I'm returning to reporting the more humorous events of the homestead. I have a couple short stories for you about the offspring.
El Hubbo is off on the stock show circuit. And since we no longer have pigs, (see prior post), I have been re-relegated to the role of Stock Show Widow. I am barely holding it together y'all. Bible class, church service, chores, domestic animal care (the four-legged kids who mind), basketball games, basketball practice, karate practice....I'm forgetting something.....oh yeah! School and work! I'm EXHAUSTED.
But if I had to spin this for the positive, the chats with the kids in the car are priceless.
Tumbling Tumbleweeds
As I was driving Little Sunshine to a practice of some sort (I can't remember, it was dark, we are in the country, every night drive looks the same.).....I had to use my masterful defensive driving skills to dodge something in the road. Good thing my reflexive responses are not declining as quickly as my night vision! I said, "Whoa! What was that?!?"
Little Sunshine, who was unimpressed by her mother's superior 007-like driving demonstration, said, "It was a tumbleweed."
"How do you know?" I said. I had only quickly assessed that something large was crossing my path, and I needed to activate the vehicle avoidance response.
"Hey, after three days of write-ups in a row, one thing I know is tumbleweeds."
I almost wrecked the car I was laughing so hard. Around our house, trouble at school means extra-hard chores. There is weed-pulling. My personal favorite is the moving of the brick pile. That pile of bricks has rotated from one fence to the other several times. The theory (and this has thoroughly tested over several generations) is that if one has the excess energy to get into trouble, one may need to work some of that off. If one is too tired to cause trouble, life is better for all involved. Moving the pile of bricks also gives one ample time to consider the error of their ways. The frustration of knowing that the pile of bricks is being moved for no real purpose other than the fact that trouble was instigated by the brick-mover, and that the pile of bricks would be waiting for a return journey back to its original location if said brick-mover didn't straighten up, provides a solid reason for the brick-mover to work on avoiding repeating such behaviors.
El Hubbo much prefers the tumbleweed removal project. The crushing futility that creeps into the offender's soul as they walk dejectedly from the fence with tumbleweed in hand out into the field to release it, only to have the wind roll it back to it's beginning place emphasizes the need for immediate behavioral adjustment. In west Texas, it is truly the never-ending project.
Three write-ups had earned Little Sunshine some time hauling tumbleweeds away from the back fence. Perhaps one of the ones she set free had rolled it's way across our path!
"Tumbleweeds come in all shapes and sizes, they look different, and I can spot one from a mile away. And, they have thorns. Lots of thorns. I hate tumbleweeds."
"Well, little girl, your mama and daddy hate write ups."
"Oh how I know that's true!" she replied.
(See, it works! I should probably thank my father for the pile of lumber I moved repeatedly in the backyard. I also may owe him an apology.......I may or may not have contemplated building his coffin out of it when I was a kid.)
Face Palm
Driving to yet another somewhere with the kids, I was getting the report of their days. These reports go into great detail, especially as they each have figured out that the longer they talk, the more irritated the other becomes by having to wait for their turn. I learn about the breakfast offerings, what each of their classmates ate, who sat where in the hall before school, who ate how many bags of pancakes (I know, a "bag of pancakes" does not sound appealing to me, either). Number One Son began a portion of his report with "I was nice to a teacher today. I thought about not being nice, but then I decided it wasn't worth getting in trouble."
Now, that is an attention-grabbing sentence right there. I made a mental note to address the fact if you only did it to avoid trouble, it may not actually fall in the "nice" category and may more appropriately be in the "self-preservation" category.
"Do tell, son."
"Yeah, so the teacher was writing something on the board....." I break in to give you some context. This is a teacher that may not be his favorite. In fact, he's often declared this particular teacher his least-favorite. I consider this a learning experience, as life is not always filled with people you "click" with. I've told him he has to find a way to get along.....maybe this is him heeding this advice.
"So they were writing a word on the board. And they actually asked the class if they spelled the word correctly. No one said anything, but it was wrong, so I said, and I did it politely, I promise, yes, you spelled "r______" wrong. And I spelled it for them. And they erased it and rewrote it and misspelled it differently."
"Well, sometimes teachers just have a bad day." I was afraid to ask, but I did: "What did you do then?"
"I started to correct them again, but then I decided it just wasn't worth it. I lowered my head and face-palmed rather than have them think I was a smart-mouth. I may have rolled my eyes a little, but I get points for keeping quiet!"
This is progress folks. Believe it or not. It must be hard being Number One Son. I certainly know how hard it is for him to keep his mouth shut. And, I felt in the moment I should let the eye-rolling slide as I am pretty sure I was rolling my eyes as he finished his story. I informed him the face-palm negated the mouth-shut points.
