This post was originally written and posted on March 8, 2011.
It's a pretty calm evening.
At least in my world. I'm pretty good at ignoring the screaming girls running around.
A friend is over which only seems to amplify things.
But I'm in my happy zone. I'm in the kitchen baking cupcakes for a baby shower. I scored on some things at Orson Gygi today, and I'm mulling over in my mind how to tackle the current cake project, while taking note of two more that are coming up next week. After a day of number crunching, my creativity gets to start flowing.
It feels good.
Brynn is sitting on a bar stool on the other side of the counter, watching me.
"Mom, what does 69 mean?"
I pause. There was no warning to prepare me for this question. No indication that it was going to come. In a flash second the question is hanging there in the air of the kitchen, with the smell of baking cupcakes. I take note of the rule that I promised myself I would always follow:
If they're old enough to ask, they're old enough to know.
But I also like to stick with the rule to keep the information age appropriate.
I don't know enough about where she's coming from with this to know how I should proceed so I ask, "what do you mean? Where did you hear it?" I desperately need more information as to where this question has come from.
"When we read that Cleopatra was born in 69."
A flood of relief. I tell you, an absolute broken dam of relief that I had decided to ask a little more.
Brynn has just done a book report on Cleopatra and we found out that she was born in 69 B.C.
I think I'd much rather explain the terms of B.C. and A.D. to my child than... well, let's not talk about the alternative.
Lately The Man has taken to calling me, "Pretty Wife," which, if I'm being completely honest, I love.
Love.
The Man is going to get anything he wants when he calls me Pretty Wife.
Anything.
I will even scrub out the outside garbage can for him. You know, the one that reeks to high heaven whenever you open the lid.
It has that much power over me.
But then I got this string of texts from him:
I'm thinking maybe "pretty" doesn't mean what I thought it meant.
Also, I'm thinking the garbage can doesn't need to be scrubbed out so badly after all.
Tomorrow I start with some catch up posts, and will be getting back into the swing of daily posting. There's a bunch of end of school year stuff and Girl's Camp that I need to throw up for heritage sake. I'm pretty sure the generations that will stretch on after me will want to know all about these things.
Actually, I think it's pretty fun to see how life "used" to be. And conversations like, "You didn't always have color TV?" with my mom are hilarious.
To think of all that has changed in my own lifetime is amazing to think about.
An old song came on the radio and I told the girls, "This song is so old! I had it on cassette tape when I was a kid."
Casidee laughs and then stops. "What's a cassette tape?"
Has life really caught up to me this much? I proceeded to tell her that CD's weren't a big thing until I was about her age. I didn't get my first CD until I was in Jr. High. Before that... it was recording songs off the radio onto cassette tapes.
So tomorrow, catching up. You know, for heritage sake.
Sometimes I get shocked with how far technology has come, even from when I was a kid, which wasn't that long ago, thank you for asking.
Our kids today are being raised in an instant gratification, information and access to people right now and at my finger tips day and age.
Which has its pros and cons so don't get me wrong, I'm not here to say it's bad. And regardless of the pros and cons, it is simply amazing how the world of communication has changed.
I see it blatantly when I watch my kids trying to process technology. Brynn was trying to call a friend with my cell phone and she kept huffing in frustration.
Finally I asked, "Did you get a hold of her?"
"No! The phone's broken, something's messed up and it's not working."
"Let me see it," I took my phone from Brynn's hands and dialed the number, putting the phone up to my ear to hear what was going on that had her so frustrated.
And I heard it, "Beep beep beep beep beep..."
I started to laugh.
"Brynn, the phone isn't broken, that's a busy signal. It just means they're using their phone already so your call can't go through."
The whole concept, that I grew up on, completely blew her mind. How archaic, to have to wait for someone to hang up their phone before your call can go through. What in the world?
Sean, in his deepest, roughest, commercial announcer voice approached the girls, who were sitting together, and booms, "Who wants to play monster tag?!?"
To which the girls politely replied, "Do you want to play kitties?"
A persuasive conversation ensued for a minute between Sean and his sisters and then a collective agreement was made.
