There's an extra half-gallon of egg nog in my fridge since the night of the adult Christmas party. I'm thinking that making these muffins might be a wise use of my surplus, but Candace had another plan.
Me: What am I going to do with all this eggnog?
Candace: Daddy loves eggnog. Let's give it to him.
Me: But Daddy is the ONLY person in our house who will drink it and there is a lot left.
Candace: (grinning the wild grin of a child on Christmas Eve) No, mommy. Daddy and Santa like eggnog. They can share.
How can I argue with that sweet logic?
Showing posts with label Clever kids. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Clever kids. Show all posts
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Monday, June 29, 2009
Art Imitating Life
Naomi to Candace: Now, I'll be the mom and you be the mom's friend who is coming over for coffee.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Fiaklnllay I Caa;kmn wrrRitae
Sorry about that title. I type much better with my mittens off!
Yes--mittens--the A/C is (knock on wood) fixed and it is finally below 80 degrees on the Ark for the first time in 6 days!
Now, I believe I promised you a story...
Way back in the Winter, we were struggling with a high school decision for The Boy. We had hemmed and hawed about every piece of minutiae that was available. But when we finally came to a decision, we suddenly had peace about it. We knew that it was the right decision for us.
Actually, let me take you back even further. Over a year ago, we were discerning whether or not we would begin homeschooling. It became clear to us that homeschool was an appropriate choice for our family, but that it would not include The Boy, who only had one year of school left before beginning high school. The decision was made to allow him to finish 8th grade at the parish school where he was doing very well and had formed many good, solid friendships.
Back to earlier this year.
We had made our high school decision and now registration paperwork to rival an adoption dossier began pouring in to the Ark. We sorted through the papers. We circular-filed the unnecessary ones and began putting pen to paper on the others.
As spring approached, there was one last paper to complete. The deadline for the form was May 1st. After more hemming and hawing, a call down to "the principal's office" to discuss said form prompted us to go ahead and complete it. So, complete it we did.
Fast forward to the end of May. Graduation week. The Captain and I (thanks to the kindness of my neighbor who came to stay with the rest of the arklings) accompanied The Boy to the 8th grade awards dinner. Sitting front and center, we were so proud of him as he accepted award after award for his academic achievements, his character and his accomplishments on the sports field.
But none of those awards could have prepared me for what was about to happen. As we sat, directly in front of the stage (yes, the stage was in the gym where the dinner was held---isn't the cafetorium standard Catholic school fare?), we listened as the principal introduced a woman who was there to present one, last special award.
It seems that her father, who has since passed on, was a physician in our area who had done very well for himself. In addition to raising 5 children (who from her description had also gone on to do great things), he was a successful surgeon and a strong supporter of the community and parish at large. She wound her way around his life's story and shared the sacrifice---because "every parent sacrifices in some way to give his or her children a Catholic education" she said---their family had made to send all 5 children through the parish school and then on to the diocesan Catholic high school.
Because her father knew how important this was to him and he knew the sacrifices involved, he wanted to pay his success forward in the hopes that it would help someone else.
Someone who had worked hard and academically achieved in grade school.
Someone whose character was one that looked outside him or herself to help others.
Someone who had a love for Science and excelled in that area.
Someone who had attended the same exact parish grade school his children had attended.
And someone who would be a Freshman next year at the same diocesan high school he sent his children to many years ago.
That someone, his daughter announced, would be honored with a full, four-year high school scholarship.
And that someone was The Boy.
After all that hemming and hawing about grade school decision and high school plans, in one evening we received an unbelievable affirmation about our choices. The scholarship could only be given to a student who had attended that specific parish grade school and who would attend that specific diocesan high school. And, of course, it could only be given if you completed the application form.
I can almost see God winking at us now.
Yes--mittens--the A/C is (knock on wood) fixed and it is finally below 80 degrees on the Ark for the first time in 6 days!
Now, I believe I promised you a story...
Way back in the Winter, we were struggling with a high school decision for The Boy. We had hemmed and hawed about every piece of minutiae that was available. But when we finally came to a decision, we suddenly had peace about it. We knew that it was the right decision for us.
Actually, let me take you back even further. Over a year ago, we were discerning whether or not we would begin homeschooling. It became clear to us that homeschool was an appropriate choice for our family, but that it would not include The Boy, who only had one year of school left before beginning high school. The decision was made to allow him to finish 8th grade at the parish school where he was doing very well and had formed many good, solid friendships.
Back to earlier this year.
