hok, the fish killer

Our neighbors went out of town for Christmas, and I agreed to feed and water their cat and fish while they were gone. We do this sort of thing often when anyone goes out of town. But after this last stint as fish feeder, I may not get asked to pet sit again.

My parents and sister stayed at our neighbors' house for part of the holidays, and my sister came over one morning to announce that one of the fish was floating upside-down. I was horrified. The last time one of his fish died, the little boy next door was very traumatized; he cried for hours. After they flushed Hermione the fish, L told his mom that he though one of his tears had fallen in the potty and had brought Hermione back to life, which meant they had just flushed a live fish. Nothing his mom said changed his mind about that theory. L insisted on having a funeral service for Hermione the fish. His mom was at a loss on what to serve for a fish funeral. She asked if it would be tasteless to serve the mourners goldfish crackers.

After my sister's announcement, I went next door and scooped the fish out and popped it in a zip-lock bag, which I then put in the freezer. I called our neighbor and left a message on her cell alerting her to the situation. When she called back and I told her the fish was in the freezer, she just about died laughing.

But I had my reasons for freezing the fish. First, I didn't know if L would want to have an internment or funeral service or ceremonial flushing, so I figured I'd better preserve the corpse. Second, I wanted to have the fish on hand just in case we needed to go to the pet store to buy a replacement fish. That way I could hold the fish up and say, "I need one just like this, please."

My mom had the best suggestion on how to handle it. She said we should just buy four or five new fish and pop them in the tank. When L got home, we could just tell him that Santa brought him new fish. He'd be so excited about the new fish that he wouldn't notice the missing one. My neighbor nixed that idea.

In the end, no one did anything with the dead fish. L hasn't yet noticed that it is missing from the tank, which is a good thing. I really, really don't want to be known as the neighborhood fish killer.

Start, Stop, Continue

Last year, Ella's teacher sent home a work sheet asking the kids to list things they wanted to start doing, stop doing and continue doing during the coming year. I liked this exercise better than making New Year's Resolutions. So I made my own list. I haven't done as well as I would have liked. I'm still not running as much as I had hoped. I'm still pretty hard on myself about everything. But I am still reading a lot. So here's this year's list.

Start: Being nicer to myself. Making sure to have one bit of "me" time each week, even if it's just spending an hour wandering through the book store.
Stop: Being my own worst critic. I'm still incredibly tough on myself. I never feel like I'm doing enough, even though I'm raising three kids, managing a house, maintaining a successful marriage, and working part time. I need to remember that it's ok if the laundry doesn't get folded immediately or if the floors aren't spotless.
Continue: Reading. Learning. Running. Knitting. Taking joy in my kids and my husband and our friends.

Happy New Year to all. May 2008 be filled with peace, love, health and happiness.

Cheers!
hok

I made CNN.com

My last post about the mother who got her daughter to write a phony essay about a dead dad to win Hannah Montana tickets made the blog roll on CNN.com. I've already had 27 people link to the post this morning from the article. One of them left me a nasty, and poorly written, flame. Whee! I've hit the big-time baby.

Wrong on so many levels

Have you seen this story? It left me spluttering with indignation. A six-year-old girl from Garland, Texas (of course she's from Texas. It was either here or Louisiana.) submitted an essay to a contest where the prize was four tickets to a Hannah Montana concert in Albany, New York. The girl won the contest. Why? Because the opening line of her essay was that her daddy died in Iraq this year. The little girl got a make-over at a tween clothing store plus concert tickets and airfare to Albany. The only problem? The essay was completely fake.

The name the girl gave isn't that of her father, and the Department of Defense has no records of a serviceman by that name dying in Iraq. The mother finally fessed up that the essay was a lie.

This is just appalling on so many different levels. The mother's excuse was that they wanted the tickets so much that they'd do anything to win. Which begs the question of who really wanted the tickets, the mother or the daughter? I sincerely doubt that any six-year-old would kill off an imaginary father to win concert tickets. And what kind of lesson does this mother think she's teaching her daughter? That it's ok to lie, cheat and steal if you really, really, really want something?

And then there's the whole issue of making up a dead dad to win. This is a slap in the face to all of the military families, more than 3,000 of them, who have lost loved ones in Iraq. These families have lost mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, sons and daughters in this war, and I doubt any of them would trade on the death of their loved one to win concert tickets. To use the death of a soldier, even a fictional one, to win a contest is insulting.

Our paper is reporting that the contest organizers have taken away the girl's prize, which is the right thing for them to do. Unfortunately, it punishes a little kid for her mother's greed, but perhaps she'll learn a lesson her mother obviously isn't fit to teach her.

