I always worry about the kids watching too much TV. They really don't, but I worry anyway. Especially when I hear Public Service announcements coming out of my child's mouth.
We were outside playing with one of Girl Terror's birthday presents, Moon Sand. Well, the kids were playing. I was flat out on the deck, soaking up the sun. In the midst of the usual chatter, I heard this little tidbit, complete with "TV announcer" voice.
"Moon Sand. What is moon sand? You might think it is sand from the moon, but it isn't! It is like sand, but it has colour added, to make it pretty! It can be blue! It can be green! When you play with it, you have fun. It says Moon sand, but it IS NOT. You think it is sand from the moon, but you would be wrong! For more information please visit our website at pbskids.com!"
And then we went back to our regularly scheduled programming.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Therapy in writing.
It was Father's Day not so long ago, and I didn't post. It's not that I forgot, I just am still having trouble with some holidays, and Father's Day is a big one. I feel so very fortunate that my children have an amazing Daddy. He is. I truly think Hubby would do absolutely anything for his babies. In fact, he is the only reason I am willing to celebrate Father's Day. I'm still working through my own messed up issues.
My friends don't understand how I can still be speaking to my parents. I should mention, I rarely do speak to them. I myself sometimes wonder why I acknowledge them, my father in particular. I think that I still love him, in a detached sort of way. Perhaps it's guilt. Maybe I remember the good times well enough to get past the rest. I have said in the past that I forgive him, but I have not forgotten. I will never forget. Sometimes I wonder if I've even truly forgiven. But part of me is still wanting his approval, for whatever reason, and I am at heart a peace-seeker. I am not willing to erase the past or my memories of it, but I seem somewhat willing to let it lie. Then I feel guilty for that!
I called home on Saturday so Girl Terror could politely say thank you for her birthday card. (See? I want them to know I have well-mannered children!). I spoke to my mother first, and I could tell she was "in a mood". You know what I mean. There were no words, no tone, but the mood was there. She put my father on the phone, which I hate, and I spoke briefly to him. Mood was there, too. All in all it was a polite, strained, and civil conversation, but when I hung up I was shaking both inside and out.
I hate that he (both of them, really) can do this to me. They can upset my inner balance without even being in the same time zone. I hate even worse that I let this happen. I open myself up, I pick up the phone, and I hate it every time. EVERY TIME.
June is never a good month for me. It is his birthday and Father's Day, all in one short month. That is two separate occasions to feel guilty for not sending a card, two days I don't call, and twice in one month I am guaranteed to spend long moments thinking about my past. This year, after putting my family through an incredibly foul mood, I decided to make some changes. My goal is to let go of the guilt. Stop thinking I have to forgive and forget. Give myself permission to be angry occasionally, and then move on. I will celebrate the great relationship my children have with their Daddy. I will give thanks that they will not have the same experiences I did. I will let go, and walk away.
My friends don't understand how I can still be speaking to my parents. I should mention, I rarely do speak to them. I myself sometimes wonder why I acknowledge them, my father in particular. I think that I still love him, in a detached sort of way. Perhaps it's guilt. Maybe I remember the good times well enough to get past the rest. I have said in the past that I forgive him, but I have not forgotten. I will never forget. Sometimes I wonder if I've even truly forgiven. But part of me is still wanting his approval, for whatever reason, and I am at heart a peace-seeker. I am not willing to erase the past or my memories of it, but I seem somewhat willing to let it lie. Then I feel guilty for that!
I called home on Saturday so Girl Terror could politely say thank you for her birthday card. (See? I want them to know I have well-mannered children!). I spoke to my mother first, and I could tell she was "in a mood". You know what I mean. There were no words, no tone, but the mood was there. She put my father on the phone, which I hate, and I spoke briefly to him. Mood was there, too. All in all it was a polite, strained, and civil conversation, but when I hung up I was shaking both inside and out.
I hate that he (both of them, really) can do this to me. They can upset my inner balance without even being in the same time zone. I hate even worse that I let this happen. I open myself up, I pick up the phone, and I hate it every time. EVERY TIME.
June is never a good month for me. It is his birthday and Father's Day, all in one short month. That is two separate occasions to feel guilty for not sending a card, two days I don't call, and twice in one month I am guaranteed to spend long moments thinking about my past. This year, after putting my family through an incredibly foul mood, I decided to make some changes. My goal is to let go of the guilt. Stop thinking I have to forgive and forget. Give myself permission to be angry occasionally, and then move on. I will celebrate the great relationship my children have with their Daddy. I will give thanks that they will not have the same experiences I did. I will let go, and walk away.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Boy Terror is growing up.
Lately the Boy Terror has been unbelievably cute. Like, scoop him up, sprinkle him with sparkles cute.
