So I was at the school early this morning filling ice chests for Sno Kones later in the day, and as I walk through the cafeteria, a little girl in Tyler's class runs up to me and gives me a hug. I said hello, hugged her back, asked how she was doing etc. Then as I am walking through again, this time carrying a full ice chest, her younger sister opens the door for me into the teacher's lounge. I thank her and she hangs around talking, and during the conversation says "Do you know my sister?" And I say, "I DO know your sister. She's in my son's class." To which she responds, "Mr. Lindner is your son???"
Ummm, NO.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Friday, April 16, 2010
Reason # 375 that I love my husband...
Because as we sat FOREVER in the parking lot trying to leave the Coyotes' game, he was watching an elderly couple looking for their car the entire time we sat (at least 20 minutes). As they looked more and more distraught and frustrated, he decided to hop out and help them, even though he is NOT a morning person, and would be getting up in just a few hours for Pat's Run tomorrow. Did I mention that they were wearing Red Wings gear?? Good thing he did as they were across the street from their car!
Friday, April 9, 2010
Hearing Check
So, as most of you know, I walk my kids (and three neighbors' kids) to school every morning. And every morning since they started riding ahead of me (when I was pushing a 1 month old in a stroller and they were on their bikes) they wait at the streets for me to come up and tell them it's ok to cross.
Evie is obviously no longer a one month old in a stroller, and now joins them in racing ahead of me on her hand-me-down scooter, which she thinks is THE best thing since candy. So yesterday morning they are waiting at the street to cross, and as I approach I say "Look both ways" and before I can complete my sentence, Evie yells out "The coast is clear" and all six kids bop into the street, right in front of a car.
Now mind you, this car was not super close, was not going fast, and I can't even say it was a near miss. But nevertheless, they crossed in front of a car, so on the other side I stopped them all and asked what happened.
The response?? Tyler says "You always say "look both ways the coast is clear" when it's okay for us to cross. We didn't know it was Evie who yelled it." Ummm, no Ty. What I have been saying for FOUR years now is "look both ways AND GO IF IT'S CLEAR."
Evie is obviously no longer a one month old in a stroller, and now joins them in racing ahead of me on her hand-me-down scooter, which she thinks is THE best thing since candy. So yesterday morning they are waiting at the street to cross, and as I approach I say "Look both ways" and before I can complete my sentence, Evie yells out "The coast is clear" and all six kids bop into the street, right in front of a car.
Now mind you, this car was not super close, was not going fast, and I can't even say it was a near miss. But nevertheless, they crossed in front of a car, so on the other side I stopped them all and asked what happened.
The response?? Tyler says "You always say "look both ways the coast is clear" when it's okay for us to cross. We didn't know it was Evie who yelled it." Ummm, no Ty. What I have been saying for FOUR years now is "look both ways AND GO IF IT'S CLEAR."
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Taxes...
We had a lengthy discussion at dinner the other night about taxes. The kids' school has been talking up the importance of voting in May to pass the sales tax increase in order to save "specials" (i.e. art, music, and PE), and to maintain reasonable class sizes and a host of other things.
So our discussion went from what is a sales tax and who pays it, and what is an income tax and who pays it (and who doesn't. One example that came up was drug dealers, which Gabrielle had a bad opinion of. Remember this.)
Then the discussion turned to what things are paid for with your tax dollars, and this list included road maintenance, police officers, firefighters, prisons, uninsured people, our court systems.
Gabrielle's first comment after we told her prisons were paid for by tax dollars was "Why can't the prisoners pay for themselves? The drug dealers have all that money they aren't paying taxes on." and so we talked about how prisoners weren't working, and that someone had to pay for the building itself, the heat or air conditioning, the food to make their 3 meals a day. To which she responded, "They're criminals. Can't we just feed them every second day??"
So our discussion went from what is a sales tax and who pays it, and what is an income tax and who pays it (and who doesn't. One example that came up was drug dealers, which Gabrielle had a bad opinion of. Remember this.)
Then the discussion turned to what things are paid for with your tax dollars, and this list included road maintenance, police officers, firefighters, prisons, uninsured people, our court systems.
Gabrielle's first comment after we told her prisons were paid for by tax dollars was "Why can't the prisoners pay for themselves? The drug dealers have all that money they aren't paying taxes on." and so we talked about how prisoners weren't working, and that someone had to pay for the building itself, the heat or air conditioning, the food to make their 3 meals a day. To which she responded, "They're criminals. Can't we just feed them every second day??"
