I've looked at options for making the blog into a bound book before, but here's another one that looks a lot less labor intensive than some.
Going through some of the old posts was so much fun. Why havn't I been posting about my family as much lately?
I guess I got busy.
Princess has been enjoying school but is in the "everything about my life is boring" phase. Since she turned 8, she gets to go to church activities with other girls twice a month. Her first activity was this past Wednesday where she decorated cute Valentine cookies with lemon cream cheese frosting. Her hair is getting quite long which she both loves (because it's beautiful) and hates (because she has to brush it). She is the same height as one of my friends from college.
Tag is also feeling bored with all the dirty snow outside. He's normally outside for as much time as possible during daylight but it's so cold and wet out there that he's finally jumped on the video game bandwagon. Poor kid. He's still resisting reading. I can't wait for him to have summer so we can all go to the pool three times a week.
Pebbles is growing. She's still relatively quiet and intense, but her silly side comes out to play quite often. She's starting to like pink in earnest, but eats the nail polish off of her fingers whenever we paint them. Lava is still her favorite subject in books or on tv.
Freida is a genuine person now. She's talking a lot and has a very strong personality. I don't know if Tag was more cuddly than she is but there isn't much time in the day when she isn't either playing with someone or in a grownup's lap. She loves balloons with a searing passion.
My psych class is very interesting. We're currently learning about sensation vs perception and consciousness. As part of a an object lesson, the teacher passed around bandaids and markers, asking us to put the bandaids on and sniff the markers. I got a good chuckle over the sniffing of the markers, given that a section on consciousness-altering drug use was coming up soon. It turns out that the more you smell something or feel it, the less you'll sense it. And, did you know that one of the reasons you're supposed to apply cold and heat to an injury is that it's difficult to experience both hot/cold and pain at the same time? Cold of course keeps the swelling down, but alternating acts as a natural pain killer.
Human services is still my most fascinating class. It's difficult to explain what makes it so interesting. Maybe because it addresses my favorite topic for the last several years: personal growth and the journey toward autonomy.
Oh, well. Maybe I should just post some of the short papers I've had to write for that class since they deal with some thoughts and experiences anyway.
The snow is still high but slushifying now that the temps are in the 40's, but Monday promises yet more of this white stuff that is both wretched and marvelous. Even college has extended the semester for a week, and there are rumors of spring break being canceled for the kids, especially if we get more time off next week.
Here's my latest crochet project: I shall name him Stanley the Snake. He'll be a good companion for Steve the Gecko.
Friday, February 19, 2010
More than he could chew
Tag decided to not do his dishes one night (and I was too busy with homework to do much enforcing), so he was given the choice of doing them this morning or letting them pile all day and doing them when he came home from school. Being the little procrastinator he is, of course he opted to put it off for as long as possible.
This afternoon, this dishes filled both sinks and spilled onto the counter, sometimes teetering among the tupperware bowls we got out to eat cereal since all the normal ones were dirty , other times jostling for room among the 50 cups the little girls get out in a day.
He took one look at the mountain and despaired. I did a little grieving of my own as his wail penetrated my awareness and I blew him off in a fit of pique.
"Just hush, Tag! I know you're sad, I know you're frustrated, but just start! If you start, if you show me that you're working, I'll come help."
"But I can't do this much! It's too tall!"
I marched back into the kitchen, ready to give him a piece of my mind regarding procrastination when I saw that one of the sinks had far fewer dishes.
"Look..." I said, buying myself some time. "What if I just set the timer... for five minutes."
"Five minutes!!! That's way to short! And the dishes are too tall! Short and tall don't go together!"
"HOLD ON!!! I mean, hold on. Now, look at this sink with just a few dishes. I'll set the timer for five minutes and you just get these done. We'll worry about the rest after these are done. Ok?"
He paused, his mouth still open wide for a rebuttal, his eyebrows still smashed together in a severely pathetic frown, and looked at the small pile. It looked so much shorter than the rest of the dishes...
"Ok, mom. But, I'm not going to make it in five minutes."
I took a quiet breath. "We'll see."
Less than four minutes later, he came to get me with a smile on his face. "Look how fast I did these!"
"Look at that! And you still have time on the timer!" My heart raced, thrilled to give him some success.
