It has come to my attention that my son is kind of acting out at preschool. By acting out, I mean he pees all over himself. Pretty much every single day.
Now, by no means is T potty trained. He uses Pull-Ups. We have gotten him to pee in the toilet exactly one time, and that was earlier this week. And he only agreed because we let him stand on the seat to do it-but hey, anything is a start.
T gets up in the morning, eats breakfast, watches some TV, and at noon, we get dressed for school. This includes putting on a new Pull-Up, even if he is totally dry. Then we get his snack and leave at 12:15.
At school, they take him to the bathroom every day to try and help potty train him. They have been completely unsuccessful, so all they do is change the Pull-Up. He is always bone dry-then he pees all over himself and his clothes in the classroom. He's been going through 2-3 outfits in 2 1/2 hours.
He never has accidents at home. He is really good at changing his diaper himself if he's wet. Or he will as for help. So I think he's holding it on purpose and then wetting himself at school. Maybe it's a passive-agressive thing, I don't know. But I can't figure out why he's doing it, because he loves school.
So I really don't know what's going on. But I hope it stops soon, if for no other reason than I hate laundry and he's going through all his clothes pretty fast these days.
Monday, October 17, 2011
Saturday, October 15, 2011
The Old Cabin
I inhale the crisp, clean mountain air. As I touch the peeling paint on the old porch railing, the rotted wood groans and breaks.
I take a sharp breath as I windmill my arms to regain balance. Smelling the moist decay, I tenderly test each step until I reach the door.
Pushing it open, stale air whooshes in my face. Mice skitter across the floor, disturbed by my presence. Old cheese crackers gray with age are strewn across the kitchen.
The broken army trunk lays on its side next to the crumbling brick fireplace.
I love the possibilities.
This post was written in response to this week's prompt from Jenny Matlock's Saturday Centus. The literary device to use this week is Sensory Details. Describe the image using five senses: perception, hearing, sight, touch, smell, and taste. WORD COUNT - Not to exceed 100 words. STYLE OF WRITING - Sensory Details Literary Device NO ADDITIONAL PICTURES
THE PROMPT THIS WEEK IS:
The prompt photo reminded me of an old neglected house upstate that bordered our property. On further investigation, I discovered it belonged to an old man who was dying of AIDS. I called him because I loved his house. We were in negotiations for me to buy it (I was 17 at the time and was going to use my college fund to pay for the property) when he died. His daughter ended up selling the property to a group of 6 hunters who only come up a couple times a year. I'm not a fan of hunting, and I still feel, 10 years later, that they stole my property. I will find some way to own it one day. That house calls to me.
I take a sharp breath as I windmill my arms to regain balance. Smelling the moist decay, I tenderly test each step until I reach the door.
Pushing it open, stale air whooshes in my face. Mice skitter across the floor, disturbed by my presence. Old cheese crackers gray with age are strewn across the kitchen.
The broken army trunk lays on its side next to the crumbling brick fireplace.
I love the possibilities.
This post was written in response to this week's prompt from Jenny Matlock's Saturday Centus. The literary device to use this week is Sensory Details. Describe the image using five senses: perception, hearing, sight, touch, smell, and taste. WORD COUNT - Not to exceed 100 words. STYLE OF WRITING - Sensory Details Literary Device NO ADDITIONAL PICTURES
THE PROMPT THIS WEEK IS:
The prompt photo reminded me of an old neglected house upstate that bordered our property. On further investigation, I discovered it belonged to an old man who was dying of AIDS. I called him because I loved his house. We were in negotiations for me to buy it (I was 17 at the time and was going to use my college fund to pay for the property) when he died. His daughter ended up selling the property to a group of 6 hunters who only come up a couple times a year. I'm not a fan of hunting, and I still feel, 10 years later, that they stole my property. I will find some way to own it one day. That house calls to me.
Friday, October 14, 2011
On Tattoos and Family
I have a lot of tattoos-14 to be exact. And I've already written a post about how I have been negatively judged for one of them. You can read about that here. So enough about my naked lady tattoo. I'm going to talk about my favorite.
Everyone always asks me about my tattoo on the front of my leg, near my ankle. It reads "Familie ist Leben, Liebe, Herz, Seele, und Respekt" (this is German, by the way). I got it in college, when I was living in Philadelphia (at Olde City Tattoo, by Steve Tiburi). It's for my Oma. She was still alive at the time, but she has always had such an impact on my life that I wanted to honor her and everything she stood for. You can read more about my Oma here.