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Death and Elvis
A conversation between Evie and I a few days ago.
E: "I want to die."
me: "WHAT??"
E: "I wish I was dead."
me: "Why do you wish you were dead?" (heart in mouth, wheels spinning about child counseling I could bring her to)
E: "So I can see Elvis."
me, laughing: "So you can meet Elvis?"
E: "Yes. I miss Elvis."
me: "Evie, you've never even met Elvis."
E: "But I still miss him."
Then I have to tell you about how when Gabrielle was only 3, she started talking to the gentleman sitting next to her on the plane. We were on our way back to CT and we had talked about how we were going to go and visit Grampa A's grave. (He had passed away only a few months earlier.)
So Gabrielle says to him, "We're going to CT to see my Grammy and Grampa and Grammy A, but not my Grampa A because he died." And the gentleman said, "Oh, I'm sorry." And she said, "So now he's in heaven.... With Elvis." I thought the man was going to spit his drink his drink out he laughed so hard.
What is it with my girls, and death, and Elvis??
E: "I want to die."
me: "WHAT??"
E: "I wish I was dead."
me: "Why do you wish you were dead?" (heart in mouth, wheels spinning about child counseling I could bring her to)
E: "So I can see Elvis."
me, laughing: "So you can meet Elvis?"
E: "Yes. I miss Elvis."
me: "Evie, you've never even met Elvis."
E: "But I still miss him."
Then I have to tell you about how when Gabrielle was only 3, she started talking to the gentleman sitting next to her on the plane. We were on our way back to CT and we had talked about how we were going to go and visit Grampa A's grave. (He had passed away only a few months earlier.)
So Gabrielle says to him, "We're going to CT to see my Grammy and Grampa and Grammy A, but not my Grampa A because he died." And the gentleman said, "Oh, I'm sorry." And she said, "So now he's in heaven.... With Elvis." I thought the man was going to spit his drink his drink out he laughed so hard.
What is it with my girls, and death, and Elvis??
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Lori's public service announcement
This very well may be TMI for some of you, so be forewarned.
I am very much a glass-half-full kind of a girl. I typically have a positive outlook, and don't get too rattled about the small stuff. So after a recent mammogram found that I required "further testing", I was mostly able to tell myself that lots of tests require further testing due to technician error, machine inconsistencies, full moons, etc, etc.
A second mammogram with different views and an ultrasound, found that the mass was just a cyst. However, in the 10 minutes of staring at the ultrasound screen, watching the technician locate (easily locate) and measure what very obviously was not supposed to be there, I must admit to being quite...humbled? scared? breathless? ("Stop holding your breath you ninny. If you pass out on the ultrasound table, they are going to think something is REALLY wrong and require even more testing." )
So without being preachy, ladies...make sure you get your annual screenings and tests, and whatever else your doctor recommends, cuz there's nothing quite like knowing for certain that it's NOT cancer.
I am very much a glass-half-full kind of a girl. I typically have a positive outlook, and don't get too rattled about the small stuff. So after a recent mammogram found that I required "further testing", I was mostly able to tell myself that lots of tests require further testing due to technician error, machine inconsistencies, full moons, etc, etc.
A second mammogram with different views and an ultrasound, found that the mass was just a cyst. However, in the 10 minutes of staring at the ultrasound screen, watching the technician locate (easily locate) and measure what very obviously was not supposed to be there, I must admit to being quite...humbled? scared? breathless? ("Stop holding your breath you ninny. If you pass out on the ultrasound table, they are going to think something is REALLY wrong and require even more testing." )
So without being preachy, ladies...make sure you get your annual screenings and tests, and whatever else your doctor recommends, cuz there's nothing quite like knowing for certain that it's NOT cancer.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Becoming a mom
I think becoming a mom actually happens in stages. Obviously the first stage is to have the baby. (And as I have not adopted, I refer to having the baby, but I can only guess bringing any baby home for the first time feels the same.) Obviously, that's a pretty big stage, full of joy, uncertainty, awe, undreamed of feelings of protectiveness, fear --are they really sending this helpless little thing home with me WITHOUT A MANUAL?? "Wait, am I really a MOM?" "Do I have the knowledge to be a mom?" "I don't feel like a mom yet, I still feel like I'm playing at being a mom." The stage lasts for a few weeks and there are varying levels of all of those sensations, sometimes all within the same hour! Kind of reminded me of how I felt upon becoming a PT except on a much grander scale. You practice techniques with someone looking over your shoulder, graduate, complete your internships under pretty close supervision, get the license in the mail after taking the exam, and boom, you're set loose on the world of...pick your poison, pediatrics, geriatrics, orthopedics, neurology... But I digress.
