Random Rambling (I Tend to Do That A Lot) ...

My son's final day of 1st grade is tomorrow.

It's so hard to believe how quickly this school year has gone by. Many of you that have been following this blog for a while know how difficult the beginning of CT's school year was. He got off on the wrong foot (in a BIG WAY) with his first teacher, so after about 2 months we went to the principal and had him switched over to a new teacher and a new class.

I was grateful for the opportunity he had been given, but I admit I still had my concerns. I mean, it's got to be a pretty jarring experience for a 6-year-old kid to get used to one teacher and her way of doing things, and then be thrown into a whole new, completely different class.

How very needless was all that worry.

CT's new teacher welcomed him into her class with open arms. She expected him to adhere to her rules and do his best work, but she did so with a kindness and open-heartedness that made him WANT to try his best. From the first day that my son started going to her class, I saw a tremendous change in his attitude toward himself and toward school. His grades shot through the roof, and he started learning even more quickly than before.

Does he still have some problems with classroom behavior? Yes he does.

However, since this new teacher chose to be caring and helpful, he never felt worthless or "bad", as he did during his experience with the first teacher. CT is so excited to be done with school for the summer, but he keeps saying how much he's going to miss his teacher.

To be honest, I'm going to miss her too. I can't help worrying and praying that CT's 2nd grade teacher will be as fantastic as his 1st grade teacher has been.

I'm also hoping that AJ will have her as a teacher when she reaches 1st grade. That's not unreasonable, is it?

I'm just so grateful for this fantastic teacher, and her willingness to take my son into her class and help him to have such a positive experience this year, despite such a rocky beginning. You can bet I'll be sending her a thank-you card tomorrow. It's the least I can do.

In other news, I'm not sure I've ever mentioned the fact that we bought the chiddlers a swing set this year.

A really, really nice one.

However, due to some crazy weather patterns, (I use the phrase loosely here, since the only "weather pattern" that we enjoy here in Utah is chaos), and the fact that our entire fence was destroyed in a crazy windstorm we had in the fall...that swing set has been sitting in our garage for several months, just waiting for the chance to make its debut.

Now, with the weather stabilizing and the fence-repair company starting work, Ty was able to use his two days off this week to build that swing set.

I did my best to help him, but in the end he did most of the work, you know, since there is no freaking way I could possibly decipher those instructions properly.

But, despite the fact that the instructions made no sense, AND most of the large pieces weren't even labeled, Ty got the job done. YAY!

The swing set turned out great, and the chiddlers had a blast this afternoon; climbing all over it, swinging on the swings and going down the slide.

Ty, after taking pictures and enjoying the pleasure that comes from knowing all of his hard work is well-appreciated, fell asleep on the patio swing while watching the chiddlers play.

Hmmm...I guess the effort involved with a huge, 13-hour buliding project out in the sun, spread across two days has a tendency to make people kinda tired. Who knew? ;)

Anyway, I'd better stop rambling now. Have a nice day!

PS: My next post is number 111. Some of you might remember that I promised to do a video blog post for my 111th.

I'm starting to regret making that promise now...but I've already weaseled out of this once, and I don't think I can justify doing it again. (Curse my ridiculously vocal conscience!!!)

Anyhoo...this is your last chance. Ask me a question (or two) that you want me to answer in my video post. I will do my best to answer them. Just don't send your minions and thugs after me when you're bitterly disappointed by the pure lousiness of the post.

Until then...

Okay, Where Did I Take a Wrong Turn and How Do I Get Back?

This is a re-post of my only post from my failed attempt to start a new blog on Wordpress. Since it's just the one post, I thought I'd put it here, so no one could miss out on any of my brilliance. 

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[Originally posted May 1, 2012.] 

Today started out well. It really did. 

Got CT to school, came home and fed AJ some breakfast. We sat and watched a little "Phineas and Ferb" (Best show EVER!) It was a very pleasant morning. Anyway, after breakfast, I wanted to take my newly purchased bike (that I actually purchased MONTHS ago, but since Mother Nature seems to think that Utah is her own personal playground for throwing ALL kinds of weather at a single place in a short period of time, I've never taken it out before today) for a ride. I told Ty my plan, and he expressed an interest in joining AJ and me on our expedition.

The bike ride was fabulous. The weather was perfect. My favorite type of weather, in fact. Overcast with grey clouds, not cold, not warm, and just a little bit windy. We rode around the neighborhood. Then we stopped at the park and let AJ play on the slides. She had her first ever encounter with a spiral slide AND a tunnel slide. She was a little timid about the tunnel slide at first, but once she tried it, she wanted to go over and over again.

We all went for another little jaunt around the neighborhood on our bikes, making a nice, circuitous path home. AJ would ask "What was that?" every time I went over a bump in the road (she was in one of those bike trailer/stroller things). When we got home, we had lunch. I actually got AJ down for a nap (becoming more and more rare these days, sadly enough). Ty went to work, and then after a while I had to wake AJ up so we could go and pick up CT from school.

