So, Cooper, do you love kindergarten?
“Mmm, Uhh, yeah, but no. But I tell people yes. I really just want to go home and snuggle.”
What is your favorite thing about school so far?
"Recess and Nap."
What is your least favorite thing about school so far?
"Computer."
Who do you sit by at lunch?
"It‘s not always the same person every day. And that’s ok with me."
Who do you play with at recess?
"Jacob, Reed and sometimes Trayden."
Do you have to run from the girls?
“I run from Dillon, Gabby, Madison, Skylin, and that’s all.”
What was the best part about your day today?
"Well, it is usually always nap and recess. I just like it."
Is there anything that you miss about Pre-K?
“Hmm…Coloring, I do. We don’t color so much in Kindergarten.”
Do you like show and tell?’
“I love it.”
Why do you love it?
“Cause you get to show stuff.”
What was your favorite show and tell?
“The H, when I brought Daddy’s old hat. The first hat he got when he played major league.”
Have you gotten your name on the board yet?
“No. I got a bunch of warnings, though.”
Have you gotten a naughty note?
“No. You only get a naughty note if you get two or one marks by your name. Then you get a naughty note.”
Have you been put on the time line?
“Just once.”
What is the time line?
“There’s two lines that ain’t the time line, and the middle is the time line.”
What does it mean if you are on the time line?
“Then you get in trouble and go put your head on the wall.”
Why were you on the time line?
“For picking up Skylin and she was picking up me.”
There you have it, folks. One nine-weeks down, 51 more to go.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
“Random thoughts on life, death, and other important stuff”
Brisco on Leadership
B: Who were you talking to on the phone?”
Me: “It was John from church.”
B: “Which John?”
Me: “The preacher, John.”
B: “Oh. You mean King John.”
Brisco on Verb Tense:
B: “Momma, It’s waffle day!”
Me: “Yes, but I’m all out of waffles.”
B: “You buyed some. I knowed you did.”
Brisco on Grooming:
“If you need a haircut, just go down to the Barbie Shop.”
Cooper and Brisco on Movie Quotes:
“You got nothing but a slop in the face.”
“Get outa my eyeballin’ seat you new meat!”
“The Aaaay card!”
“Sweep the leg!”
Brisco on Figures of Speech:
B: “Aw, my foot is…it’s just…”
Me: “Is it asleep?”
B: (Blank look)
Me: “If it’s tingly, that means it’s asleep.”
B: “Awww. It didn’t even tell me it was tired!” (True, folks. I can’t make this stuff up.)
Brisco on the Miracle of Life:
B: “Momma, were you born before Grandmother?”
Me: “No, Grandmother is my mother. I was in her tummy.”
B: “Who else was in there?”
Me: “Aunt Keri, but not at the same time.”
B: “Was Daddy in there too?”
Me: “No, Daddy was in Granma’s tummy.”
B: “Who else was in there?”
Me: “Aunt Rhonda, Aunt Regina, Uncle Ryan, Aunt Rachel, Aunt Becca, Aunt Rhetta, and Aunt Robyn.”
B: Eyes wide, brow furrowed…“Oh, uh, never mind.”
Brisco on Effective Advertising:
(At random, while driving trains through the living room.) “Hyundai! Hyundai! Hyundai!”
“Hey Momma, I have a secret.” (Whispering in my ear) “Lowes Knows.”
While playing Star Wars with their light sabers, I hear Brisco from the other room, “You have the power of the Home Depot!”
Cooper on Literal Thinking:
C: (at worship one evening) “Mom, did God used to live here?“
Me: “What do you mean?”
C: “Well, people keep saying it’s God’s house. Where did he go?”
Brisco on Random Thoughts:
B: “Are there still dinosaurs in this world?”
Me: “Nope.”
B: “Is Tom and Jerry on this planet?”
Me: “No. They’re in Cartoonland.”
B: “Is that a long way from here?”
