MamaBloo » Stories

Twas The Night Before Kindergarten

Kari at MamaBloo — Fri, 10 Sep 2010 14:00:27 +0000

We made our peace a long time ago that Ty prefers to sleep with mommy and daddy.

I think in Ty’s first week of life, we realized that this kid may sleep with us until he goes to college. No joke. College.

It complicates certain issues, surely, but, it also has its perks.

Last night I turned the light out and turned toward my sound asleep little boy who was starting kindergarten the next day. I looked into his slumbering face and marvelled at his perfection, his long lashes, his scraggly hair. I thought about how I was probably NOT going to cry when I dropped him off the next morning at kindergarten — really — but right now in the moonlight I wanted to memorize his face, what he looked like the night before. I cuddled in, I felt my heart swell.

My heart swelled just in time for Ty’s right arm to swing around and punch me smack in the nose.

His eyes then fluttered open and he said, “Oh, sorry mommy, I thought you were Lily.”

Holding Up "K's" For Kindergarden

Follow that Potty!!!

Kari at MamaBloo — Tue, 07 Sep 2010 14:00:15 +0000

Recently we went to my hometown of Yakima to visit family and enjoy the blistering dry heat and desert sun. Going from the Seattle area to Yakima requires going across a mountain pass. The condition of “The Pass” is forever a source of discussion in the state of Washington. Is it snowing? Is there construction? Are there avalanches? Is it backed up with traffic? Upon entering The Pass there is very very very little in the way of civilization until Ellensburg (smack dab in the middle of the state) and some people might argue that Ellensburg does not constitute real cililization.

So, on late Sunday afternoon we headed back, hoping that the kids would rest, the baby would sleep and we would make it home in time to order take out and watch some DVR-ed shows. Most people who travel The Pass stop “at the top” to take in the beauty, stretch, and use the state provided bathrooms. As we passed that last rest area before “the top” I realized that I was cutting it a little bit close in terms of that state provided bathroom. But, hey, I have a teacher bladder and I am sure I can make it.

Then we hit traffic.

Bad traffic.

Backed up for miles, bad traffic.

I am sure we’ll be along shortly. We all thought.

So, to pass the time time (no pun intended) and to take my mind of the every-growing need to pee, I pulled out my camera.

Here is Jade’s vote for our Christmas picture 2010. What is clear to me, is that we need a bigger car.

Entertaining the baby.

After a while I noticed that there were children playing on the freeway. I then started to fear for my bladder.

Facebook updates informed us that we were looking at 10 miles of backups and a possible 2 hour delay.

I looked to my right — only to see a sheer rock face. No hope for a behind-the-tree emergency potty break

I looked to my left — only to see tons of oncoming traffic. This is the one are of The Pass that does not have a center median. No relief there.

I spotted possible salvation parked behind us.

This is one of those times I don’t think I am going to be able to talk Dave into helping out. There is no way he is going to walk up to that camper, knock ont he door, and ask if his wife can use their bathroom. Besides, it might have a serial killer inside, or really mean outdoorsmen.

Luckily, 90 minutes after we stopped, the lane next to us starting moving. The camper pulled in next to us, and then pulled ahead, and as I saw my last hope drive off I shouted, “FOLLOW THAT POTTY!” And we did.

I made it just in time.

Even teacher-bladders have their limit.

A Tail

Kari at MamaBloo — Mon, 02 Aug 2010 14:30:35 +0000

Saturday at lunch Ty informed the family that he has an invisible tail.

Ya wanna see?

Well, I will try to see it. It is invisible after all.

He wags his bum at me and says, see it?

Uh, well….

It has very small feathers on it that you need a microscope to see.

It does?

Mommy? When something is invisible can you still touch it and feel it?

I think so. But I don’t really know for sure.

Well, then my tail is also intangible.

Of course it is.

Do You Know Your Husband?

Kari at MamaBloo — Tue, 15 Jun 2010 13:45:48 +0000

On our recent vacation to Whidbey Island, I found these little quiz books at the local “everything” shop.

And because I have a devilish sense of humor, I bought them. When Dave saw them he said, “Oh Great” and then he prepared himself for the worse.

These are the kind of questions I had to answer about him:

#2 Does he have his tonsils?

#9 What is his shoe size?

#42 How many times a day does he brush his teeth?

These are the kinds of questions he had to answer about me:

#5 What is her favorite color?

#11 How often does she shop for groceries?