I brought the chiddlers home, and CT did his homework while I put together a grocery list. I allowed the boy to go out and play with a friend for a while before we had to go to the store. I went and picked him up, and the kids and I went grocery shopping.

This is where things took a left turn at Albuquerque and never really found their way back.

The chiddlers LOVE those big, bulky carts where they can sit in the little plastic car and pretend to drive while I shop. It's harder for me to steer than a normal cart, but I don't mind too much. It keeps the chiddlers happy, and for a mom, an hour of peaceful grocery shopping is worth just about any minor inconvenience.

Anyway, I start driving this big cart around the store, and suddenly feel this painful jolt in one of my feet (I'm wearing sandals). It seems like a fluke, so I ignore it. 

As I'm walking around, I adjust my hands on the cart handle a bit and end up touching the metal part of the handle. I get ANOTHER painful shock. I had no idea what was going on, but I figured my list wasn't very long, and surely it was just static electricity and it would figure itself out.

Oh no. Of course not.

For an entire hour, from one end  of the store to the other, every single time my skin made contact with metal, I got that same horrible shock. Over and over again.

Now, I'm not one to swear in front of my kids (often). But as the shocks kept happening, and seemed to be getting worse, I have to admit that I let loose with a few choice "holiday words", becoming louder and more furious with every jolting shock. Fortunately, the chiddlers were happily driving their green plastic car and didn't hear me. If they did, they had the good sense not to mention it.

Finally, I finished the shopping, and made my way directly over to the Customer Service Center to tell them about the Evil Electrocution Cart from Hell. Luckily, I already had an in. It's Ty's department, and he was working tonight. I told him the problem, and he immediately got some people to start working on it. His theory was that the security system that is attached to every cart at the store to stop shoplifters was shorting out somehow and basically giving me free electro-convulsive therapy. 

Fabulous.

I went home with VERY tender, tingly, pain-ridden hands. I put away the groceries and wanted to start making dinner. Unfortunately, the pan that I needed in order to boil the tortellini was dirty. Also, the sink was full of dirty dishes. Oh, and ALSO the dishwasher was full of clean dishes.

Hey, I never claimed to be particularly "on the ball"  in the housekeeping department. 

Anyway... in order to make dinner, (which was already running late) I had to empty the dishwasher of clean dishes. Then I had to put the dirty dishes into the freshly emptied dishwasher, and THEN I could wash the pan and start cooking dinner. I did all of this in resigned silence. I mean, the  whole situation was so ridiculous already, and I was just too tired to be upset anymore.

While I was waiting for dinner to cook, I decided to do something productive, so I sent CT upstairs to take a shower, set AJ up with an episode of Phineas and Ferb, and started cleaning out the fridge. I started taking out all of the old, nasty food that we would never eat and put in the garbage. I also pulled any dishes out of the fridge that needed to be emptied of old leftovers and put them on the counter. I pulled out a jar of spaghetti sauce and put it on the counter so I could put it on the pasta I was making for dinner.

By this point, the garbage can was VERY full. I started getting the trash bag tied off, but in order to close the bag I had to shake it a little bit. As I shook the bag, and tied it off, I noticed that something was dripping out of the bottom of the bag.

There was a massive, sticky puddle of primordial ooze (or something like that) getting all over the freaking tile! So, I put the bag back into the can to avoid spreading the ooze and took out the trash. I came back inside and pulled out my fabulous Swiffer Wet Jet device to clean up the mystery puddle. When I was done mopping, I leaned the Swiffer against the counter and let it go. Apparently, it wasn't balanced well enough, so it started sliding sideways, where it hit the GLASS jar of spaghetti sauce and knocked it to the floor.

I watched, as though in slow motion, letting loose with one more furious "holiday word" that I'm pretty sure that my 2-year-old daughter heard very distinctly. (I wasn't exactly keeping my voice down.) 

Miraculously, the jar managed to stay intact, and my kitchen was spared the trauma of a marinara shower. Phew.

I finished making dinner, and decided to go downstairs and veg in front of the TV while I ate and fed AJ. Trust me, I was DONE with the whole evening.

I sat on the couch, and was enjoying some fabulous pasta with my daughter. I had a big cup of ice, and a nice can of Dr. Pepper. I set my bowl of pasta on my bent knees (you know how they are when you tuck your feet in and your legs look like triangles from the side? Yeah,that was the surface that I chose for balancing a big bowl of pasta) then I started pouring out my drink.

Unfortunately, that bowl of pasta did NOT like the idea of staying steady up there on my knees, and instead decided to go careening down the slope, spilling marinara sauce all over me.

Sigh...

Sure. 

Why not?

I asked CT to grab me some towels, mopped myself up as best I could, took of my jeans and shirt and threw them down to the laundry room in the basement. Then I sat back on the couch (in the t-shirt I had under my defiled t-shirt) and my underwear to finish my dinner. I put a blanket over my legs, hiding them in order to avoid traumatizing the chiddlers. I finished pouring out my Dr. Pepper and guzzled it.