"I'm OK!"

That's what Lily always says when she falls down, whether it's off her bike or while walking down the street. We'll see her go down and then hear, "I'm OK!" It cracks us up.

Here's Lily after deliberately falling off her bike into the grass. It's what Lily does instead of using her brakes. Campbell was making sure she was ok.

And here she is cruising down the street, with the biggest smile. She's so proud that she learned to ride her bike.

Lily "Crash" Gardner

My father, while he was here for Christmas, took the girls up to the neighborhood park on their bikes, following behind on my bike. During the ride, he noticed that Lily wasn't really using her training wheels to balance and that she was riding a good deal of the time on two wheels. So on Christmas Day, he put her on the bike Ella had outgrown and started teaching her to ride. I thought for sure that dad was being overly optimistic in his efforts, but I was wrong. By the end of Christmas Day, Lily was riding small stretches on her own. The day after Christmas, dad worked with her again, and when B and I returned from his doctor's appointment, we turned onto the street to see Lily cruising along without a problem, even turning in big circles. I was absolutely flabberghasted.

Teaching Ella to ride without training wheels was a multi-year project with lots of starts and stops. We'd take her training wheels off, give it a try for a week or two until she'd get frustrated and demand that we put the training wheels back on. After a six-month break, we'd try again, and then take another six-month break. She'd go for weeks without riding her bike. B finally got her going this summer by taking her up to her school and letting her ride around the empty parking lot for an hour. As soon as she figured it out, Ella took off like a shot, which is what we knew would happen.

But she's a lot like me in temperament. If I can't do something well after my first few attempts, I'm liable to throw my hands up in disgust and walk away. I absolutely do not like not being able to something the right way. It's why my mom's insistence that I take tennis lessons was so frustrating to me. When I was ten and eleven, my lack of skill didn't bother me much, but by the time I was 16 and leaving swim practice early to go to tennis I had had it. I would get beyond frustrated when I would hit 19 perfect forehands and then send the 20th sailing over the side fence. I just don't have the patience for things like that, which is why I've never attempted golf. I'd end up pitching my clubs into the lake by the fourth hole.

Lily, on the other hand, has a surprising amount of stick-to-it-ness. She fell countless times while riding with my dad, but each time she'd pop right up again, calling out, "I'm OK!" Then she'd hop back on the bike and give it another go. She spent hours doing this. My poor dad must have run five miles back and forth with her, but she got it. Ella would have given up after the first couple of falls.

While Lily has now mastered riding her bike, she's still not so good at the stopping part. Instead of using her brakes or putting her feet down, she tends to aim for grass and tip over, always announcing that she's ok. She also needs to work on her steering. She's still in the phase where she runs smack into the things she wants to avoid. I'm trying to teach her to not look at trees and bushes and curbs, but it's slow going. So now we've started calling Lily "Crash," which she and Ella think is tremendously funny.

My goal is to get her stopping, starting and steering skills to the point where I can take both her and Ella down to the Trail and let them ride while I tow Campbell in my new trailer. I can't think of a better way to spend time outdoors with them.

Merry Christmas, a day late

I hope this finds everyone reading it recovered from yesterday's festivities. Our Christmas was fun, if a bit exhausting. Since B's parents' divorce, our house has become holiday central. We invite everyone who is willing to be have like a grown-up and act nice. The first year, B's mom decided not to attend any of the functions. But we're all past that now. Because we're the hosts, we've started our own tradition of having Christmas brunch instead of a big dinner late in the day when everyone is worn out. B and his friend Jim cook up eggs Benedict, and I make waffles from scratch, and everyone drinks champagne and orange juice. Well, everyone except the kids and B's mom, who has never had alcohol on her life.


The day started early with Ella's hitting our bedroom door with a thump. Once she managed to get the door open, she started yelling that Santa had come and he had brought her a new bike. And it had a bow because it was too big to wrap. And it had a kickstand just like she asked for. And it was blue just like her old bike.


We let the girls open their stocking present while we waited for my parents to arrive from the hotel. My sister spent the night at our neighbors' house because they're out of town and offered their place as guest quarters (we have the best neighbors ever), and she staggered over pretty early. The best line came from Ella when she opened the new toothbrush that was in her stocking. She said, "I got a new toothbrush, and it hasn't even been in the potty. I wonder how Santa knew?" A week ago I had caught Campbell splashing in the potty with one of the girls' spinny toothbrushes. They made do with regular old toothbrushes until Santa coughed up with new ones. The girls also got modeling clay and tape in their stockings. The tape has become an annual tradition in our house.