That's it - more places we have to be and people we have to see tomorrow! There ain't enough caffeine.......
El Hubbo is off on the stock show circuit. And since we no longer have pigs, (see prior post), I have been re-relegated to the role of Stock Show Widow. I am barely holding it together y'all. Bible class, church service, chores, domestic animal care (the four-legged kids who mind), basketball games, basketball practice, karate practice....I'm forgetting something.....oh yeah! School and work! I'm EXHAUSTED.
But if I had to spin this for the positive, the chats with the kids in the car are priceless.
Tumbling Tumbleweeds
As I was driving Little Sunshine to a practice of some sort (I can't remember, it was dark, we are in the country, every night drive looks the same.).....I had to use my masterful defensive driving skills to dodge something in the road. Good thing my reflexive responses are not declining as quickly as my night vision! I said, "Whoa! What was that?!?"
Little Sunshine, who was unimpressed by her mother's superior 007-like driving demonstration, said, "It was a tumbleweed."
"How do you know?" I said. I had only quickly assessed that something large was crossing my path, and I needed to activate the vehicle avoidance response.
"Hey, after three days of write-ups in a row, one thing I know is tumbleweeds."
I almost wrecked the car I was laughing so hard. Around our house, trouble at school means extra-hard chores. There is weed-pulling. My personal favorite is the moving of the brick pile. That pile of bricks has rotated from one fence to the other several times. The theory (and this has thoroughly tested over several generations) is that if one has the excess energy to get into trouble, one may need to work some of that off. If one is too tired to cause trouble, life is better for all involved. Moving the pile of bricks also gives one ample time to consider the error of their ways. The frustration of knowing that the pile of bricks is being moved for no real purpose other than the fact that trouble was instigated by the brick-mover, and that the pile of bricks would be waiting for a return journey back to its original location if said brick-mover didn't straighten up, provides a solid reason for the brick-mover to work on avoiding repeating such behaviors.
El Hubbo much prefers the tumbleweed removal project. The crushing futility that creeps into the offender's soul as they walk dejectedly from the fence with tumbleweed in hand out into the field to release it, only to have the wind roll it back to it's beginning place emphasizes the need for immediate behavioral adjustment. In west Texas, it is truly the never-ending project.
Three write-ups had earned Little Sunshine some time hauling tumbleweeds away from the back fence. Perhaps one of the ones she set free had rolled it's way across our path!
"Tumbleweeds come in all shapes and sizes, they look different, and I can spot one from a mile away. And, they have thorns. Lots of thorns. I hate tumbleweeds."
"Well, little girl, your mama and daddy hate write ups."
"Oh how I know that's true!" she replied.
(See, it works! I should probably thank my father for the pile of lumber I moved repeatedly in the backyard. I also may owe him an apology.......I may or may not have contemplated building his coffin out of it when I was a kid.)
Face Palm
Driving to yet another somewhere with the kids, I was getting the report of their days. These reports go into great detail, especially as they each have figured out that the longer they talk, the more irritated the other becomes by having to wait for their turn. I learn about the breakfast offerings, what each of their classmates ate, who sat where in the hall before school, who ate how many bags of pancakes (I know, a "bag of pancakes" does not sound appealing to me, either). Number One Son began a portion of his report with "I was nice to a teacher today. I thought about not being nice, but then I decided it wasn't worth getting in trouble."
Now, that is an attention-grabbing sentence right there. I made a mental note to address the fact if you only did it to avoid trouble, it may not actually fall in the "nice" category and may more appropriately be in the "self-preservation" category.
"Do tell, son."
"Yeah, so the teacher was writing something on the board....." I break in to give you some context. This is a teacher that may not be his favorite. In fact, he's often declared this particular teacher his least-favorite. I consider this a learning experience, as life is not always filled with people you "click" with. I've told him he has to find a way to get along.....maybe this is him heeding this advice.
"So they were writing a word on the board. And they actually asked the class if they spelled the word correctly. No one said anything, but it was wrong, so I said, and I did it politely, I promise, yes, you spelled "r______" wrong. And I spelled it for them. And they erased it and rewrote it and misspelled it differently."
"Well, sometimes teachers just have a bad day." I was afraid to ask, but I did: "What did you do then?"
"I started to correct them again, but then I decided it just wasn't worth it. I lowered my head and face-palmed rather than have them think I was a smart-mouth. I may have rolled my eyes a little, but I get points for keeping quiet!"
This is progress folks. Believe it or not. It must be hard being Number One Son. I certainly know how hard it is for him to keep his mouth shut. And, I felt in the moment I should let the eye-rolling slide as I am pretty sure I was rolling my eyes as he finished his story. I informed him the face-palm negated the mouth-shut points.
That's it - more places we have to be and people we have to see tomorrow! There ain't enough caffeine.......
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