We had made our high school decision and now registration paperwork to rival an adoption dossier began pouring in to the Ark. We sorted through the papers. We circular-filed the unnecessary ones and began putting pen to paper on the others.
As spring approached, there was one last paper to complete. The deadline for the form was May 1st. After more hemming and hawing, a call down to "the principal's office" to discuss said form prompted us to go ahead and complete it. So, complete it we did.
Fast forward to the end of May. Graduation week. The Captain and I (thanks to the kindness of my neighbor who came to stay with the rest of the arklings) accompanied The Boy to the 8th grade awards dinner. Sitting front and center, we were so proud of him as he accepted award after award for his academic achievements, his character and his accomplishments on the sports field.
But none of those awards could have prepared me for what was about to happen. As we sat, directly in front of the stage (yes, the stage was in the gym where the dinner was held---isn't the cafetorium standard Catholic school fare?), we listened as the principal introduced a woman who was there to present one, last special award.
It seems that her father, who has since passed on, was a physician in our area who had done very well for himself. In addition to raising 5 children (who from her description had also gone on to do great things), he was a successful surgeon and a strong supporter of the community and parish at large. She wound her way around his life's story and shared the sacrifice---because "every parent sacrifices in some way to give his or her children a Catholic education" she said---their family had made to send all 5 children through the parish school and then on to the diocesan Catholic high school.
Because her father knew how important this was to him and he knew the sacrifices involved, he wanted to pay his success forward in the hopes that it would help someone else.
Someone who had worked hard and academically achieved in grade school.
Someone whose character was one that looked outside him or herself to help others.
Someone who had a love for Science and excelled in that area.
Someone who had attended the same exact parish grade school his children had attended.
And someone who would be a Freshman next year at the same diocesan high school he sent his children to many years ago.
That someone, his daughter announced, would be honored with a full, four-year high school scholarship.
And that someone was The Boy.
After all that hemming and hawing about grade school decision and high school plans, in one evening we received an unbelievable affirmation about our choices. The scholarship could only be given to a student who had attended that specific parish grade school and who would attend that specific diocesan high school. And, of course, it could only be given if you completed the application form.
I can almost see God winking at us now.
Monday, March 16, 2009
To Tell the Truth
A few mornings ago, I sat on the floor in the little girls' room, mental checklist in hand, making sure everyone was prepared for the day.
looking in the mirror, trying on different headbands, petting the cat, "brushing" her hair when I called her to come in and finish making her bed.
Then, I turned my full attention to the task at hand of dressing Baby Girl, which is a little like trying to fill a straw with jello. I don't know why it surprised me after several minutes of intense concentration to look up and find that Naomi had disappeared without my knowledge.
And that the bed was still unmade.
As she made her way back upstairs (how had she gotten so far in such a short period of time?!) I asked her, "Was there something you were supposed to do here before going downstairs?"
Looking around the room, her eyes darted from the bed to me, "Ummm...I don't know."
Right. Knowing she knew full well, I said to her, "What about making your bed?"
Twisting her left foot around almost 360 degrees (is that a sign of lying that I don't know about?) she said, "Oh. Right. I just forgot." She then started on the long, slow journey the next five feet to her bed to finish the job. Two feet away from the bed, she turned back to me, "Mommy," she pursed up her lips and spoke in a low voice, "I did remember. I just didn't want to do it."
"I know." I replied quickly, with one hand on Baby Girl who was making a hasty retreat to the upstairs hallway and the flight of stairs outside the door, "Please go and make your bed now."
And she did.
I've told and re-told this story to the Captain (who is convinced that her strong-will is a good thing and that we simply need to harness her powers for good--not evil), to her grandparents and any one else willing to listen. And a funny thing happens each time I tell it. It becomes less a funny Naomi-anecdote and more an allegory about forgiveness.
This time, her strong will was used for something very good. It reminded me of the importance of God's mercy and forgiveness. When we find ourselves caught in a sticky mess of our own sin, it is never to late to stop, acknowledge what we've done and make a sincere apology with a contrite heart.
Our Father already knows our weaknesses. And He sits upstairs calling to us, just waiting to forgive.
- Teeth brushed?
- Clean clothes?
- Clean clothes that match?
- Clean underwear? (repeat same explanation above)
- Hair brushed?
- Bed made?
Then, I turned my full attention to the task at hand of dressing Baby Girl, which is a little like trying to fill a straw with jello. I don't know why it surprised me after several minutes of intense concentration to look up and find that Naomi had disappeared without my knowledge.
And that the bed was still unmade.
As she made her way back upstairs (how had she gotten so far in such a short period of time?!) I asked her, "Was there something you were supposed to do here before going downstairs?"
