The Breast Kind of Meal

Yesterday, I finally gave The Littlest One food.  I was going to hold off until 6 months, but she just kept reaching for my food, and so I gave in.
Truth be told, I've had the food and stuff for weeks, along with the go ahead from her Dr some time ago.  I just couldn't do it.  Part of me just doesn't want her to grow up so fast, especially knowing that she is my last.
However, let this be a joyous post in celebration of her major milestone: Eating.
I opted for baby oatmeal cereal.  You know, that noxious smelling pasty stuff that we give our babies in lieu of real food at first.  I always make mine with breast milk.  Generally, I will pump enough milk for the cereal, the pour it into a bowl and mix it.  With the first feeding, though, you give them so little, that I felt the pump wasn't warranted.  I could just quickly, and privately, express enough to make that little bit of cereal I needed.  I've done it this way in the past, too.  However, in the past, I've never had a child old enough to really question it.  Let me just say that adding an older child into the mix really changes things up.
As I was prepping The Littlest One's food, the big one comes in and looks at what I am doing: mixing a little cereal into the breast milk I had in one of the baby bowls.  She stopped, stared at the bowl for just a second, then looked at me with huge eyes.

"Did you squirt milk into the bowl?"
Yes.  I just expressed some milk to make the cereal with.
"Oh that is so gross, mom!"
What?  She gets breast milk all the time.
"No, mom!  That is just gross.  Into the bowl mom?!?"
Well, what do you want me to do?  I have to give her milk.

At that point, she started doing that laugh, head shake thing you do when you have just witnessed someone do something that you think was ridiculously gross but still kind of funny, like the kid who licked paste in school,  and just walked away.
It wasn't the fact that I gave the baby milk in her cereal, but the fact that I expressed it directly into the bowl that bothered her.
I guess I could have used the pump, but for only a couple of ounces the first feeding, why bother?  I did it privately, I just used a funny receptacle.  Same difference to me, but apparently not to The Biggest One.
The Littlest One liked it no matter where it came from, and I don't think she will care in the future, either.

No Go Granny

Something I just had to share.
While sitting in the Dr's office yesterday, I couldn't help but listen to two people having a conversation about dialysis and the location of the shunts they use for it.  A man in his late 30s to early 40s was just got a new one that goes around his waist, and he was explaining the whole process to a 70ish year old grandma.  They talk about it for a while before she suddenly has what you could tell was a very important question.  She looked at him with all sincerity, and ask if you could see it were she to wear a bikini.
He told her it would show.
You could see her face drop.  She told him that just wouldn't work, then.
I tried my best not to smile or giggle, but I'm not sure how well I did.  My head was a little confused, too.  I wasn't sure if this was a "You Go, Granny" or a "No Go, Granny" moment.  Either way, I kinda hope I have that kind of spunk when I am her age, and hope it made you smile, too.

Why I love This

I love this picture.  I love finding little gems like this one on the internet.

I don't care about the supermodel in the back ground rubbing lotion on herself.  I honestly can't say I even know who she is except that TMZ mentioned her name.
It would be the men in the foreground that make me smile.  Just to be clear, it is not because they are naked old men, that is a little disturbing, but because they are totally naked, letting it all hang out according to the necessary star there, except for the hats and glasses.  I guess when naked sunbathing, protecting at least your face from the harmful rays of the sun is still important.  Not so much with any other body part.  Fantastic.

Oh My, The Questions

The Big One has questions about the new baby to be. Every day. All the time. She even announces it like that, "Mom, I have questions about the baby" so that there is no doubt as to what we will spend the next 15 minutes or more doing.

I think she is really curious, but doesn't know what all to ask. Since I told her that any time she had a questions she could feel free, I also think she feels the need to ask, even when she doesn't know what to say. Hence our 30 minute random sessions of question asking. Believe me, that are random.

Tonight, I got what I think will be my best question, but I will try to make a list of all the good ones she gives me, and update frequently.

