399317435089728105.post-69596758417109279252014-01-21T13:10:00.000-08:002014-01-21T13:10:52.109-08:00The Loosest ToothChristian lost his first tooth. This was a big deal in our house. We got daily, even hourly, updates about it's condition. "It's 80 pounds wiggly today. I can wiggle it 11 feet right now." But, mixed in with his excitement was fear. This was a new experience. Will it hurt a lot? Will it bleed? Can I still eat? Will the tooth fairy bring me a new tooth? Do they all fall out at once? Last night, the tooth literally fell into his lap. He was thrilled. "My tooth is out! I'm going to be rich!" We immediately sent out the bat signal and white smoke to all the family members who were equally invested in this momentous occasion in a young man's life. He found his tooth pillow and stuffed it in for the tooth fairy. Then we had long discussions about where to put the pillow. Do we put it under his pillow? Will the tooth fairy find it? Should we leave it on his dresser? We can't leave it on the floor because she might step on it and break it. Will she get lost and go to Sara's room? Let me tell you, I DID feel like sending up white smoke afterwards. A Papal Conclave is shorter and less serious than this kid making these life and death decisions. Finally, after much thought and discussion, the froggy tooth fairy pillow is 'gently' placed under his pillow. Imagine his shrieks of delight when he found the tooth fairy had left him a 'green rectangle money' in it's place. He proudly told me that he is now rich and can buy things. I don't think the kid understands the value of a dollar but he sure does know the value of the first lost tooth.Barb Velascohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02042581398620520073noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7399317435089728105.post-86863341362177027932014-01-17T12:38:00.000-08:002014-01-17T12:38:10.911-08:00Silent SufferingI picked Christian up from school today. His class was finishing up lunchtime. He came running up to me with a distressed and accusing look on his face. "Mom, you put CRUNCHY peanut butter in my lunch!" His face had disappointment with a hint of accusation all over it. I have to admit here and now, I did not feel too horrible about my parenting. Like it or lump it, kiddo. Turning to his teacher for sympathy of my own, I quipped, "He doesn't suffer in silence". She looked back at me and replied, "He doesn't do ANYTHING in silence." Well played, teacher. She gets to witness his mind in action for 16 hours a week. He is smart, funny and very, very chatty. His observations are both humorous and accurate. Nothing escapes this kid's attention. Right now he is obsessed with his first loose tooth. He wiggles it all day. And describes it in great and amusing detail. "It's 80 pounds wiggly. I can wiggle it 11 miles. Will the tooth fairy really leave me a money? Will she leave me a new tooth?" I don't have answers to all his questions and my answers are not nearly as fun. But, it sure does make the day (and time) fly by. No, Christian, we cannot actually see time fly. And we do not having flying clocks. Yes, he asked. Barb Velascohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02042581398620520073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7399317435089728105.post-24396685487108671902013-12-11T12:05:00.001-08:002013-12-11T12:05:36.991-08:00The Cracked AngelEvery December, my mom would go to town decorating for Christmas. She made ornaments. She actually cut and sewed little ornaments. I would sit by her side and stuff the cotton in them for her. She decorated the house and baked loads of peanut brittle to use as a peace offering to the teachers who had the joy, honor and privilege of teaching her little angels for 8 hours a day five days a week. She wrote out and addressed zillions of Christmas cards with the mandatory picture of all 6 of us lined up like little minions dressed in matching moon boots or ski sweaters. She decorated the tree with a mix of handmade ornaments, store bought ones and ones created by us in school. My favorite part of Christmas decorating was watching her pull out the creche. It's been in her family for years. Amazingly, she let us play with it, even rearranging the figurines in it. That would explain the animals' missing horns, the