Some glimpses of school . . .
While cleaning up, I came across an old Kindergarten spelling assignment Mary wrote before I had the baby and we went on a summer break. (You see how far behind I am on cleaning?) She was given a couple of key words and asked to write a sentence on her own.
"My mom is snacking a lot cause she is pregnant. And the doctor said that when the baby's poop is going to be sticky." (Corrected)
One day, John and Mary came whooshing past me, declaring they were going to do a science experiment on their own. It involved vinegar and baking soda creating gas, which was pretty cool. All we're doing for the study of science this year is watching Mr. Wizard videos (available for purchase at Seton).
|independent science experiment|
One day while doing grammar, John chose to write all unkind sentences about a certain little sister. I said I would not accept the assignment till he re-wrote them, changing them so they weren't mean about his sister. I note that the completed assignment submitted has his mother being scared and killed by a spider.
|Death to mother|
In the meanwhile, Margaret, who is 4-1/2 and in preschool, is really taking off with her All About Reading lessons. She is now sounding out words in her own head, instead of aloud, and reading at a fairly fluid pace instead of haltingly. Below is a short snippet of video:
You know what is darned cute?
Watching my 6-year-old daughter dance around the room my 3-month-old son to the scene of "You Are 16 Going on 17" from The Sound of Music movie.
Mama's really don't get sick days. Pretty much they have to be three-quarters to the destination of death. On Wednesday, I had what I can only think was perhaps my first migraine or simply a severe headache that kept me immobile in bed with my eyes shut.
Thankfully, I received a little gift from God in that Baby Thomas woke for only about one hour early in the morning, then slept in my arms in bed till 11:00 a.m., which is what allowed me to stay horizontal.
|Sleeping in my arms|
Meanwhile, when two doses of Advil and one of Tiger Balm had dulled my headache enough so I could at least open my eyes without the room spinning, I saw humor in the situation: The children still always want to be with me, no matter how much I want privacy. This is sweet. I had sent them downstairs to watch TV in the den and eat however much cereal they wanted, or whatever food they could scrounge for themselves but, in no time, one by one, they were back up in the bedroom with me, watching a show on my iPad.
I was so cold and too weak to pull the heavy blanket over me, so I asked my two-year-old to go get me the baby-sized quilt off his bed to put on me. Apparently he doesn't know what a 'quilt' is, so he brought me a red bandanna (you know, about 12" x 12") and said it would keep me cozy.
When the baby finally woke, I snapped a photo of the treasures built up around where I'd been curled up in a ball for hours: my vomit bucket just-in-case, the xylophone brought to me with 'urgent' report that two metal pieces were missing, a train track I confiscated because it was being used to whack a sibling, the dress a child brought me because 'it is ready to be donated,' the thermometer (no I didn't have a fever), and a chunk of cheese delivered to me as 'yucky.'
Three months and three days postpartum was the first day I managed a cardio workout session. Thus begins my dark-of-morning attempts to sneak out of bed, leaving the warm, cosleeping baby, who had been in the crook of my arm, behind and asleep--a feat requiring Ninja skills--while the toddler is talking loudly and enthusiastically about the cartoon he gets to watch while I'm exercising ("be quiet! you'll wake the baby!").
Because, when you're dressing up for one of your very few nights out per year, and you're having to dig through maternity clothes in search of something that fits even though it's been three months, it's time to start dieting and exercising . . .
|Relaxing in Mama's lap|
On Thursday night, we attended the MiraVia banquet, which we've enjoyed almost yearly for about eight years. Every other year, I take a baby companion.
Thomas was dressed in more dapper style but experienced a 'wardrobe malfunction' involving poop exploding everywhere while on the drive to the event, so was changed into his backup outfit--which turned out to be a less sophisticated number involving colorful dinosaurs--while in the parking lot.
Grampa Neil has been on a cross-country road trip visiting relatives, so a couple of days ago asked if he could surprise the children by showing up unannounced. How fun! We arranged it so the kids would be playing in the backyard when Grampa would just saunter on in, cool as a cucumber, 3,000 miles away from his home. What a fun surprise!
Totally can't think of a seventh thing . . .