Meet Booguloogu

The book fair at my daughters' schools this year had an alien theme.  I believe it was "To the Book Fair and Beyond".  I was on the committee.  We did a lot of alien related contests and art, including an alien art contest where the winners got their drawing on a t-shirt.  The kids decorated their classroom doors with aliens and this week, as a reward for making the money goal set for the fair, the principals of the three schools are dressing up like aliens for a day.

So aliens have been on the brain lately.

Yesterday Signe came home with the following letter:

It was a spelling exercise where she had to write a letter using her spelling words for the week.  The underlined words are her spelling words.  In case you can't make out the writing from my picture, it reads:

Dear Avery,

Over the weekend an alien fell down from outer space.  I made friends with him. I did shake his hand. It  made my hand blue. I made cookies and washed my hand. I asked him what is your name. He said booguloogu.

Love,
Signe

I took the picture because she wanted to actually give the letter to her friend and I wanted to document how stinkin' cute it was! 

Keeping the Magic Alive

I like to think I am a fairly good parent.  But nobody's perfect.  That's what I tell myself in cases like this one.

With your first child, everything that happens is grand and exciting because it is a first for you as the parent as well.  I often lament being the 6th child in my own family because things apparently get less noteworthy.  The boxes of pictures of my oldest brother became a mere handful by the time I was toddling around the world. Though there are certainly other perks to being a younger sibling.  I'm not exempt to this inconsistency in parenting, although photography is one area where I differ, my youngest has far more pictures than my oldest because I took up photography after the oldest was out of diapers, but I digress.

Last week, Signe got her wish (well one of them, anyway).  She lost a tooth at school.  This is a big deal--because they make it a big deal.  She even got a certificate signed by the principal for losing her tooth at school. Despite it being the 8th tooth she has lost (which I only know because she told me, not because I kept track), she came home thrilled, proudly displaying her tiny little baby tooth in a plastic baggy, along with her certificate, like it was trophy.

As it turns out, it was probably a good thing somebody made a big deal out of it, because apparently it wasn't going to be me! At least, not in a way that would make my seven year old happy.

The first night Signe forgot to put the tooth under her pillow for the tooth fairy.  Shocking in and of itself, but not as shocking as what was about to happen. . . twice!

The second night she had a sleepover at a friend's house and so didn't put the tooth under her pillow.

The third night, she remembered.  With giddy excitement she tucked the tooth under her pillow and snuggled down to sleep, bidding us all to hurry and go to sleep so the tooth fairy would come.  Rob and I then had what we like to call our parent party, which means we do whatever we want, kidless.  On this night we watched a movie and went to bed.

Did you catch that?  We watched a movie. . . and then went to bed.

Monday morning:

"Mom! The tooth fairy didn't come!  I put my tooth under my pillow and it was still there this morning!" She holds up the baggy as proof of the tooth fairy's negligence.  Did I mention she had a friend over for a sleep over? I was on the verge of destroying not only my daughter's innocent belief in magic, but her friend's as well.

Crap.

"That's weird."  I say, and rack my brain for an excuse--for the tooth fairy, of course.  "Maybe she. . . "

"Is she even real?!" Sig asks, hand limp at her side, baggy dangling, face crestfallen.

"Of course she's real!" Avery argues.  "Just like Santa!"

"But magic is not real."  Signe states, more as a challenge than as a matter of fact.

"Sometimes magic IS real." I tell her.  I am not handling this well.  Luckily, Signe's brilliance saves me.

"Oh!" She suddenly shouts. "It's Labor Day! That's probably why she didn't come!"

Relief.

I have a second shot at being a good parent--that is, if you believe lying to your kids about made up things like Santa and the Tooth Fairy is good parenting. I tend to think it is--childhood should be magical as long as possible.

"I bet you're right! Let's try again tonight." I say, then chant in my mind, "Don't forget. Don't forget, DON'T forget!"