chips in the wise men's crowns and the crack in the angel that watches over Mary, Joseph and baby Jesus. When I felt my kids were old enough to have it around, I started pulling it out at Christmas. Unlike my mother, I have a strict "look but don't even think about touching" policy. I am hoping it will survive long enough to be passed down to another generation. Every year, I look forward to setting it up, just like my mother did for all those years. I smile when I see the cracked angel and chipped figurines. That angel watched over my family for years and has the scars to prove it. I like to think, like the angel, my mom is watching over my family.Barb Velascohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02042581398620520073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7399317435089728105.post-87459663250365510242013-12-11T11:57:00.001-08:002013-12-11T11:57:57.398-08:00Santa, Spies and the HolidaysGod is always watching. Santa is always watching. Mom and Dad are always watching. The Elf on the Shelf is always watching. Poor Christian just cannot catch a break. There are spies everywhere. 'Tis the season for spying and repenting. And defending one's behavior. During this holiday season, Christian needs some back up. This morning, we were talking about what it means to be "naughty" or "nice". He asked if he had been "mostly good" this year. We talked about what behavior he could change or improve. I told him that he needs to work on listening, not fighting or whining, doing chores, cleaning up toys, and saying nice things. God, Mom, Dad, Santa and everyone would be happier if he fought less, whined less, and listened more. But, overall, yes, he is a nice and good boy who makes Mom and Dad proud. After thinking (plotting) for a couple minutes, he came up with a solution that works for him. "I have an idea, Mom. Santa can just ask Grumpy (grandpa) about my behavior. Then I'll get lots of presents." Christian learned a long time ago that Grumpy is his all-time defender. Well played, Christian. Merry Christmas.Barb Velascohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02042581398620520073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7399317435089728105.post-40560124106755851172013-11-15T14:10:00.000-08:002013-11-15T14:10:48.086-08:00God Got BoredToday, Christian was telling me that he 'finally' figured out how the world works. I knew this was going to be a good conversation. The world according to Christian goes something like this: So, God spent a lot of days and nights making stuff - like mountains, animals, oceans, trees, plants, forests and jungles. Then He took a nap. Then He got bored so He made a guy. Then the guy got bored and lonely and needed a wife or a mom or a sister - some girl to play with and eat with and help with chores. So, God made a girl person. Then the guy decided she should be a wife so they can have babies to take care of. The man and wife could not figure out who was the boss so they took turns telling each other what to do. The man did not have any money to buy a house or tools to build one so they camped in a garden. My mom says camping is when people go on vacation and pretend they don't have a house. Then the girl did something against the rules and God put them both in a time out NAKED! And He put a snake in the garden to scare them. Then, when the guy and girl were sorry, God let them out of time out and gave them some clothes. So, if you are naughty and your parents are not around, God has to put you in a time out. The gospel according to Christian. Barb Velascohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02042581398620520073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7399317435089728105.post-83192007713964176412013-10-10T09:56:00.001-07:002013-10-10T09:56:44.388-07:00Here Comes The GroomChristian, age 5, has selected his bride. She is a middle-school cougar. He has planned their wedding down to the last detail. He wants a simple ceremony at church. He will have to leave partway through the ceremony to attend the children's liturgy. His bride will have to loan him a dollar for the offering basket. After the ceremony, he wants a small reception of pizza and hot dogs with pudding and M&M's for dessert. Dinner will not be followed by dancing. Instead, he would like a pool party. He