"Can I have a snack now?"
Hmmmmm... thin ice. Yes or no? "How about you stuff your face while I reload this side of the sink. Then, as soon as I set the timer, you start up again. Good deal?"
"Yeah, mom, good deal."
In this manner, he managed to deal with a pile of dishes that made even me groan and avert my eyes. He didn't make it before the five minutes each time, but I just said "it's ok. I'm not mad, and there is no punishment. We'll just make a smaller pile this time and see how you do."
"Ok mom, good deal."
Happy Tag, happy mom, no fight, and clean dishes.
I call that a stunning success, folks.
This afternoon, this dishes filled both sinks and spilled onto the counter, sometimes teetering among the tupperware bowls we got out to eat cereal since all the normal ones were dirty , other times jostling for room among the 50 cups the little girls get out in a day.
He took one look at the mountain and despaired. I did a little grieving of my own as his wail penetrated my awareness and I blew him off in a fit of pique.
"Just hush, Tag! I know you're sad, I know you're frustrated, but just start! If you start, if you show me that you're working, I'll come help."
"But I can't do this much! It's too tall!"
I marched back into the kitchen, ready to give him a piece of my mind regarding procrastination when I saw that one of the sinks had far fewer dishes.
"Look..." I said, buying myself some time. "What if I just set the timer... for five minutes."
"Five minutes!!! That's way to short! And the dishes are too tall! Short and tall don't go together!"
"HOLD ON!!! I mean, hold on. Now, look at this sink with just a few dishes. I'll set the timer for five minutes and you just get these done. We'll worry about the rest after these are done. Ok?"
He paused, his mouth still open wide for a rebuttal, his eyebrows still smashed together in a severely pathetic frown, and looked at the small pile. It looked so much shorter than the rest of the dishes...
"Ok, mom. But, I'm not going to make it in five minutes."
I took a quiet breath. "We'll see."
Less than four minutes later, he came to get me with a smile on his face. "Look how fast I did these!"
"Look at that! And you still have time on the timer!" My heart raced, thrilled to give him some success.
"Can I have a snack now?"
Hmmmmm... thin ice. Yes or no? "How about you stuff your face while I reload this side of the sink. Then, as soon as I set the timer, you start up again. Good deal?"
"Yeah, mom, good deal."
In this manner, he managed to deal with a pile of dishes that made even me groan and avert my eyes. He didn't make it before the five minutes each time, but I just said "it's ok. I'm not mad, and there is no punishment. We'll just make a smaller pile this time and see how you do."
"Ok mom, good deal."
Happy Tag, happy mom, no fight, and clean dishes.
I call that a stunning success, folks.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Baptism Program pictures
Taking pictures of this child is SO DIFFICULT. She makes faces, blinks, shields her face with whatever's handy, etc. So, today I told her that if she wanted a nice picture in her baptism program that she'd have to HOLD STILL and do something besides troll face.
She managed to do quite well.
This is the one we're putting on the program:
And one grumpy face for good measure.
She managed to do quite well.
This is the one we're putting on the program:
And one grumpy face for good measure.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Why therapists aren't allowed to "therapy" their loved ones.
I've thought about my marriage and the relationships my friends tell me about with some trepidation in the past, particularly in the area of communication.
There are two things which must absolutely be present in marital communication but often conflict horribly:
1) Openness; honesty; bare-faced, exposed-nerve, no holds barred confession.
2) A strong sense of comfort and safety in expressing the above.
If you can't see where there might be conflict between the two, then go away. This post isn't for you.
Tonight, Man spoke of some aspects of his life with which he is less than satisfied, but all of the reading I've been doing in both psych and human services (which has a strong emphasis in therapeutic techniques and positive/humanistic psychology) laid what he was saying into a textbook perfect array of how a person can wallow in shortsighted misery whilst desperately searching for solutions that are safely tucked into their shirt pocket.
And, all of a sudden, I saw what the therapist I was seeing in Missouri meant when she talked about controlling what I can, and no longer allowing my misery over a thing to prevent me from dealing with it.
So, there Man was, trying to bear his soul, but it was all so clear in a therapeutic context that I couldn't help but point out contradictions and the fact that things A though F were totally within his power to alter, whereas thing G was just a matter of time and finding the right help. (Thing G was, of course, the shoulder pain, which I won't believe to be gone until it has been absent for a year.)