But before you say, "Poor Sean," as people always do,
Let me reply with, as I always do, don't go feeling too bad for that boy. He knows how to hold his own.
The conversation continued, with kittens in hand, "I need an evil lair. And I need a citizen kitten to kidnap so a super hero kitten can be called to rescue it."
And thus the game proceeded, evil lairs, damsels in distress, super heroes and all.
A side note: Cali was overheard discussing the names of the kittens she was playing with, a white one and a gray one.
"This one is named Snowball, and this one is named Dirty Snowball."
Last night we were watching Phineas and Ferb on Netflix.
I love that cartoon.
That and Wizards of Waverly Place.
That's pure entertainment right there.
Anyway, Phineas and Ferb. This scene happened and I cracked up. As in giggled myself silly because this scene right here explains exactly what it feels like to be a mom. Watch how Baljeet reacts to Buford:
I died.
Not 15 minutes after watching that show I was in the kitchen with The Circus talking about "The Muppets Christmas Carol" when someone asked Tayler if she even knew what we were talking about and she replied, "Ihop."
Baljeet ran through my mind.
I feel that way much too often.
Today we wanted to tell you about some more pinterest recipes we've tried out in our home.
There's some seriously good stuff on that website.
Forgotten Chicken
pinterest link here original link here
I also heard once that if you want to switch your family over to brown rice instead of white, you should use brown rice in new recipes, not established recipes, because then they don't notice a taste difference. So I tried that with this recipe. I used instant brown rice instead of white rice.
I don't think my family has a clue.
Out of 9 votes (Papa Mike at it with us once too) it got...
all 9.
We've eaten it two Sundays in the last month. It's already become a regular dinner at our house.
Go pin it. Go make it.
Baked Penne
pinterest link here original link here
As much as I love them, The Man needs meat. And baked pastas are usually just pasta and cheese, and sometimes veggies. So when I saw that this baked pasta called for meat I sang with the hallelujah choir in my head.
Out of 8 votes it got...
all 8.
Again we've made this twice in a month's time and then a third time on left over night. When The Circus found out I was making if for a second time they got excited.
Huge hit.
I skipped the green peppers in it and used regular ground hamburger.
Amazing Crockpot Chicken Taco Chili
pinterest link here original link here
I can't say enough about finding really good recipes for the crockpot, especially as a working mom.
Out of 8 votes it got...
7
Sort of. The first time I made it Tayler claimed it to be too "spicy" but she ate it perfectly fine the next time I made it.
And The Man said it was "okay," but when I told him it a healthier recipe he said in that case it was really good. He likes it when eating healthier tastes good.
I've made this repeatedly and there haven't been any other comments "against" it.
I'm also planning on making for my work party coming up in a couple of weeks. I think it's good enough to share.
Baked Spaghetti
pinterest link here original link here
Spaghetti has been a fall back out our house for years because I'm lame and use jarred sauce. It doesn't get any easier than boiling noodles and opening a jar.
Needless to say The Man is sick of spaghetti.
I decided to try this and see if I couldn't change it up a little bit.
Only 6 of us were home that night and out of 6 votes it got...
5
The Man is still sick of spaghetti. So I don't really think that counts against this recipe. It was super fun to present spaghetti in a different way like this. I found it a little dry when I ate it so I just poured a little extra sauce on the plate and dipped.
Also, when I do this again (after a few months. Let The Man get his spaghetti vibe back) I'd like to make it more garlicky.
Lime Chicken Tacos
pinterest link here original link here
This recipe was for the crockpot, but I just did it one night in a pan.
Out of 6 votes it got...
5
The Man had an aversion, for some reason, to the smell of it as it was cooking and thus refused to even taste it.
I wonder if I did it in the crockpot if it would smell better to him? Because the rest of us thought it was fantastic.
This weekend I get to take The Man on an adventure for his birthday. Which is still two weeks away but I'm working with an expiration date here, what do you do? You do it early, that's what.
I can not wait.
Also, I read this article and fell in love with it.