Last week at dinner I asked him what we should get his sister for her birthday. He thought about it a moment, and then put down his fork, slid off his chair, and came to whisper in my ear. "A PRINCESS" spit hiss slobber. Then back to his chair, to pick up his fork and continue his dinner. Girl Terror pretended she hadn't heard. Quite a feat, when I suspect you could have been in the far reaches of the house and still caught most of it.
To have a bit of fun with him, I asked (out loud) "A real one?!" He looked at me and sighed. Put down his fork. Wiggled down off his chair. Came over to my ear. And whispered "NO". Back to the chair, fork, dinner.
I think his cuteness right now is due to the fact that in two days, he is done daycare. Forever. In the fall, he will be a Big Boy, and he will go to school. My baby is going to be a school kid! I know I had trouble letting go of Girl Terror, but she was so very clearly ready and eager. This child, however, is my little one. My snuggly, squishy cheeked baby.
Earlier this week he informed me that he is now going to call his father "Dad". Not "Daddy". He is, after all, a Big Boy, and it seems like the right time to make the change. I did not break down and sob.
As a teacher, I love the education system. School is where children grow and learn, and become interesting people. As a Mummy, however, school is where my sweet boy will learn some very bad words, he will hear all about shows I haven't let him watch, and he'll grow up and away from me. I'm not ready to let him go.
Last week at dinner I asked him what we should get his sister for her birthday. He thought about it a moment, and then put down his fork, slid off his chair, and came to whisper in my ear. "A PRINCESS" spit hiss slobber. Then back to his chair, to pick up his fork and continue his dinner. Girl Terror pretended she hadn't heard. Quite a feat, when I suspect you could have been in the far reaches of the house and still caught most of it.
To have a bit of fun with him, I asked (out loud) "A real one?!" He looked at me and sighed. Put down his fork. Wiggled down off his chair. Came over to my ear. And whispered "NO". Back to the chair, fork, dinner.
I think his cuteness right now is due to the fact that in two days, he is done daycare. Forever. In the fall, he will be a Big Boy, and he will go to school. My baby is going to be a school kid! I know I had trouble letting go of Girl Terror, but she was so very clearly ready and eager. This child, however, is my little one. My snuggly, squishy cheeked baby.
Earlier this week he informed me that he is now going to call his father "Dad". Not "Daddy". He is, after all, a Big Boy, and it seems like the right time to make the change. I did not break down and sob.
As a teacher, I love the education system. School is where children grow and learn, and become interesting people. As a Mummy, however, school is where my sweet boy will learn some very bad words, he will hear all about shows I haven't let him watch, and he'll grow up and away from me. I'm not ready to let him go.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Let them eat cake.
For lack of a better post, I've decided to share some of my recent cakes. Adding pictures is NOT something I'm good at, so bear with me.This yellow one is for my B block class. It's one of my favourites.
The staff had a potluck, and it was strongly suggested that I bring cake. This is a vanilla cake covered in strawberry buttercream. Very, very yummy.
Hubby bought me some purple icing spray paint, so I used it with star sticker stencils to make this cake for B block students. I don't particularly like the way it turned out, but it still tasted good.
I like this orange marbled one. I wanted to learn how to make bows, so A block class got a gift shaped cake!
I made all these gum paste flowers awhile ago, and I wasn't sure what I'd do with them. This cake for D block just sort of...happened. I love it, though!
This is the inside of the Easter egg cake pictured below. Very Eastery!
Easter egg with the cute (NOT creepy!) legs. Okay, so some people at dinner found them creepy. Not me.
This cake has a pina colada filling that is to die for. It's covered in buttercream. Tasty!So, are you hungry yet? I am! Must go make more cake!!!
Friday, June 12, 2009
Parents get on my nerves.
Today is the last Friday of classes...woo hoo!!! Don't get me wrong, I've had a great semester. This is the Dream Semester for a teacher. I've had four classes of amazing kids. They are happy, they are cheerful, and they love my class. Naturally, there are a few that aren't doing well. Can't win them all. This last week I've had 3 parents call.
The first one just was checking in to make sure everything she was hearing at home was true. Yes, her child is fully caught up. Yes, the exam is open book. Yes, her child will pass with flying colours. No surprise that this parent has been in touch with me all term.
The second parent who called wanted to know what "Johnny" would need to do at this point in order to pass. Excuse me? We have never even met, despite my repeated phone calls home. "Johnny" has not been to my class in over a month. It is soooo not my problem that "Johnny" thinks he's going to be a computer programmer, and failing my class is holding him back. And no, there is no "big project" that mommy can do with "Johnny" to convince me to pass him.