#36 Has she ever used a power saw?

See, it starts off innocent enough, and I have to say both Dave and I were doing quite well on our respective quizzes.

#73 Which one of these CAN’T she do? A.) Touch her toes B.) Stand on her head C.) Jumpstart a car or D.) Rewire a lamp.

Uh, yeah, I can’t do any of those…

How about these:

#48 Does she know who Pythagoras was?

Whatever…

#14 Would he like to ride into space?

Totally, he would be there in a second. I, however, have to be drugged to ride in an airplane.

But then a few zingers found their way into the game, for example:

#26 Which one of your women friends does he find the most attractive?

Let’s just say I got that one right. Not because he admitted it, but because he turned bright red and opened a beer.

#89 Is there anything you (he) can do that SHE can’t?

No. I can even pee standing up, if required. Oh, wait, he can swim the butterfly. Take it from me, my butterfly is pretty darn ugly. I also cannot do calculus.

#43 What would she say about the idea of a strip club a mile from your home? A.) “Where do I sign to protest?” B.) “Makes no difference to me!” C.) “Great!” or D.) “Hmmm, Wonder if they are hiring?” Well, since the high school I used to work at is RIGHT NEXT to a strip club (I kid you not), I am gonna go with C. Okay, just kidding.

Of course, now when some creep out ther googles “strip club” my blog will come up. Lovely.

So, if you are bored this summer and looking to torture your husband, pick these little gems up. Or better yet, give them as wedding gifts. The groom will thank you, I am sure.

The Wettest Soccer Game…Ever

Kari at MamaBloo — Mon, 24 May 2010 13:30:44 +0000

On Wednesday I attended the wettest soccer game ever anywhere since the world began.

One VERY wet soccer player!

I mean, we folk in Seattle are made of a hearty stuff when it comes to rain. Being wet is an enevitable part of our everyday lives. Everything around here is “Rain or Shine”…. Come to our outdoor sleepover, rain or shine…. We’re having a Luau, rain or shine…. You are invited to our wedding, rain or shine…. If we don’t include the caveat of “rain or shine” on everything we do, we would sit at home watching rain drops run down our window panes. Depressing.

But Wednesday’s soccer game took the warning “Rain or Shine” to a whole new level. Let’s just say NOAH would have been intimidated. When I realized that the raindrops actually hurt as they fell, I had Dave call the assistant coach of the soccer team and ask if, perchance, this game would be, well… rained out. Oh no, that doesn’t happen, he said. And so off I went with a carload of 6th grade girls and Ty, who insisted that he loved the rain.

Mud Puddles

What resulted was 90 of the wettest minutes of my life. And I was on swim team. The girls were soaked to the skin within 3 minutes — aka the walk from the car to the field. The parents had various rain protection devices with them — aka, boots, umbrellas, and a stoic attitude. Ty and I huddled under our newly purchases “sports-brella” which is a giant, oversized umbrella designed to sit on its side, like a cave. Ty said to me, “If we had to live in this sports-brella, that would be so sad!” Agreed. When Ty realized that staying dry was hopeless, he headed straight for the puddles. Well, I thought, at least I don’t have to go to a birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese.

The good news is that the players had a good time and that when we got home there were hot showers and chili dogs waiting for us. Processed meat never tasted so good.

My Life With Spiders

Kari at MamaBloo — Thu, 20 May 2010 13:30:02 +0000

Not long after I met Dave I learned something that was (and still is) more than a little disturbing. He LOVES spiders. If he spots a spider crawling along the floor or wall he says, “Hello friend,” then goes and gets a glass to rescue the spider by scooping it ever so gently up and releasing it back “into the wild” as he likes to say. I guess what he failed to understand was that part of the allure of having a boyfriend- then fiancee -then husband is that they are here to smash bugs and, yes, spiders, into oblivion so I do not have to reside with them….ever.

The only time he ever deviated from his rescue plan was when we found the largest, crunchiest, gnarliest looking spider crawling along our kitchen floor. I mean, this thing was TROPICAL it was so nasty. At the time we had this wonderful cat, Bree, who likened herself a huntress (and proved it on more than one occaision). As I stood atop the kitchen table, Dave — as usual — ever so gently put our largest drinking glass over the top of the spider, but then he said, “Here Kitty Kitty.” As Bree approached the caged spider, Dave lifted the glass and Bree had herself a nice tasty spider morsel for dinner that night. I can still hear the crunching. When I asked him why this type of death for his friend the spider was okay (as opposed to being squished by a shoe or waded up paper towel) he came back to his old standard. “Well, the spider died in the wild, eaten by its natural predator.” I guess he failed to consider that large jelly jar styled drinking glasses to not randomly descend on spiders in the wild.

