Worms! Worms!

At this time last year, I was pretty convinced that all of my neighbors were crazy. Now I am older, wiser, and have had the opportunity to get to know people. So, now I know it is just the one neighbor who is crazy. Her antics range from taking over 9 months to learn my name, to asking "What happened to your face?" everytime she saw me for two months straight (some people have stress-induced acne despite being in their thirties and are quite self-conscious about it, so I'll thank you to SHUT UP). We got into an interesting conversation last fall about my compost, wherein she claimed to be unable to weed her back garden because there are too many worms. I'm sorry, come again? Too many worms and she is afraid of them and they are coming from the compost bin on my side of the fence. Could I please please please move it? I politely informed her that there isn't another good sunny spot in my yard, so the compost will have to remain. She told me the city officials told her I had to move it. I told her that the city gave me the compost bin for free, so I find that to be unlikely. I called the waste/ recycling office after our delightful chat and determined that I do not, in fact, have to move my compost. I don't know what city official neighbor-lady called, but whoever it was put an idea in her head; an idea of how to get my compost to be a verifiable nuisance: odor. Apparently if it smells, I am officially "disturbing" her (happily, compost cones don't smell - that is why they are great). Fast forward to today: when I got home I had a busines card taped to my front door with a hand-written note asking me to call Allentown's Recycling Office about my compost. I called and had a lovely five minute conversation with the woman who came by our house today and gave her permission to sniff my compost tomorrow. She apologetically said that they are required by law to follow up on all complaints (even the crazy ones), but that after she sniffs our compost the issue should be resolved.  It's days like this I think to myself, thank god she doesn't know about the dog-poop septic tank on the other side of the yard.

Diversionary Tactics

J: Cayden, don't eat the tortilla. You are supposed to be making the quesadilla, it isn't ready yet.
C: Why?
J: Because that is your dinner and it's not cooked yet.

J: Cayden, don't eat the tortilla
C: Why?
J: Because we can't cook it in the skillet if the tortilla is missing.

J: Cayden! I asked you not to eat the tortilla. If you can't stop eating it, I am going to ask you to go play with your trains instead of helping me make dinner.
C: (whispering) Shhhh! Mommy, we're supposed to be quite and not talk in the kitchen.

Six Flags

I was lucky enough to be included on a field trip to Six Flags with the Physics class at my school this Friday.  The new ride at the park is Kingda Ka and its a ridiculous roller coaster.  In the vein of new-fangled modern roller coaster rides it lasted all of about 20 seconds but wow, what a rush.  Its both the tallest and fastest roller coaster in the world and it was the very first ride we went on when we got there.
 
Using a hydraulic launcher (like aircraft carriers) it catapaults you to 128mph in 3.5 seconds, shoots straight up 45 stories and then directly back down again.  That first acceleration you feel in your gut as all of your internal organs get squashed together.  Overall I've been on better roller coaster rides (Nitro later in the day was really fun) but it was a unique experience that I will not soon forget.

 

Recent Photos

Sporting the cooking apron that mommy made

Sporting the Red Sox outfit that Vavo sent us

Sporting the colors of a lesser known, slightly effeminate, gang

A Conversation Over A Washcloth

J: (wiping Cayden's face) See? It's not that bad you little drama queen.
C: (jumping off his stool) Mama, all my grown-ups call me drama queen. I like being drama queen.

The Din of Modern Childhood

Stickler for Detail

Walking up the steps to get ready for bed...
J: Cayden, what did you just eat off the floor?
C: A raisin.
J: (trying to ignore the pile of dog hair he just fished it out of) Cayden, we don't eat food off the floor
C: It's not a floor Mommy, it's a step

Overheard

C: Toku bites me when I pet him for real
T: That's true. Toku usually bites you when you pet him. But you roar at him a lot.

Dangerous Boy

Oddly enough my crazy little guy loves to play with weapons.  So I let him.

Fency-Fence

Seeing as we have a gigantic dog and seeing as we have a 3 yr old and seeing as we damn well feel like it, we have decided to fence in our back yard. So last Sunday we invited some of our friends over to help dig 2' deep holes in our yard, no small amount of labor, for which we paid them beer and pizza and cheeseburgers.

22 post holes were dug and 22 fence posts were set and without the generous spirit of our friends I would still be out there trying to level a post and tamp it at the same time. So thank you to all who helped us out. Many BBQs this summer to follow.

Double Header

Sorry to be that annoying parent who keeps prattling on about their kid, but I really wanted to record this for posterity sake. (You, dear readers, are not the sole purspose of this blog. We are terrible at keeping photo albums and journals, so this is our  family history). Cayden and I were walking the dog after dinner, and because of a random conversation I had with a student today, Power of Two (Indigo Girls) was in my head. I started singing while we were walking, and this conversation ensued:

C: Mommy, what are you singing?
J: Power of Two
C: Can you not sing that song?
J: Why don't you want me to sing that song?
C: I makes me feel....
C: ....
C: Mommy, can you say, "What is that song?
J: What is that song?
C: wee-ooo wee-ooo wee-oo (siren noises)
J: What is that song?
C: It is "Heaven is when a fire truck comes"
J: collapses on side walk laughing
J: Cayden, can you sing me that song again? I liked it very much.
C: Oh no. It is a very long song. I would be too tired.
J: Well, if you feel like it sing me just as much as you want to.
C: (tears off down the side walk) heaven is a fire truck coming.... wee-ooo wee-ooo wee-ooo

I think that is as close to poetry as a two (almost 3!) year old can get. Sometimes I think I underestimate just how much that kid loves fire trucks.