But then Signe forgets to put it under her pillow for two nights.  It might have had something to do with excessive Taekwondo practice and loads of homework and various other exhausting activities.

As a side note, last year we let Hannah in on the whole magic gig.  She understands that the magic of Santa is one we create--which doesn't make it less real--and things like the tooth fairy are really just us parents, keeping the magic alive.  She was on to us anyway, and she loves being in on the conspiracy now.  She gets to help make the magic now, which is WAY more cool.

Okay, Wednesday night, during our parent party (TV and popcorn--the usual), Hannah sneaks down and clues us in:

"I thought you should know that Signe just put her tooth under her pillow." It's good to have her on our side now because clearly we need her help.

"Perfect! Thanks for the reminder." At which time we finish our show. . . and then we go to bed.

"Again! The tooth fairy didn't come AGAIN!"  Signe wails as she runs into my room the following morning.  Hannah hurries in behind her and throws her hands in the air, a look of disbelief and disgust on her face.  Seriously, I think she might just find some money to put under Signe's pillow herself if I don't remember again.  But first, damage control.

"Oh my goodness!  What could possibly make her not come again?"  No really, what excuse could fix this?  Got any ideas? I didn't.  "Maybe so many kids have lost teeth that she is behind schedule?"

She looks at me, eyes narrowed, considering.

"Oh! I know what it was!" My husband jumps in.  "I forgot and I set the alarm. I bet she couldn't get in because she didn't want to set off the alarm!"

Aaaand she buys it.  Jeez we are bad parents.   That night she speculates to Rob about why the tooth fairy really keeps forgetting.  Maybe her tooth is too dirty and not good enough.  Maybe the tooth fairy is on a new schedule.

Maybe I had better not forget again!

Last night. I sneak into her room. . . and can't find her tooth under her pillow, or anywhere.  I suggest putting the money under there anyway, but Rob reminds me it might look bad if she finds her tooth later.  Luckily I spot it on my nightstand.  I decide I will tell her I put it under for her and I stash the tooth with her previously lost seven (because keeping baby teeth isn't gross or anything), and tuck a $5 bill under her pillow.  Yes I am trying to buy her off.  It's been a week since she lost her tooth, the tooth fairy probably owes interest or something.

This morning? Happiness and dancing.  Phew.  She did try and fake me out though.  She came in all sad and tried to pretend the tooth fairy had forgotten again, then whipped out the money to show me she HAD come. . . finally.

Next time I better not forget.  She has several more to loose, it could get kind of spendy.

It's really a good thing I only have two kids.  Just imagine what I might forget if I had more, let alone EIGHT like my own mother.

What have YOU forgotten lately?

The Adventures of Cowboy Jones

If you can't remember what it was like to be a child, one that uses their own imagination instead of just playing video games, I could lend you my daughter.  Or at least give you a glimpse into her world.  Sometimes its a little harry in there, but I guarantee you WILL be entertained.  I like to think her vast and varied imagination comes from me. . . but sometimes it's so full of crazy it can only be blamed on Rob!

Remember, this is the same girl who told me she only really saw the things in her head, not the real world, and that she didn't want to grow up and lose her magic.  I hope she doesn't.

A couple weeks ago the girls had dentist appointments.  Our dentist gives you tokens as a reward and they have a couple machines in the lobby where you can redeem them for trinkets--bouncy balls, magic growing foam creatures, temporary body tattoos, bracelets, etc.  Signe put in her token and out popped a. . . fake mustache.

One might assume that a seven year old girl would be disappointed by such a reward.  But no, her eyes narrowed, the wheels in her head started spinning.  Then a grin popped onto her face, accompanied by a little giggle.


We drove home. I forgot about her prize and went about my day.  About a half hour later, a stranger emerged from our playroom. . .

I laughed.  Then said, "It's Mustache Louie!"