“Let us ask ourselves the questions,” he (Pres. Thomas S. Monson) has said, “‘Have I done any good in the world today? Have I helped anyone in need?’ What a formula for happiness! What a prescription for contentment, for inner peace. … There are hearts to gladden. There are kind words to say. There are gifts to be given. There are deeds to be done. There are souls to be saved.”
“The prayers of people are almost always answered by the actions of others.”
Sometimes when Halloween is your favorite holiday, you don't mind stretching it into November a little bit.
We had no kids and we had no definite plans but we left the house with the thoughts to find something. We ended up at the movie theater for a matinee, bought our tickets, loaded up with drinks, popcorn, and milkduds (because you can't eat popcorn without milkduds. Or vice versa), and proceeded to the ticket taker.
He takes the tickets from me, looks us up and down and says, "aren't you a little old to be doing this?"
I promptly reply with a "never!"
The Man laughs and says "yes..."
With that we entered the theater for Hotel Transylvania.
Don't tell the kids.
The weird thing about this is that I wore flip flops all weekend long. It's November and I'm still wearing flip flops. And only a hoodie.
I remember trick-or-treating in the snow as a kid. I also remember snow up to my thighs on a regular basis. Of course, being a kid my thighs weren't as high off the ground as they are now, but still...
I remember a couple of winters where, with the shoveling and piling up of snow, there was enough that it was as tall as I was on the sides of the roads and the driveways and sidewalks.
What is happening to our weather?
Because we don't get snow like that anymore.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not a fan of the cold and the snow and the ice (holler! The Man put our trailer in storage for the winter so I can actually use the garage! We have enough room in the driveway to get both cars past were the trailer stuck out now. No scraping icy, snowy car windows for me this winter!), but I am worried about drought. We at least need something.
It's not like me to say this at all, but I hope we get snow soon. Our water levels need it.
On a different note, the other night Brynn asked me what year I was born in. To which I replied "'79."
Last night while carving jack-o-lanterns The Man was watching zombies on TV in the next room.
Brynn says, "Great. Now I'm going to dream about zombies."
Cali replies with, "Not me. I dream about unicorns, Jesus, and fat hamsters."
Either Cali really loves animals, fat hamsters in particular, or she's going to be a loyal Kia customer.
Tayler woke up one Saturday morning and informed me that she was fighting cancer today.
Okay...
Tayler does this. When she brought home her snow cone maker (here) she started printing out fliers to come to our house and buy a snow cone for $1 to save the animals. She put pictures of various endangered species on it.
I nixed it. I wasn't comfortable with our address being plastered all over everywhere for strangers to show up at our house and give us money for a cause I didn't know how to support. Does that make me a bad mom? At first I didn't think so. I was doing my duty to keep my family safe from strangers. And I'm not at all comfortable with the idea of selling people things.
So on this Saturday, when Tayler told me she was fighting cancer, I didn't take her too seriously.
"Oh yeah? How are you going to do that?"
"I'm gonig to help with a bake sale."
"Is this a group that's putting this on? Is it a part of something?"
"Me and my friends were talking about it at school and we want to do it."
Suddenly my walls went up. If it wasn't part of an organization...
"Is an adult helping you?"
"No..."
And then I got mean. Except, in my protective mother's eyes, I wasn't being mean, I was making a point.
"Okay, say I let you help with this bake sale (I was still doubting that it was actually even going to happen if there was no adult or organization to make it "real"), what are you going to do with the money? How exactly is this going to help fight cancer?"
"I don't know..."
"Tay, I can't let you go." It was supposed to be at a boy's house. A boy I didn't know. No one was helping them. Where were they going to get baked items to sell? Who was going to watch them as they tried to sell things to strangers? It was a fiasco and I didn't want my daughter to be out in it.
Tayler ran upstairs to her room where I heard deep heartfelt sobs coming from her.
What point was it, exactly, that I had been trying to make?
Because I don't think I made it.
West, who had been sitting in the next room looked at me as I walked down the hall, on my way to Tayler.
"She's just trying to do something good," he says.