Tonight's Q & A started as normal with the announcement, then my giving the go ahead. At that point, she him and haws around for a while, and is asking me about the baby turning out different. I thought at first we were going to have a serious discussion about the possibility of the baby having a disability, or something like that.  I started thinking about all the ways to explain how children are sometimes born different and special.  All the while, she kept asking this series of questions about being different.
Finally, she hit me with the big one, and the closest thing she could to what she really wanted to know.

"What if they baby speaks Spanish instead of English."

That took me a minute.  I had to process it, and come to a realization of what she was asking.

"Are you trying to ask me what if the baby is Hispanic?"

"Yes."

"Well, then your father would have a lot of questions for me."
She didn't bat an eye at that.
I did go on to explain to her how that wasn't possible and just a snippet about how the baby will be made up of Mommy and Daddy's genes.  

This only gets funnier because later on, The Little One told me that maybe this baby will be black. I think she meant it would have black hair, but that isn't what she said. My Husband nearly went into hysterics.

I'm not really sure what my children think of me.  I'm beginning to be worried about the reputation I have in my own house hold.

What I need to do now is find a picture of The Little One at birth to post.  No matter how many people refuse to believe me, I really am of Native American heritage on my Mom's side, and it shows in her family.  In fact, I am enough Native American to claim that legally.  My Dad's side, though, is straight up white bread Irish, and I am only third generation here.  His DNA won out in me, and I look at white as possible.  So, white, that I am nearly translucent and I swear to you that parts of me glow in the dark.  Yet, somehow, some way, when the The Little One was born, she had a head full of black hair.  I think it came from my heritage.  She also had jaundice, and was tinted fairly dark compared to me.  I actually had people look at me and ask if I was sure that was my baby.  Her jaundice went away, and her hair turned red, then went blonde, but that definitely isn't how she was born.

So, if after all those discussions, with both children about what the baby can look like, if the baby really does come out like The Little One, I think my own children might start checking out the UPS Man just to be sure.

Snuggeling Is Nice And All...

The Little One is a snuggley kind of kid. She loves to cuddle up at night. In fact, I would say she pretty much insists on it. She sleeps in my bed pretty much every night, and not just on my bed, but she seems to need to be right up against me. Even more specifically, She likes to turn on her side, and put her butt up against you. SO, as a general rule, I fall asleep every night with a little butt tucked up neatly against my side or back.

Its fantastic. I don't really complain about the lack of personal space anymore. I realize fully well that this is my youngest child, and she is growing so quickly. It won't be long at all before she wants nothing to do with me, and insists that i drop her off on the corner of the school yard so that no one even sees me. So, I take these moments and bits of time as I can get them, since they will be what I have to cling to in the difficult teen years to come.

Really, it is all all fantastic, until, that is, her still very young bladder and overly tired body decide that they just aren't ready to grow up.
There isn't anything quite as special as waking up to a nice warm feeling spreading across your back or side, and then realizing what is happening.
Poor baby. I've noticed that when she goes to sleep way to late, this can happen for her. I realize her body just needs more time to mature, and she will grow out of it, but in the mean time, it is such a truly disturbing experience at 2:00am.
Not just for me, either. The Little One hates it.

She woke up this morning very upset as she was peeing and said "I have pee all over me."
It was not a happy moment.
We got her all cleaned up. New sheets on the bed, and a clean comforter. I changed my clothes, washed off, and we were ready to go back to bed.

So, risk of pee or not, we snuggled back up, and I feel asleep, with a little but tucked neatly up against me.

It Was Not a Waste of a Good Cupcake

I did something that I have never done before.

I threw a cupcake at someone. More specifically, I threw a cupcake at The Husband.
To be even more specific, I threw a cupcake with bright green icing at him.

And, I hit him. In the back of the head. I would even go so far as to say I nailed him.

Even though I threw food, and did it in front of my girls, I have to say I am proud of myself. The pride comes in the fact that I actually hit him.

