Not what I expected on Christmas Eve

Sweet Daughter woke up this morning, her dial set at “11”. The service at the small country church we attend doesn’t even start until SD’s bedtime, and I figured it was going to be a long day. The Christmas tree nearly went to meet its maker several times this morning as a result of sheer exuberance (“But Momma, it’s Christmas EVE!!"), and so I figured that I’d take her to McDonald’s for a bite of lunch, and a chance to burn off some energy in the play area.

We were the only ones here for a while, and I sat in a puddle of sunshine, listening to Xmas music on the computer while sewing on a banyan and sipping on a milkshake courtesy of the manager (a mistake on somebody else’s order), while she ran around like a demented monkey. Well, sans the poo flinging. Now there are two more kids for her to play with and if all goes to plan, she’ll be worn out enough to nap for bit when we get home. Who knew that Christmas Eve at McDonalds could be so pleasant?

And now, I'll leave you with this bit of foolishness.

Family Fun

It being up near 60 degrees this afternoon, we decided to go outside and shoot the pellet guns.

There was a lot of this:

And then this:

With the Big, Bad Wolf properly perforated, it was time to move onto a more traditional target.

SD was not happy with her results. It didn't matter to her that she hit the center line, because she didn't hit the center of the target. She aimed for the center, but hit high, not once, but twice, and was quite frustrated. And when she hit outside of the circle, she insisted it wasn't her fault, she wasn't aiming there!


Here SD is earnestly explaining that she was aiming at the center and so the shot that hit outside the black must have been caused by a problem with the pistol. We explained that the pistol is a tool, and doesn't arbitrarily do that. She wasn't buying it.



You can see that SD is utterly dejected by her inability to hit dead center of the target. To try to illustrate how well she did, Shorter Half and I each took a shot at the target behind her head. Well, not while she was standing there, of course. But to show her that we can't always hit the center either. She refused to be consoled, even when we told her Miss Breda would have been impressed.

She was frustrated, and not having fun, so we decided to switch it up and gave her the option of firing my pellet rifle using a rest.

She liked it. A lot.

Still a bit high, but the important thing is that she had a good time, and stopped only because she was getting cold and it was getting dark.

Fun was had by all, and plans have been made to do it again tomorrow.

Monkey see, monkey do

Sweet Daughter has strep throat, but was finally feeling well enough tonight to eat something other than ice cream. She wanted pizza from a local restaurant, but I told her we couldn’t eat in as she was still technically contagious, but we could phone the order in, run in and pick it up and eat it at home. But she had to promise not to touch anything. So far, so good.

I phoned the order in, threw on my shoulder rig, reminded SD to put shoes and socks on, and I put on my barn coat. I checked in the mirror to make sure I wasn’t printing, and SD asked what I was doing. I explained and ask if she noticed anything. I then grabed my purse and my keys and turned to find SD asking me if I could see the note paper under her jacket. She had carefully placed a folded up piece of note paper under her jacket in the same vicinity that I carry my pistol. Darned if she didn’t keep it tucked away the whole trip to pick up the pizza and back without dropping it or calling attention to it, taking it out only after we got back in the house.

4,400 more

We're up to 6.270 stitches

Sweet Daughter came home from school early yesterday with a temperature of 103 and change. She slept all afternoon while I worked from home, and then work up promptly at 4:00 this morning. That meant I did, too. We kept her home and she was reasonably chipper, but started complaining of a sore throat around lunch time. Yay. That probably means a trip to the pediatrician tomorrow (just in case it's strep) which means she'll be exposed to even more germs.

And this is why I have so much leave on the books.

Compare and contrast

Another reason I'm glad I don't live in Californina -- asking a kid to remove an American flag from his bike "for his own safety".  The idea has me so livid I just sputter when I try to articulate it. It is infurating on countless levels.

Compare with what Sweet Daughter brought home from school yesterday:

I'm sure she wasn't the only kid in her class that got to say that her Daddy and both grandfathers were veterans (although I bet she's the only one with a grandfather who fought in WWII). I don't think telling a kid to take his American flag off his bike would go over very well here.

H/T to Alan and my Blogfather.