Having the pride issues that I have I replied, "but it isn't real. It's not a real function. And even if they do manage to earn money... where's it going to go? Who's going to take care of it? I'm not going to support adding money to another persons wallet because they let their kid have a bake sale in their front yard and then didn't know what to do with it."
I went up stairs where I found sobbing Tayler sitting with her back against her dresser, knees up to her chest, head on knees.
"Tay..."
What do I say? I was struggling with my walls and inner issues and with the fact that this little girl just wanted to help those who were sick.
Finally I said, "Tay, if you really want to help fight cancer then you and I can sit down at the computer and google until we find a real way to help. We'll find something that you can be a part of."
She numbly nodded.
I went downstairs, not feeling any better about myself, when there was a knock at the door.
A little group of boys was on the porch asking for Tayler. It was time for the bake sale. I looked at that group of boys and thought, if all of these kids are pulling together to do this, then how can I say that it's not real?
Tayler went to the bake sale.
And me, being the horrible mother I am for breaking her heart, along with West, bagged up a bunch of cookies that we had just purchased at Costco that morning from the bakery and dropped them off at the bake sale. Where I found a small group of third graders, including Tayler and Sean, who were so excited by every car that pulled over. Tayler was all smiles as I handed her the bag of cookies.
"Thanks Mom!" And she began to arrange them on the table that a much better parent than myself had set up for them.
West and I went grocery shopping and I made sure I got change when I paid. On our way home we stopped by that bake sale again, and bought our cookies back.
I learned a lesson that day.
A lesson that taught me that just because I'm older, doesn't mean I'm wiser.
A lesson that taught me that just because she's nine, doesn't mean that she doesn't have plans for this thing called life.
And those plans are big. And good.
Shouldn't I, as her mom, be the one cheering her on, instead of sending her sobbing to her room?
When Tayler came home she was all smiles.
"Mom! We made $42.50!" And then she handed me a heavy grocery sack.
"What's this?"
"It's the money, Mom. You said you would google and help me to find a way to help."
Those words hung heavy in the air for me. I had expected the "hosting" parents to do, or not do, something with the money. And yet here Tayler was, handing it to me with high hopes. Man that girl's heart is solid gold.
I can't even begin to tell you how foolish I feel for fighting her on this, and I was determined to make it up to her. So I emailed my friend Jennie, who's daughter is in remission from cancer, and I asked her what I could do with this money, specifically for fighting childhood cancer, being as these kids were the ones who pulled all of this together.
Right now Jennie is earning money for her Cure Search Walk for Children's Cancer team. She gave me THIS LINK to donate to her team where "the money (raised) will fund and support collaborative research to find a cure
for all cancers affecting children."
Jennie also shared this video with me to show to Tayler.
Sometimes when you do a little dance in the middle of the movie theater lobby, your husband will buy you milk duds.
Actually, this should be an always thing. Always, if you do a little dance in the movie theater lobby,your husband should buy you milk duds.
Cas tells me "look, Mom, I'm dressed the opposite of the Hulk
I think this weekend I'm going to have to take The Circus to see The Avengers. I've been in hot water with Cas because I went and saw it without her. I'm also in hot water for seeing Snow White and the Huntsman without her.
Can I just say that Kristen Stewart ruins everything?
She has no character depth. If you've seen her in one film, you've seen her in all of them, every role she plays comes across being the same.
She's like a female Keanu Reeves. Monotone.
Aside from her though, holy cow, Charlize Theron was Uh.may.zing. Despite Kristen Stewart, I did enjoy that movie.
I opened a new bag of chicken breasts that I had purchased from Costco and groaned.
"I accidentally bought wrapped breasts." You know, the kind that are individually sealed?
Brynn stopped cold in her tracks. "We're eating rat breast?"
I noticed the other day that Brynn had left her shoes in the middle of the lawn.
"Brynn, you need to move your shoes before the sprinklers turn on."
So Brynn grabbed them and moved them to the porch. When the sprinklers came on...
Good thing you moved them, Brynn.
Guess who I got to see for lunch?
