cows

a cow eating ice cream

today we read an article entitled "Ice cream...From cows to kids" in my class. it ended up being one of the many funny discussions i've had with a group of 5 year olds. here goes...so i start by reading the title and one child immediately raises his hand and asks..."so cows make ice cream? do they also make popcicles and ice cream sandwiches?...because I like those, too." i laughed. no, they don't, but we will get into that....i turn the page. 

page 1. "the farmer milks the cow." there is a picture of a farmer milking a cow. one little girl's hand shoots up and she says, (eyes wide as hell) "wowowo, where is the milk coming out of?!" (the farmer has has a firm grip on the cow's milk jugs.) i explained that the part of the cow where the milk comes out is called an udder and all girl (female) cows have them. immediately after this, a little boy raises his hand and says, "are you sure only girl cows have them? because it kinda looks like this...." (pointing to his crotch). oh, christ. here we go. no, kid, that large nipple is not a weiner. (i just shook my head.) "well if it's not a weiner then where do they pee out of!?" (i'm in deep now...i should abort.) i clarified that they have other parts that they use to go to the bathroom. "like a butt?! cause i have a butt!" giggles all around. (yes, like a butt...i'm turning the page now....)

page 2. "the milk then goes by truck to the factory." ten hands shoot up. one child says,"an ice cream factory?! a whole factory...for ice cream?!" yes. a whole. factory. for. ice. cream. (many ooosss and ahhhhsss at this point...best thing they heard all day. i tried to act excited, but my enthusiasm was waning due to the previous 'udders gone bad' part of the chat...)

page 3. "the workers add sugar to the milk, put it in cups and place it in the freezer." another slew of hands fly in the air..."so ice cream is just sugar and milk? i think i'll make that when i get home." lots of nods in agreeance. (at this point...we were about 20 minutes deep in the ice cream discussion...i decided to not say there were lots of other steps involved and went with, "sure! try it! see what happens!" i was thinking...drive your parents crazy with that one. you know at least one will go home and try it and say..."butttt mommmm the booookkk saiiddddd that iffffff i addddd suuuggarrr to milkkkkk it will turnnnn into ice creammmmmm." not my problem at that point. they are all yours, parents...your turn to explain.)

page 4. "the kids eat the ice cream." one of my favorites says, "now wait..." (i have my hand on my head at this point...and i am in desperate need of a beer.) "so how exactly do they get chocolate and strawberry ice cream from plain milk." another student yells out (matter of factly), "well there are chocolate, strawberry, and vanilla COWS...!!!!" a bunch of kids nod their heads. "yep, and some cows are brown, and some cows are pink...." i exclaimed, "holy smokes, now where have you ever seen a pink cow? the pink cow farm? seriously?" they all started laughing, and probably could tell i was at the end of my rope at this point. (they were correct with this assumption...as my ten minute (4 page) article turned into a FORTY minute discussion on cows and flippin' ice cream.)

at the end of the discussion (that i was very grateful was almost over...), i asked the kids if anyone could give me a summary of the story. i called on one student and he responds, "so...there are cows, and they make milk and people add sugar to it to make ice cream....and we eat it...and the thing that the milk comes out of on a cow is called a GUTTER." (close enough...for the love of god, let's move on...)  

"Tell me and I forget. Teach me and I remember. Involve me and I learn."  
-Ben Franklin

george

on this day in 1957, a great man was born. my dad. most daughters (i’m sure) think very highly of their fathers, and i’m no exception…but by no means do we fit the ‘daddy’s little girl’ stereotype. (that’s too lovey dovey to describe our relationship.) that being said, i do love my dad very much and i hope he knows that.  i am very much like my father in a lot of ways… we both share the same sense of humor and sarcasm, we love to sleep and share a love of reading, we both would rather hibernate in the winter, and we both like to laugh and have a good time whenever possible. (and this 'good time' usually includes (several) cold beverages in hand ). he has been a coach ('ba-boom the ball!'), a mentor ('no matter where you go, there you are'), an advisor ('it's not what you know, it's who you know') and a motivator ('let's turn it up a notch!') not just to me, but to my brothers and a lot of my friends.