In English, the tattoo would read "Family is Life, Love, Heart, Soul, and Respect." And for me, that is what rings true. My family is really important to me. I was very close to my Oma when she was alive. And my Grandma was a big part of my life when I was a kid-unfortunately, she suffered from Alzheimer's, and the last 10 years of her life, she wasn't the grandma I grew up with.
I'm very close with my parents as well. They live right down the street and they are always there for me. They watch my kids if needed, buy diapers and formula when we can't afford it, and make sure my kids have presents on Christmas and their birthdays.
I would have nothing without my family. My family is my life. And I wanted to make sure I would never forget that, so I got my tattoo to commemorate what family means to me.
This post was written in response to this week's Red Writing Hood prompt from Write on Edge. If you haven’t figured it out, this week, we’d like you to write a piece in which a tattoo figures prominently. Fiction or creative non-fiction. There is a lot to think about: why someone would get one, what they chose, when they got it, what message does the tattoo(s) send? You will have 300 words with which to play.
It was really hard for me to keep to the word limit. There is so much more I could have said about what my family means to me. I guess I'll have to save that, and the meanings (or lack thereof) behind my other tattoos, for another post.
Everyone always asks me about my tattoo on the front of my leg, near my ankle. It reads "Familie ist Leben, Liebe, Herz, Seele, und Respekt" (this is German, by the way). I got it in college, when I was living in Philadelphia (at Olde City Tattoo, by Steve Tiburi). It's for my Oma. She was still alive at the time, but she has always had such an impact on my life that I wanted to honor her and everything she stood for. You can read more about my Oma here.
In English, the tattoo would read "Family is Life, Love, Heart, Soul, and Respect." And for me, that is what rings true. My family is really important to me. I was very close to my Oma when she was alive. And my Grandma was a big part of my life when I was a kid-unfortunately, she suffered from Alzheimer's, and the last 10 years of her life, she wasn't the grandma I grew up with.
I'm very close with my parents as well. They live right down the street and they are always there for me. They watch my kids if needed, buy diapers and formula when we can't afford it, and make sure my kids have presents on Christmas and their birthdays.
I would have nothing without my family. My family is my life. And I wanted to make sure I would never forget that, so I got my tattoo to commemorate what family means to me.
 |
| Sorry, I tried to get the whole thing and it took 3 views since it wraps around my leg |
This post was written in response to this week's Red Writing Hood prompt from Write on Edge. If you haven’t figured it out, this week, we’d like you to write a piece in which a tattoo figures prominently. Fiction or creative non-fiction. There is a lot to think about: why someone would get one, what they chose, when they got it, what message does the tattoo(s) send? You will have 300 words with which to play.
It was really hard for me to keep to the word limit. There is so much more I could have said about what my family means to me. I guess I'll have to save that, and the meanings (or lack thereof) behind my other tattoos, for another post.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Speaking Up
I dislike public speaking-in fact, I despise it. I am extremely shy around others, to the point where I am painfully quiet. I also get panic attacks, which doesn't help at all.
In high school, I joined Model UN, which involved speaking in front of large groups of people. Oh, it also involved doing research or something about the policies of the countries you were assigned, but I could have cared less about it. I didn't give a damn about Model UN either, except for the fact that it got me out of school. I spent quite a few school days (and a few weekends) in various hotels, and that was cool.
For those of you unfamiliar with Model UN (United Nations), each school is assigned a country or two as well as topics that will be debated. You are supposed to research your countries' stance on said topics and pretty much present and argue that viewpoint with other countries. You can meet up with other kids who have countries that share your views and make resolutions to the problems with them. It's pretty much a weekend full of kids pretending to be diplomats. It was always really fun for me to watch heated debates. I never participated in said debates.
Usually, our school was assigned unimportant countries like Djibouti (we always asked to be Djibouti-saying it still cracks me up). However, when we went to a conference at the Naval Academy, we were assigned France and Mali. I was actually kind of excited, because France had veto power on the Security Council. So I jumped on it immediately with my friend (the girl who did the research for every model UN conference because she actually cared).
It was also awesome because my friend was a cadet at the Naval Academy at the time, so I got permission from my parents to spend some time with him instead of being stuck with my classmates and teacher the entire weekend. We went to an awesome seafood restaurant with some other cadets and I gorged on crab. It was great.