Campbell got overwhelmed in all the commotion of present unwrapping, and I had to take him out of the room a few times to settle down. Finally, I popped him in his high chair in the kitchen to eat breakfast. He was much happier after that.



My big gift from B was a trailer for my bike so that I can tow Campbell and Lily along when Ella and I go on longer bike rides down at the Trail. My parents gave me a new rack for my car so that I can carry all the bikes down to the Trail. It was a theme Christmas. I gave B a huge griddle for the stove so that he can cook a pound of bacon at the same time. I also got him a big bacon press, but it hasn't arrived yet.


The girls got lots of things from their lists to Santa. Lily got a new copy of "Arielthelittlemermaid" to replace the one that's gone missing. She also got a bathrobe and a new winter coat. Santa brought her a new bike helmet, per her request, but it doesn't fit. So we'll have to go buy a replacement. She also got a tea set from my mom, and they've been having lots of tea parties ever since.



Ella's bike was her big present, and it was a big hit. It's bigger than her old one, and more of a mountain bike, so it took some getting used to. But by the end of the day, she was riding through the grass and hopping off curbs. I'm sure she'll be begging to go out and ride as soon as she finishes breakfast. I think I'll turn her loose with Grandpa. He can ride my bike.



Campbell got a little trike of his own - I told you it was a theme Christmas - and he's had a great time riding it all over the house. Unfortunately, he's into creative bike riding, and he's fallen off about a dozen times. He has a few new lumps on his forehead as a result of some of the tumbles. The girls love to sit on it too, but every time he sees one of them on it, he screeches and pushes her off. It's pretty funny. They've taken to getting on the trike just to see his reaction.



So today we'll be picking up the mess and finding room for the new bathrobes and slippers and sweaters, and we'll be riding bikes and having tea parties and watching some new movies. It should be a very good day.

Pictures

Today, just some random pictures. First, photographic proof that I exist. It's not the best picture of me, but I so rarely have my picture taken that I'll take what I can get.


Each Christmas I dream of a decorator-style Christmas tree with a theme and perfectly spaced ornaments and lights. But then I remember that if I had a tree like that, I wouldn't have ornaments like these. Lily made the one on the left at preschool two years ago. The angel's wings are her tracings of her hands. Ella made the one on the right at home so she'd have an angel to match. They must always be together on the tree because they're friends.

This was my very first Christmas ornament, given to me by my great aunt and uncle, Rose Marie and Donald. She's the Littlest Angel. I know there's some story about the littlest angel, but I can remember it. Looking at the picture, I realized what bad shape the ornament is in. I think I may have to store her someplace other than the big Christmas box in the garage this year. B and I made this star out of cardboard and tin foil our first Christmas together. We were poor, and our ornament collection was slim. We still use it every year, but B's dad pointed out that it might be time for a new coating of tin foil. This one has burn marks from the lights.

And finally, here's Ella in her Christmas dress from my mother-in-law. I know, it's not really as bad looking as I make it sound in my complaint post. But it just isn't my style, and I'm still irked my m-i-l felt she could buy the girls their dresses. Ella was thrilled that I let her wear it to school for her class Christmas party, until she had worn it for about 30 minutes. Then she started complaining that the netting in the crinoline was catching on her tights and that she stepped on the hem every time she bent down to pick something up. I told her fashion isn't always pretty and pushed her out the door.

Attack of the Stupid People

I'm borrowing my good friend O'Pine's blog title today, because last night I was caught in such a crush of mass stupidity that I almost couldn't function.

My dad really wanted to go see the Trail of Lights, which is a long-time Austin Christmas tradition. I haven't been to the Trail of Lights since Ella was a baby, when she and I ran the 5K that is held every year before opening night. I've cringed since then at the thought of taking kids down into the melee.

Last night, though, I pulled myself together and headed out the door with mom, dad, Ella and Lily. B, who looked at me like I was crazy when I asked him if he wanted to go, stayed home with Campbell.

The first part of the adventure went smoothly. Parking was a breeze, and the lines for tickets and buses moved right along. We were on the shuttle to the Trail within 20 minutes. Lily was amazed by the bus ride - it's the first time she's been on a bus, which is rather appalling.

When we got to the trail, however, things took a decided turn for the worse. We got off the bus and headed for the entrance to the Trail, which was a solid mass of people being stupid. Entire families - aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, etc. - were lined up in the entrance to take pictures. But this blocked traffic for the thousands of people trying to get in behind them.