Pumpkin picking, part 2

So, let me back up a little bit.

When I went to sign in at the school office so I could play “chaperone”, it was a few minutes before 9:00 a.m. I wasn’t paying attention to the background noise as I was trying to navigate my way through the “Why are you here?” questionnaire when the office staff suddenly stopped what there were doing, stood up, faced the corner where there was an American flag, and placed their hands over their hearts. The voice over the speaker led the school in reciting the Pledge of Allegiance! And only one of the parents needed a pointed look to join in. And then there was a rather long “Moment of Silence” following the Pledge, AND there was a sign that said “In God We Trust. Our National Motto”. I was tickled pink!

Okay. Back to the pumpkin patch.

Sweet Daughter had gone off at as near a dead run as she can manage while navigating the vines, and leaping the trenches between the raised beds.

"I'm looking for the perfect pumpkin!"

  

"Maybe this one? No."

  

While SD is carefully examing about one in every ten pumpkins in the field, the rest of the four busloads of kids all grab a pumpkin and call it a day.

FINALLY. The perfect round pumpkin.

Or not.

Finally, as the tractor returned to take us all back up the hill so we could eat lunch, an acceptable pumpkin was found. It followed the parameters that the child had to be able to carry it without help, and it had to fit in their backpack.

"It's okay, Momma. I've got it."

"Does it fit in your backpack?"

"Yes."

So, all is well and good. We cram ourselves back onto the wagons (this having the advantage of being so snug that nobody could have fallen off if they had tried), ride back to the picnic area, and disembark. Now, Sweet Daughter likes to jump off of things. Curbs, steps, you name it. See where this is going? I missed the jumping part, but I saw her on her back, looking surprised with her legs waving in the air as the weight of the pumpkin in her backpack pulled her off balance. She was fine, I laughed, and the other parents looked at me funny.

After they ate lunch, the kids got to go play. Since I wasn't riding back on the bus but was driving directly back to work, I went up to the teacher and told her I was leaving, and to thank her for letting me come along.

When I left, all the kids I'd had lunch with were breathing, and none were bleeding. I considered the day a success.

Pumpkin picking, part 1

Today I volunteered to accompany Sweet Daughter’s kindergarten class field trip to a local pick-your-own farm.

They learned about different varieties of apples.

They sang songs.

They learned about how pumpkins grow.

And then the part they were all waiting for … the pumpkin patch!

The tractor pulled two wagons crammed with students and chaperones.

They have a goats in a pasture, complete with a "goat walk" up over the road.You can buy a handful of corn, put it in a cup, and run it up to a platform using a pulley system.

“I'm a model you know what I mean

And I do my little turn on the goatwalk

Yeah on the goatwalk on the goatwalk yeah

I do my little turn on the goatwalk”

And then ... we reach the pumpkins.

I'm unable to upload any more pictures to this post for some reason, and I've got to finish up the 2 dozen scones I'm baking, and the turkey breast I'm roasting for the weekend, so the search for the greatest pumpkim will commence tomorrow.

Another musical interlude

In lieu of actual content, I'm posting blackmail material for future reference. Whether it's against myself and that lovely circa 1970 bathroom, or Sweet Daughter for when she starts dating, I'm not sure. What I do know is that after a long morning of playing outside in the dirt, I threw her in the shower to wash off the grime. I went and got lunch started, and when I went back upstairs, I found she had plugged up the drain on the tub, was playing in the resulting bathwater, and was singing the same song, over and over at the top of her lungs, sounding like a rooster with the croup as the result of a head cold. I snuck in and caught this.

First day of school

Sweet Daughter started kindergarten today. No tears, but plenty of high-fives instead. (Including ones exchanged between Shorter Half and myself.) She said she had an "awesome" day, and can't wait to go back. I have no idea how long that will last, but I'll enjoy it while it does. I hope it's for another 17 years ...

Dear Sweet Daughter,

Happy fifth birthday to the sweetest girl I know! Every night I thank God for you, and ask “Please help me to not screw this up”. Thank you for teaching me that you learn best by example, and that means I have to model the person I’d like you to become. I have learned to stand up for myself, and for what I believe in. I’ve learned to ask myself what it really is that I do believe in. I have learned to push past my comfort level in many areas. Besides all the joy you bring into my life, I’m becoming a better person because of you. Thank you, Sweet Girl.

