My Spelling Starz

Here are two stories that highlight the fabulous job that I’m doing teaching both kids how to spell:

Story #1

My kindergartner and I were talking about her dad’s favorite store, REI.

Sydney: Mom, I know how to spell REI.

Me: Oh?

Sydney: R-E-I

She’s a genius, folks. Genius!

Story #2

I attended my son’s 4th grade parent-teacher conference. His teacher mentioned that he’s in the top of his class for spelling.

This surprised me. Why?

Because on the very same night as the parent-teacher conference, Will wrote the sign below to keep his sister out of his room:

No Girles Aloud.

By the way, when Will was looking over my shoulder just now he said, “You spelled ‘starz’ wrong.”

There’s hope after all!

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Sewercide

We went to a trampoline place on Black Friday for some fun. One of the trampoline courts was for dodgeball and it listed the rule “No Suicides”. As my friend and I discussed what “No Suicides” meant in regards to Dodgeball, Will spoke up.

“I know what suicide is,” he said.

“In dodgeball?” I asked.

“No,” he clarified. “Just suicide.”

Hmm, I thought. I think it’s sad that my 9-year-old knows what suicide is.

“It’s when bad guys are trying to kill you in the sewer,” he reported.

“Get it? Sewercide,” he concluded seriously.

Never thought “sewercide” would make me smile!

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An Experienced Bad Halloween-er?

I found a compatriot in my neighborhood.

I don’t know his name.

I don’t even know in which house he lives.

All I know is that he has a sense of humor.

I’m guessing he either forgot to prepare for Halloween or prepared woefully for the event. These things happen.

He didn’t have enough candy. So when my son and his friend came knocking on his door, my fellow compatriot in this thing called life decided not to hide. Nor did he turn out the porch light.

No, dear readers, this funny gentleman raided the pantry and started giving away its contents.

Will got a can of black beans!

Thank you, neighbor, for making our family laugh and laugh!

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Tips for Riding in a Minivan with Grandparents

You’ll have to excuse my relative silence this past week. I had a busy weekend.

You see, a long time ago in the 70s my dad was a successful professional athlete. Don’t get too excited. I can’t tell you his name because my grandma is convinced that internet stalkers are alive and well. Plus, my dad’s success as an athlete is only impressive to a niche market of men aged 55 and older. Nobody else really cares (sorry, Dad!)

Anyhoo, he was so successful that he was awarded a street sign in his hometown, a mere 3 hours from where I live. So he and my mom flew in to spend the weekend with my family and then we all piled in a minivan and drove 6 hours round trip to see the street sign.

I learned a few things during the car ride with me, my husband, my two kids, and my mom and dad. Here’s my wisdom:

1. Make sure the DVD player is charged.

2. Make sure you have enough snacks for hungry kids AND hungry grandparents.

3. Definitely get the minivan model with as many climate control zones as possible.

4. Be prepared that not everyone will love their seat assignment and you will have to switch hourly. This makes the minivan with the captain’s chairs a MUST.

5. Make peace with the fact that someone will probably read aloud every road sign for 3 hours {Grandma!}, someone will yell and scream at his DSi game {Will!}, and men will tune out the world and talk sports forever {Chad and Grandpa!}

6. Have your 5-year-old sit next to a grandparent. This almost guarantees you a mini-vacation. I got to stare into space and rest my brain while Grandma got to listen to the singing dinosaurs on the DVD player and hear jokes that only a kindergartener could love. I feel so refreshed!

Have you gone on a road trip recently? What stories or tips can you share?

 

Image courtesy of digitalart / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

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Tales from Halloween Past and Present

Once upon a time, I had a baby boy.

I dressed him as a pumpkin for his first Halloween.

Then I dressed him as a fluffy chicken for his second Halloween.

I dressed him as a caterpillar for his third Halloween.

As the years passed, my baby boy grew in wisdom and stature. He began to have an opinion about Halloween. He wanted to be “green bones”, aka a green skeleton. He loved the green skeleton so much that he wore it two years in a row.

Then he was Indiana Jones, followed the next year by a Ninja.

By third grade, we ripped up his old jeans, sprayed his hair orange, and made him a punk rocker, even though he barely knew what one was.

And then, this year.

He’s 9 and in the 4th grade. I knew this day would come. I had seen the older boys come to my door to trick or treat while I cradled my pumpkin baby. I noticed exactly how all the older boys dressed those years when I held my baby chicken’s or fuzzy caterpillar’s hand.

There was no escaping the inevitable. At age 9, he wanted what every other boy his age wanted: blood, gore, chills and thrills. Total freak-out-ness.

Ladies and gentleman, he’s going as the Soul Reaper this year.

He’s excited about it.

But he’ll never escape being my pumpkin.

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