Kelcey and Tina
I miss working with these ladies at Burt Bros. If I had my druthers and could have these two working with me where I currently am, I think my life would be very close to perfection.
As it is, I'll just have to be content with driving up to see them for an hour, here and there.
I know it's pretty faux pas, and I have a lot of friends who make fun of it, but I'm in love with Nickelback's music, and I'm pretty sure I need to break down and buy me a Nickelback t-shirt. For those of you who have known me for as long as we can remember, I can put it into these terms for you to understand:
Nickelback is my new New Kids On The Block.
Yes, it's that serious. Only, this go 'round, I'm much more mature about it. I don't have my bedroom wall plastered in posters of them (I highly doubt The Man would approve), and I don't own the Nickelback Barbies. Mostly because there aren't any. But if there were...
We just won't go there.
So, weekend plans. Do you have anything good?
I have:
Grocery Shopping (eck)
The Avengers. Again.
And I really need to get out to see my brand new nephew, Wyatt, and take dinner to my sister and bro-in-law while I'm at it.
Today is a beautiful day... I just feel so... happy.
Casidee stands from the dinner table last night and looks at me.
"Should I have milk or water?"
I just looked at her and shrugged. Seriously, girl. Just pick one.
Sean pipes in, "you could make a mixture of the two."
To which Brynn replies, "actually, I've tried that. It's not very good."
Every year the Elementary school that The Circus goes to holds a Grand Event.
They pull out all the stops with auctions of large prize baskets (that we parents are called upon months in advance to donate to), music is blaring from speakers, there's an MC to keep events and the auctions rolling, and each grade does a performance.
Normally that performance thing, in and of itself, would be a good thing to go and support your child, but when you're like us... every grade is spread out over half hour increments. That means, having six children in the school, that we get to sit there for 3 1/2 hours, waiting for all of the performances to happen.
Cali's front and center
We don't support the preformances too much... if we're there we'll catch and our child will be in it. If not... maybe next year.
Pick your battles. This isn't something I'm going to knock my brains out over.
They have Iceberg there catering,
and you can buy punch cards to participate in all sorts of activities. Rocket launching, face painting, cake walks, different games, and treats to buy like cotton candy.
The Circus claims it's the "Grand" Event, so you're supposed to have "grand"parents come.
Granny Suzann obliged.
brynn with friend
The thing I really like about these Grand Events, is that all the money raised stays right at our school to benefit our kids. Not a percentage of it... all of it. I know it's a lot more work for the PTA to put something on like this, but I appreciate it, and participate in it so much more than I would if they sent packets home of things for the kids to sell. In fact, when those fundraiser packets have come home from other schools we've been at, I've sent the packets straight to the garbage.
How many this time, Mom? Just two.
As in two days. Two pants, two shirts, two pairs of socks, two clean underwear.
We throw the bags in the trunk, plug in the iPod, and hit the road. It's a three hour round trip drive to meet their dad half way. That gives me an hour and a half of having them trapped in the car with me.
Mine, all mine. Mwahahahahahaha. (More about this here and in the middle of here).
We have great conversations during that time. This weekend was no exception.
Tayler asks me, "Mom, what year were you born in?"
To which I relpy, "' 79."
*gasps* "Whoa, I've never heard of a year like that before!"
"What are you talking about?" How could she have never heard of a year like that? I had no idea where she was coming from.
"A year that only has two numbers! Gosh Mom, you're old."
*ahem* "That would be 1979, thank you very much." And then we all burst out laughing, I couldn't stop laughing. To think that her mind actually thought I could be born in a year with only two numbers in it. Man alive.
To save you the math, that makes me 33 years old, not 1933 years old.
This song popped up on the iPod, (Tim McGraw, Back When)
It was all good and fine until at the end of the song when Casidee asks, "when would a screw not be a screw? I don't get it."
I'm pretty sure that popular music of all genres is out to get me as a mother. We were in this boat with Lady Gaga and disco stick. Remember? It's here if you need a refresher on how that one went.
Cas looked at me for an answer.