has even picked out a small house for them to live in, in case she doesn't want to share his toddler bed with bed rails. She will have to learn to cook - mac and cheese, pizza, eggs and toast. And pack his lunch for school every day. He is not sure who will drive them everywhere until she learns to drive but love will conquer all. Barb Velascohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02042581398620520073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7399317435089728105.post-36440026426093476562013-10-10T09:54:00.001-07:002013-10-10T09:54:09.972-07:00I'll Miss You. Sort of.Sara and I are packing for our big trip! We are heading to Canada with my aunt and my dad. Think "Planes, Trains and Automobiles" with French accents. Sara and I are big Anne of Green Gables fans so we picked Prince Edward Island. I also picked Montreal because it is bilingual and very cosmopolitan. It should fit her fancy sense of self very nicely. Since my dad and aunt go on a trip together every year, we decided to invite ourselves along for the ride. And plan the whole thing. Between the unpredictable weather, events and my daughter's "sense of style", packing has proved to be a bit of a challenge. First, she grew over the summer, so I have no idea what fits her. Second, she hates trying on clothes. She prefers the "just buy it and hope for the best" attitude. Third, we are going to "fancy tea" in Montreal, so this requires (in Sara's mind) a loan of Kate Middleton's wedding dress. And don't get me started on the number of shoes she thinks she needs to bring. My shoe criteria? Do they sort of match my outfit? Are they comfy? Since I know I will be stuck lugging her luggage all through Canada, I am trying to be efficient. We will be gone for 5 days. She has packed 11 outfits, 4 sets of pajamas, and 2 pairs of underwear. Christian was "helping" me pack. He jumped on the bed and threw clothes to me to add to the suitcase. He suggested a swim suit and a floppy hat. He didn't care that it will be 60 degrees. He asked a million questions. Where are we going? Why? Why can't he come? Will we bring back presents? What food do they have? He got quiet for a minute. He told me he would miss me. He brightened when I told him he would have Daddy all to himself. I asked if he wanted to do anything special with Daddy while we were gone. Watch Star Wars and eat at the new hot dog place. I will miss you, too, little buddy.Barb Velascohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02042581398620520073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7399317435089728105.post-10184984218442431212013-08-30T13:04:00.000-07:002013-08-30T13:04:24.643-07:00I Promise
I did not watch the VMA show. But I heard enough about Miley Cyrus's "performance" to check it out. I felt like I needed a shower after watching it. And someone needs to give that girl some boundaries. And a makeover. Thankfully, my daughter will never see that strip tease. I would not even know what to say about it. It was disgusting, horrifying and nauseating. I will promise this to my daughter: Because I love you and want what is best for you, I will watch over you, guide you, encourage you. I will also teach you to use you talents to engage people- not shock and titillate them. I will make sure you dress and act in a way that demands and shows respect for others and yourself. I will never let you prance around like cheap tart in trashy underwear. I will never let you bring home trashy clothes or makeup. I will make you change your outfit and wash your face if you do not look like the beautiful, smart girl that you are. I will not let you leave our house looking cheap or trashy. If you look cheap and trashy, people will treat you that way. It is not cool to degrade yourself in public like that. If you want to be a singer or dancer, then take lessons and practice. Show your skill, not your booty. Show your style, not your skin. Show your beautiful smile, not your butt cheeks. Use your personality, humor and charm to attract people to you. You don't need to shock and reveal yourself in public. People will not admire you. They will pity you or objectify you. Value yourself and people will see your worth.
You will never dress like that. Ever.
You will never dance like that. Ever.
You will be a lady. Not a sex object.