(Mustache Louie has been a joke in the house since Hannah started 6th grade and came home from her first day of riding the middle school/high school bus slightly horrified that a kid on her bus had a mustache!--her emphasis.  We nick named him Mustache Louie.)

She had me take this series of pictures to make it look like she was moving!

"No! I'm Cowboy Jones!" She corrected me.  "And I need to go next door." To show her friend Avery, of course.  As luck would have it, Avery was at the door.

She had to add gloves because she had on purple nail polish which might give it away that she was actually a girl!

After Signe got over the disappointment of not getting to surprise her friend, the two of them concocted their own surprise plan, unbeknownst to me.  It went something like this. . .

Avery and Signe rode their bikes (aka horses) back to Avery's house (Avery just got a new very big bike and they were obsessed with riding bikes--especially around the loop, which required grownup supervision).

Avery went in her front door and Signe waited on the stoop.

"Hey Mom and Dad! I got tired of waiting for Signe to get back and so I rode my bike around the loop by myself!" and quickly before the parents' astonished faces could turn into admonishments. "And I found a new boy to play with. . . and here he is!" Grand gesture toward front door followed by sweeping entrance of Si-- I mean Cowboy Jones.

Again, imagine motion--her idea.  

Then, as fun as that was, they decided they could stretch more fun out of a free, fake mustache (and a leather vest and cowboy hat from Hannah's Jessie [Toy Story] Halloween costume--age 2), so they trekked off to find Avery a suitable side kick costume.

And shortly thereafter we have. . .

Rodeo Clown Kate!  (My camera battery had died by then so all I got was a bad cell phone picture.) Sig wouldn't smile because she was "a man".

The two swapped costumes and played for hours.  THAT is what childhood is really all about!

Happy Friday!

Think Outside the Box

Whenever we are in the mood for a good laugh around here we invite Signe to entertain us.  The girl is hilarious and no one can predict the twists and turns her mind will take. . . except maybe Rob since they are both slightly crazy. But he claims she surprises even him.  This is not a girl who colors inside the lines.  She does not conform to laws of science, or the bounds of reality.  She exists in a land of magic and possibility.

All that being said, sometimes she comes up with completely plausible ideas, despite their unusual nature.

For instance, our oven has been acting up--turning itself on and doing weird things--so Rob has flipped the breaker off the last couple of nights (which also turns off the microwave).  This morning Signe decided she wanted bread with butter and jam on it for breakfast. . . only the butter was hard from the fridge and the jam was the less sugar variety of freezer strawberry jam, which tends to freeze harder.  But none-the-less, I sliced some butter and scooped some jam onto the bread, but in the rush was too lazy to go out and flip the breaker.

"But I want it melted!" Signe complained.

"Just fold it over and pretend it is dessert." I suggested

"Can't we heat it up somehow?" Her eyes squinted and her brain started turning. "Like, I don't know, blow dry it or something?"

"That's exactly what we should do!" I said.  Because really, it wasn't a bad idea.  And it was more fun that walking out to the other side of the garage to flip the breaker back on.

So while she brushed her hair, we blow dried her bread and jam.  It made it nice and soft and the butter just a little melty.  Perfect.

Thinking outside the box is always useful, even if it's just for breakfast.  Plus it made her giggle, which I can never get enough of.

Happy Tuesday!

Puppy Love

Going to the library at school is a new treat for Signe this year.  She loves checking out the books and bringing them home and reading them, and having Hannah read them to her, then I read them to her, then she looks at them some more. . . then role plays the stories putting herself as the character.

I realized something this week when she brought home her two books.  One was about cats.  It was the first book she had brought home all year that wasn't about dogs.  The other one was though, so she could still pretend to be a dog. Phew!

We asked her if she wanted to be a vet when she grows up.  

"Maybe. . . or maybe just the place you leave your dog when you go out of town.  That way I can give them baths and play with them."  She answered with an excited twinkle in her eye. She went on for a while to some detail how she would run the place.

My daughter wants to own a doggy daycare and spa.  

