The third in a challenge to post the first draft of my writing... blog entries on everyday items.
IT GLEAMS
My house is a cluttered disaster. With a child, a husband, three cats and a tortoise, it seems like it's impossible to keep stuff in its place. Last week, I spent two hours scrubbing our small downstairs bathroom. (And I only vacuumed the floor, didn't wash it.)
Today I thought I'd clean our main bathroom. My daughter is home from school so I encouraged her to help. She did the toilet and the sink. I did the tub and the tile. Neither was a small task. I rarely use chemicals to clean, relying instead on high percentage isopropyl alcohol, baking soda, and white vinegar. Child got some rags and headed to work on the toilet, while I embarked on my annual adventure with soap scum remover. My grout had some moldy spots, those little dark green, almost black polka dots between the 1950s pink tile.
My daughter wielded the toilet bowl brush like her trusty sword and plunged the bristles into the water and the baking soda. Then she poured the white vinegar in, giggling at the sizzle and foam. Meanwhile I stood on the side of the tub, surrounded by the bright pink light reflecting off my tile.
Last spring our shower wall failed and we took all these tiles outside, scraped them clean, dried them in the sun and reinstalled them. I think of this every time I am faced with these tiles in such a one-on-one manner.
Once we cleaned these key elements of the bathroom, they had that sparkly look. We put the stray objects away, remnants of how we passed our winter: NyQuil, anti-fungal cream from child's bout with ringworm, extra toothbrushes from the last dental visit and that random tube of lipstick that I'm not even sure who owns it.
Now, I really hate the idea of taking my shower. It'll get the bathroom dirty!
Showing posts with label children. Show all posts
Showing posts with label children. Show all posts
Monday, April 1, 2013
Sunday, March 31, 2013
Homage to Erma B
This is the second entry in a blogging challenge where I have decided to write blog entries about the everyday, posting first drafts of my writing for all to see...
HOMAGE TO ERMA B
My mother-in-law thinks I have the potential to be the Erma Bombeck of my age. Comedy does seem to run rampant in my life, like the recent incident where I was asked to pick a roommate for an upcoming conference and given a list of men from whom to chose. Now I realize "Angel" can be a tad ambiguous, but "Renee" is more straightforward... As a newspaper reporter, my potential gender might have been an asset. My "Angel R. Ackerman" byline could have been a man or a woman.
In real life, the situations that arise due to this can be very inconvenient. I once had a medical claim for a gynecological exam rejected by my medical insurance carrier because they insisted I was male. I think, or at least I hope, my doctor would have noticed that during the exam.
I also have pets: an escaping tortoise and three cats, one of which is a 17-pound cat that's afraid of his shadow and another grouchy 13-year-old cat that last week decided to poop on the middle of the bathroom scale.
Since having a daughter, the opportunity for humor has multiplied exponentially. She was 8.5 ounces at birth but grew very slowly throughout her preschool years. She grew steadily, and on a curve that pleased our doctor. She ate like a horse. Despite this, she didn't hit those average weight charts until she turned four. Suddenly, at age 4, she reached average!
At age six, she got a fat letter from the school. It wasn't a full fat letter, it just said my daughter had an increased risk of becoming overweight later in life and that I had to show this letter to the pediatrician. Now my pediatrician is old school. He laughed when I showed him this letter. The nurse took my daughter to the scale and checked her. Apparently, she had grown two inches since the school weighed her. And the weight-- it was exactly the same. So she had gained weight in preparation for a growth spurt, which had increased her BMI.
She was not fat or even at risk of being overweight.
And if you think that's bad, you should hear what happened with the dog bite two weeks ago. But that's another story for another day because it's Easter and my family expects me downstairs any minute...
HOMAGE TO ERMA B
My mother-in-law thinks I have the potential to be the Erma Bombeck of my age. Comedy does seem to run rampant in my life, like the recent incident where I was asked to pick a roommate for an upcoming conference and given a list of men from whom to chose. Now I realize "Angel" can be a tad ambiguous, but "Renee" is more straightforward... As a newspaper reporter, my potential gender might have been an asset. My "Angel R. Ackerman" byline could have been a man or a woman.