*warning* I'm going to use the word S.E.X. here.
"Well, screw is a slang word for sex."
"Oh...
So it probably isn't a very nice thing to tell someone 'screw you' then, huh."
We're making progress with Tayler's career goal of wanting to be a cashier at Walmart (read that discussion here).
It started on Wednesday when I was minding my own business, not doing anything to anybody, just getting ready for work when WHAM. I had been leaning forward putting eye liner on, I stood up straight, blinked, and suddenly had the horrible sensation that there was a razor in my eye. I couldn't even open my eyelid to see what was in it. Every time I tried to raise my eyelid, or shift my eye in any way, I felt that razor press into the bottom of my eye.
I'm so stoic when I'm hurt. So solid and strong... until one of two things happens. I talk to my mom, or I talk to my husband.
And then I'm just pathetic and crying.
I couldn't open my eyes to drive. Opening and using my good eye caused shifting in my under attack eye. So I called West, who was conveniently working an hour away. No big, right? Come and get me!
And he did. Without hesitation.
My hero.
I called work and told them I'd be in as soon as I could, and of course was met with, "don't worry about it. We'll even just see you tomorrow. Take the day."
To make a long story not so long, The Man took me to Urgent Care where my eye was
1. numbed so I could open it
2. dyed yellow so they could see any scratches. They found one. And that yellow dye must have traveled through my sinuses because it came out of my nose about an hour later.
3. shined painfully bright lights into my eyes that very literally blinded me while I strained to keep my lids open through it and
4. found nothing there but the scratch.
So I asked, where exactly is the scratch? It's a linear scratch (going from top to bottom) on the side. Nope, not what I'm looking for. Back before my eye was all warm and fuzzy and happy, the pain was very much in the bottom and not down the side.
So he looked again, and there it was, microscopic and sitting peacefully inside my bottom eyelid.
What does this have to do with Tayler's 8 year old choice for a career path you ask?
The Circus was still home as I was lying on my bed, trying not to move my eyes, and waiting for The Man. They knew I was in pain and headed to the doctor. They loved on me and headed out to school.
After school we were sitting on my bed and they were asking about my eye and making comments about how great it was that my work was so nice as to let me go to the doctor. At this point I tell Tay that if she never figures out what she wants to be then she should just work for the government because it's a pretty good place to land. To which she proudly (and quite robustly I might add) declares,
"I'm going to be a government worker!"
Come on now, it's a better goal than cashiering at Walmart.
Truth be told, it doesn't really matter what the circus ends up doing in life. As long as they're taking care of themselves and their family, and being honest, good, contributing citizens in society, I'm going to be proud of them.
Whatever you do kids, just stay out of jail.
For the thought of the day I'm going to link you to this post over at Nat the Fat Rat. It's a post she did about dealing with infertility, and I obviously don't have that trial in life, but what I really liked was what she wrote at the end, about how she learned from her struggles. These two paragraphs in particular:
"The thing is, I've talked with Him, pleaded with Him, listened for Him for
far too long to really think I was a just passive participant faithfully
awaiting my time. Those long months when I poured my soul out in prayer, the
Lord whispered to me that it was in my hands, that with faith and obedience He
would lead me to my baby, but that I would have to do the work. It was such a
teeny tiny small thing, how could I have found that on my own? We figured it out
together. That was my path to this baby. I believe the Lord wanted me know that
I had power with Him, that He heard my prayers. In my obedience I learned I can
ask and receive, and that together we can make wonderful things happen. Alone I
will be left to struggle. Perhaps I needed to learn this now in order to
properly mother this person that I am growing? I am so very much closer to my
Heavenly Father as a result of these years of endless fasting and prayer. I
think He had that in mind for me, too.
"What I take from Genesis, and what I take from my own experience, is thus:
If you work with God, God will work with you. It is like a delicious cheat
sheet. We can be co-creators with our God. We can create our lives with Him, if
we let Him show us the path he means for us to blaze. All we have to do is ask.
"
12 phone calls in 2 1/2 hours.