What else could I do, really?

Oh, and the floor is still sticky. I've mopped it twice now.

Dude, What is Your Problem?

Mother's Day was on Sunday. Due to scheduling and a few other factors, we were only able to spend Sunday celebrating with my Mom and family. For Ty's step-mom, we celebrated the occasion today. In preparation for the event, we went shopping last night for her Mother's Day gift.

Ty's step-mom, (henceforth to be known as MIL), is an antique junkie. Her whole house is filled with beautiful assorted antique items. She has really good taste, too. So for birthdays and other gift-giving situations, we will go to various antique shops and find something to add to her collection. Last night was no exception. However, when we went to the local antique shop that we had in mind, they were closed. (Oddly enough they are ONLY open on Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays. Yeah, I don't get it either.)

Anyway, since our first choice was not an option, we moved on. We went to a different place that we'd never been to before. It was a tiny little shop, inside one of those old houses. Ty asked me if I wanted to come inside, or wait in the van with the chiddlers. I wanted to help him choose a gift, so I opted to come inside. Ty went in first, and I came in a second later with the chiddlers. CT was given VERY strict instructions to keep his hands in his pockets and touch nothing. AJ was in my arms, and I held onto her hands to prevent any toddler-caused catastrophes.

The first thing I noticed as I walked inside the shop was how painfully CROWDED the place was. There was no room to walk around at all. And on every display was a hand-written sign: "Do Not Touch".

EXCUSE ME?!?!?

Exactly HOW am I supposed to avoid touching ANYTHING when EVERYTHING is practically falling in on me? What kind of shoddy set up is this, anyway? I've been in a lot of antique shops, and while every one of them have been filled to the rafters with antiques, only certain items are marked "Do Not Touch" and everything is far more comfortably arranged. I was terribly UN-comfortable the moment I stepped inside that poorly organized, overly crowded broom closet.

Adding to my discomfort was the sudden sight of the proprietor of the "store" (I'm still not convinced that the place actually WAS a store. I'll explain why later.) The guy was old, scraggly-looking, and gave me a scowl that would have made Ebeneezer Scrooge (pre-ghosts) stop in his tracks.

Anyway, I looked around the place, finding a few small items that might interest the MIL. I kept my hand on AJ's still holding her tightly against me. I watched CT like a hawk, making sure he kept his hands in his pockets and touched nothing. Guess what? Those kids, as usual, were astonishingly well-behaved. They never fail to impress me with their ability to contain themselves when the situation calls for it. They knew this place was an accident waiting to happen, and they were both doing their part to avoid being the cause of that accident.

One of the interesting items I found was a set of salt and pepper shakers. They were small, shaped like little windmills, and resting in their own little tray. They were adorable. I pointed them out to Ty, who was interested enough to open the little cupboard they were in and look at the price.

As though he'd been waiting for something to happen, the Glaring Guy at the Counter suddenly appeared around the corner and said: "Let's not touch anything now. The signs say 'Do Not Touch' for a reason, and if you can't control your kids you can just shop somewhere else."

Can't control our kids? What exactly were they doing except quietly staying close to their parents and not touching anything?

I mean, in any other antique shop, the proprietor of the store would have just come over and said: "Is there something I can help you with?" But no, this guy decides to descend upon us like some creepy old bat and tell us to control our already well-controlled kids or leave.

I don't think he expected Ty's reaction, who simply said in a calm voice: "Okay. Candice, let's go."

This pissed the guy off even more, because as we were leaving, he followed close behind Ty, and said in a low, threatening voice: "Get outta here." Seriously? Okay then.

But, as I mentioned before, I'm pretty sure this wasn't actually a store.

The haphazard, disorganized way the place was arranged, the cramped aisles that are clearly not meant to be used by humans, and the insistence that NO ONE TOUCH ANYTHING has made me wonder.

After wondering for a while, I have decided that I can't be angry at this guy.

He's clearly a hoarder. He probably lives underneath the counter at that place and just uses the "Antique Store" as a cover-up for his problem. That's why he keeps things so crowded in there, and why it's so imperative that NO ONE touch his stuff. It also explains why he's so antisocial and would rather kick paying customers out of the store than sell any of his precious, carefully hoarded stuff.

Poor, crabby old guy. I feel for ya. So much so, that from now on, I'll make sure that all of my family and friends will stay well away from you and your "store." One day, you may find the courage to admit you have a problem and get some help, but until then, good luck.

Don't worry. I'm sure you won't have to say goodbye to any of your stuff anytime soon. You seem to have a pretty effective system worked out to prevent that from ever happening.

The Ugly Truth...

After several weeks of trying to get my new blog set up and running, I've discovered that I am WAY too lazy to start all over again with a whole new blog. I'll probably make a few changes around here, but it looks like I'll be sticking around Blogger for a while, despite any past statements to the contrary. Oh well. See y'all sooner than later.