Gymnastics

My oldest two children have been in gymnastics for a few years and Tanith has always wanted to join in on the fun.  She's a headstrong little bugger, so I wanted to wait until she was 3 or 4 before putting her in a class.  That, and the fact that gymnastics is expensive.  My dear darling husband insisted that she was old enough shortly after her third birthday, and I obliged.

Tanith had her first class recently, and I guess I could say it went about as well as I could have expected. When her teachers tried to coach her on the trampoline, she stopped what she was doing, stared them in the face, and hissed like an angry python.  She then went on about her business while the teachers stood there, dumbfounded.  When a teacher spoke to her later, Tanith threw out her hand and tried to cast a freezing spell on her.  I guess we could say it was a success, since she didn't place any other imaginary hexes on students or teachers.

The Education of Ronin

Me: See all the shapes in this picture, Ronin?
Ronin: Yes.
Me: What shapes do you see?
Ronin: All of them.  This one and that one and that one.
Me: Can you name them?
Ronin: Yes. . . . George.  Arthur. Koopa Stomp.

Facepalm. This is a typical day in the life.

Me: Can you identify these shapes?
Ronin: Of course.  Why didn't you just say so?  Circle, semi-circle, square, rectangle, triangle, and a saltwater crocodile in the sea of life.

Let's Talk Christmas.

Those of you with kids, what do you buy them?  We haven't ever really been able to go all out, but I've noticed that my younglings don't pay a lot of attention to the smaller stuff, so we're doing away with stocking stuffers, other than a big bag of fruit and Trader Joe's candy.

We tend to follow the WNWR format: something they want, something they need, something to wear, and something to read.  This year, we're following it a little more closely. They receive so many small things from family members that I don't want to flood them with more toys.  In addition to the WNWR,they're also getting a microscope as a family gift and I'm pretty excited about it.

Today is Cyber Monday, and I'm only lacking a few books, a toy for Tanith, and the edible goodies I'll get later. I still have to buy for a few extended family members, but I want to keep Christmas affordable and less stressful this year.

Pets are not equal to children

Have you ever heard anyone say that having a dog is just like having a kid?  This really gets on my nerves.  You may love your pet(s) as much as I love my children, but it's not the same.  It never has been the same and never will be the same.

• If you leave your dog at home alone, you're normal as long as you leave a bowl of food and water.  If I leave my toddler at home alone, it's neglect. Even if I leave a bowl of food on the floor.
• If you leave your dog in the car outside of Walmart, you might get a little shame.  If I leave my kid in the car at Walmart, I get criminal charges.
• Walking your dog on a leash is considered normal.  Walking your kid down the street with a rope around his neck is generally frowned upon.
• If your kid craps on the floor, rubbing her nose in it is pretty much the worst thing you can do.
• Punishing your dog for tearing up your stuff by locking it outside in a safe place is usually okay.  Doing that to your toddler is bad.
• Toddlers shouldn't hide under the porch.
• It's (somewhat) normal for people to carry their dogs around in their purses, but if you keep a kid in your purse, you're completely insane.
• Feeding a dog usually consists of throwing kibble into a bowl on the floor a couple times per day.  While your kids may think this is hilarious, throwing kibble onto the floor isn't the best idea if you want to raise well-mannered children.

Can you think of any more?  I can always think of these when I'm nowhere near a computer.

More haikus

My dear old body,
Stop making me wake early
Five AM not cool.

Thirty first birthday
Will be here in a few days
Getting pet robot.

The Daily (and nightly) Battle

Ever since daylight saving time ended, my body has thought 5-6 am is an excellent time to be awake and 9 pm is the perfect time to fall asleep.  Every night, my brain argues that I should at least stay awake long enough to put the kids to bed, but my eyes often decide it's time to close up shop as soon as I can find a seat.  Every morning, my body can't find a comfortable position, and although my brain says that the sun is nowhere near the horizon, the body wins.  I soon find myself shivering in a cold kitchen, fumbling with a kettle and deciding which chores I can quietly complete next.

Last night was Saturday, and although many of my peers found an excuse for a post-Thanksgiving party, I was asleep halfway through an episode of Horrible Histories with my kids.  I attempted to stay awake long enough to find out if Boudica would be making an appearance, but once again my eyes preferred their own lids over anything else.

Teen angst, 11 years later.

Tonight is another one of those nights where I really, really, really should be working on eBay listings, but instead I'm watching late nineties music videos on youtube.  Something about them is mesmerizing.  I don't know if I would call it nostalgia, for there are few memories from my school years I wish to revisit.  The late nineties were horrible for me.  I was the weird kid that everybody had to remind that she was weird just in case she didn't already notice.  A few classmates followed me around and threw rocks at me.  Others waited at the top of the stairs when they saw me at the bottom just so they could spit in the hopes that it would hit me.

I hated my life. Any time I ever complained to an adult, I was met with the cliche that I should enjoy it because these were the best years of my life. I felt that if those would be the best years, that the rest would be horrible and unlivable. It really would have been nice if someone, anyone, would have told me that it would get better.  Angry adolescent Xombea would have hugged the time traveler who told her that there would be a magic place in futureland called Facebook where she could see how pathetic some of her tormentors had become.

At one point, I fantasized about a school shooting.  I never wanted to kill my classmates.  I just wanted to shoot them in a nonessential body part so they could suffer too. My teenage fantasies included shooting off their baby toes while asking, "Oh, does that hurt? Remember me with every step you take."  I wished I could make them feel the way they made me feel every day.  I wanted them to feel it the rest of their lives.

Thanks to my magical interweb box, I can now see that some of the girls who teased me about being pale are now wrinkly with tits like old leather purses, bodies sprinkled with age spots in their early thirties.  Speaking of tits, you may have teased me about my small ones, but they came in useful and now they're not brushing against my navel.  The boys who teased me for being ugly have now lost those looks on which they depended and a few of them have even messaged me to apologize and tell me they secretly wanted to date me way back when but didn't want their friends to know.  Their dreams of professional sports have long since been squashed and they're toiling away at miserable, minimum wage jobs they had deemed themselves too good to work.  Oh, you made fun of me for working at the dollar store in high school?  Have fun working at the gas station, mister superstar.  They may have secretly been miserable back then, too.

I might not be living my dream life, but at least I stayed true to myself.  I'm still the same weird kid with crazy ideas, yet a little less angry.  I no longer want to shoot off anyone's baby toes.  I have a husband, kids, animals, two businesses.  And my paint can.  I'll always have my paint can.  

If my kids go through the same "phase" I went through, I'll be sure to remind them that these aren't the best years of their lives and it should get much, much better.