The first third of the Trail, which is a mile long total, was packed, and everyone was forced to do a slow shuffle. Again, families were blocking the path so that they could line their cold, crying kids up for photo ops. My dad had to put Lily on his shoulders so she could see the displays, and I had to lift Ella up a few times. The crowds were so thick, and so stupid, that when an ambulance cart, complete with flashing lights, was working its way through the crowd, against the flow of traffic, with an injured little boy strapped to the back, people refused to move. Other idiots were taking pictures of the cart and the little boy. I wanted to trip people, but that would have slowed us down further.

I'm fairly clautrophobic in crowds and prone to panic attacks, so this whole situation was just about my worst nightmare. I kept edging over to the far side of the Trail, away from the displays, just so that I could breathe. But poor Ella, who was holding my hand, kept pulling me back so she could see.

I felt better once the crowds thinned a bit, further along the Trail. But stupidity was still rampant. There were folks who had lost their friends and/or family, so they planted themselves in the middle of the flow of traffic, facing the wrong way, to wait, forcing everyone walking towards them to trip over each other in an attempt to go around.

The final blast of stupidity happened in the lines for shuttles. We were waiting patiently in line, along with hundreds of other people. But on the other side of us, were hundreds of people just marching along, pretending they didn't see all of us waiting our turn patiently. Fortunately, there was a shuttle employee at the entrance to the bus loading area sending people who innocently asked if that was where they got in line all the way back to the end. "See that long line of people all the way back there?" he'd ask. "That's where the line starts." One woman said that her husband couldn't possibly walk all the way to the back and then stand in line. So the shuttle guy told her that her husband could wait right there while she went all the way to the back of the line, and then when she got to the front, her husband could join her. All of us who had been waiting did a little cheer at that.

Despite the rampant examples of the worst of mass human behavior, I'm glad we went. The girls loved the lights; Lily was silent and wide-eyed the whole time. Ella was fixated on this one display of trees that turned on and off to the music playing. She also sang every time she heard Christmas carols, usually at the top of her lungs. Both girls came home exhausted and happy - Lily fell asleep in the car, leaning on my dad. Ella passed out within minutes of climbing into bed, which is rare for her.

I think we'll wait a few years before going back. And we'll make sure to go on a week night, even if it means too late of a bedtime. I can't handle the crowds, or the stupidity, again.

It's official

Yesterday afternoon and this morning confirmed my worst fears - Campbell has inherited my lack of coordination.

We visited my friend EWM yesterday afternoon in her new house, which has stairs. The big kids played out in the yard, while E and I stayed inside with Campbell. He, like Ella, is obsessed with stairs. I sat on a stool a few feet from the staircase and watched him practice on the bottom three steps. He was doing a very good job crawling up the three steps and then holding on to the banister rails to go back down. Unfortunately, I let my guard down.

Campbell crawled up five stairs and turned around to walk back down. I stood up to help, and as I did, he lost his balance while reaching for the railing. With sickening thuds, he rolled down the stairs. I was sure, based on the way he fell, that he had broken his arm. I scooped him up at the bottom, holding him while he shrieked, as E came running in from the kitchen. I checked his limbs, which all seemed to be working, and examined his head and mouth for blood. The final result - two more lumps on his forehead. He calmed down pretty quickly, but I was shaky for the whole rest of the day. I kept seeing his little life flashing before my eyes and I replayed his slow-motion roll down the stairs.

He did learn from his fall, though. As soon as I put him down when he had finished crying, Campbell headed right back to the stairs with me two feet behind him. I expected him to start climbing again, but instead he stopped, shook his head no, and made this funny little "ooohhhh" sound. He did it several more times during our visit.

This morning I fell while running, again. I used to say that I fell once a year, but this was my third tumble in 2007, so I may have to adjust my figures. I tripped over a big rock on the trail and went flying. Fortunately, my shirt and gloves took most of the damage. I have a bit of road rash on my hand, hip, and shoulder. But if I hadn't been wearing gloves and shirt, I would have been in a lot of pain.

The first thing I said after I fell was, "But I'm wearing my glasses!" Usually I only fall right after I've taken my glasses off and I haven't adjusted to the change in my depth perception. The second thing I said was, "Oh, poor Campbell." E was with me when I fell, and she laughed in sympathy. Unfortunately, I think Campbell has a long history of falls, bangs, and bruises ahead of him.

In the meantime, I'm wearing SpongeBob bandaids on my hand and nursing my bruised shoulder. Campbell, on the other hand, seems no worse for his tumble yesterday. If only I could recover that quickly.