growing up with george as my dad has led to many funny stories, here are two of my favorites:

the caterpillar. when i was about thirteen, my dad decided that the lower part of our backyard needed to leveled to allow for better drainage. instead of hiring someone to do it for him, he decided to do it himself. (this was his first mistake…) he then rented a caterpillar excavator to help him with the job. to be clear...he rented a machine that he didn’t know how to operate, to do a job he knew nothing about. (you can see where this is going…) my mom was working part time at a pharmacy and my little brother (daisy) and i were inside. i happened to glance out the sliding glass door and gasped…i saw the caterpillar perpendicular to the ground (tipped completely backwards), my father parallel to the ground (laying completely horizontal in the seat)...the treads of the machine were spinning like hell and mud was flying everywhere. i ran down into the backyard and he yelled (with a lit cigarette hanging out of his mouth) “you need to call someone!” i yelled back, “who?!” he said, “anyone!” I called a neighbor and explained the situation. the guy said he’d be right over, and was still laughing his ass off when he hung up the phone. it took a truck and several chains and ropes to remove the caterpillar from our yard. this ordeal had also completely ripped apart the area that george intended to ‘level’ in the first place...along with the rest of our backyard. (i was advised not to discuss the days events with my mother when she returned from work.)

RIT dye. my dad has worked in the garment business for most of his life. if you aren't familiar with RIT dye...it's a powdered fabric dye that you mix with water. it's powerful stuff. george thought, if you can dye shirts with this stuff...why not carpet?! (yes, carpet...and not an area rug, and entire formal living room of wall to wall carpet-from a light blue to a dark navy) he rented a carpet steam cleaner, got a couple of boxes of RIT dye and got to work. he mixed large boiling pots of dye and water on our stove and proceeded to dump them all over the carpet. then, he used the store rented steam cleaner to suck up the excess water (and dye). somehow it 'worked' (using that term loosely)...the carpet was now navy blue. (we couldn't walk on it for a week.) however, when we finally were 'allowed' to enter the formal living room again...all of our feet turned blue (an entire family of smurfs)...so did the dogs paws (and the cats). needless to say, he ended up having to rip out the carpet and replace it anyway. (i always wondered if the person the rented the machine after him got a little navy 'surprise' when they cleaned their carpets...a georgey special, if you will.) and a sidenote...he also uses RIT dye to color eggs for our easter egg hunts every year. (after the hunt...we cannot eat the hardboiled eggs because they are poisonous to consume. ie/eat an easter egg=death)

the man, the myth

these are just two of the many stories, i could actually write a book called "growing up with george: a memoir" loaded with many, many chapters of these crazy stories. (however, for now, i do hope you enjoyed these two.) so happy birthday big guy. you’ve been a wonderful father thus far, and thank you very much for all the laughs. also, i didn’t have a chance to pick up one of those creepy “daddy’s little girl forever cards”…so consider this it. cheers! (and continue to keep 'em guessin'...)

cartoons

the full monty

well, y'all said it would happen..and it did. i walked in to get ella this morning and...surprise! the full monty. motherhood never disappoints. (at least this time i had a heads up.) opposed to the last time, she was completely naked, diaper in hand (again acting like she had no idea how she was nude), with a look of complete disgust on her face. i don't know if she had snuck out in the middle of the night for a few beers, but her diaper was completely soaked. (i kinda don't blame her for taking it off.) after a diaper change and a jammie redressing, we headed downstairs...to watch cartoons.

this brings me to my next topic...cartoons. i don't care what people say, the writers of some of these cartoons have got to be completely high on something while coming up with this stuff. most of it is utterly ridiculous. even if you don't have kids, you should flip on a cartoon channel and just feast your eyes on the messed up nature of it all. (they will not let you down...sometimes i feel stoned just watching them.) i wonder if cartoons were this ludicrous when we were kids. i mean, i know scooby doo was smoking a doobie in the back of that shaggin' wagon and papa smurf and his pals were probably running the train on smurfette...but really, these cartoons are just absurd. the only ones i don't find crazy, are the ones including mickey mouse...however, those episodes include annoying songs that you get stuck in your head for the rest of the day (and night.) i can sing some of them in my sleep. curious george also passes the test, but i've seen so many 'adventures' that i'd be delighted to see george go ape shit on the man with the yellow hat any day now.