A Born Showman

So, as you who read the blog already know, Cayden has been learning to use the potty for the past 6 months. He has been doing really well for the past month, at least he was until Zak and Kendra came to visit. The emotional trauma of their departure has led to a bit of a regression in his potty skills, which sets the stage for our story...


... Once upon a time, in a land called the JCC, two lovely ladies taught a class full of 2 and 3 year olds. A little boy named Cayden attended this class. One day he had b.m. accident so bad, it got on the floor. The lovely teachers had a choice to make. Do they clean Cayden first? Or the floor? One teacher set about minding the other children, while the remaining teacher scooped Cayden up and put him on the change table. Unfortunately, one of the remaining children sprinted by and slipped on Cayden's mess, falling on her back into the b.m. The little boy Cayden, a born showman, chose this moment to stand up on the change table (partially disrobed and not entirely clean) and proclaim, "This is my HAPPY FACE!". The moral of this story? Go thank a child care provider.

It's Certainly "Unique"

J: "I'd like to make a reservation for dinner tonight"
Hostess: "How many?
J: Five adults
H: Your name?
J: Jordanna. J-O-R-D-A-N-N-A
H: Is that your first name?
J: Yes
H: Can I have your last name?
J: Sprayberry
H: Wow, it just gets better doesn't it?

Pic for Mom's Project

Night-time Visitor

In general, Cayden is a very good sleeper. He goes to bed on his own and he is pretty tolerant of our "no going downstairs before 7 am on Saturday" and "no snuggling in Mommy and Daddy's bed before 5 am" rules. A couple of times a week he will come in to our room at 1 am and in a stage whisper ask, "Is it five oclock?". Last night he came in at midnight and woke me with his "whispered" question. I said no and he asked if I could pat and rub his back in his bed. So I hauled my butt out of bed, tucked him in, and patted his back, and trundled back to bed. 1:58 rolls around and my visitor had come back! I told him it still wasn't five and he asked if I could patt and rub him. Now, we are a two-parent family and this is the second visit in a single night, so I told him to ask Daddy. I hear the pitter-patter of little feet running to the other side of our bed and Cayden's whispered question, "Daddy, can Mommy take me back to bed and pat me and rub me?". My husband's response: "Of course she can sweetheart".

Babushka Approved

Last night my pal and I unpacked and split up our tin of Bulgarian surplus ammo. It was awesome. There was an "Inspected By..." paper mostly in Cryllic that I cannot even begin to understand, the tin opened like some kind of eastern bloc sardine can, and the rounds were wrapped in little packages of 10. I kid you not. 300 rounds, each group of 10 gift-wrapped with a little commie bow of proletariat twine. I had read about this on a website I frequent (theboxotruth.com) but it was still a little startling. You totally CAN picture scarf-clad babushka grandmas wrapping bullets on an assembly line.

Birthday Bonanza

Cayden is making a brown plate the most arduous way possible, using every color in the rainbow.

So Big

Cayden recently got his first backpack (Buzz! Lightyear! ) with a Christmas gift-certificate to Toys-R-Us and looks unbelievably old. As he is fond of telling us, "I'm not a little boy. I'm a big boy". Yes you are son, heartbreakingly and wonderfully big.

Spring Break is Near

I'm hoping by the time it's over to have found my desk again.

Drafting Table

Drafting tables, for the sake of teaching drafting, are a thing of the past. Even at my high school the kids do their drafting on CAD (Computer Aided Design). Accordingly the drafting tables at my school are mostly used as portable desks and being 50 years old they have taken some abuse. Ok, a lot of abuse. So when I found out that I would be hosting a student teacher this winter I formulated a plan to refinish one of the destroyed drafting tables and put it in the back of my room as a spare teacher desk.

I picked out one that still had its footrails and brought it home for reconstructive surgery. At first I figured I'd do the whole thing but due to space and tool constraints I settled for just pulling off the work surface, refinishing it, and then reattaching it.

The sanding wasn't too bad. I started with a 50 grit belt sander to tear off the top layer of shellac, pencil, sharpie, and amateur scrimshawing. I then switched to a random orbital sander with 100 grit, then 220, and then hand sanded the final before painting on 4 coats of water based polyurethane.

Then I stuck it on its legs and brought it back to school. All told it was a quick and dirty refinishing of a pretty basic piece of wood. That being said, the wide grain and blond color of the wood (maybe maple?) underneath the original stain and shellac is very pretty and it makes a nice addition to my classroom.

not the one i refinished but a good example of the condition of these desks

mine had a few more sharpie renditions of reproductive organs