Love, Momma

Smart aleck

Over this past weekend Sweet Daughter and I were discussing something, I don’t remember what, but she did inform me (very respectfully, and in all seriousness) that she was smarter than I was. If you use “smart” as you would “intelligent”, I could see that she might have a point. I simply said that it might be true, but I did know more things than she did. (At least for now.)

Fast forward to Monday afternoon after swim class. I was trying to sign SD up for the next set of swim lessons, and being bored with the interminable wait she was hopping up and down. Under the 48” counter overhang.

Me: “SD, don’t jump near the counter. You’ll hit your head.”

SD: ::: jump hop bounce jump hop bounce jump hop bounce :::

Me: “SD, if you hit your head on the counter, I’m just going to point and laugh.”

SD: ::: jump hop bounce jump hop bounce jump WHUMP! ::: She did not utter so much as a whimper, but she did grab the top of her head.

Me, pointing: “HAHAHAHAH! Is your head okay? You’re not bleeding on the floor, are you? Hahahahah. Ha. Does that need a smoochie?” [hugs]

Pirate Fest (LOTS of pictures of the kid)

Held at Darnall's Chance in Upper Marlboro, MD, this was a fun thing to do with a 4 1/2-year-old. First she put her costume together, The only thing she wore today that she wears at events were her shoes. Ratty old shift? Check. Imported Indian calico headrag? Check. Ragged skirt AND fancy skirt? Check. Sword, hook, compass, spyglass and plenty of necklaces? Check, check, check, check and check. The most rightous piratical stockings ever? Aye, Matey!

She walked the plank, she swung in a hammock. She climbed up ...

over, and down the rigging.

She dug for burried treasure. She rolled a barrel through a fenced-in path, remembering to push on the right side to go left, and the left side to go right.

She earned coins for each task, and then traded them in for a key to break the secret code on the directions to find the secret treasure. We headed north for 25 paces. We turned west. We found more clues, we went hither and yon until she found the secret doorway and got her official pirate papers.

She was in a parade.

She fenced -- oddly enough, she is very left-hand dominant when it comes to writing and eating. But she bats and fences (and shoots) right handed.
 

This would be her Scots blood showing and she handles this thing like a broadsword.

She got to see the parrots and other birds.

Note: I do not like things that flutter. At all. I avoid butterflies, even. When the bird flew off her head TOWARDS ME, I'm sure I looked startled, to say the least. But I did NOT jump, or scream, DFO, snatch my darling child to my bosum and flee, or any of the other things that flew (hahahahah) through my mind. Yay me.

She checked out the pillory. And looked like she was plotting.

She got a drink. Because that's all there was. That and snowcones and popcorn. The food vendor decided not to show. Good thing she was too busy to realize she was hungy.

And, she entered the costume contest. They were interviewed, demonstrated their pirate walk, and were then ranked by applause. Well, she made the final 5, but one parent can only whoop and holler so loud, and when other contestes have more family in the audience ...she didn't make the final three.

Here she is during the interview. The MC asked her what happened to her hand. She was quick to explain that nothing was wrong with her hand -- it was just a costume. Really. She was fine. Please don't worry. It's okay. Costume, see?

I tried to remind her how we'd talked about the fun part was putting the costume together, but she wasn't buying it. She KNEW her costume was better than the rest. I chalked it up to a good lesson in "Life's not fair, so suck it up, Cupcake" and started to procede along those lines, when a couple of the judges came over looking sheepish. They knew that the results didn't reflect the best costume, just the loudest supporters. So, the MC donated a copy of a children's book he'd written (Broadside Ben and the Big Brass Cannon by Cliff Long), and was kind enough to autograph it. (BTW, the book is a hoot. The Dutch ships are flying pennants with tulips on them, for starters.)

All in all an excellent if exhausting day. I think we'll go back next year.

"Mama - This bird isn't going potty on my head, is he?"