This I promise you, my beautiful daughter. If you follow these simple rules, you will not be mocked, degraded and pitied. You will be seen as a strong, talented and graceful person. Or I will ground you until you are 40.Barb Velascohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02042581398620520073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7399317435089728105.post-58599465560291954672013-08-24T13:35:00.002-07:002013-08-24T13:35:17.746-07:00If I Ran The ZooWe recently trekked up to the Lincoln Park Zoo. It is a very cool zoo and it is FREE!! The kids loved it. We roared at lions. We tweeted at birds of prey. We raced the servals. Each kid has a favorite animal so we made sure to spend lots of time observing those. Sara is fascinated by all big cats so we spent a lot of time in the big cat house. Christian wanted to see giraffes and polar bears. Unfortunately, the polar bears were not to be found but he was fascinated by the giraffes and their creepy, long, purple tongues. As we strolled over to the bears, I mentioned that my dad frequently sees bears on his fishing trips. Christian, being 5, brilliant and frugal, said "Grumpy should just come here to see them". Then he thought for another minute. "And he can bring us and buy us lunch". You have to admit that kid has a point. Later, I told my dad about my son's brilliant plan. My dad's suggestion? When he is old enough, my son can go on fishing trip with my dad and see the bears for himself. Ummmm, I've heard stories about them having to dump their lunches and JUMP into a plane to escape an approaching bear looking for a meal. I think I like the idea of my kid observing the animals from a safe distance with a large barrier between the beasts and my kids. Everyone survives and we can have ice cream after. On my dad's dime.Barb Velascohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02042581398620520073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7399317435089728105.post-20477598350458921342013-08-24T13:29:00.000-07:002013-08-24T13:29:28.485-07:00That's The Way The Scone CrumblesI have taken my kids out to eat (on my father's dime) since they were 3 weeks old. Occasionally, they were loud or messy. Frequently, they were both. The trick is to be polite, apologize, tip well, and eat at kid-friendly places. A military wife recently took her kids to a cafe and ordered scones. Not my favorite food. Basically, it is a bad knock off of a donut. It's dry, crumbly and tasteless, in my humble opinion. But, to each their own scone. Apparently, this military wife/mother was sitting with her 1 and 3 year old kids, quietly eating their scones when the owner freaked out about the mess they were making. The mother was told to never come back with her kids. They were not loud or disruptive. They were sitting quietly and eating the food they paid for. Seriously? Crumbs??? The mother was so embarrassed that she immediately left. The owner then posted a picture of the "mess" and complained about messy customers. Crumbs on a carpet. This owner was worked up over some crumbs. Has anyone, regardless of age, been able to eat a scone without making a huge mess of crumbs? I know I can't. I can guarantee my 9 and 5 year old could not.
My kids have spilled milk, soup, coleslaw, to name a few food items. One kid even threw up in a restaurant. I rushed out and left my father to pay the bill and apologize. The waitstaff was completely understanding about the situation. I should post pictures of my kitchen floor after every meal. That restaurant owner would have a stroke and pass out on her "messy" floor. Last time I checked, crumbs are pretty easy to clean up with this nifty newfangled contraption called a vacuum. I'll loan her mine after I clean up the breakfast remnants at my house. The owner should have been happy to have 2 well-behaved kids eating in her restaurant. She should have thanked the military mother/wife for her family's sacrifice and comped the meal. If I lived in that town, I would never enter her establishment. Though, I would be sorely tempted to come and order a bunch of scones and let my kids having a shark feeding frenzy. Just to see her reaction.Barb Velascohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02042581398620520073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7399317435089728105.post-1369354471603636662013-07-06T07:09:00.004-07:002013-07-06T07:09:51.447-07:00Queen BeeOne of Sara's school assignments was to create an imaginary island - complete with vegetation, food, animals, etc. She was thrilled. She got to create, write and use her amazing imagination. This was her dream homework assignment. Her imaginary island rivals the early Roman Empire. She drew elaborate pictures of the food, plant life and animals. She created mountains, marshes, beaches, savannahs, even tide pools. She declared herself queen of the island. Everyone she knows has a title and a role to play in her fiefdom. Paul is her king. Christian, her little brother, is the court jester. My