And, in the moment when it all fell into place, I also realized how utterly annoying it would be to have the person who should be your safest confidant in the world point out where you aren't taking the reins as you might in the most sensitive aspects of your life, the ventures you undertake that largely determine your worth as a person.
So I stopped. I realized that, in understanding the flaws of his misery, I was undermining how safe it should be to talk to me, how comfortable he should feel with his open sharing. After all, the fact that he's a man who is willing to talk about his problems instead of putting them all in the Man Cave is pretty stupendous in the first place, without me messing it up by putting a fixit hat on during confession time.
True listeners are worth their weight in gold, and now I know why. Listening is a very difficult skill to master, in its truest and most valuable sense.
Some of the greatest advice I've gotten in my life is from an advice columnist (but please, don't let that ruin your opinion of me) and it is as follows:
It's amazing how effective this one nugget can be, fascinating how my perspective whirls into better alignment with reality when sobbing subjectivity steps aside and lets capable objectivity steer for a while.
Problem: The kids want more attention.
Patty Passthebuck: I just can't stand how whiny they get and who wants to spend time with whiny kids?
Reba Responsible: Well, I shall rearrange my priorities so that they don't feel they have to whine to get my attention in the first place. Simple.
Problem: The car needs an oil change.
Patty Passthebuck: What am I supposed to do about it? It's the car's problem! Why does it have to do that in the middle of the week when I don't have time or money??
Reba Responsible: It's only $40 (which I've saved because I have this handy odometer that tells me when the next oil change is due), and it'll take 30 mins while I get some groceries across the street or read a chapter in my fav book. Easy.
Problem: Bad communication with a boss.
Patty Passthebuck: I can't tell what she wants from me, so I'll just tell her she's expecting too much and nothing I do is good enough. I'll just chalk it up as a lost cause and ignore her.
Reba Responsible: I've made an appointment with my boss so we can clearly outline expectations, and set up standards of reporting that will enable both of us to be happy at work on a long term basis.
Do you see the difference? Now, you'll have some friends who will side with Patty because they're sycophants who think you want them to agree with you when you whine. Listening to Reba is a pain in the rear, but BEING Reba is one of the many simple yet subtle keys to happiness.
Here it is in simple terms: Patty is a victim. Reba is proactive, and realistic.
So, I was listening to Man be a bit of a Patty tonight. Poor guy. Maybe I should say he was being Neville Notmyfault, or perhaps Yakov Yesthat'smyfaultbutIdon'tknowwhattodoaboutitwhydoeslifehavetobesohard (those crazy Russians and their last names).
Anyway, he was being Yakov and I was being Reba and we were both irritating the liver out of each other so he sulked off to bed and I eyed my textbooks like we were sharing an "mmmm-hm" moment.
And now I know why therapists aren't allowed to therapy their spouses. Do you all feel sorry for him yet?
There are two things which must absolutely be present in marital communication but often conflict horribly:
1) Openness; honesty; bare-faced, exposed-nerve, no holds barred confession.
2) A strong sense of comfort and safety in expressing the above.
If you can't see where there might be conflict between the two, then go away. This post isn't for you.
Tonight, Man spoke of some aspects of his life with which he is less than satisfied, but all of the reading I've been doing in both psych and human services (which has a strong emphasis in therapeutic techniques and positive/humanistic psychology) laid what he was saying into a textbook perfect array of how a person can wallow in shortsighted misery whilst desperately searching for solutions that are safely tucked into their shirt pocket.
And, all of a sudden, I saw what the therapist I was seeing in Missouri meant when she talked about controlling what I can, and no longer allowing my misery over a thing to prevent me from dealing with it.
So, there Man was, trying to bear his soul, but it was all so clear in a therapeutic context that I couldn't help but point out contradictions and the fact that things A though F were totally within his power to alter, whereas thing G was just a matter of time and finding the right help. (Thing G was, of course, the shoulder pain, which I won't believe to be gone until it has been absent for a year.)
And, in the moment when it all fell into place, I also realized how utterly annoying it would be to have the person who should be your safest confidant in the world point out where you aren't taking the reins as you might in the most sensitive aspects of your life, the ventures you undertake that largely determine your worth as a person.