Now, in my defense for the bad part of my action, let me tell you that first and most importantly, I did not waste a good cupcake. I had already accidentally dropped the cupcake on the road and lost most of the icing in a big plop right in front of The Big One's school. So, I was only bringing the cupcake in to throw it away.
I walk in, carrying the rest of her loot from the class Halloween party, and the cauldron that I took bags of popcorn in.

I had no idea that I was a sitting duck. Or a walking duck.

Almost immediately after my back is to the closed door, he pops out and starts shooting me with a Nerf dart gun. This one happens to his Tommy Gun style, semi automatic Nerf gun. Not that which gun it was matters, other than to tell you he is serious about this stuff. Anyway, by the time I had gotten about 4 steps toward the kitchen, I had been hit at least a good 5 times. There was nothing I could do.

I rounded the corner and got behind the counters in hopes of waiting him out, but ever time I peeked around the corner, I got shot again.

So, there I was, trapped. I looked around me, and I saw only one option. The cupcake. Normally, I wouldn't throw food. Actually, I never throw food, and especially not good food like cupcakes. However, since this one was already inedible, it didn't count as good food anymore. I quickly considered the ramifications of my actions, including the fact that my kids were going to watch me throw food. I realized that it might not be a good idea. However, in the long run, self preservation won out.

I grabbed the cupcake and peeked around the corner. The Husband saw me. He looked at me for just a moment with total satisfaction in that he was about to shoot me again, and total disregard for the cupcake. After all, he didn't think I would do anything with it, even if I did threaten him with.

I did threaten him with it. It seemed the cupcake just wasn't a good enough threat.

He took aim.

I threw.

He looked incredulous for just a second, before turning and trying to duck. That second of disbelief took long enough to keep him from being able to get out of the way.

I nailed him, right in the back of the head. Not only did I nail him, though, but then the cupcake rolled down his head, hit his shoulder, and bounced onto his foot. I couldn't have willed it to do any better had I tried.



It was fantastic. I worried that he might be mad, but he was just shocked. I think more shocked that I hit than even the fact that I threw it, but shocked all the same.

Finally, after getting the camera, taking a great shot for proof, and calming my laughter enough to be able to control my body again, I made sure the girls saw me clean up my mess. They needed to at least see that if you make a mess like this, you have to be responsible and clean it up.

He took a shower, and we went on with our day from there with no more shooting. I think he might have been worried about the big stack of cupcakes in the fridge.

Losing Your Omniscience

As a parent, when your child comes into this world, most of the time, there is a perceived Omniscience. Your kids think you know everything. Personally, I use this to my advantage as often as I can. You can gt kids to confess to just about anything, if they think you already know.

It seems, though, that the veil is lifting, and The Big One is beginning to realize that I don't know everything.

The other day, we were sitting in the family room, going over spelling words, and I realized that there were a ton of planes going over head. We live by an airport, in a military town, and my husband flies in helicopters. I tend to not even notice air noise anymore. However, this was noise from jets, flying low and hard. They just kept passing over and over.

So, I look at The Big One and exasperated, I ask "What is up with these planes today?"

She stopped, looked at me like I must not be firing on a cylinders, and said "Its the Blue Angels, mom. Remember? The Air show." And she said it all in this I think I'm really 16 year old tone, with eye rolls inserted in several places for good measure.

Right then, I knew. She knew that I didn't know everything. She realized that she had caught a blond moment of mine, and that I have those moments. I knew I was busted. We both started busting up laughing. I mean, what else can you do when your 6 year old manages to catch you like that.

I have to change my line now, from "...because moms know everything" to "..because moms find everything out". I'm hoping that slight variation will buy me at least another year of confessions. I need that year to come up with a new game plan.

Yesterday vs. Today

Yesterday, my oldest looked like a young version of California Skipper.

Skipper is of course Barbie's little sister.