my saturday mornings used to consist of sleeping in and a mimosa or two. now? i get my own live viewing of toddlers gone wild, served with a side of cracked out cartoons. just two of the many perks of parenthood...and i wouldn't change it for anything.

molester

i was in a rather surly mood this morning because the child inhabiting my uterus woke up about 3am and decided it was a fabulous time to perfect her punching skills. people always ask, "so what exactly does that feel like?" well, it feels exactly like it sounds...imagine that your stomach (the actual organ) grew arms and legs and was moving inside of you. (yeah, it's weird...half the time i feel like i'm reinacting a scene from the movie alien.) judging from the activity of this child, it seems that i had relations with muhammad ali...rather than my husband. in fact, i would not at all be surprised if her arm shot out of my vagina in the middle of the night and punched butch in the testicles. she is that active. i didn't sleep from 3am until the alarm went off at 5:30am. to reiterate, i was surly.

as i climbed out of bed, i saw butch ironing a shirt in our bedroom. (i don't iron...anything. ever. if it's wrinkly, i throw it in the dryer before i put it on and hope for the best.) i didn't have my contacts in yet, so i wasn't quite sure which shirt it was...and to be honest, he could've been ironing the cat, i didn't really care. i went in the bathroom, washed my face, attempted to cover the bags under my eyes with makeup, put in my contacts, and emmerged to find my husband wearing this:

 he could tell by my face that i was in no mood for guessing games. he blurted out, "it's spirit week..for MSA." (MSA stands for Maryland State Assessment, all schools in MD have to do this testing and our funding (amongst other things) depends on our passing it.) in PA, i remember having 'spirit week' during the week of our most important rival football game. so to be clear, in maryland...schools are getting pumped for state testing, while in pennsyltucky, schools are getting pumped for...a football game. (sounds about right.) anyway, i said, "so what day is today? creepy tourist molester day?" he eyeballed me and said, "no, it's clone day!" so you mean to tell me that other bozos in your school are going to dress like you? a whole cloned crew of creepy molester teachers? that sounds like fun. he said, "i'll send you a picture." (please do.)

as i was making breakfast, he sauntered into the kitchen in his hawaiian digs...acting all cool. as he passed me, i caught a whiff of...OLD SPICE cologne!? (this is not the norm, he probably got it free with a coupon) after coughing (and i think i gagged), i said, "really trying to drive home that creepy molester thing, huh?" he just laughed. apparently he wasn't the only one...later in the day, i received this picture:

creepy molester tourist teachers gone wild. if this doesn't pump up kids for state testing, i don't know what will.  (wow.) and one more added tidbit...even though my school is not participating in a spirit week...we are having a pep rally on friday. grades k-2 and all the corresponding teachers will be performing a rap. i don't know which is more "motivating" for students...creepy hawaiian shirt clad molester teachers or a short, pregnant, white lady with no rhythm trying to rap...both seem just a tad 'off'.   agree?

antigua

Letter from a parent:

March 2nd

Good Morning Mrs. S,

My daughter, Jane, needs to be excused from school from March 7-March 21, 2012. We have to travel to Antigua because my dad passed away on February 25th. The funeral service will be Monday, March 12th, but i will need to spend a few days after with my mom and family there. If there is any work that Jane can complete while away, please send it along and she can do it while we are away.

Please do not share this with her; she knows that he passed away, but she is not aware that we will be traveling and I do not want her to start harassing me.

Thanks for all you do,

Mrs. M

My response:

March 2nd 

Dear Mrs. M,

Thank you for your note, and I am so sorry for your loss. I will send Jane's work home prior to your trip.