If they spent less time calling me about playing when the bedroom is clean then can I go to a friend's, they might actually have been done with the bedroom by now and really could go to a friend's.
But that would be too simple.
Instead I get, "can I go?"
"Is your room clean?"
"My stuff is."
That's code for the room isn't clean.
Or I ask, "Are you working on your room right now?"
"No."
"Why not?" asked in pure exasperation and frustration.
"Because I'm on the phone with you."
Do they think this is helping their cause?
Last night as we were sitting down for dinner, Sean declares, "I'm eating nothing but b.s. for dinner." And I choked on my bite. Of course, when BLT's are what's for dinner, this easily translates to Bacon Sandwich. As in, no L or T on his BLT, thank you very much. Still...
I picked my circus up from being with their dad on Sunday night. This means an hour and a half drive (just the one way that they're now with me), which means some interesting conversations.
We started talking about what they want to be when they grow up. I have this need to stay abreast of their thoughts in this area, because I know I had a lot of ideas of what I wanted to be, but for some reason, they were just thoughts. I never really believed that I would or could actually become a marine biologist, or a zoologist. Do I regret that I never saw them as more than dreaming? Most definitely. So now I listen to what my kids want to be and start suggesting things they can do, even now, to start down that road if they want. I'm not pushing my kids, the decision and pace is completely up to them. It's just my job to show them how to make those dreams reality, that those ideas of what they want to do, have practical steps to them, and don't have to be just thoughts of "what if" in their heads.
Cas wants to be a Chef. I've told her she needs to think about culinary schools for college then. At 11 years she's already making dinners at home. She can fry eggs, make spaghetti, taco meat, and she's my right hand girl when I get busy (*ahem* side tracked) and have to yell out, "Cas go check on the..." insert whatever may be on the stove. I think the next step is to help her create the menu and shopping list and start broadening her skills to something that requires a few more steps to them. We should look in to extra cooking classes for her also.
Brynn wants to be a veterinarian. Her game plan is to call a couple of the vets or animal hospitals near our house and see if they have a volunteer program and what the age for that might be. She wants to volunteer with simple things like cleaning cages and kennels. The idea behind this is to get on familiar terms with the vet and the staff, and then as she gets older she can work in the office of the animal hospital while going through school. It gives her an in for internships and references to begin work too.
Tayler doesn't know what she wants to be. Maybe a nail technician. Or work at Walmart. We obviously need to work on this a little bit. What appeals to her is the customer service. We'll have to think on this a little more. Maybe it's wrong of me, but I'm not okay with my daughter saying she's going to grow up and work at Walmart. Not that there's anything wrong with working at Walmart, not by any means. An honest job is a good job plain and simple.
Cali very confidently told me, "Mom, I want to be a vet too. But not a vet for animals. I want to be a vet for people."
"A vet is only for animals, a vet for people would be a doctor."
"Oh. Well I don't want to be that then."
At least she's not setting her sights as a cashier at Walmart...
Cali, 6 years old, calls me in a very excited mood. This is actually normal for Cali. My dad calls her "Nitro". It fits. She wants to go play at a friend's house. I know this friend, they were in kindergarten together, but I didn't know where she lived. Cali has it covered. "Mom, I have her address AND directions. And Sean can walk me over there."
First I get caught up in, of all the supervision she has, why did she randomly volunteer Sean to take her?
So I ask her, "What's the address?"
"It's 10267."
"Cali, that isn't an address."
"Yes! It's her address!"
"It's not a full address. OK, let me here what the directions are."
"OK, first you go south. Then east."
...
"That's what you have for directions?"
"Yes, Sean can take me."
"Give me her phone number, I think I better take care of this for you."
I was surprised when she gave me an actual phone number.
West and I were debating over which glass of ice water belonged to whom. I finally said, "because you don't want my cooties." Cali (age 6) pipes in, "I want your cookies!" West stops and looks at me, "Cookies do sound good..."
I got home from work yesterday and Cali (age 5) comes up to me rubbing her eye. "Mom, my eye keeps beeping." It only took me a second to translate. Her eye was twitching.
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