Me: “Depends on the day of the week.”
Brisco on Entertainment:
“Come on, Harlie, let’s trap Bessie (the 11 year old Labrador) so we can take her paw print on the etch a sketch.”
Brisco on Death:
B: “Momma, we’re all gonna die someday.”
Me: “Yes, that’s true.”
B: “So, are we really gonna die?
Me: “Yes, I think we probably will.”
B: “If I eat this, will I die? If we never eat, will we die? If you hold something in your hands, will it die?” (On a cloudy day:) “Did the sun die?”
Brisco on Shopping:
“If they’re out of steak at the store, you can just go to Brance’s.”
Brisco, Scared Straight:
After being repeatedly warned about playing outside without shoes, Brisco lost the battle and almost ripped off his toenail; however, he refused to wear a band aid. Finally, after soaking his foot three times a day to remove the dirt and fuzz that would accumulate on the wound, I took another approach.
Me: “Brisco, if you don’t wear a band aid on this toe, I think it might die. And then it will fall off.” (He only cried for a minute.) And then…
B: “Well, I guess I’ll wear a band aid then.”
That worked so well, I tried this one:
Me: “Brisco, if you don’t quit peeing outside, a bird is going to come along and bite off your wienie.” (What? It could happen.)
B: (Taking pause for a moment) “…ummmm…hmmmmm…” At least I’ve got the boy thinking.
Third time’s a charm:
Me: “Brisco, don’t put the banana peel in your mouth! It’s nasty!”
B: “Why is it nasty?”
Me: (Thinking quickly) “Monkeys pee on them!”
B: “Ugh. That’s disgusting!”
Score one for Mom.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
B: Who were you talking to on the phone?”
Me: “It was John from church.”
B: “Which John?”
Me: “The preacher, John.”
B: “Oh. You mean King John.”
Brisco on Verb Tense:
B: “Momma, It’s waffle day!”
Me: “Yes, but I’m all out of waffles.”
B: “You buyed some. I knowed you did.”
Brisco on Grooming:
“If you need a haircut, just go down to the Barbie Shop.”
Cooper and Brisco on Movie Quotes:
“You got nothing but a slop in the face.”
“Get outa my eyeballin’ seat you new meat!”
“The Aaaay card!”
“Sweep the leg!”
Brisco on Figures of Speech:
B: “Aw, my foot is…it’s just…”
Me: “Is it asleep?”
B: (Blank look)
Me: “If it’s tingly, that means it’s asleep.”
B: “Awww. It didn’t even tell me it was tired!” (True, folks. I can’t make this stuff up.)
Brisco on the Miracle of Life:
B: “Momma, were you born before Grandmother?”
Me: “No, Grandmother is my mother. I was in her tummy.”
B: “Who else was in there?”
Me: “Aunt Keri, but not at the same time.”
B: “Was Daddy in there too?”
Me: “No, Daddy was in Granma’s tummy.”
B: “Who else was in there?”
Me: “Aunt Rhonda, Aunt Regina, Uncle Ryan, Aunt Rachel, Aunt Becca, Aunt Rhetta, and Aunt Robyn.”
B: Eyes wide, brow furrowed…“Oh, uh, never mind.”
Brisco on Effective Advertising:
(At random, while driving trains through the living room.) “Hyundai! Hyundai! Hyundai!”
“Hey Momma, I have a secret.” (Whispering in my ear) “Lowes Knows.”
While playing Star Wars with their light sabers, I hear Brisco from the other room, “You have the power of the Home Depot!”
Cooper on Literal Thinking:
C: (at worship one evening) “Mom, did God used to live here?“
Me: “What do you mean?”
C: “Well, people keep saying it’s God’s house. Where did he go?”
Brisco on Random Thoughts:
B: “Are there still dinosaurs in this world?”
Me: “Nope.”
B: “Is Tom and Jerry on this planet?”
Me: “No. They’re in Cartoonland.”