However, I am asking for one plane ticket to Antigua in exchange for my silence. I deal with a slew of 5 year olds on a daily basis, so I fully understand your wish of not being harassed. Should you not comply with my request, I will leak this valuable information of your travel plans to your daughter over the next couple of days.

Warm Regards,

Mrs. S 

yesterday, i received a phone call from the mother...after hysterical laughter, she said she believed that i was too far along in my pregnancy for such a trip...but was there anything else she could do to assure my silence?

my answer? i will also accept cash.

"Laughter is an instant vacation. " -Milton Berle

seuss

today is dr. seuss's birthday. and yes...a child in my class really drew this in their journal. (i couldn't make this stuff up if i tried.) i teach outside of DC, but it's really not a terrible area. (however, judging from this picture...i'm not in kansas anymore.) we talked a little bit about dr. seuss and the books that he wrote. i read the cat and the hat and some other seuss stories to them. we also talked about the fact that he is no longer living, but we still celebrate his birthday. i gave the children ten minutes shortly after this to free journal write.

the kids piled up their journals on my desk before recess. one by one i went through them during my lunch and landed on this gem. after the kids came in from recess, i called this particular child back to my desk and asked him to explain his picture...this was his explanation: "well you said dr. seuss was dead. so i guess some gangsters came and shot him...i think that's what happened anyway, but i still wanted to say happy birthday." i said, "well why do you think they shot him?" he said he didn't know. so i asked "well what about his stories wouldn't they like?" he thought for a minute and said, "well maybe all those annoying rhyming words??" (valid point.) 

so brought to you today is the cover for the story...

"the gangsters who bust a cap in the cat in the hat's ass." enjoy.

"Today was good. Today was fun. Tomorrow is another one." -Dr. Seuss

shit

so today we had ella's 20 month physical with the doctor. of course there was an incident to accompany it. we walked there, because it's close and also because it was 72 degrees outside. we get into the waiting room and ella runs over to the kid table and chairs and says, "shit!" nice and loud to butch. i was talking with the receptionist and turned around and said, "what did she say!?" he looks at me and said smirking, "sit. she wants me to sit in the chair." oh, okay....phew. (however, it still came out 'shit' instead of 'sit' and she kept repeating it over and over in the waiting room.)  a few minutes later, butch walks over to where i was sitting and whispers in my ear, "i think she did shit. her pants. i smell something." so i walk over do the old peek in the back of the diaper trick. no shit in the pants. 

moments later, we are called back to the examination room. the rooms at this doctor's office are tiny. they have 2 chairs, an exam table, a sink, and a rolling stool for the doctor crammed into a 7x5 rectangle. tight squeeze. anyway, we were sitting there waiting for the doctor and i start smelling something awful. i exclaimed, "what is that smell!?" butch says, "see! i told you something smells!" so i check ella again. nothing. i sit back down in the chair just as butch crosses one leg over the other exposing the bottom of his flip flop. there, on the bottom of his shoe...is a massive pile of smashed, steaming, smelly dog shit. (inevitably from our walk) i said, "look at your shoe!!!" he looks down and proceeds to say, "oh my god! it's me! i'm the one who smells!" (laughing his head off, of course) he grabs a paper towel and wipes the shoe the best he can....and then proceeds to throw the paper towel in the trash can, that is also located in the 7x5 room. the entire room at this point smells like dog shit. it was a smell like no other. and we could not stop laughing.

ella was sitting on the floor in her diaper playing with my keys...unaware of the incident that had unfolded. butch and i were convulsing with laughter at this point because we knew damn well that the doctor was going to swing open the door to that doll sized room and be hit smack in the face with a wall of dog shit. somehow, though, we composed ourselves. a few minutes later, the door swung open, the doctor walked in and ella who was sitting on the floor looked at the doctor, pointed to the two of us (who were sitting in the chairs) and said...(you guessed it)..."shit!" i then had to explain (through laughter, because butch was just about having a seizure at this point) that a. none of us had shit our pants. b. my husband had stepped in dog shit on the walk there and c. our daughter was saying 'sit' not 'shit. the doctor laughed, but i could tell by her face that she didn't want to deal with our shit. any of it. (fail.)