Anyway, since I was on the security council, it was a small group. There were 1-2 kids representing each country, and less than 30 people in total in our conference room (which was also the nicest room I've ever done a model UN conference in-the Naval Academy knew how to hook us up).
Oh, and I forgot to mention another perk of the security council-at one point during the conference we would be presented with an emergency that we had to get together to solve. Usually, it would happen in the middle of the night. Unfortunately, our school was in a different hotel than everyone else, so it happened in the late evening, before we were supposed to go to the hotel.
I actually wanted to speak up at this conference. I was excited we got a major country to represent, and only the cream of the crop was allowed to be on the Security Council. I was totally prepared to get my debate on.
And then one of the kids who was Mali left to help someone out at the WHO (World Health Organization-yeah, we really pretended to be all parts of the United Nations for a weekend). The kid who was left had never been to a conference before, so I told him to go with my partner as France and I would handle Mali. It didn't take me long to brush up on Mali's policy, and I ran with it. I did awesome.
I've always been good at debating when I put my mind to it. I lose my shyness and become another person. An incredibly aggressive and ruthless person who will destroy anyone with an opposing viewpoint. I can point out fault with anything in order to prove that I am right and you are wrong. This skill doesn't come in handy in real life-maybe I should have been a lawyer or something.
I spoke up constantly all weekend. I jumped back and forth between France (since I had prepared for it) and Mali and made almost all the speeches for both countries. I wasn't supposed to, but like I said, there were only 30-ish people in the room and they didn't want to argue with me (I would have totally won if they tried).
Needless to say, I kicked butt at this conference. I even got an award at the end. It was pretty much the only Model UN conference I spoke at, even though I did Model UN for 3 years. I think I was less intimidated by the small group. Usually, in the general assembly, there are hundreds of kids in an auditorium, which is like my worst nightmare.
Since then, I still have trouble with public speaking, but not debating. I learned that weekend that I am awesome at debating. I can keep my cool, get my point across, and refute anything that someone throws at me. This is not true in life. If I am not prepared to be confronted, even a semi-mean comments sends me into tears. I can't really figure out what is so different that I am okay in one situation and not in another. But I do know that no one can beat me in a debate.
This post was written in response to one of this week's prompts from Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop. I chose 3.)Speech!! Tell about a time you had to speak or present in front of a group of people. So I wrote about speaking for the first time at Model UN, which I really enjoyed throughout high school (even though I joined for the wrong reasons).
In high school, I joined Model UN, which involved speaking in front of large groups of people. Oh, it also involved doing research or something about the policies of the countries you were assigned, but I could have cared less about it. I didn't give a damn about Model UN either, except for the fact that it got me out of school. I spent quite a few school days (and a few weekends) in various hotels, and that was cool.
For those of you unfamiliar with Model UN (United Nations), each school is assigned a country or two as well as topics that will be debated. You are supposed to research your countries' stance on said topics and pretty much present and argue that viewpoint with other countries. You can meet up with other kids who have countries that share your views and make resolutions to the problems with them. It's pretty much a weekend full of kids pretending to be diplomats. It was always really fun for me to watch heated debates. I never participated in said debates.
Usually, our school was assigned unimportant countries like Djibouti (we always asked to be Djibouti-saying it still cracks me up). However, when we went to a conference at the Naval Academy, we were assigned France and Mali. I was actually kind of excited, because France had veto power on the Security Council. So I jumped on it immediately with my friend (the girl who did the research for every model UN conference because she actually cared).
It was also awesome because my friend was a cadet at the Naval Academy at the time, so I got permission from my parents to spend some time with him instead of being stuck with my classmates and teacher the entire weekend. We went to an awesome seafood restaurant with some other cadets and I gorged on crab. It was great.
Anyway, since I was on the security council, it was a small group. There were 1-2 kids representing each country, and less than 30 people in total in our conference room (which was also the nicest room I've ever done a model UN conference in-the Naval Academy knew how to hook us up).
Oh, and I forgot to mention another perk of the security council-at one point during the conference we would be presented with an emergency that we had to get together to solve. Usually, it would happen in the middle of the night. Unfortunately, our school was in a different hotel than everyone else, so it happened in the late evening, before we were supposed to go to the hotel.
I actually wanted to speak up at this conference. I was excited we got a major country to represent, and only the cream of the crop was allowed to be on the Security Council. I was totally prepared to get my debate on.
