I feel I should update this thing. It's been a few days.
So this morning, it's Megan's Sunday, and we all wake up leisurely and I make coffee and play Fallout 3 and Megan nurses BB and Lucy is running around being crazy, coloring with crayons, and at a point Lucy, Megan and BB were in our room. BB was getting a diaper change, and Lucy always loves to watch and try to help in some way she's not old enough to help with. (she did find a baby doll at the park, belonging to some coddled boy with intense stranger anxiety, which she went crazy over, carrying it around and putting it in a stroller and in the swing--maybe it would help her get some of those feelings of wanting to help with a diaper change manifested--you know, to help get it out of her system) ANYWAY!!!
So I'm out here, playing video game, and the girls are all off to my right in the next room, and all of a sudden BB starts crying really, really hard and, through Megan's scolding, I learn that Lucy had thrown her heavy, wooden duck truck (duck toy with four wheels--weighs about 3 pounds or so--pretty dangerous to throw) at BB, and hit her in the head.
It takes one event to set the whole day off on a wrong note.
Lucy was already being a little demanding and hyper this morning as soon as I got up. It is pretty hilarious, how she gets in bed with Megan and BB and I in the early morning, all sneaky, and lays down with us, and then we all wake up together, but at that point she's already been waiting a good hour, and when Megan and I are just waking up, she's already rearing to go. I get up out of bed, lumbering and slow and difficultly, and she says around 50 times, no exaggeration, "Graham crackers and milk?" Just repeating it over and over again.
I never responded. I probably should have. It was too early to deal with her effectively. A dad has to be awake for that. Filled with coffee juice. Of course I rewarded her insistence with -- guess -- graham crackers and milk.
She's got so much energy, and is constantly talking and looking for, what's the word, not acceptance, but... acknowledgement from us, that it takes a parent willing to constantly divert their attention from whatever they're doing to sate her. And not only that, we have to act like we're excited about the dumb shit she says all the time. It takes patience. It takes an acting skill. I've got an acting skill of like 85 these days.
Though there are some real gems that come out her mouth, such as, "Hamburgers? And french fries? And doughnuts? In my mouth?" and, "Do some blow? Want do some blow?" (that's asking me to blow in her face), the vast majority of utterances that come out of her mouth are updates about where we are and whether or not our eyes are open, and whines and yells that are simply tests to see if she can make us angry. Because, at least with angry, she gets some attention. It's acting out, I know. So I try to give her lots of leeway, but sometimes it runs out.
Like today. I was mad at her for a long time today, after she threw that duck truck at BB's face. Understandably, right? A two-year-old seriously hurting her 3-month-old sister? Fuck yeah I'm gonna get mad. But mama gave Lucy the ol' time out, and explained to her why she was in time out. So she knew she did something wrong. I, however, stayed mad at her. I never yelled, but for the next couple hours, I was pretty strict with her. I had her pick up all the books and toys she had left on the floor, and didn't respond too much when she spoke to me, and told her to get out of my way a lot and to stop pulling the chair out from under the table.
Then I noticed the tension level in the house was getting pretty high, so I had to really make myself calm down. I gave Lucy a big long hug from behind after I helped her up on the chair to see mama making bread dough on the counter, and I said, "Maybe dada's been too mad at you today." And other 'I love you's and 'It's gonna be ok's. After that, we all got happier.
Lucy, however, is still a bit crazy. I'm not taking her to the park today. Not only do I feel that she doesn't deserve it, but I've got some school stuff to do.
Oh, man. School. I can't believe I'm going to go to UW. I'm so excited. It's gonna be tough and rough and make me feel good about myself.
See? I love writing. Look at how long this thing is, compared to the title at the top.
Autumn quarter starts something like September 25. There was a day of big stress a few days ago. It was money-related, big surprise. It started like this: I had my first meeting with my adviser. It went well. But when she asked me, "What's your financial aid situation?" and I realized I had no answer for her yet cause I did not know, I became very aware of a potentially deal-ruining situation.
I came home that night and talked about it with Megan, who said, bless her, that she'd be willing to help me front the cost of taking just one class and paying for it out of pocket. So I knew that, if I was to get no financial aid, I could at least take one class. Not a big consolation, but something.
I went online to my UWNet thingy. It said, "As of right now you have no awards." So I took that at face value.
Next day I call the financial aid office to find out about my shit and it's too early. I did call at like 9:05, and they open at 9, so I figured I had to give those lazy non-parent people working in that office some time to come in and sit down and get their shit together. By the time I had time to call again, after taking both kids to the park and putting them down for naps, it was like 3 p.m.