father is the island cook. Her Aunt Angie is her lady-in-waiting/advisor. Her other aunts and female cousins are princesses. All her uncles and male cousins are palace guards. My role in her little fantasy world? Servant. Yup, a basic, low level, on call 24/7 servant, a lowly serf. I am going to seek political asylum and go to someone else's island. Maybe I'll get a job as a cocktail waitress. Or beach comber.Barb Velascohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02042581398620520073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7399317435089728105.post-3540630414834750682013-07-06T07:05:00.003-07:002013-07-06T07:05:32.193-07:00Birthday BluesMy baby is turning five. Finally. He is very offended that his friends had the audacity to do it before him. Now it is his turn. He has been planning the bash of the century for months now. He invites anyone and everyone who crosses his path - Paul's coworkers, Target cashiers, priests, lifeguards. Paul will be traveling for work on the day of the party so I needed reinforcements. I needed to hire someone with actual skills to entertain a house full of 5-6 year old on a sugar high. "We" agreed on a small party at home. Basically, I changed the subject every time he mentioned Chuck E. Cheese. I would rather fly everyone to Vegas for a show than enter that filthy Petri dish. Once we agreed on a venue (our house) and a guest list (a small group of friends), we needed to select entertainment. Face painting is out. He begs for his face to get painted, then ignores my reminders that it itches. Once the masterpiece is created and admired, he demands it be removed immediately. Picture the Shakespeare scene "Out, damn spot, out!" Balloons freak me out. I am always just waiting for the damn things to pop. Once they do, there is the inevitable fall out. So, forget the clown and balloon animals. So, I solicited ideas from those around me who are smarter and have been around the birthday block a few times. A magician! Brilliant. I can feed the group of hyper 5-6 year olds some cake and snacks and let some guy in a cape captivate and distract them. I asked Christian what he thought about having a magic show. He thought for a minute and shook his head. "But, I want a Star Wars birthday." I explained it is still a Star Wars theme - cake, decorations, invitations, etc. Then he thought some more. "But I don't know any magic, Mom." Poor kid. What kind of mother expects a kid to work his own birthday party. I quickly explained that a real magician comes and does it. He doesn't have to perform. Once he realized the pressure was off him, he was excited. Now he wants a cape. Not sure if he wants to be Batman or a magician. Probably a magical Batman.Barb Velascohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02042581398620520073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7399317435089728105.post-74423129747202309932013-07-06T06:58:00.002-07:002013-07-06T06:58:19.955-07:00A Five Year Old's Existential CrisisChristian turned 5. This was an event months and months in the making. Every time a classmate had a birthday, he got upset that yet another kid was gaining on him in the age department. He plotted and planned his party for months. Anyone he met got invited - his pediatrician, his father's co-workers, the Target cashiers, etc. We explained over and over that his party would be the day AFTER his birthday. The day BEFORE his birthday, he woke up from his nap giddy as can be. He skipped down the stairs, yelling "I am 5 FINALLY". It killed me to burst his little bubble but he had to wait one more "sleep". Crushed by this devastating blow, he muddled through the rest of his day. At the crack of dawn on his actual birthday, he bounced into our room, announcing gleefully, "I am FIVE FINALLY for real". He climbed into bed to cuddle and plan his special day. Then he climbed back down and went into the bathroom. He came back, looking crestfallen. He told us, "I don't FEEL five. I don't LOOK five. I don't SOUND five. How do I know I am really five now?" Poor kid. He was finally five but didn't believe it. We assured him that he looked and sounded older. He accepted it (grudgingly) and ran down the hall to remind his sister that he was 5. It's hard being 5 if you don't look, sound or feel 5.Barb Velascohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02042581398620520073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7399317435089728105.post-14657405623369931492013-05-15T09:17:00.001-07:002013-05-15T09:17:20.913-07:00Preschool - No Place For WimpsIn the name of all that is good and holy...... I have a newfound respect and admiration for preschool teachers, especially those honored to have my son in their class. That must be the longest 2.5 hours of their day. Don't get me wrong. He loves preschool. He runs out the door when it is time to saddle up and buckle up. But, a whole classroom of 4-5 year olds at once? First, they scatter like cockroaches. It's like trying to herd cats. They arrive