B: “Is that a long way from here?”
Me: “Depends on the day of the week.”
Brisco on Entertainment:
“Come on, Harlie, let’s trap Bessie (the 11 year old Labrador) so we can take her paw print on the etch a sketch.”
Brisco on Death:
B: “Momma, we’re all gonna die someday.”
Me: “Yes, that’s true.”
B: “So, are we really gonna die?
Me: “Yes, I think we probably will.”
B: “If I eat this, will I die? If we never eat, will we die? If you hold something in your hands, will it die?” (On a cloudy day:) “Did the sun die?”
Brisco on Shopping:
“If they’re out of steak at the store, you can just go to Brance’s.”
Brisco, Scared Straight:
After being repeatedly warned about playing outside without shoes, Brisco lost the battle and almost ripped off his toenail; however, he refused to wear a band aid. Finally, after soaking his foot three times a day to remove the dirt and fuzz that would accumulate on the wound, I took another approach.
Me: “Brisco, if you don’t wear a band aid on this toe, I think it might die. And then it will fall off.” (He only cried for a minute.) And then…
B: “Well, I guess I’ll wear a band aid then.”
That worked so well, I tried this one:
Me: “Brisco, if you don’t quit peeing outside, a bird is going to come along and bite off your wienie.” (What? It could happen.)
B: (Taking pause for a moment) “…ummmm…hmmmmm…” At least I’ve got the boy thinking.
Third time’s a charm:
Me: “Brisco, don’t put the banana peel in your mouth! It’s nasty!”
B: “Why is it nasty?”
Me: (Thinking quickly) “Monkeys pee on them!”
B: “Ugh. That’s disgusting!”
Score one for Mom.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
Monday, September 20, 2010
Officially normal
We woke up last Tuesday preparing the boys to appear at the doctor’s office for their yearly wellness visit. It was time for someone with some real training and skill to certify our boys as normal.
With one boy feeling less than stellar, I began to think it might be my lucky day. Really, how often do you already have an appointment for the doctor and subsequently get sick? However, I was a little unsure about how in the world I was going to get a boy who is typically car sick off the toilet long enough to drive 30 minutes to the doctor. I mean, one bucket, I can do. But two?
As I visited with him, I wasn’t altogether sure how much of him felt sick and how much of him was just plain worried. “Is it a long drive?” Cooper asked. “Thirty minutes,” I said. “Are you worried about getting sick in the car?” I asked. “Yes,” he replied. “Are you worried about having to get shots?” “Yes,” he said as his bottom lip started to quiver.
You see, it was only a few weeks ago when these kids endured their first lucid experience with childhood vaccinations, and the memory is still quite vivid. However, today was not about getting shots.
“Don’t worry, Coop. No shots today, I promise. Just take your pill for getting sick in the car, and drink your medicine for having to go poop…oh, and here’s a Tums to settle your tummy…” No wonder the kid was tied up in knots.
After our fourth trip that morning to visit Mr. Tidy Bowl and my insistence that the boy take all the “required medicine”, we finally made an attempt to get on the road. As luck would have it, we drove the 31.24 miles to the clinic without the need for any buckets, and by the time we strolled into the office, we were about as healthy as two little boys could be. Go figure.
We sat and waited as patiently as we could wait for a nervous five year old, an ornery four year old and a frazzled mother with eight pages of medical history forms to complete. My favorite: Question 47: “Do you smoke?” Answer: “I’m four years old. Refer to question 2: Age. Or question 3: Date of Birth.” (Come on folks. Can’t we streamline these forms a little for the kiddos?)
After almost an hour in the waiting room, one trip to the restroom, and taking my life in my own hands by agreeing to read them half a dozen kids’ books from what could probably be considered the Holiday Inn for germs and disease (the children’s play area), the nurse finally called our names.