I can't say it's a bad idea.  I think I know who her first customer will be. . . 

If only I could let her start her bathing business now for a little practice.

Too Much of a Good Thing. . . Isn't a Good Thing

I admit that I have an addictive personality.  I tend to be an all or nothing kind of girl.  Moderation is clearly not my strong point.

Luckily I have someone to set me straight and hold my hand while I try to cut back. . . my six year old.

This whole thing started back when Hannah was a baby.  I was tired.  Babies tend to do that to you.  And my husband became my supplier.  Of diet coke.  It kept me going, even though I didn't like the stuff.  But the funny thing about addictions, they grow on you.  But after years of being hooked on the stuff I realized coke didn't really like me.  So I started cheating on my diet coke with diet mountain dew--you can't expect a girl to dump one before she's got another set up to take it's place, can you?

So, happy day, I dumped that diet coke. . . and started seeing diet dew.  It was a rocky relationship.  I tried to assert my independence a number of times, but there was something about him that kept me coming back for more.  He was so tempting Signe had to get in on the action and pretty soon I found I was sharing my dew as often as not.

Then after I resolved to dump the dew for good. . . again.  I started looking for a replacement.  This got Signe all nervous.  One morning last week as I poured myself a diet dew she eyed it nervously then looked at me out of the corner of her eye.

"I thought you said you were going to quit." She said. I can't help but wonder if she wanted him all to herself.

"I know.  I should.  Do you think I should?" I asked her as she eyed the cool refreshing dew splashing over ice cubes.

"Weeeelll," she drew out the word as though trying to consider. "If you quit then I have to quit." Clearly this was bad.  Then her eyes lit up and she straightened up as an idea struck her.  "How about we just drink less. You know, like one day we have some then one day we don't and another day we don't and then the next day we have some?  How about that?" She grinned, her persuasive little face beaming up at me.

Moderation.  She was suggesting I employ a little moderation. . . me.   It was clear I needed to pull an old bait and switch.

I tried Fresca.  No go.  So I did a little research and found out they make caffeine free diet dew.  Only you couldn't get it in my state.  But you could get it in like six places near my parents.  So I let them know one day of my dilemma and figured I would set something up with diet dew's nicer brother next time I visited them, because in the end it really did turn out that diet dew wasn't all he was cracked up to be. . . or at least, he didn't like me half as much as I like him.

Well, my parents got behind the idea and came to visit toting a couple packs of caffeine free diet dew.

I like caffeine free diet dew.  But I still have let go entirely of my diet dew. Suddenly moderation just got a whole lot easier. . . unless you consider the fact that I am now two timing him.  Remember that addictive personality stuff?  I will have to phase him out slowly.  It really is best for everyone that way. . . even Signe.

Live and Learn. . .

Signe is my logic girl.  She has an argument or explanation for everything, and she'll question your logic if it sounds fishy.  Sometimes this is annoying as a parent that is trying to pull a fast one on her, but generally it's useful because it makes her easier to negotiate with. . .plus, it's REALLY entertaining most of the time.

The other day we had this particular conversation while she was sliding down the stairs in a sleeping bag.  As a parent I am thinking, "Oh no you don't--you're going to crack your head open!" But I remember doing just what she is doing as a child, and we had really steep stairs with a wall three feet from the bottom and no hand rail.  So part of me is also thinking, "Hey, it was FUN--and I survived, right?"

In this situation I try to get her to make a smart choice for herself.  Here is the result:

I sit at my desk, with a front seat view of Sig's activities, and consider the afore mentioned conundrum.  As I watch Signe go whooshing down the stairs we make eye contact between the rails. . .

Signe (as she reaches the bottom): You know how we make up fun things and then you tell us we can’t do them? Well that’s just wrong.  Because it is lots of fun and it IS safe. 

Me: Why do you think I tell you not to do it? 

Signe: ‘cause I might hurt myself.

