Power Plants Grow on Volcanos

We have a phone that announces who is calling when it rings...well, I should say "attempts" to announce. You see, it has a hard time with pronunciations of things such as, oh, SLPK Schools. You see, there are no vowels in SLPK and, well, it's really not a word. So, when the phone rang and I didn't recognize the gibberish coming out of the machine, I didn't rush to check the caller ID.

Shit! It's the school!

I answered too late and wound up running through the house to get to the answering machine, all the while apologizing to whoever was on the other side. I had no idea who it was with all the feedback screeching in my, and presumably the caller's, ear.

So, as I'm running, all the scenarios ran through my head:

1. It's the nurse's office. There's been a terrible accident.
2. It's the school office. Henry missed the bus and he's bawling his eyes out and afraid he's in trouble.
3. It's his teacher. There have been some behavioral issues.

"Hi! I just wanted to call you and let you know that I think Henry is an amazing reader." I recognize the super kid-friendly voice as Henry's teacher.

"Oh! This is Mr. B!"

"Sorry, yes. I'm so impressed with Henry's reading. He must read a lot at home."

I laugh. "He'd read all day if we let him."

"You can tell - he's doing great! He is definitely wiggly. He probably thinks I ride him too hard about that, but I know his potential."

I laugh again. "Yeah, he likes to move."

It turned out he had a little breakdown this afternoon and Mr. B hadn't seen that side of him before and I think he wanted to call to see if maybe he didn't get much sleep last night. No, he got the same amount of sleep as usual. He then continued to rant and rave about how well Henry reads and then told me about something he did that cracked Mr. B up so much that he had to tell Henry's kindergarten teacher. Henry was sitting near the wall reading and wound up doing a push up with his upper body while walking his feet up the wall. The part Mr. B liked was that, with all the moving the rest of his body was doing, his eyes never left his book. He said he had to let him do it for a little bit because he found it so funny, but then reminded him that it wasn't appropriate.

All in all, not a bad first call of the year from the school.

Actually, Henry has grown up quite a bit since this time last year. Everything about him is more grown up and it makes me laugh most of the time. He's also gotten to be quite the story teller. We heard Mr. B was known for bringing in some pretty cool things, but you wouldn't believe what we've heard.

• Mr. B brought in a "power plant". I decided that, after a drawn out description, it must be one of those lightning balls. I'm thinking, cool! Then he tells me that Mr. B told them where the power plants grow - on volcanoes - that's where Mr. B picked his.
• Mr. B brought in a lizard that turned blue. Then he turned green. A chameleon? This is the only story I haven't been able to debunk.
• Mr. B brought in his dog. The dog has the same name as Mr. B. Really? And he was there all day, eh?

I can't wait for conferences LOL!

"Forever In Blue Jeans" - my least favorite Neil Diamond song and the one I remember most from 3rd grade.

OMG I have to dress up for work two days in a row this week! Ok, so the company I work for is strange. Most investment firms are business casual at the least...not us. In the summer, shorts and t-shirts. Cooler weather, jeans and t-shirts. I could wear a different Wilco shirt every day of the week and have, many times. Partly because I'm trying to get a rise out of my boss, but mostly because I'm obsessed with Wilco and really like wearing jeans and t-shirts.

I am actually going offsite to a meeting tomorrow and we have clients coming into the office on Wednesday, thus, I have to look like I work for a mutual fund instead of a college student that crawled out of bed just in time for a quick shower before class.

And I'm not very good at it. In fact, I had to go shopping tonight. I'm down nearly 30lbs from my pre-pregnancy after having Johnny and have managed to keep it off. None of the clothes I had from my previous job fit anymore and wound up at Goodwill. I have one business casual outfit, one suit from 10 years ago that I can't quite get back into yet and one little black dress that isn't something I'd wear to work.

I picked up a pair of black slacks with a subtle bluish gray herringbone pattern and a cool waist and a platinum gray blouse that I'll tuck in. I actually had to use an iron tonight. Didn't know if it even worked if you weren't using it for an DIY iron-on shirt for The Boy. Shockingly, it did. Mother would be so proud.

Oh, and the little blue dress? Looked like crap on me. Sort of like a mu-mu. I looked like I was 11 months pregnant. And it was so cute on the hanger!

"I just want the girl in the blue dress to keep on dancing" - Mike Doughty

I'm stitting in my office downtown, knowing there is a really cute blue dress just a couple of blocks away...on sale, no less. Unfortunately, someone "skimmed" my check card somewhere along the way so I'm waiting patiently for my new one to arrive in the mail. Luckily, the bank flagged one of the transactions - a nearly $400 purchase at a Target down in Bloomington - and called last Friday. I'm still shocked that a large purchase at Target would get flagged considering the amount of money that place gets from us. The perps also filled up several cars at a Holiday Station in St. Paul. The fact they were using the faked card locally leads me to believe it was a "skimmer" and not a hacker that got into someone's website. Either way, I'm pissed. I agreed to prosecute if the bank caught the losers, but I wonder if they really even try. Seems to me, with a time stamp on the transactions and the fact that all the gas stations have video cameras, it wouldn't be too difficult to go back and find a license plate number or two. We'll see.