like they are storming the beaches of Normandy. They descend on the smiling teachers en masse. They are bursting with all sorts of random news to share - anything from pooping on the potty to fighting with older sister. We know there are no secrets from the teachers. I can tell by their sympathetic smiles (smirks) when I am brave enough to enter the classroom. I have no idea how they corral those kids into submission but they do. The kids take off and hang up their coats. They pot their backpacks on the assigned hooks and pull out their folders. I am happy of my kid takes off his shoes and does NOT throw them at his sister. Then they congregate on the "circle". Putting international diplomacy to shame, the teacher referees between Cole and Christian about who gets to sit on the "C". They play games, sing songs, play outside, have snack, do crafts and actual work. Somehow my kid has learned how to spell his name, learn his phone number and do simple math. I am happy I got him to start flushing the potty. Maybe I need to "aim" higher. The kids take turns having "jobs". These are powerful positions that come with great responsibility - calendar, snack helper, line leader, and caboose. These kids become drunk with power and wield their lofty titles with the smugness of Napoleon. Visiting the classroom is not for the feint of heart. When you enter, you are besieged by small people grabbing at you and climbing on you. They will not all be related to you. They will treat you like a visiting royal dignitary. You are offered a chair, a coveted spot on the circle, a snack, etc. They try to bribe you with books and puzzles. You are the blood in the water and they are hungry sharks. The teachers need the diplomacy skills and patience of the Pope and Mother Theresa. These kids have no boundaries. They share anything and everything. They tell you the most intimate details of their home life. I sit there paralyzed with fear because my son loves to over-share our dirty laundry. His friends know more about me than my own husband, probably. Their teachers have to referee every argument, sooth hurt feelings, heal real and imaginary boo-boos. They do it with joy and an amazing amount of patience and grace. After a visit, I come home and thank God Almighty that I survived. They take a brief lunch break and do it all again with a new batch of eager beavers. Barb Velascohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02042581398620520073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7399317435089728105.post-31375520446760021312013-05-15T09:12:00.001-07:002013-05-15T09:12:29.165-07:00Play Ball!!!It seemed like a good idea to sign Christian up for T-Ball. Now he is running around swinging an aluminum bat like a cave man. He was so excited for his first practice when we headed out to the field. Here is out it went:
"Grab your mitt, Buddy.
Why?
So you can catch the ball.
Wait, they are going to throw it AT me?
Yes, just like Sara's games.
I'll just tell them to throw it at someone else."
His coach has his work cut out for him. First, we had to corral 12 4-5 year old boys into a line. Fundamentals came next. We started with a breakdown of first, second, third base and home plate. They scattered like feathers in the wind. Loud ones. Catching and throwing will take a while to master, I am guessing. Batting involved much spinning and falling down. Some kids ran from first to third base. Cutting out the middle man, I guess. One kid ran to first and back to home plate. My kid ran to first and kept going in a straight line. We are going to need a giant STOP sign like Forrest Gump. I have enormous sympathy for the coaches. They have their work cut out for them. They have to get the kids to sit still, listen , wait their turn and follow multiple commands. The kids are learning how (when and where) to throw the ball. They are practicing how (when and where) to swing the bat. They are learning when and where to run. And stop. They don't even try to catch the ball. It is way more fun to chase after it with everyone else on your team. They swarm that little ball like locusts. It takes 2-3 throws to get it to it's destination. Or anywhere near it. All vital parts of baseball but Herculean skills to master for 4 and 5 year olds hyped up on adrenaline.
His favorite things about baseball are the following:
Peeing on a grassy hill.
Waving to his friend, Owen from first base. Or the outfield. Or anywhere, really.
His "creepy" jersey - (very nice Radiology practice is sponsoring the team so the shirts have skulls with baseball eyes).
Snack time, depending on the snack. He has a picky palete, I guess.
His way of keeping score is......unique. All the kids bat and run to each base every time another player hits. So, in Christian's brain this means everyone gets a home run. And, there is a LOT of crying in baseball. Sorry, Tom Hanks. They cry when it is not their turn to bat, miss the ball or get told to stop picking flowers in the outfield. Why is there an outfield in T-ball???