Me: Do you think you will?

Signe: Maybe, but maybe not so much that I cry.

Me: Are you going to stop?

Signe: Yes, when I hurt myself I will stop.  

(after which she immediately scratches her back)

Me: Are you going to stop?

Sig: Yes. (As she climbs the stairs one more time. . . and slides down again.)

Me: When?

Sig(Upon reaching to bottom): Right now.  

She walks away. . .

Two minutes later she comes back for the sleeping bag.  As she drags it away she eyes me at the computer.  

Sig:                 I am going to try another one. . .this one is safe.  (then, loudly, as she walks away): I need lots of pillows. . . 

If I had to make a guess I would say my couch is about to become a launching pad. . . 

Do As I Say, Not As I Do. . .

I remember when, before I had any kids, I would see children acting out in public, or children that were unkempt, or just not motivated, and I would think about what my kids would and wouldn't do, and how they would be, and what they would like. That's all fine and good, a plan is important--though I have learned that to make a plan is to invite the universe to laugh at you, at least when it comes to planning your children (births, behaviors, or otherwise).

But there is always one big thing to take into consideration when molding your children. . . the mold. By that I mean you. I am known for throwing little phrases at my children (and husband occasionally) that are meant to stick long enough to have an impact. For instance, "An orderly home is a reflection of and orderly life," (when trying to get my kids to clean) or "Be a victor not a victim!" when my kids are feeling picked on, or, my husband's favorite, "Happy wife, happy life!" (which Rob heard Dave Ramsey say to a listener one time, much to his chagrin--particularly since it was while we were doing our kitchen remodel and the caller was a guy whose wife wanted to do a kitchen remodel while he wanted to invest the money. . . but I digress).

All the words in the world, however, don't quite have the same impact as what we DO. Let me give you a prime example. . .or two:

Case Number 1 -- "Do as I do"

The Scene: Our Yard

The Task: To weed the garden and pull out some dead bushes

The Characters: Rob, Hannah

The Goal: To make our yard pretty and teach our daughter to work

Hannah (after putting in a good effort for ten or fifteen minutes): I don't want to do it any more.

Rob: Is the job done?

Hannah: It's hot. I worked really hard already.

Rob: You have been working hard, but the job isn't done. When you grow up you can't just quit before the job is done because you don't want to do it anymore.

Hannah: Really? You mean like the half planked ceiling, and the half finished tree house, and the half painted living room, and the half finished garden boxes. . .

I believe at this point we cut her off, because really, with the material she had to work with she could have gone on a while! We went on to explain that we are trying to make her better than us, and that those projects were still in progress--we hadn't actually "quit" working on them, per say. Then we finished up by telling her to do as we say, not as we do, or something along those lines.

Case Number 2 -- "Say as I say"

The Scene: The car--outside a gas station

The Task: To get a fountain drink

The Characters: Rob, Signe

The Goal: To avoid buying a zillion snacks or slushies

Signe: Are we coming in too?

Rob: No, wait in the car.

Signe: But I want you to get me a . . . (at this point Rob has exited the car and shut his door, thus ending the conversation)

Signe (Indignantly): He just shut the door while I was talking--that was certainly uncalled for!

Apparently you can add "That was certainly uncalled for" to my list of phrases. (And judging by how often I hear Hannah saying "That was highly inappropriate," you can probably add that one too!) I was still laughing when Rob got back in the car.

Have your kids followed your example lately?

Sig Says. . .

In an effort to remember the funny things my kids say I try to write them down. Today as Hannah and Signe were getting out of the shower I overheard this:

Hannah: Hurry up Sig. Get out stat!

Signe: Don't scat me. I am not a cat.

Hannah, rolling eyes: Whatever.

Signe: Really. I. am. not. a. cat.

At this point Hannah ignored her and they both went to get dressed. Sig's vocabulary is big, but sometimes wires get a little crossed. Either way it usually entertaining.