So I stopped. I realized that, in understanding the flaws of his misery, I was undermining how safe it should be to talk to me, how comfortable he should feel with his open sharing. After all, the fact that he's a man who is willing to talk about his problems instead of putting them all in the Man Cave is pretty stupendous in the first place, without me messing it up by putting a fixit hat on during confession time.
True listeners are worth their weight in gold, and now I know why. Listening is a very difficult skill to master, in its truest and most valuable sense.
Some of the greatest advice I've gotten in my life is from an advice columnist (but please, don't let that ruin your opinion of me) and it is as follows:
When faced with a difficult situation, think of what you'd tell a friend who asked you for advice on that same issue. You might just find that you have more wisdom than you first realize.
It's amazing how effective this one nugget can be, fascinating how my perspective whirls into better alignment with reality when sobbing subjectivity steps aside and lets capable objectivity steer for a while.
Problem: The kids want more attention.
Patty Passthebuck: I just can't stand how whiny they get and who wants to spend time with whiny kids?
Reba Responsible: Well, I shall rearrange my priorities so that they don't feel they have to whine to get my attention in the first place. Simple.
Problem: The car needs an oil change.
Patty Passthebuck: What am I supposed to do about it? It's the car's problem! Why does it have to do that in the middle of the week when I don't have time or money??
Reba Responsible: It's only $40 (which I've saved because I have this handy odometer that tells me when the next oil change is due), and it'll take 30 mins while I get some groceries across the street or read a chapter in my fav book. Easy.
Problem: Bad communication with a boss.
Patty Passthebuck: I can't tell what she wants from me, so I'll just tell her she's expecting too much and nothing I do is good enough. I'll just chalk it up as a lost cause and ignore her.
Reba Responsible: I've made an appointment with my boss so we can clearly outline expectations, and set up standards of reporting that will enable both of us to be happy at work on a long term basis.
Do you see the difference? Now, you'll have some friends who will side with Patty because they're sycophants who think you want them to agree with you when you whine. Listening to Reba is a pain in the rear, but BEING Reba is one of the many simple yet subtle keys to happiness.
Here it is in simple terms: Patty is a victim. Reba is proactive, and realistic.
So, I was listening to Man be a bit of a Patty tonight. Poor guy. Maybe I should say he was being Neville Notmyfault, or perhaps Yakov Yesthat'smyfaultbutIdon'tknowwhattodoaboutitwhydoeslifehavetobesohard (those crazy Russians and their last names).
Anyway, he was being Yakov and I was being Reba and we were both irritating the liver out of each other so he sulked off to bed and I eyed my textbooks like we were sharing an "mmmm-hm" moment.
And now I know why therapists aren't allowed to therapy their spouses. Do you all feel sorry for him yet?
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
cabin fever
Cabin fever (poor video quality, but you get the idea)
Pebbles is always up for a photo shoot. Tag was just along for the ride.
She says she doesn't like having her picture taken, but I think it's because she always makes weird faces. Here's a nice pout.
And this one just won't hold still for anything. Enjoy Her Blurriness.
Pebbles is always up for a photo shoot. Tag was just along for the ride.
She says she doesn't like having her picture taken, but I think it's because she always makes weird faces. Here's a nice pout.
And this one just won't hold still for anything. Enjoy Her Blurriness.
more snow pics
There's a sort of dune in the front yard.
View from the front door. This walk was completely shoveled yesterday.
View from the front door. This walk was completely shoveled yesterday.
more snow pics
Crazy icicle formations.
More crazy icicle formations.
The winds are high enough to shape our icicles. The sort of long, dim one is over 6' long.
Our air conditioning unit is one of the largest I've ever seen, and soon I won't see it at all except for that lovely cap it's got.
More crazy icicle formations.
The winds are high enough to shape our icicles. The sort of long, dim one is over 6' long.
Our air conditioning unit is one of the largest I've ever seen, and soon I won't see it at all except for that lovely cap it's got.
Sunday, February 07, 2010
snow and ice
More pictures forthcoming. The snow was up to my hips in some places. Huzzah for food storage, again! We're expecting more snow this Tuesday.
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