The third parent started her phone call with the statement "Susie says that you just now told her she has 47% in your class. How come you haven't told her this before? This is totally unfair! How is she supposed to catch up? What, you want her to fail?" I haven never met this parent. I'm not entirely sure why her daughter chose to tell her mom the current mark, when she hasn't mentioned it the last 5 times I've handed out mark updates. When I told the mom "I was actually impressed that Susie has brought her mark UP to 47% since midterms" and that the bonus work I have given Susie (created, coached, and marked by ME) was clearly a good idea, Mom informed me that "Giving Susie more work" was not the answer. I disagreed. Giving Susie an assignment she could do to bring up her mark, rather than just punishing her for skipping more than 20% of my class, seemed like a good way to help her succeed.
I think I give more than is required for my job. Like most teachers, my job does not end at 3:30, and I spend many evenings and weekends doing school work. My students have my home phone number. They have my e-mail address. They can find me in the building all day long. I tell my classes right at the beginning that they are to call me if they are absent. I will do whatever I can to work with the various sports/band/family trips that come up during the year. I talk to them in the halls, I know who they are dating, what is going on in their lives, and they know I care about them. I cannot, however, save them from their own enabling parents.
Parents. They are the reason students are failing.
The first one just was checking in to make sure everything she was hearing at home was true. Yes, her child is fully caught up. Yes, the exam is open book. Yes, her child will pass with flying colours. No surprise that this parent has been in touch with me all term.
The second parent who called wanted to know what "Johnny" would need to do at this point in order to pass. Excuse me? We have never even met, despite my repeated phone calls home. "Johnny" has not been to my class in over a month. It is soooo not my problem that "Johnny" thinks he's going to be a computer programmer, and failing my class is holding him back. And no, there is no "big project" that mommy can do with "Johnny" to convince me to pass him.
The third parent started her phone call with the statement "Susie says that you just now told her she has 47% in your class. How come you haven't told her this before? This is totally unfair! How is she supposed to catch up? What, you want her to fail?" I haven never met this parent. I'm not entirely sure why her daughter chose to tell her mom the current mark, when she hasn't mentioned it the last 5 times I've handed out mark updates. When I told the mom "I was actually impressed that Susie has brought her mark UP to 47% since midterms" and that the bonus work I have given Susie (created, coached, and marked by ME) was clearly a good idea, Mom informed me that "Giving Susie more work" was not the answer. I disagreed. Giving Susie an assignment she could do to bring up her mark, rather than just punishing her for skipping more than 20% of my class, seemed like a good way to help her succeed.
I think I give more than is required for my job. Like most teachers, my job does not end at 3:30, and I spend many evenings and weekends doing school work. My students have my home phone number. They have my e-mail address. They can find me in the building all day long. I tell my classes right at the beginning that they are to call me if they are absent. I will do whatever I can to work with the various sports/band/family trips that come up during the year. I talk to them in the halls, I know who they are dating, what is going on in their lives, and they know I care about them. I cannot, however, save them from their own enabling parents.
Parents. They are the reason students are failing.
Saturday, June 06, 2009
Common sense. Not so common.
This morning we (the Terrors and I, NOT their father) were cleaning the house. The kids have learned that yes, they must pitch in. And they must be cheerful about it. As they finish each job, they run to me and ask for another. The idea is, if we work fast, we will be done fast!
Boy Terror was running out of jobs. He's a bit harder to employ, since he seems to lack....what is that called....when you just know what to do? Ah yes. Common sense. Very absent in 5 year old boys.
I asked BT to get the brown laundry basket, and to put all the clothes from the floor (Hubby's side of the bed, I might mention) into the basket. Since I've worked with this child before, I knew to break this down into steps.
1. See the basket? Pick it up.
2. Go to Mummy's room.
3. See the clothes on the floor? Pick them up.
4. Put them in the basket.
At this point I must have been distracted, because I told him to also put the laundry from my closet floor with the stuff he'd collected. He said "Put it together?" and I said "Yes". I didn't elaborate. I foolishly thought it was clear. A few minutes later, I found ALL the dirty laundry, piled in my closet. The empty brown basket was beside the pile.
Zero common sense. I pity his wife already.
Boy Terror was running out of jobs. He's a bit harder to employ, since he seems to lack....what is that called....when you just know what to do? Ah yes. Common sense. Very absent in 5 year old boys.
I asked BT to get the brown laundry basket, and to put all the clothes from the floor (Hubby's side of the bed, I might mention) into the basket. Since I've worked with this child before, I knew to break this down into steps.
1. See the basket? Pick it up.
2. Go to Mummy's room.
3. See the clothes on the floor? Pick them up.
4. Put them in the basket.
At this point I must have been distracted, because I told him to also put the laundry from my closet floor with the stuff he'd collected. He said "Put it together?" and I said "Yes". I didn't elaborate. I foolishly thought it was clear. A few minutes later, I found ALL the dirty laundry, piled in my closet. The empty brown basket was beside the pile.
Zero common sense. I pity his wife already.
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