My Big One is tall and very thin. She has super duper blond hair that is very long. I pulled the top half of her hair up and braided it, and left the rest down. I put her in a hot pink gauzy top with a cute little jean skirt. She is really tan from all the time outside she has been getting. The hot pink really set off that tan. So, between the outfit, the hair, the tan, and everything, she really made me think of California Skipper.

---

Today, she looks like something from where the wild things are.

We ended up running a little behind today for several reasons. She got a cough last night and was up all night. So, I tried to let her sleep a little more, but she is still tired. Then, I had a cute outfit picked out for her, but, as we were about to put shoes on, I realized that her pants had a big hole in the knee! So, I had to run and grab her new pants. Now, the shirt and pants don't exactly go together, but it was the best I could do in a flash. I ended up with not enough time to redo her hair from yesterday. So, I just took it down, brushed it, and put a head band (that didn't go with anything she was wearing, but happened to be the most neutral one I could find) in her hair. She has this wild frizzy crimped looking hair sort of floating all around her now. Then, she kept messing with her head band, and pulling on the hair in front of it, so small sections would get pulled up and out, sort of hornish. It was hilarious.


Seriously, the difference between yesterday and today is amazing, but I happen to think she is beautiful both ways.

The Diva and The Tall One

Today, we have had a great day around my house. We have managed to make wishes and dreams come true, and it was all pretty easy.

The first wish come true was for my oldest. I sat her down for the big talk about going to a new school next year. Much to my shock, she is thrilled. Her big question was "Will I go to the new school as a Kindergartner?"

"No. You will be a first grader."

Her eyes got big, and were filled with light and excitement.
"I have always dreamed of being a first grader!"

Man, that was an easy one. = )

She will be getting a set of Junie B. Jones books for her birthday, before anyone suggests it.

The next one came just about as easily. I was getting them ready for bed and the big one made this very dramatic movement and show of preparing to get ready. I ask her if she wanted to be an actress.

"What?"

"Would you like to be an actress when you grow up?"

"An actress? Why?"

"Well, you are very theatrical, and you have a certain flair. I think you would be a great actress, or rock star. Something like that."

She thought about that for a minute.

"I know what I need to be then, mom. I should be a Diva."

I busted up. I mean busted up.

When I calmed my self enough to talk, I told her she already was a diva.

"Oh, then I guess I will be a Dr."

Good girl. Make sure you can take care of your momma.

So, I turned to the little one.
"What do you want to be when you grow up?"

She didn't answer. I mean, she is two. This is a hard question. So, I repeated it.

"What do you want to be when you grow up?"

She tapped her chin as if to think for a second. Then she got up on her tip toes, and stretched her self as far as she could.
"Taller!"

And yet another wish that will be granted around here.

It was fantastic.

These are the kinds of things that keep you going, when it is 12am, they won't sleep, and have been crying for the last 2 hours straight. This is the stuff that I love and live for, the fantastically fun moments of our lives.

Peter Pan and the Pirates - A 2fer

Today, something very special. This post is going to be a two post in one, aka a 2fer. Two great and related stories need to be told.

Last night, I actually got to turn on the TV and put it on a news channel. That is a rare and wonderful thing for me, a news channel junkie. The US ship captured by pirates was the story on at that time. The big one looked at me and ask "Are pirates real?"

"Yes. Pirates are real."

"Like Captain Hook?"

"Well, no. Not exactly, like Cptn Hook, but there are real pirates. These pirates captured a US ship."

"Oh wow." said with a look of disbelief on her face.

"Everything is ok. The crew got their ship back, and there is a US Navy ship there to protect them now."

"A Navy ship like my daddy's?"

"Well, sort of."

"You mean my Daddy is fighting pirates?"

"I guess he could be." I mean, it is possible, how ever not likely.

"Oh man! That means my dad is fighting Captain Hook!! Wait! That means my Dad is Peter Pan! My dad is Peter Pan!"
She was thrilled with her realization, and danced all around the room yelling that her dad is Peter Pan for at least a couple of minutes.