Hot = young blonde country singer?

Henry did one of those sudden maturity level jumps somewhere along the line recently. I'm thinking it's due to having a whole summer around a couple of 8 and 9 year olds at daycare. The other day I was told that Taylor Swift is hot. Really? Not according to my lesbian niece, but, ok. Does he know what "hot" means? He defines it as beautiful. Ok, I know he has an understanding of beauty so he must honestly think Taylor Swift is hot. I just Googled her and, well, I can understand how a boy might like to look at that.

He's got a buddy over here tonight while his folks are at the Twins game and they are playing video games. Henry does this thing where he color commentates throughout the game in a really annoying voice. I'm going to need to break him of that. It's fun to see him with a good friend hanging out and doing what boys do (which is call each other names and laugh, apparently). The buddy is getting tired, however, and I'm really glad the baseball game didn't go into extra innings. He's not pretty when he's tired.

Teeth!

Johnny is at an age that I love...and an age that I hate. He's developed a sweet but goofy personality and is catching on that he can get a laugh when he does certain things (such as "winking"). I love watching him explore is world. He's non-stop busy and into everything, but we've baby-proofed pretty well so he doesn't hear too many "no's" or "uh uh uh's". I actually like to let him show me what I need to move by following him around and seeing what catches his eye that either he could wreck or could wreck him. Of course, the first thing he went for was an electrical outlet followed by Henry's books. He's got what we've deemed his first word which makes me nervous: "uh, oh." He says it in his "bear" voice - a sort of gruff thing he does. Of course, having to grow up with the nickname Blue Bear (based on his infant snowsuit) which evolved into Johnny Bear and sometimes just Bear, he was bound to start growling at us.

The hard part about this age and the next couple of years, is that kids develop their own ideas about what they want to do and it's hard to convince them otherwise. Obviously, at John's age, it's simply the fact that he doesn't know what all that noise coming out of our mouths is supposed to mean. "Daddy blah blah blah blah, blah blah eat. Blah's Henry? Blah, blah, blah. Willie, no!" But, we've already begun the transition to the battle of wills stage. "I know you don't want me to chew on this here rug, but, you see, there's these string thingies hanging on the ends and I just need to put them in my mouth. There is nothing you can do to that will make me change my mind and if you try, I will get very pissed." Granted, that battle will probably go on until he's at least 25 years old, but at least there will come a time when he'll grasp some (hopefully most) logic. For example, he'll eventually understand that, "please don't eat the icky door mat" means "Seriously, dude - we put our shoes on that thing - gross!" But for now, we just say "Uh, uh - icky!" and move him back to his toys.

Sometimes, it's hard to follow the Dr. Sears book of child discipline and use everything as a positive learning tool, like when he decides to see what happens when he uses his shark-sharp chompers on my nipple. He's got two on the bottom and four on top now. And they are like knives. Last Friday morning, he bit down hard and then raked them off. I howled in pain and may have yelled "NO BITING - HURTS MOMMY!" Yeah, I overreacted. Out came the lip, down rolled the tears and he went on a nursing strike until Sunday night. Of course, I cried every time I'd try to nurse and he'd shoot me down. I took a more relaxed approach on Sunday and finally coaxed him back. He's looked me square in the eyes and bit down lightly a couple of times since then, but I've managed not to scream, react calmly and take him off the boob. However, I'm a bit gun-shy now and, like a grizzly bear, I think he senses my fear. Dave was trying to be empathetic and I suggested John suck on his nipples once just so he could really understand, but he didn't think that was a good idea. Chicken.

Hi again!

I'm sitting here, fulfilling a stereotype once again: typing away on my Mac at the VW dealership. The time is long overdue for an oil change and 10,000 mile maintenance. I made the mistake of scheduling an eye appointment before coming here. My eyes are dilated, I look like I'm tripping my ass off and it's hard to read the computer screen. There's a blurry aura around everything within 2 1/2 feet of my head. I was going to pick out a new pair of frames but am thoroughly disappointed with the selection - I told the woman I didn't want anything with "all that crap" on the sides. Good luck with that - she showed me a pair with the Coach C's all over them. At that point, I asked if I could look elsewhere and, if I found anything, could they order them. No sense wasting any more time - hers or mine. And what's up with shuffling you off to spend that kind of money on frames and, because you need glasses to begin with, you can't even properly see what they look like?! I did find out that I'm 1-4 years away from bifocals. That's just super.

Henry's been up at my parents place for the last several days. Grandma and Grandpa wanted him for an extended stay one last time before school started. Dad's on his way to meet them halfway and make the Boy swap. I missed the big turd.

Apparently, people actually read this blog, so I'm going to make an effort to keep up with it. We'll see what happens. I mean, really - I'm not that exciting. I get up late, go to work, come home, feed the dog, hang with the boys, play stupid games on my computer and listen to Wilco. That's about it. Ask my neighbors - I hardly even mow!

Oops

Holy crap!  I just realized I haven't wrote a dang thing since I went back to work!  This is what happens when I try to blog...