Saturday, May 29, 2010

Girls trip to San Francisco!

I went to San Francisco last weekend with my sister, Susie, and my two neices. It was great fun! We did some of the usuals:

China town where I found some awesome gifts for the kids - Thatcher is obsessed with his 'ninja' sword, and Gretchen with her Chinese umbrella,

A self portrait on the trolley - yeah, I know, i should be a photographer,

The fat seals at pier 39, they made me miss Chris so much,

Ah, the lovely view of San Francisco from Alcatraz,

the lovely view inside Alcatraz - I'm going to save this one to deter my teenagers from breaking the law!

This is my new favorite saying. They had it posted on the bus, and I think I might put it up at my work! Ha ha
We went to the de Leon museum and a natural history museum or something like that, but they had the coolest sea horse thiingy I've ever seen - it's called a sea dragon


Another self portrait - we rode bikes across the Golden Gate bridge and into Sausalito. It was great fun! Super windy, cold, really far and hilly, but fun and beautiful!

MMMMMM. Ghirardelli sundae!

A view of the bridge from my bike! I even took this without crashing on my bike!


And I was worried how the kids would manage without me - well they didn't even seem to notice i was gone! They got to play with cousins and grandmas and grandpas every day, swimming, parties at Wheeler Farm, phew! I think I'll have to go out of town more often!

Thursday, May 13, 2010

Thatcher and the guy who gets bit by a pig. . .

So Thatcher talks all day long. I mean really, constantly all day long. I think my ears might fall off. Here's a sample conversation:
Me: Thatcher, it's almost time to go pick up Gretchen from school.
Thatcher: Can I ride up front with you?
Me: No, you have to ride in your seat.
T: What seat?
Me: Your normal seat.
T: What seat? (really I think he's just bored and wants to hear his own voice)
Me: Your booster seat.
T: What booster seat?
Me: You know, your seat that you always sit in that's in our car?
T: What car?

Oh honestly. Some days I nearly loose it with the whats and whys.

So after one episode of Thatcher disappearing on his bike down the street and ended up talking to some random people planting flowers in their yard (luckily the kind people walked him back), we set a limit of the 'green house' down the street. It's a couple houses down and he knows the people that live there from church, and they have a couple kids.

Well he's been riding down there a couple times a day, every time it's good weather. I'm ususally out working in the yard, but I can't see him when he is actually at the green house. Gretchen just informed me that he goes and knocks on their door everytime he rides down there! How embarassing. So I went to go talk to the mom and apologize for the interruptions (I'm sure she thinks I'm a neglectful mother who hasn't the slightest idea where her measly two children are). She was very kind, and apparently, yes, he doesn't only knock once a day, it's every time he rides down there. And he progresses to tell them long random stories, the latest of which included a guy who got bit by a pig (obviously he meant the man in black from The Princess Bride when he is bit by an R.O.U.S. He's been telling me this story a lot lately). I guess I need to adjust to having a child who isn't afraid to talk to people!

I have been complimented on teaching Gretchen how to 'not talk to strangers'. Well, I never had to teach her that one - she just doesn't talk to anyone! I guess I need to work on this with the boy. . .

Hair cuts, spring soccer and a sad universe. . .

So I went in to help at Gretchen's class and I came across this 'journal entry' of hers. In case you can't read it, it says "Today is my cuoins moms birthday. Sousea went on a universe she went to california. I miss her." And I thought the drawing was of her getting her hair cut, and with the tears running down her body onto the floor! So I'm not sure the drawing and the story go together, but i thought it was pretty cute! I'm not sure, but I am thinking the 'universe' is related to Susie's anniversary that she went to California for! And there weren't any tears when she really did get her hair cut:

She held very still, without tears! We went to Cookie Cutters which lets them sit in cool cars and watch a movie of their choice on their own little tv, so they love it!
Note the stare hard boy eyes. . .


And yes, I realize the balloon is in front of her face. That's what she offered me to photo!

Here's Thatcher enjoying the lovely rainy spring soccer weather. This day was freezing!

Wednesday, May 12, 2010

Modern Woman?

So being a 'modern woman' is the goal, right? If we were old fashioned or outta style, that would be a major faux pas. So here's what I've decided it means to be a 'modern woman'.

*We can wear whatever we want. Pants, sleeveless shirts, and flip flops. Our ankles can show, as well as a fair amount of cleavage.
*We can pick and choose our careers. Doctor, lawyer, humanitarian, even run for President of the U.S.
*We can be sexy and educated, and smart and sassy all at once.
*We are strong enough to open our own doors, and pay our own way.
*In addition to all of the things we can do, there are still all the things we have to do. So not only can we have our own careers, and our own social life, provide health insurance to our family, run and scrapbook, we also have to clean the toilets. Oh and the laundry. Well and I guess clean the floors. And vacuum. And clean the windows. And install new door knobs. And plant flowers and trim the shrubs. Sometimes mow the lawn, cause the husband's busy. Take the kids to all their lessons, and help with their homework. And discipline them when their naughty.

Hmmmm, what's going on here??!! Wait, I know. . .yeah, I've got it. So being a modern woman means, not only do we have to do all the things that we 'have' to do - like all the housework and kid care - we now have to have careers and be self-fulfilled! So, I'm not sure about you, but who came up with this crap? Now I just have to do all of the man's work, as well as my own! Blast. . . .