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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