At this point, I couldn't respond. I was too busy trying to hold it together. I was laughing, but I wanted to be crying and laughing it was so good. If you had seen the sheer look of conviction on that child's face the moment she decided that her Dad was Peter Pan, you would have lost it, too. It was priceless.


Now, on to part two of our pirate tale.

Later on, my mom was telling my sister, whom I have mention before, about The Big One's epiphany. She only got to the part with the news story and Sis stopped her.

"Wait. You mean there are real pirates?

Seriously. My sister just ask if there were real pirates. I swear. My mom told her of course.

"You mean like Johnny Depp? Real pirates?"
No really. She ask.

My mom went on to tell her it was all over the news, and tell her about them. I love my sister, and I think this is more proof positive that somehow, my daughter is just like her.

To make the tale even better, Sis was out to lunch with a friend of hers who is from Sierra Leone and the friends mom. The friend came to the USA in order to go to college. She is very intelligent, speaking multiple languages,with multiple degrees. You know, a nerd. Sis starts to tell the tale of the pirates, and gets to the same point in the story as my mom did, and her friend stopped her.
"Wait. You mean there are real pirates?"

My sister was thrilled. Having someone that she considers uber smart echo her same questions seemed to give her some sense of validation, and that she wasn't that off for not knowing that pirates still existed.

I was discussing this with her, and she assured me that she could go out and find 10 people she knows that didn't know there were rel pirates now. I assured her that was not necessarily a good thing. Her parting line, and the line that I let finish the conversation because I couldn't take any more, was "I'll be honest. My friends and I care more about our hair than pirates." Right on. As long as you know who you are, and are proud of it. You just keep on, keeping on.

Love you, sis and thanks for the great stories to post.

The Gotta Love Johhny / Can you play that? Post

I love Johnny Cash. I think he was a fantastic artist. I was searching around for something today, and happened on this video.



Love it.

I was telling my mom about the video, which she needs to see, and she came back with a Johnny Cash story that has to be shared.

You see, June Carter Cash was from an area that a lot of my family is from in Virginia. In fact, my grandmother grew up with her family, and they used to sit around on some one's front porch and pick and sing.

So, Johnny and June could often be found around my home town, and even more often up in the hills of southwest Virginia just doing normal things. My Dad even said hi to him at our local library once.

One day, and this has only been about 10 years ago, my Great Aunt Nell, was on her way up to our family home place. One the way is this little store that sells antiques and things, but also has some general store stuff. She stopped in with her granddaughter to get a coke. As they walk in, this man is sitting in the front, just sort of picking a a guitar. He isn't playing, just picking. Aunt Nell walks by, looks at him, and asks "You think you can play that thing?"

He looks at her and says "Ahh, a little bit."

"Alright then" She replies, and goes on about her way.

She walks on back, and Everett, the sales man, says to her "Nell, do you know who that is? That is Johnny Cash."

Aunt Nell turns, takes a good look, and says "Why, I guess it is."

"His wife June is over here, come on back, and I'll introduce you."

So, Aunt Nell goes on back on gets introduced to June Carter Cash. They chat for a while.

On the way back out, she stops at Johnny, who is still picking, and asks "Is that yours or is it Everette's?"
She mean the guitar.

"Oh. Its Everette's."

"I figured."
Apparently, Everette was a wheeler dealer, and was trying to sell Johnny that guitar.

Then she walks out.

As soon as they are out the door, Nell stops, leans down to her granddaughter, who is a preschooler at the time, and says, "Now, honey, you aren't going to remember this, but one day, I'm going to tell you this story, and it will be a great one."

I have to agree, Aunt Nell, it is a great one.

I hate to let you boys down...

I am about to post something that I think will be a bit of a let down to two young men out there somewhere.

To the two young men in the Army uniforms, driving a silver late model sedan around town, Fellas, I hate to break it to you, but I was not flirting with you today. No. I wasn't. In fact, I didn't even notice you until you rolled your windows down to say something to me.