Looking around the room, her eyes darted from the bed to me, "Ummm...I don't know."
Right. Knowing she knew full well, I said to her, "What about making your bed?"
Twisting her left foot around almost 360 degrees (is that a sign of lying that I don't know about?) she said, "Oh. Right. I just forgot." She then started on the long, slow journey the next five feet to her bed to finish the job. Two feet away from the bed, she turned back to me, "Mommy," she pursed up her lips and spoke in a low voice, "I did remember. I just didn't want to do it."
"I know." I replied quickly, with one hand on Baby Girl who was making a hasty retreat to the upstairs hallway and the flight of stairs outside the door, "Please go and make your bed now."
And she did.
I've told and re-told this story to the Captain (who is convinced that her strong-will is a good thing and that we simply need to harness her powers for good--not evil), to her grandparents and any one else willing to listen. And a funny thing happens each time I tell it. It becomes less a funny Naomi-anecdote and more an allegory about forgiveness.
This time, her strong will was used for something very good. It reminded me of the importance of God's mercy and forgiveness. When we find ourselves caught in a sticky mess of our own sin, it is never to late to stop, acknowledge what we've done and make a sincere apology with a contrite heart.
Our Father already knows our weaknesses. And He sits upstairs calling to us, just waiting to forgive.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Mistress of Hyperbole
Says Naomi to I about today's unseasonably warm weather, "Mommy, I am meeellllting."
Saturday, February 07, 2009
Was the Suspense Killing You?
Hopefully, it kept no one awake at night, tossing and turning wondering which of my little darlings was spouting off these phrases.
For the good of all those who couldn't stand the suspense...the aforementioned quips were brought to you by...
"Sure, Mom"
"No problem, Mom."
and my personal favorite...
For the good of all those who couldn't stand the suspense...the aforementioned quips were brought to you by...
"Sure, Mom"
"No problem, Mom."
"You're my best friend, Mom!"
I am in so much trouble, aren't I?
Tuesday, February 03, 2009
Top Three Disturbing Phrases Heard on The Ark
1. "Don't worry, Mom."
2. "No problem, Mom."
3. "You're my best friend, Mom."
All three phrases come straight from the same child.
Any guesses who it might be?
2. "No problem, Mom."
3. "You're my best friend, Mom."
All three phrases come straight from the same child.
Any guesses who it might be?
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Working At Home Depot
Many of you know the Ark well enough to know that The Home Depot holds a special place in our heart. My sister-in-law (Thanks, Amy!) knew it and forwarded it this hysterical email to me. Read on...
Subject: check your child's homework
Hey Guys...study the picture first...then read the letter that mom wrote.
homework turned in:
the letter that followed:
Dear Mrs. B,
I wish to clarify that I am not now, nor have I ever been, an exotic dancer. I work at Home Depot and I told Sarah how hectic it was last week before the blizzard hit. I told her we sold out every single shovel we had. Then I found one more in the back room, and several people were fighting over who would get it.
Sarah's picture does NOT show me dancing around a pole. It's supposed to depict me selling the last snow shovel we had at Home Depot. From now on I will remember to check her homework more thoroughly,
Sincerely,
Mrs. I
Friday, December 19, 2008
Next Stop--Bethlehem
Not only does this time of year leave me feeling a bit nostalgic and melancholy for warm family memories, it also leaves me reminiscing around my previous years' Christmas posts, which leaves you, dear friends, the bearers of my jolly finds.
From the Christmas ark-ives...
The vacant nativity scene should have been my first clue...
But sometimes, you just have to see things to believe them...
Could it be? Rather than the traditional long-eared donkey, Joseph high-tailed it into town driving Mary, the animals and the three kings on--dare I say--a big yellow school bus?
And how did the mother from the Fisher-Price family doll house get on board?
Look out, Oliver Stone. You've got nothing on a three-year old left to her imagination.
Not only does this time of year leave me feeling a bit nostalgic and melancholy for warm family memories, it also leaves me reminiscing around my previous years' Christmas posts, which leaves you, dear friends, the bearers of my jolly finds.
From the Christmas ark-ives...
The vacant nativity scene should have been my first clue...
But sometimes, you just have to see things to believe them...
Could it be? Rather than the traditional long-eared donkey, Joseph high-tailed it into town driving Mary, the animals and the three kings on--dare I say--a big yellow school bus?
And how did the mother from the Fisher-Price family doll house get on board?Look out, Oliver Stone. You've got nothing on a three-year old left to her imagination.