And then one of the kids who was Mali left to help someone out at the WHO (World Health Organization-yeah, we really pretended to be all parts of the United Nations for a weekend). The kid who was left had never been to a conference before, so I told him to go with my partner as France and I would handle Mali. It didn't take me long to brush up on Mali's policy, and I ran with it. I did awesome.
I've always been good at debating when I put my mind to it. I lose my shyness and become another person. An incredibly aggressive and ruthless person who will destroy anyone with an opposing viewpoint. I can point out fault with anything in order to prove that I am right and you are wrong. This skill doesn't come in handy in real life-maybe I should have been a lawyer or something.
I spoke up constantly all weekend. I jumped back and forth between France (since I had prepared for it) and Mali and made almost all the speeches for both countries. I wasn't supposed to, but like I said, there were only 30-ish people in the room and they didn't want to argue with me (I would have totally won if they tried).
Needless to say, I kicked butt at this conference. I even got an award at the end. It was pretty much the only Model UN conference I spoke at, even though I did Model UN for 3 years. I think I was less intimidated by the small group. Usually, in the general assembly, there are hundreds of kids in an auditorium, which is like my worst nightmare.
Since then, I still have trouble with public speaking, but not debating. I learned that weekend that I am awesome at debating. I can keep my cool, get my point across, and refute anything that someone throws at me. This is not true in life. If I am not prepared to be confronted, even a semi-mean comments sends me into tears. I can't really figure out what is so different that I am okay in one situation and not in another. But I do know that no one can beat me in a debate.
This post was written in response to one of this week's prompts from Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop. I chose 3.)Speech!! Tell about a time you had to speak or present in front of a group of people. So I wrote about speaking for the first time at Model UN, which I really enjoyed throughout high school (even though I joined for the wrong reasons).
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
A Panorama of Upstate
Since I got such positive feedback on my post about how much I love our house upstate, I thought I would post some pictures of what it looks like. All the daytime views are what I can see while standing on the porch. I took the night pictures standing in the yard by the fireplace.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
The Ice Rink
My heart pounds as bile rises in the back of my throat. I try to calm down by telling myself I do this every night, tonight is exactly the same as last night and the night before that.
Focusing away negative thoughts, I tug the laces again and again until they are tight. I spend a full 10 minutes on the effort. I roll the clear tape over my socks, making a big X from my ankle to my knee. I pull on my helmet, fastening the straps, and yank the gloves over my fingers.
I breathe slowly a few times, fighting the rising panic. I walk down the hallway and through the swinging double doors.
I am hit immediately by the cold, frozen air. It smells like rubber, sweat, and old gym bags. For some reason I love that smell. It is what finally puts a smile on my face.
Pucks crack loudly off sticks and echo as they slam the boards. Sharpened blades dig into the ice, making a barely audible swish.
I enter the rink and all of a sudden, I am the same as everyone else. I finally relax. As we line up and run drill after drill, I know I am doing what I need to be doing, whether anyone else likes it or not.
This post was written in response to this week's RemembeRED post from Write on Edge. In “On Writing” Stephen King wrote, “The scariest moment is always just before you start. After that, things can only get better.” Write a memoir post – first-person and true – inspired by that statement. Word limit is 300.
I knew I had to write about hockey again because I recently ran into my old hockey coach as well as the teammate who broke my heart. You can read about that here.
Focusing away negative thoughts, I tug the laces again and again until they are tight. I spend a full 10 minutes on the effort. I roll the clear tape over my socks, making a big X from my ankle to my knee. I pull on my helmet, fastening the straps, and yank the gloves over my fingers.
I breathe slowly a few times, fighting the rising panic. I walk down the hallway and through the swinging double doors.
I am hit immediately by the cold, frozen air. It smells like rubber, sweat, and old gym bags. For some reason I love that smell. It is what finally puts a smile on my face.
Pucks crack loudly off sticks and echo as they slam the boards. Sharpened blades dig into the ice, making a barely audible swish.
I enter the rink and all of a sudden, I am the same as everyone else. I finally relax. As we line up and run drill after drill, I know I am doing what I need to be doing, whether anyone else likes it or not.
This post was written in response to this week's RemembeRED post from Write on Edge. In “On Writing” Stephen King wrote, “The scariest moment is always just before you start. After that, things can only get better.” Write a memoir post – first-person and true – inspired by that statement. Word limit is 300.
I knew I had to write about hockey again because I recently ran into my old hockey coach as well as the teammate who broke my heart. You can read about that here.