It's going to be a long and entertaining summer. Play ball!!!Barb Velascohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02042581398620520073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7399317435089728105.post-49662846212541442862013-05-02T14:29:00.003-07:002013-05-02T14:29:33.757-07:00Packing UpWe are attending a family wedding in North Carolina. This is a very big deal for everyone. We get to fly on a "real" airplane. And, most importantly, we get to see family we have not seen in a long time. In fact, it will be the first time the whole family on Paul's side will be together in 13 years. The packing and preparation for the whole trek is making me think it would be easier and more efficient to just MOVE to North Carolina. Christian and Sara are in the wedding party. This is a dream come true for Sara. She has been begging all our friends and family to get married so she can be in a wedding, wear a fancy dress, dance and eat fancy cake. Christian's role is to "supervise" the ring bearer down the aisle. I can already picture the America's Funniest Home Videos clip now.
First, we went dress shopping. Then came dress alterations. Then came suit shopping for a 4 year old. We decided to leave him out of the whole selection process and treated him like a mannequin. His suit had to be altered. This was quite a confusing process for him. "Why I wear a daddy suit? Am I going to Daddy work? Am I getting married? Is she going to give my pants back to me?" Now comes packing. It would be easier to list what I am NOT bringing. Packing for 1 woman and 2 kids is daunting. Too many shoes, shorts, socks, jammies, shirts, medicine, underwear, plane activities, snacks, etc. We could be gone for a month or a weekend. Luckily, Paul is driving to the wedding with his mom so we can load up the family truckster. I am flying with the kids because he suffered through a drive to Disney with me riding shotgun and vowed to never drive more than 3.5 hours with me again. Smart man. Sara has her own backpack full of supplies for the 2 hour plane ride - homework, books, drawing tools, and her Ipod. She keeps packing, unpacking and repacking. She assures me there is a method to her madness. Christian and I are sharing a backpack. He keeps putting "important" things in it. I keep taking them out. I am amazed at the number of toys, games, etc. that he "cannot" live without. Airport security is going to have a good chuckle over the contents of my backpack. Christian wanted his baseball bat, glove and helmet, snow pants (really? It's May in North Carolina). His other essential items include but are not limited to - a deck of playing cards, 2 plastic dinosaurs, 1 plastic superheroes, 3 crayons, no paper, toddler scissors, dried out play dough, whack-a-mole, just to name a few. My packing essentials? Earplugs. I have been reassuring Christian that, yes, the pilot knows how to get to North Carolina. NO, we won't crash into any clouds. Yes, he can wave to God if he seems him in the sky. If God is watching, please help me out. I will outnumbered. I am afraid the kids will stage a coup and end up flying the plane. Barb Velascohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02042581398620520073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7399317435089728105.post-18791334374611513182013-04-09T13:47:00.001-07:002013-04-09T13:47:19.172-07:00MilestonesSara is turning 9. She is counting down the days, hours and minutes. She is growing up. She is spreading her wings. She is developing her own social life. She lives for sleepovers where they stay up way too late and giggle all night. When she asks questions, I find I can explain in more detail. Her questions are more perceptive and thoughtful. I can also explain that some things are just too grown up and none of her business. Over the last 9 years, I have methodically charted and recorded each milestone. I know the dates of her first smile, tooth, doctor visit, even her first haircut. I know when she rolled over, sat up, said a word, walked and slept through the night. I have meticulously recorded each stage of her young life. But, it is impossible to pinpoint the bigger milestones. How do we mark when she first learned how to make a friend? How to soothe herself? How to keep trying when faced with something new?
She is smart, funny, perceptive, thoughtful and independent. She is still my little girl. She loves to snuggle and cuddle. Most of the time, she acts like a little teenager. She is obsessed with music, dancing and fashion. But when she snuggles up next to me, I think back over the last 9 years. My arms still hold her. My eyes still watch over her. My ears still listen for her laughter and tears. She has survived bullying and come out stronger and more compassionate. She has survived moving away from her friends and family. She is learning to think and do more for herself. She is learning to listen better. She is learning that responsibility and independence are earned over and over. She is discovering that trust and respect are vital to the person she wants to become. She needs to earn and give respect in equal parts to everyone around her.