In real life, the situations that arise due to this can be very inconvenient. I once had a medical claim for a gynecological exam rejected by my medical insurance carrier because they insisted I was male. I think, or at least I hope, my doctor would have noticed that during the exam.
I also have pets: an escaping tortoise and three cats, one of which is a 17-pound cat that's afraid of his shadow and another grouchy 13-year-old cat that last week decided to poop on the middle of the bathroom scale.
Since having a daughter, the opportunity for humor has multiplied exponentially. She was 8.5 ounces at birth but grew very slowly throughout her preschool years. She grew steadily, and on a curve that pleased our doctor. She ate like a horse. Despite this, she didn't hit those average weight charts until she turned four. Suddenly, at age 4, she reached average!
At age six, she got a fat letter from the school. It wasn't a full fat letter, it just said my daughter had an increased risk of becoming overweight later in life and that I had to show this letter to the pediatrician. Now my pediatrician is old school. He laughed when I showed him this letter. The nurse took my daughter to the scale and checked her. Apparently, she had grown two inches since the school weighed her. And the weight-- it was exactly the same. So she had gained weight in preparation for a growth spurt, which had increased her BMI.
She was not fat or even at risk of being overweight.
And if you think that's bad, you should hear what happened with the dog bite two weeks ago. But that's another story for another day because it's Easter and my family expects me downstairs any minute...
Friday, February 5, 2010
Reading Challenge
My daughter came home with a reading challenge for school. The top readers in each grade level will get to have lunch with visiting author Michael Patrick O'Neal. My daughter (who, in half-day kindergarten, does not eat lunch at school) wants to win.
Reading is the first step to learning. It's the first step to any sort of education. It's pivotal if you wish to be well-spoken. And it's necessary if you wish to write.
The rules for this challenge say that as long as a book is in the child's hand, it counts.
As soon as I finished this week's log and stuffed in it her folder, after she told me she was done reading, she sat and completed a phonics workbook I bought her for Christmas. Then, she did the time one, which isn't reading, but we did have to read the directions. Then she said she was done and wanted to play. What did she play? She read to her dolls.
So, since she "finished" reading, she's read an additional 40 minutes.
But this is the child who used to carry a phone book through the grocery store and read the yellow pages as a preschooler. This is the child who asked her grandmother to read her the thesaurus. This is the child who has sat beside her father and heard every one of the Harry Potter books.
I can read a lot, but even when I'm not busy, I don't read nearly as much as perhaps I should. I think my standards are too high. I like to read good books, and I force myself to read the big trend books. But... I can't relax my adoration of the language to read crap books.
Is that bad?
In my history class, our reading includes a section about the French attitude toward the superiority and the purity of their language over others. They also say that English is a very easy language to speak poorly and that as English speakers we tolerate people speaking our language incorrectly. I concur 100%. How about you?
Reading is the first step to learning. It's the first step to any sort of education. It's pivotal if you wish to be well-spoken. And it's necessary if you wish to write.
The rules for this challenge say that as long as a book is in the child's hand, it counts.
- Reading to your child counts
- Your child reading independently counts
- Reading directions on homework counts
- Young children flipping through picture books counts
As soon as I finished this week's log and stuffed in it her folder, after she told me she was done reading, she sat and completed a phonics workbook I bought her for Christmas. Then, she did the time one, which isn't reading, but we did have to read the directions. Then she said she was done and wanted to play. What did she play? She read to her dolls.
So, since she "finished" reading, she's read an additional 40 minutes.
But this is the child who used to carry a phone book through the grocery store and read the yellow pages as a preschooler. This is the child who asked her grandmother to read her the thesaurus. This is the child who has sat beside her father and heard every one of the Harry Potter books.
I can read a lot, but even when I'm not busy, I don't read nearly as much as perhaps I should. I think my standards are too high. I like to read good books, and I force myself to read the big trend books. But... I can't relax my adoration of the language to read crap books.
Is that bad?
In my history class, our reading includes a section about the French attitude toward the superiority and the purity of their language over others. They also say that English is a very easy language to speak poorly and that as English speakers we tolerate people speaking our language incorrectly. I concur 100%. How about you?
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