Anyway, after you bring the baby home, you go through the stage of "playing dolls", dressing the baby in all the cute new outfits you've bought/received, so you can show the baby off when people come to visit. Changing the baby each and every time ANY spit up lands on one of those beautiful new outfits. Bringing 6 outfit changes for a photo session. Spending 15 minutes before you leave the house checking and double checking that you have diapers, wipes, blankets, spare clothes, burp rags, binkies, the pediatrician's phone number.
After a few months the stage of "seasoned mom" hits. You're feeling like quite the expert on your child and don't call your friends or pediatrician or mom each time the baby (insert appropriate item here; sneezes, cries, gets a rash, projectile vomits, etc). You set up play dates and compare notes on diapers, doctors, discipline strategies and feel quite worthy of the title "mom".
Then you have a second child and it's the "old hat" stage, and you feel a bit smug in knowing that you at least have a vague idea of what to expect, even though each child can be as different as night and day. There are a few bumps in the road (COLIC?? No one warned me about colic.) but overall life goes on fairly smoothly.
All of a sudden you are sending your oldest child off to school, and the "where did the time go" stage hits. Did I spend enough quality time with my child? Did we stay in our pajamas and play dolls or cars or dinosaurs often enough or did I rush them off to dance class or karate or piano lessons or the babysitter's too often? Did I properly prepare them for making friends, learning, being on their own in the big bad world where I can't protect them any longer? (Ok, some of us think we can protect them forever, and get frustrated with the world for not allowing that. I know, I know! I'm working on that.)
Anyway, I was feeling like my "stages" were at bay for a bit, at least until we hit "teenage angst". Until I took my 3 kids, and a friend of the oldest to a play last night, which required a 45 minute car ride due to traffic. I now realize I am in the "background" stage. I am just the chauffeur. I blend in like the curtains or the paint on the walls. As I drove listening to the radio and the chit chat in the back of the minivan (did I forget to mention you in all likelihood will go through the "mom car" stage even if you say you will never drive one? It may not be a minivan, but it will be a big, safe, covered in cracker crumbs, has all the necessities for a kid, "mom car" nonetheless) I realized that my opinion of anything at that exact moment in time, did not matter. There was a collective gasp and an excited "turn it up" when Lady Gaga's "Telephone" came on. I flipped the station when a commercial came on and heard "HEY! put it back on JAMS." I pointed out the things that used to excite the kids "We're near the airport-look there's a plane taking off." or "There's that funny billboard." and got a halfhearted "hmm" or "yah, I see" in reply. I looked in the rear view mirror only to hear the girls sighing over Justin Beiber, and to see them excitedly watching a music video on the "I-Touch" the friend had brought along. (And I wondered where they got their karaoke dance moves since I never allowed them to watch music videos. Hah! A 10 year old with an "I-Touch", who knew?) We ate dinner at "The Rain Forest Cafe" before the show, and they ran off together, leaving me to man the table and wait for the drinks, while they marveled at the animated leopard, elephants, crocodiles, and gorillas--one of which had boobs as my 4 year old pointed out.
When we got to the show, the staircase walls were lined with head shots of each of the performers, and they bolted up the stairs excitedly pointing out which student they thought would be playing which part, leaving me to pick up the dropped coats, and hold the cameras. As we sat in the seats waiting for the production to start, they excitedly talked amongst themselves about who their favorite character was, or which song was their favorite. It was a great show; kudos to the students at Marcos de Nizo High School for all their hard work. The kids LOVED it and couldn't wait to meet the performers afterward. And they did all thank me, over and over, for bringing them. (small self-pat on the back, and one for J's mom too, for teaching good manners!)