Last Friday, however, the world was made right — tilted back into balance, if you will.

The temperature had reached 65 degrees here in the Seattle area and so we decided to dine al fresco for dinner. As we were wrapping up our meal Jade – age 14 – noticed the smallest little spider on the table, crawling right along the edge. She pushed back her chair and started to do that high pitch talking that only dogs can hear, “OOOH, a spider… ooh….ooh…” Well, I said, why don’t you smash it? “Nooooo….!!!” she screeches. Okay, I say, you have two choices. You can smash it or you can pull “a Dave” and rescue it and release it into the wild. “EEEEWWWW,” she says. “EWWWW!!!” She then curled herself into a ball and started to shiver.

“Oh” says Ty — age FIVE — ” I know the choice!!!! DESTROY IT!” He then leans over with his napkin, smashes it into bits and smiles at me.

Problem solved.

I can now rest easy at night.

But we all had to vow not to tell Dave.

The Double Slit Experiment

Kari at MamaBloo — Fri, 14 May 2010 13:30:00 +0000

So, as Dave and I are climbing into bed last night, I take the opportunity to tell him about a couple of back-to-back nightmares I had the night before. I am not prone to nightmares but these two were especially vivid as they both dealt with Ty being in mortal danger and me, the mommy, being fingertips away from saving him but not being able to. I normally don’t talk about stuff like that as I don’t believe in putting stuff like that out there. But last night I needed to shake the dreams by telling my husband. He listens and does the much needed nodding and cooing. Then he says, “Ugh, sometimes I have waking nightmares where I imagine something happening right before my eyes.” I nod… oh, we are being so supportive to each other right now. “Oh yeah, like when you’re walking down the stairs carrying Emme and you have this flash of yourself tumbling down while you’re holding her?!?!” We sorta sit there and nod. Sigh. I feel satisfied in our mutual comiseration of morbid thoughts. And then Dave says THIS:

“Well, we all know about the double slit experiment.”

What-huh-huh-huh-eh?

Well, no actually, I don’t, I inform him. Oh, he says, you are just baiting me, aren’t you? Correction, husband, you baited me with your weird science-teacher talk and now, I fear, I am in for some rudimentary lesson in physics that I know… know I can live without.

Well, the double slit experiment is pretty well-known, he says. Great. Now I am being insulted as well. Perhaps I am the only person in all of the world who has never heard of this COMMON, well-known, probably on Sesame Street experiment, but, please, continue. So, he tells me that if you take a piece of common cardboard and put two slits in it and shine a light through the two slits, one gets a pattern on the opposing wall that looks like stripes because (and this is where I have to take his word for it) two electrons are interacting with each other to create the pattern. But, oh and here it gets really really crazy, if one turns down the intensity of the light so that only ONE electron goes through the slit, you will still see the same pattern on the opposing wall. Even though, he says with a gleam in his eye, there is only one electron passing throught he slits. You can imagine my chagrin at never having heard of this amazing experiment.

But it gets better.

But if only one electron is passing through the slit, he ponders, where is the other electron? The one needed to interact with the original electron and therefore create the striped pattern? I hold my breath. Well, says Dave, we can’t prove it yet, but the most PLAUSIBLE (this word is very important so remember it… plausible) explanation is that the other electron is in an ALTERNATE UNIVERSE. Are you saying that in some alternate universe I actually fell down the steps with Emme???? NO, but there are zillions and billions of alternate universes. And guess who came up with this whole thing, he asks? I shout out perhaps the only famous scientist I know, certain of success: EINSTEIN!! No, Dave says….. it was GOD. And this is all coming from a man who refuses to watch LOST because it doesn’t make sense.

A moment of silence passes and then I say: Go get my computer! Oh good, he says, you’re going to Google this, aren’t you.

Nope. I am going to blog.

Tomorrow we are going to analyze a Shakespearean sonnet before bedtime and then discuss Dante’s 9 circles of hell… one of which I was on during the discussion of the double slit experiment. Stay tuned.