Monday, October 10, 2011
Not Being Gentle
I don't understand why my kids can't be gentle. I swear I wasn't like that as a child. Well, except when I pushed my baby sister off a table when we went to adopt her (she was in an infant seat, and she was fine). I was gentle with my pets, and my sister.
But not my kids. I don't know where they get it from. Maybe it's because I have two boys? I just don't know. My older kids, T, and Princess, are so rough and tumble. I cringe when they play together because I'm sure they're going to hurt one another. Sometimes they do, but they're usually fine.
My poor Goober gets the worst of it since he's the smallest. He's old enough to want to play, yet small enough that he can't unless they're gentle with him. It doesn't happen. One day, I left the room for a minute, and when I came back, T had Goober in a headlock, and Princess was jumping over their heads. On the bed.
Then there's the kitten. I adopted two cats last week, a momma named Cheese, and her 6 week old kitten, who we named Cheddar. I was wary of getting a kitten, since my kids tend to not be gentle, but I was overcome by his cuteness and couldn't resist.
I'm regretting this decision. I adore the kitten. He's playful and Goober thinks he's the funniest thing in the word. Princess is terrified of him, because when she tried to play with him, he used his claws and she got a little scratch on her face. But I'm terrified T is going to kill him. He cannot seem to be gentle. He's fine with the other cats, who are big. Not the kitten.
I have to make sure every minute of the day that I know where T is, and where the kitten is, so they are never unsupervised together. I think T loves the kitten; he always asks me where baby cat is and wants to play with him. This has resulted in him flinging the kitten end over end across the room, flinging him off the bed onto the floor, and trying to throw him over the railing and down the stairs. The poor kitten.
No matter how many times I warn T to be gentle and give him time-outs when he doesn't listen, he can't be gentle. He is rough with everyone, including me. Princess is pretty much the same, although she can manage to be gentle for a little while when she is reminded. Maybe it's because she is a girl. And Goober is too little to know what I mean when I tell him to be gentle. Surprisingly, he's been the best with the kitten. They seem to get along.
I hope one day the message will sink in. If it doesn't, I'm sure my kids will be terrors in school. T just started preschool, and I will not be surprised when the call comes that he did something rough to someone else's kid. After all, he only lasted 2 half-days in daycare before they asked me not to bring him back. I guess that's what parenting is though; trying to instill values in your children and them not listening. Maybe the message will sink in one day.
But not my kids. I don't know where they get it from. Maybe it's because I have two boys? I just don't know. My older kids, T, and Princess, are so rough and tumble. I cringe when they play together because I'm sure they're going to hurt one another. Sometimes they do, but they're usually fine.
My poor Goober gets the worst of it since he's the smallest. He's old enough to want to play, yet small enough that he can't unless they're gentle with him. It doesn't happen. One day, I left the room for a minute, and when I came back, T had Goober in a headlock, and Princess was jumping over their heads. On the bed.
Then there's the kitten. I adopted two cats last week, a momma named Cheese, and her 6 week old kitten, who we named Cheddar. I was wary of getting a kitten, since my kids tend to not be gentle, but I was overcome by his cuteness and couldn't resist.
I'm regretting this decision. I adore the kitten. He's playful and Goober thinks he's the funniest thing in the word. Princess is terrified of him, because when she tried to play with him, he used his claws and she got a little scratch on her face. But I'm terrified T is going to kill him. He cannot seem to be gentle. He's fine with the other cats, who are big. Not the kitten.
I have to make sure every minute of the day that I know where T is, and where the kitten is, so they are never unsupervised together. I think T loves the kitten; he always asks me where baby cat is and wants to play with him. This has resulted in him flinging the kitten end over end across the room, flinging him off the bed onto the floor, and trying to throw him over the railing and down the stairs. The poor kitten.
No matter how many times I warn T to be gentle and give him time-outs when he doesn't listen, he can't be gentle. He is rough with everyone, including me. Princess is pretty much the same, although she can manage to be gentle for a little while when she is reminded. Maybe it's because she is a girl. And Goober is too little to know what I mean when I tell him to be gentle. Surprisingly, he's been the best with the kitten. They seem to get along.
I hope one day the message will sink in. If it doesn't, I'm sure my kids will be terrors in school. T just started preschool, and I will not be surprised when the call comes that he did something rough to someone else's kid. After all, he only lasted 2 half-days in daycare before they asked me not to bring him back. I guess that's what parenting is though; trying to instill values in your children and them not listening. Maybe the message will sink in one day.
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