Yes, I was smiling, laughing, and pointing in your direction. I see how you could have thought that I was saying something to you, or talking about you. However, what you may not have noticed is that I was actually smiling laughing and talking to two young ladies in car seats behind me. I know, my back windows are tinted pretty dark, and the girls can be hard to see. So, let me assure you, that they were there. Seeing as how I do not make a habit of flirting with men in cars I pass, not anymore, and I would never do anything like that with my children in the car, then you can believe that even if you were incredibly cute, and I don't know because I really didn't notice, I wouldn't make note of it with the girls present.

What you probably also failed to notice, is that there just happened to be a giant inflatable Sponge Bob Square Pants seated on top the of the Burger King at that red light we were stopped at. You probably didn't notice because it was just over your shoulders, where I was pointing. You may not have noticed, but my two year old daughter, who doesn't even watch the show, did. She thought it was hilarious, and wanted to know why Sponge Bob was a) so big, and b) sitting on Burger King. We happened to be have a very joyful conversation.

So, again, I know this is going to really break your hearts (haha, just trying to pump my own ego up a bit, there)but, that more than a little fluffy 29ish year old womyn, with the crazy hair, and the black car that hasn't been washed in forever, who was probably more than a little tired looking, really wasn't trying to get your attention. She didn't think you were cute stuff in your uniforms, nor did she want to talk to you all.

She was, however, truly enjoying the moments in life where your children just make you smile and laugh. I am glad, though, that you may have gotten some enjoyment out of that moment as well, even if it were for the wrong reasons.
I hope you guys had a fantastic rest of your day, and thank you for all you do for our country.

Technology bites the hand, once again

I never blog on my new laptop. This will be my first. There is a reason. I'm not used to using it to type with yet, and if I accidentally add italics or close this window one more time,it will probably be my last.
I found posting this here, and the struggles that have ensued rather appropriate, though.

I just booted up my laptop so that I could watch Dexter in my bedroom, not for any actual computer necessary purpose,of course. You get to hear about it, because i want to remind you all to make sure you know every password you have ever used. Be sure to keep them somewhere. You never know when you will need them. My husband bought me this laptop as a Christmas gift. He went outside of our assigned roles in our relationship, and made a technology purchase with out me, but I forgave him. After all, he was trying to be incredibly sweet. He picked out what he felt was the geekiest laptop he could think of. It has a fingerprint scanner on it. At first I thought it was ridiculous, but now I use it for everything on here. I don't know a single password that is specific to this computer, or the programs I use, because they are all saved with my fingerprints. Pretty cool,right?
Yeah. It is great, until I had my own little run in the with the over last night making supper. I suppose my level of awareness wasn't what it should have been, either. (See previous post)
Anyway, today, my first two fingers on my right hand, the only two I set up, look like very old cracked leather on the pad. It is really kind of gross. Needless to say, my fingerprints probably look a little funny. You guessed it, bad prints and no pass word recollection meant that I wasn't about to get on this pc. I tried every password variation I could think of that I have ever used. I believe that when i set this up, I made it something new and very hard so that my husband could never log on here without me. I suppose this is what I get for not sharing.
I was, obviously as I am now using it, eventually able to log on. I was able to take the less crispy of my two fingers and uber hydrate it for just long enough that the scanner could read it.
I will, also obviously, be not only adding more fingers to my scanner profile, but changing my passwords to things that I can remember from here on out.

They Just Keep Coming

One day, I am going to show excerpts from this blog to whom ever my oldest daughter chooses to be with. After all, not only are her actions hilarious, but I think this person may need fair warning as well.

Today she came down stairs in her t-shirt and underwear, what she slept in. After a while she got off the couch, and started roaming the house. She roamed into the back room where I was doing laundry.

"Here. Put these on." I threw her a pair of capri length yoga pants just to run around the house in.

"Mom, these aren't my size."

"Yes they are, they are just short pants."