I have changed over the last 9 years of being a mother. I have survived illness, shots, temper tantrums, bad dreams, potty training, first days of school and 2 very frightening trips to the E.R. I worry about different things. I don't worry less. Somethings are bigger. Some not so big. I am learning to be flexible on some matters. I still worry about what kind of people they will become. I have learned that they see and hear way more than I do. I learned I am a stronger mother than I ever thought. I might even be a pretty good one.
She is becoming a whole, separate person with needs and wants. She is coming to us less and less about the little things. She is learning what is important and what can be ignored. She is figuring out more and more on her own. She is becoming a person figuring out her place in the world. I am enjoying conversations with her on a whole new level. She is interested in everything. She has an amazing perspective on the world. She eagerly embraces new challenges. She is always up for an adventure. She is willing to try, fail and learn. She is not afraid of what people think. She knows who she is. She always wants to learn and do more. With each milestone, she is growing into an amazing young lady. But, she will always be my baby. Barb Velascohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02042581398620520073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7399317435089728105.post-45614262417196714752013-04-09T13:41:00.003-07:002013-04-09T13:41:32.774-07:00Beauty Is....I am always unhappy with my hair, makeup, skin, my overall body. I wish I had prettier hair that did what I wanted it to do. I wish my skin was even and flawless. I wish I was thinner. I wish..... I want..... I know that who I am on the inside is what really matters. But, wouldn't it be great if my exterior was as fabulous as my interior? And if my posterior was (a lot) smaller?
I am careful not to put myself down in front of my kids, though. I want to raise self-confident, happy children. My self criticism is (mostly) internal. But it is always there, a running negative commentary about how I don't measure up to the lady next to me. I am jealous of people who are thinner. I would love to have long, flowing hair, or even short, sassy hair. I wish I looked fabulous without makeup. I wish I had more stylish clothes. I wish I could wear fabulous boots all day without hobbling or tripping. Well, apparently not everyone finds me to be lacking in the same self-deprecating way I do. Yesterday, Sara and I were washing our hands in a public restroom and she told me my hair looked really pretty. I stopped in my tracks. Really? I hadn't even washed it, much less styled it. I looked in the mirror again. I saw a frumpy, overweight mom in a faded T-shirt and baggy jeans. But my daughter saw a beautiful woman. I guess beauty really is in the eye of the beholder. To my husband and kids, I am beautiful. I felt beautiful all day. Sara sees the best in everyone she meets. She always sees the positive in people. I need to look at myself more through my daughter's eyes. Beauty comes in all sizes, forms and shapes. Beauty is all around us. If we choose to look for it. Barb Velascohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02042581398620520073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7399317435089728105.post-11817830508767121012013-03-27T09:32:00.000-07:002013-03-27T09:32:04.881-07:00My Little HelperI am all for raising independent and self-sufficient children. I am giving our 4 year old more responsibilities. I figure, if he has jobs at school, then he can earn his keep at home. He has chores and jobs. He has to set and clear the table. He has to clean up his toys, put his dirty clothes in the laundry and put his clean ones in the proper drawers. He even helps make his own lunch sometimes. He can get things out of the cupboard and fridge to help make lunch and dinner. He likes to make his own sandwich. He makes a mean ham and cheese sandwich. Here is the recipe - 2 hams, 2 breads, and 1 cheese. Lay them out, pile them up and smoosh them together then eat. I did not realize how bound and determined he was to make lunch today. I walked into the kitchen to find the refrigerator door open. Not unusual. I thought he was getting the bread, ham and cheese. But, I noticed I did not see his little feet under the door. He was IN the fridge digging in the back to find all the ingredients for his lunch. Guess he was really, really hungry. I pulled him out of the fridge and explained that maybe I should help get the hard to reach stuff. He proudly suggested he use a chair next time. What can I say? The kid is a real problem solver. So, we have 2 new rules in our house. One, no climbing in the fridge. Two, if you cannot reach it with your feet firmly on the floor, ask a grownup for help. Each day brings new challenges. And new rules. Barb Velascohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02042581398620520073noreply@blogger.com0