Tuesday, September 23, 2008

We took our children to a game at Chase Field and our daughter entertained the entire nosebleed section.

The folks down at the ballpark like to keep the crowd entertained by leading us in varying "clap-along" games: different rhythms, different background music. There is, of course, the well-known, ever-popular version involving rhythmic clapping followed by thousands of fans shouting "Charge!" This is, apparently, our daughter's favorite game. After every single "clap-along" thing they did, she would yell "CHARGE!" It didn't seem to matter if the game we were playing was actually the "charge" one.

This went on for some 20 minutes. Finally the actual "charge" one came up. She must have finally decided they weren't going to do "charge" because she didn't yell it afterward. Just sat there looking vaguely bored. Of course, everyone in the section looked shocked that she didn't scream out in unfettered excitement. Instead she looked up at me with a look of complete despondent shock and said, "I missed it."

The shock of that experience must have eventually worn off because she found another way to entertain us all. She decided to sing Take Me Out to the Ballgame. Our little girl is quite excessively allergic to peanuts and, as a result, she refuses to sing the line "buy me some peanuts" Instead she replaces the word "peanuts" with anything she can think of. Sometimes it wasn't even food. A few of the better versions (and, yes, that's versions, meaning she sang it repeatedly) were: "buy me some muffins" and "buy me vanilla." Except she can't pronounce vanilla. It comes out as banilla. As in: "Buy me banilla and cracker jack."

I have no idea how the game went or who won or anything like that. But I now have a very long list of things my daughter likes better than peanuts. And I can hear her little voice shouting "charge" at inopportune moments.

Highly entertaining.
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Monday, September 15, 2008

Every parent dreads it: getting a call from their child's school during the school day. I received my first one of the year a few days ago.

Instinct told me it was my daughter's teacher, and that she wasn't calling to tell me how much she loved my child.

After the caller identified herself as my daughter's teacher, the conversation went something like this.

Teacher: "I thought you would like to know that your daughter brought your wallet to school in her backpack."

Me: "My wallet?" (read with a surprised but not entirely shocked tone)

Teacher: "I have it on my desk now."

Me: "I'll be there in five minutes."

Don't know how she got the wallet. No idea what she had planned to do with it. I drove very carefully to school so as not to be pulled over with my wallet at Kindergarten instead of in my purse.

I've decided to start searching my daughter each morning.

And hiding the jewelry.
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Tuesday, September 2, 2008

My daughter started kindergarten this year. For the first time in her itty-bitty life she has to go for hours on end without being free to talk as often and as much as she wants. This, of course, means that by the time I pick her up after school she is desperate. She starts talking the minute she gets in the car and - I swear! - doesn't stop until bedtime.

The other day on the way home she told me she had moved desks that day. I asked her if everyone switched desks.

"No," she answered. I had one of those maternal premonitions - she had been moved for a reason, and probably not a reason that would make my little mother heart sing.

"Why were you moved?" I asked, hoping I wouldn't regret asking.

"I sat by Hannah," she began and suddenly the end of the story was becoming clear - Hannah is a little girl whose name I hear a lot. "And, she's a great girl and I just like talking to her. But Mom-" the tone had now changed to the 'you're not very bright so I will explain this slowly using small words' tone - "we're not supposed to talk during class."

"Who do you sit by now?" I asked her.

"I don't remember her name," my daughter replied. And then, in a tone of voice that indicated complete and utter shock, "But she doesn't talk to anybody!"

"Genius," I muttered under my breath.
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