Sunday, November 02, 2008
Monday, October 27, 2008
What Prompted This?
Heard by four year old Naomi in a ladies' restroom in Chicago: "Mommy, I've decided to listen to everything that you and Daddy tell me to do."
Did the earth change its axis? Are dogs friends with cats? Or is it possible myincessant nagging repeated reminders are actually sinking in?
Heard by four year old Naomi in a ladies' restroom in Chicago: "Mommy, I've decided to listen to everything that you and Daddy tell me to do."
Did the earth change its axis? Are dogs friends with cats? Or is it possible my
Tuesday, September 02, 2008
What A Bad Dream!
Naomi woke up and marched right in to demand, "WHO let the kitten out this morning?" Admitting my role in said action, I attempted to send her on her way. But she wouldn't budge. Instead she protested, "I was sleeping and she was biting me on the head. I thought a snapping turtle was attacking me!"
I'm not sure about her frame of reference here, as I am fairly confident we've not had any snapping turtle attacks (at least none that I'm aware of!)
Naomi woke up and marched right in to demand, "WHO let the kitten out this morning?" Admitting my role in said action, I attempted to send her on her way. But she wouldn't budge. Instead she protested, "I was sleeping and she was biting me on the head. I thought a snapping turtle was attacking me!"
I'm not sure about her frame of reference here, as I am fairly confident we've not had any snapping turtle attacks (at least none that I'm aware of!)
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Monday, August 18, 2008
Tuesday, August 05, 2008
Truth Spoken Here
My daughter, Hannah, has been home with us in America for nearly two years. She arrived speaking little to no English. As time progressed, she has expanded her vocabulary and can hold her own in almost any conversation. But there are still quirks to her spoken language that occasionally change the meaning of her words ever so slightly. I have to confess that there are times when I've taught (and taught and taught and taught!) the same grammar or phonics rule so many times that I cringe when I hear it misspoken again.
Flashback--last night
Powerful storms rocked the Chicago area just around bedtime. For those who are familiar with Wrigley Field, you'll appreciate that the entire upper deck was cleared when the tornado sirens blared. And the storms intensified as they crossed the border into Indiana, where the town of Griffith was declared a disaster area.
This morning, we surveyed the damage to the Ark. A broken flower pot here, a few scattered items there and as if needing to prove its own strength, our heavy Vermont Castings grill pushed by the wind across the deck. Not much by comparison, thankfully. Then we saw the pictures from Griffith. The witnesses spoke of the terror and destruction, shards of glass flying through the air, screaming until their throats were sore for loved ones. Miraculously, not a single life was lost.
Hannah studied my face after the news was over and then matter-of-factly made this observation:
Hannah: Those storms was very bad.
Me: (doing the cringing grammar thing) Yes, those storms were very bad.
Hannah: (considering the situation for a moment) But, Mom---it's good no one was hurt. They can fix the house but they can no fix the people.
I thought about correcting her grammar--for about a milli-second--but decided it wasn't necessary. It hadn't affected her comprehension a bit.
My daughter, Hannah, has been home with us in America for nearly two years. She arrived speaking little to no English. As time progressed, she has expanded her vocabulary and can hold her own in almost any conversation. But there are still quirks to her spoken language that occasionally change the meaning of her words ever so slightly. I have to confess that there are times when I've taught (and taught and taught and taught!) the same grammar or phonics rule so many times that I cringe when I hear it misspoken again.
Flashback--last night
Powerful storms rocked the Chicago area just around bedtime. For those who are familiar with Wrigley Field, you'll appreciate that the entire upper deck was cleared when the tornado sirens blared. And the storms intensified as they crossed the border into Indiana, where the town of Griffith was declared a disaster area.
This morning, we surveyed the damage to the Ark. A broken flower pot here, a few scattered items there and as if needing to prove its own strength, our heavy Vermont Castings grill pushed by the wind across the deck. Not much by comparison, thankfully. Then we saw the pictures from Griffith. The witnesses spoke of the terror and destruction, shards of glass flying through the air, screaming until their throats were sore for loved ones. Miraculously, not a single life was lost.
Hannah studied my face after the news was over and then matter-of-factly made this observation:
Hannah: Those storms was very bad.
Me: (doing the cringing grammar thing) Yes, those storms were very bad.
Hannah: (considering the situation for a moment) But, Mom---it's good no one was hurt. They can fix the house but they can no fix the people.
I thought about correcting her grammar--for about a milli-second--but decided it wasn't necessary. It hadn't affected her comprehension a bit.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Saturday, May 24, 2008
Saturday, May 17, 2008
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