My Root Core

Kari at MamaBloo — Wed, 12 May 2010 13:30:36 +0000

When my Ty was born, Dave would actually try and compete with me on over who was the “most tired.” I would say, “I am sooooooooooooooooooooo tired!” and he would say, “Me, too.” And I would say, “But not as tired as I am.” And he would sorta squint and look at me and say, “I think I might be” and then I would say,”No, Dave. That is not possible. I am nourishing another human being from my (said in a whisper) breast every two hours.” I would say, “Dave, I am tired at my ROOT. I am tired at my CORE.”

In an effort to streamline things, we have now abbreviated the whole mess to I am “tired at my root-core.” And the phrase lives on. Oh, we can really throw down on this one. Dave has two jobs working with teenagers that require him to commute to two different cities and he usually works 2 weekends a month as well. Plus, when he walks through the door, he is expected to be daddy and uncle Dave and be smiling and happy and give me a foot rub. Me? Well, I am in charge of five kids ranging in age from 1-14. Enough said.

We’re tired.

Can I get a witness?

Most days I tackle our life with grace and aplomb. Not really. Most days I tackle our life with a gritty determination to do my best and not send anyone into therapy. To get all the hugs in. To make sure they are all fed. To listen to my gut. To pray. To breathe. To get a shower in, if not make-up on. To kiss my husband when he walks through the door. To call my mom. To parent with intention.

But April nearly killed me.

And it bled a bit over into May.

These last few weeks included a very sick one year old, three trips to the ER –two trips for head lacerations on two different kids and one of those trips was for me because I broke my toe. And if anyone thinks I am being a wimp about a broken toe, come on over and ram your toe into the mega vacuum cleaner we own. No? Okay, let me continue with my list. These last few weeks included sports for three of the kids — that’s Track, Soccer, and Martial Arts — a 1/2 dozen birthday parties to ATTEND and two to HOST, Dave starting a new job, and a huge project that I cannot even begin to tell you all about because it is just that top secret. I am also the room mom for preschool and for some reason I just signed a permission slip last night for Izzy to attend and help out at the school carnival. Whah? I know it is all just LIFE and I am not complaining. But last night I decided to up the ante on our “tired competition.” As I was coming home from a preschool board meeting after spending a total of four hours and 7 phone calls trying to restore our internet and a Costco run that had my broken toe throbbing, I looked over as Dave was pulling in the driveway from swim practice. I said to him. “Hey Dave, my root-core just BROKE!”

He stopped. Looked at me. “Well, okay… you win!”

A-ha!

I win!

I am the most tiredest of us all! I win!

I wonder what my prize is?

Skull Bubbles

Kari at MamaBloo — Mon, 26 Apr 2010 13:30:17 +0000

One time, a long time ago, I found a giant strawberry that I swear looked like Jesus. I suppose if I was more devout I could have made the news or have been invited to the Vatican.

Last night, Jade did me one better.

At dinner I noticed that she appeared to be blowing her nose into her glass of milk. “Jade,” I say with as much disgust that I can muster, “What are you doing?”

“There are bubbles in my milk,” she replies with perfect candor and seriousness. ”And I had to blow on them because there were really freaking me out cuz they looked like SKULLS!”

You be the judge:

The Perfect Hermit Vacation

Kari at MamaBloo — Mon, 19 Apr 2010 13:30:58 +0000

I admit it, I am homebody. I really do like to curl up with a good book or a reality TV show. When Dave and I do manage to actually go out, it is usually to a familiar haunt where the bartenders know our names.

But, I will say, that a good vacation is still something that I look forward to. Even though with a baby it still means diapers and sleep issues, I find that dealing with those things without “life” is a welcome change. This spring break we went to a place that caters to hermits and recluses like me. Whidbey Island and our new found vacation home is only about 90 minutes door-to-door from our home. The part of the island we visited was near Langley and it is a sleepy little village town. Here is city hall:

Langley City Hall

It makes me want to move there!

We found a grocery store that mostly sold milk in glass bottles… from a DAIRY! Luckily we were able to find some in plastic jugs, so we were good.

We always hit up the local bookstore. There is nothing quite like a small island bookstore:

Here is where Dave and I talked about major life decisions (notice beach in background):

And here is the pirate fort on the beach:

This is the kind of place where the kids walk outside and play for hours. This is the kind of place where you actually have to watch where you step because of how many shells are littered on the beach. We say gray whales, herons, and bald eagles. We cannot wait to go back!