As we stood in the hallway outside the examining room, I thought to myself how amazing it is that such simple things can make really smart kids look like morons. Take measuring their height, for instance. Telling my kids to “stand on the ruler” was somehow a little mind boggling. Of course the ruler was vertical, from floor to near ceiling, and I suppose they were wondering how in the world they were going to “stand on” that.
Sticking out their tongues and saying “Aaahh”: another tricky request. For some reason, my little Einsteins could not put those two tasks together at the same time. But the most difficult task of the appointment came when the doctor asked Cooper to take a deep breath so she could listen to him breathe. I’m not really sure which part of her request was confusing to him, but his interpretation must have been something like, “Open your mouth really wide and make a hacking sound from the back of your throat like you are coughing up a bone.” Yeah, I’d say there was a small breakdown in communication.
After about four or five failed attempts, the doctor, who was trying really hard to hold back her amusement, finally gave up and moved on to the next developmental milestone on her list. I stopped sweating it when I realized there would be no IQ test today.
I spent the next four and a half minutes trying to have adult-like chat with a doctor I’d just met. A question about puss pockets, an inquiry into the normalcy of a boy’s bowel movements, and the burning question of the day…what do you do about carsickness?
Unfortunately, the doc had no remedy, although she was able to feel my pain, as she too has issues with motion sickness in her own child. And just as we were attempting to bond with one another, trading poor, pitiful me and puke stories, child number two falls to the floor after a 30 second spinning frenzy while his brother climbs into the window sill, half pulling down the shade in the process. I’m guessing the doc’s thinking, “Lady, you’ve got a lot bigger problems to worry over than kids puking in your car!”
So we cut our doctor-parent consult short before the boys stabbed each other with the tongue depressors or stuffed cotton balls up their nostrils, and I attempted to grab each boy by the nape of the neck and drag them back to a place where their delinquency could not be observed by others: strapped in and buckled down on the inside of my car.
As I drove in silence toward the unavoidable black hole some call Wal Mart, I could not believe the way my kids had misbehaved. Like morons, I said. And it was only moments later, as my brow had become permanently furrowed, my teeth were almost completely ground away and I’d made my third disapproving remark to my morons, I realized…I’d forgotten to pay.
I wheeled my car back in the direction of the clinic, and made my apologies to the receptionist, who actually didn’t seem totally shocked about my mistake. I suppose I’m not the first person to attempt a “drive off” at the doctor’s office. (And after I made my co-pay, I understood why.)
I settled back behind the wheel and forced myself to pause. So maybe our day didn’t go quite as I’d planned. Maybe we’re just not talented when it comes to deep breathing. Maybe we’ll never get an A+ in tongue depressing. It’s true, the overall experience may not have been ideal, but at least I was assured that I had two happy, healthy, as close-to-normal-as-you-can-be little boys. If I wasn’t convinced about that before, I now officially had a licensed doctor’s stamp of approval to prove it. And sometimes, as any mother can tell you, being “normal” is just about the best news you can get!
And that’s All in a day’s work!
With one boy feeling less than stellar, I began to think it might be my lucky day. Really, how often do you already have an appointment for the doctor and subsequently get sick? However, I was a little unsure about how in the world I was going to get a boy who is typically car sick off the toilet long enough to drive 30 minutes to the doctor. I mean, one bucket, I can do. But two?
As I visited with him, I wasn’t altogether sure how much of him felt sick and how much of him was just plain worried. “Is it a long drive?” Cooper asked. “Thirty minutes,” I said. “Are you worried about getting sick in the car?” I asked. “Yes,” he replied. “Are you worried about having to get shots?” “Yes,” he said as his bottom lip started to quiver.
You see, it was only a few weeks ago when these kids endured their first lucid experience with childhood vaccinations, and the memory is still quite vivid. However, today was not about getting shots.
“Don’t worry, Coop. No shots today, I promise. Just take your pill for getting sick in the car, and drink your medicine for having to go poop…oh, and here’s a Tums to settle your tummy…” No wonder the kid was tied up in knots.