"But they are baby pants." She was referring to the tight knit as they were stretch.

"No. They are yoga pants. That is the style. Just put them on."

She pull on the pants, checks the out for a minute, then walks out. I kept doing the laundry. A few minutes later, I hear a strange "Ommmm...." sound.

I looked n the living room, and see her sitting in the floor.

"What are you doing?" I ask in her general direction. I got no answer only more "Ommmmmm... Ommmmmm".

I look a little closer, and she is sitting cross legged in the living room floor, hands posed just right with her fingers in a circle, chanting "Ommmmm" repeatedly.

"Lilly, what are you doing??" This time there was a bit more force behind my query.

"My yoga. You said these are yoga pants. So, I am doing my yoga."

Ahhh. I see. I'll just keep doing the laundry. Let me know if that works for you, though, and I might just have to join you.

It Seemed so Innocent.

Children are a trip. By that, I mean that they often take you on an unexpected and wild journey.

Today, my oldest daughter ask me a very innocent seeming question. The conversation that ensued left me feeling like I was rehearsing a warped 5 year old version of "Who's on First?".

We were walking into the park to play, and she looked up at me with those big blue eyes, and ask "Mom, who is your grandfather?"

Ahhh...such an innocent question.

"Which one?"

"The one that died."

"Both of my grandfathers are dead."

"You know, (insert 5 year old attitude here because I am being slow) the one that talked to me."

"Oh. You mean the one you met when you were a little baby?"

"Yes! What is his name?"

"Earnest."

"What is his other name?"

"Compton."

"Oh. Well, what was your other grandfather's name?"

"George Washington Carroll."

"Your grandfather was the president?"

"No. He was named after a President, though. Do you want to know why?"

"Why?"

"His father had just come to America from another country, and he was very proud to be an American. So, he named his son after the first President here."

"I thought the first President was Bush."

"No. Bush was the last President."

"Well who is the next President?"

"Barack Obama is the President now."

"Ok, but who is the next President?"

"Obama just became President."

"Oh. So he is the second President?"

"No, Lilly! He is the President now, but he wasn't second. He is the 44th. We have had over 40 Presidents."

"Oh. Wow. 40! That is a lot of Presidents."

"Go play. Now."

Inglés, Por Favor.

I got a great phone call that I need to share.

Someone from my daughter's school called me yesterday.

Once he had established who he was, of course I can't remember his name now, and that he was from the school, he said that he needed to ask me a few questions.

"Does Lilly speak Spanish in your home."

"No." I wasn't sure what kind of test this was and if I should tell him that she still watched Dora, and has occasionally called her grandmother her abuela. So, I just opted for the no on that one.

"Was Spanish her first language?"

"No." I knew that one for sure.

"Well, we have in our records that she speaks primarily Spanish at home and so I have printed her report card for the parent teacher conference next week in Spanish."

"......." There was silence. I had no idea what I was supposed to say to that. I hadn't seen that one coming at all.

Finally, he started to speak again.
"I'll just reprint it in English."

"Yeah. That would be a good idea."

And we got off the phone.

Now, I don't know about you, but I found this both hilarious and very disturbing.

First, In conversation that I left out, he had actually indicated that we marked that she spoke Spanish when we enrolled her. I'm not about to say we absolutely didn't, because we can make mistakes, but I think I would be pretty clear on the fact that my daughter isn't an ESL learner.

Second, I'm not really sure what the long silence was for. Was he actually waiting for me to tell him that it would be fine to just leave it in Spanish? Were we supposed to say we could just muddle though? Was the school going to leave the report card and provide the teacher and I a translator just to go over the report card? Or, was I suddenly supposed to fess up and admit that I really did speak Spanish. No matter, it didn't happen.

This school has issues, and while most of them I find upsetting, at least finally they gave me one that made me laugh.

My husband says that from now on, every time the school calls, I should answer the phone in Spanish, which I could do. I might just try it one day. If I do, I will let you know.