I had a good time, enjoyed the show and enjoyed watching the excitement of all the kids as they watched the show/met the performers. I guess I just thought that I would need to push them away when it was time for them to grow up and separate, but I haven't pushed yet, and it seems it has already happened. So now one of my ultra supportive friends is going to hug me and tell me that's why we do what we do, right? We're supposed to be pushing our kids to be strong and independent, and then we're happy that they are... Right?
Anyway, after you bring the baby home, you go through the stage of "playing dolls", dressing the baby in all the cute new outfits you've bought/received, so you can show the baby off when people come to visit. Changing the baby each and every time ANY spit up lands on one of those beautiful new outfits. Bringing 6 outfit changes for a photo session. Spending 15 minutes before you leave the house checking and double checking that you have diapers, wipes, blankets, spare clothes, burp rags, binkies, the pediatrician's phone number.
After a few months the stage of "seasoned mom" hits. You're feeling like quite the expert on your child and don't call your friends or pediatrician or mom each time the baby (insert appropriate item here; sneezes, cries, gets a rash, projectile vomits, etc). You set up play dates and compare notes on diapers, doctors, discipline strategies and feel quite worthy of the title "mom".
Then you have a second child and it's the "old hat" stage, and you feel a bit smug in knowing that you at least have a vague idea of what to expect, even though each child can be as different as night and day. There are a few bumps in the road (COLIC?? No one warned me about colic.) but overall life goes on fairly smoothly.
All of a sudden you are sending your oldest child off to school, and the "where did the time go" stage hits. Did I spend enough quality time with my child? Did we stay in our pajamas and play dolls or cars or dinosaurs often enough or did I rush them off to dance class or karate or piano lessons or the babysitter's too often? Did I properly prepare them for making friends, learning, being on their own in the big bad world where I can't protect them any longer? (Ok, some of us think we can protect them forever, and get frustrated with the world for not allowing that. I know, I know! I'm working on that.)
Anyway, I was feeling like my "stages" were at bay for a bit, at least until we hit "teenage angst". Until I took my 3 kids, and a friend of the oldest to a play last night, which required a 45 minute car ride due to traffic. I now realize I am in the "background" stage. I am just the chauffeur. I blend in like the curtains or the paint on the walls. As I drove listening to the radio and the chit chat in the back of the minivan (did I forget to mention you in all likelihood will go through the "mom car" stage even if you say you will never drive one? It may not be a minivan, but it will be a big, safe, covered in cracker crumbs, has all the necessities for a kid, "mom car" nonetheless) I realized that my opinion of anything at that exact moment in time, did not matter. There was a collective gasp and an excited "turn it up" when Lady Gaga's "Telephone" came on. I flipped the station when a commercial came on and heard "HEY! put it back on JAMS." I pointed out the things that used to excite the kids "We're near the airport-look there's a plane taking off." or "There's that funny billboard." and got a halfhearted "hmm" or "yah, I see" in reply. I looked in the rear view mirror only to hear the girls sighing over Justin Beiber, and to see them excitedly watching a music video on the "I-Touch" the friend had brought along. (And I wondered where they got their karaoke dance moves since I never allowed them to watch music videos. Hah! A 10 year old with an "I-Touch", who knew?) We ate dinner at "The Rain Forest Cafe" before the show, and they ran off together, leaving me to man the table and wait for the drinks, while they marveled at the animated leopard, elephants, crocodiles, and gorillas--one of which had boobs as my 4 year old pointed out.
When we got to the show, the staircase walls were lined with head shots of each of the performers, and they bolted up the stairs excitedly pointing out which student they thought would be playing which part, leaving me to pick up the dropped coats, and hold the cameras. As we sat in the seats waiting for the production to start, they excitedly talked amongst themselves about who their favorite character was, or which song was their favorite. It was a great show; kudos to the students at Marcos de Nizo High School for all their hard work. The kids LOVED it and couldn't wait to meet the performers afterward. And they did all thank me, over and over, for bringing them. (small self-pat on the back, and one for J's mom too, for teaching good manners!)
I had a good time, enjoyed the show and enjoyed watching the excitement of all the kids as they watched the show/met the performers. I guess I just thought that I would need to push them away when it was time for them to grow up and separate, but I haven't pushed yet, and it seems it has already happened. So now one of my ultra supportive friends is going to hug me and tell me that's why we do what we do, right? We're supposed to be pushing our kids to be strong and independent, and then we're happy that they are... Right?
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