After our fourth trip that morning to visit Mr. Tidy Bowl and my insistence that the boy take all the “required medicine”, we finally made an attempt to get on the road. As luck would have it, we drove the 31.24 miles to the clinic without the need for any buckets, and by the time we strolled into the office, we were about as healthy as two little boys could be. Go figure.
We sat and waited as patiently as we could wait for a nervous five year old, an ornery four year old and a frazzled mother with eight pages of medical history forms to complete. My favorite: Question 47: “Do you smoke?” Answer: “I’m four years old. Refer to question 2: Age. Or question 3: Date of Birth.” (Come on folks. Can’t we streamline these forms a little for the kiddos?)
After almost an hour in the waiting room, one trip to the restroom, and taking my life in my own hands by agreeing to read them half a dozen kids’ books from what could probably be considered the Holiday Inn for germs and disease (the children’s play area), the nurse finally called our names.
As we stood in the hallway outside the examining room, I thought to myself how amazing it is that such simple things can make really smart kids look like morons. Take measuring their height, for instance. Telling my kids to “stand on the ruler” was somehow a little mind boggling. Of course the ruler was vertical, from floor to near ceiling, and I suppose they were wondering how in the world they were going to “stand on” that.
Sticking out their tongues and saying “Aaahh”: another tricky request. For some reason, my little Einsteins could not put those two tasks together at the same time. But the most difficult task of the appointment came when the doctor asked Cooper to take a deep breath so she could listen to him breathe. I’m not really sure which part of her request was confusing to him, but his interpretation must have been something like, “Open your mouth really wide and make a hacking sound from the back of your throat like you are coughing up a bone.” Yeah, I’d say there was a small breakdown in communication.
After about four or five failed attempts, the doctor, who was trying really hard to hold back her amusement, finally gave up and moved on to the next developmental milestone on her list. I stopped sweating it when I realized there would be no IQ test today.
I spent the next four and a half minutes trying to have adult-like chat with a doctor I’d just met. A question about puss pockets, an inquiry into the normalcy of a boy’s bowel movements, and the burning question of the day…what do you do about carsickness?
Unfortunately, the doc had no remedy, although she was able to feel my pain, as she too has issues with motion sickness in her own child. And just as we were attempting to bond with one another, trading poor, pitiful me and puke stories, child number two falls to the floor after a 30 second spinning frenzy while his brother climbs into the window sill, half pulling down the shade in the process. I’m guessing the doc’s thinking, “Lady, you’ve got a lot bigger problems to worry over than kids puking in your car!”
So we cut our doctor-parent consult short before the boys stabbed each other with the tongue depressors or stuffed cotton balls up their nostrils, and I attempted to grab each boy by the nape of the neck and drag them back to a place where their delinquency could not be observed by others: strapped in and buckled down on the inside of my car.
As I drove in silence toward the unavoidable black hole some call Wal Mart, I could not believe the way my kids had misbehaved. Like morons, I said. And it was only moments later, as my brow had become permanently furrowed, my teeth were almost completely ground away and I’d made my third disapproving remark to my morons, I realized…I’d forgotten to pay.
I wheeled my car back in the direction of the clinic, and made my apologies to the receptionist, who actually didn’t seem totally shocked about my mistake. I suppose I’m not the first person to attempt a “drive off” at the doctor’s office. (And after I made my co-pay, I understood why.)
I settled back behind the wheel and forced myself to pause. So maybe our day didn’t go quite as I’d planned. Maybe we’re just not talented when it comes to deep breathing. Maybe we’ll never get an A+ in tongue depressing. It’s true, the overall experience may not have been ideal, but at least I was assured that I had two happy, healthy, as close-to-normal-as-you-can-be little boys. If I wasn’t convinced about that before, I now officially had a licensed doctor’s stamp of approval to prove it. And sometimes, as any mother can tell you, being “normal” is just about the best news you can get!
And that’s All in a day’s work!
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