The guy on the phone was like, "Ok, it says here that you have no awards at this time. So let me just make that happen for you...." This was the precise moment of relief.
"Make what happen?" I said after a brief, surprised, and suspiciously delighted pause.
And he was all, "Dude man totally time for the money to reign down on you [sic]."
I'm totally getting money, but it hadn't been processed yet, or whatever. SUCCESS! I think I'll start off going half-time. Two classes. Three would be too fucking crazy, what with the child care and all that. At least I don't have a paying job to worry about.
So this morning, it's Megan's Sunday, and we all wake up leisurely and I make coffee and play Fallout 3 and Megan nurses BB and Lucy is running around being crazy, coloring with crayons, and at a point Lucy, Megan and BB were in our room. BB was getting a diaper change, and Lucy always loves to watch and try to help in some way she's not old enough to help with. (she did find a baby doll at the park, belonging to some coddled boy with intense stranger anxiety, which she went crazy over, carrying it around and putting it in a stroller and in the swing--maybe it would help her get some of those feelings of wanting to help with a diaper change manifested--you know, to help get it out of her system) ANYWAY!!!
So I'm out here, playing video game, and the girls are all off to my right in the next room, and all of a sudden BB starts crying really, really hard and, through Megan's scolding, I learn that Lucy had thrown her heavy, wooden duck truck (duck toy with four wheels--weighs about 3 pounds or so--pretty dangerous to throw) at BB, and hit her in the head.
It takes one event to set the whole day off on a wrong note.
Lucy was already being a little demanding and hyper this morning as soon as I got up. It is pretty hilarious, how she gets in bed with Megan and BB and I in the early morning, all sneaky, and lays down with us, and then we all wake up together, but at that point she's already been waiting a good hour, and when Megan and I are just waking up, she's already rearing to go. I get up out of bed, lumbering and slow and difficultly, and she says around 50 times, no exaggeration, "Graham crackers and milk?" Just repeating it over and over again.
I never responded. I probably should have. It was too early to deal with her effectively. A dad has to be awake for that. Filled with coffee juice. Of course I rewarded her insistence with -- guess -- graham crackers and milk.
She's got so much energy, and is constantly talking and looking for, what's the word, not acceptance, but... acknowledgement from us, that it takes a parent willing to constantly divert their attention from whatever they're doing to sate her. And not only that, we have to act like we're excited about the dumb shit she says all the time. It takes patience. It takes an acting skill. I've got an acting skill of like 85 these days.
Though there are some real gems that come out her mouth, such as, "Hamburgers? And french fries? And doughnuts? In my mouth?" and, "Do some blow? Want do some blow?" (that's asking me to blow in her face), the vast majority of utterances that come out of her mouth are updates about where we are and whether or not our eyes are open, and whines and yells that are simply tests to see if she can make us angry. Because, at least with angry, she gets some attention. It's acting out, I know. So I try to give her lots of leeway, but sometimes it runs out.
Like today. I was mad at her for a long time today, after she threw that duck truck at BB's face. Understandably, right? A two-year-old seriously hurting her 3-month-old sister? Fuck yeah I'm gonna get mad. But mama gave Lucy the ol' time out, and explained to her why she was in time out. So she knew she did something wrong. I, however, stayed mad at her. I never yelled, but for the next couple hours, I was pretty strict with her. I had her pick up all the books and toys she had left on the floor, and didn't respond too much when she spoke to me, and told her to get out of my way a lot and to stop pulling the chair out from under the table.
Then I noticed the tension level in the house was getting pretty high, so I had to really make myself calm down. I gave Lucy a big long hug from behind after I helped her up on the chair to see mama making bread dough on the counter, and I said, "Maybe dada's been too mad at you today." And other 'I love you's and 'It's gonna be ok's. After that, we all got happier.
Lucy, however, is still a bit crazy. I'm not taking her to the park today. Not only do I feel that she doesn't deserve it, but I've got some school stuff to do.
Oh, man. School. I can't believe I'm going to go to UW. I'm so excited. It's gonna be tough and rough and make me feel good about myself.
See? I love writing. Look at how long this thing is, compared to the title at the top.
Autumn quarter starts something like September 25. There was a day of big stress a few days ago. It was money-related, big surprise. It started like this: I had my first meeting with my adviser. It went well. But when she asked me, "What's your financial aid situation?" and I realized I had no answer for her yet cause I did not know, I became very aware of a potentially deal-ruining situation.
I came home that night and talked about it with Megan, who said, bless her, that she'd be willing to help me front the cost of taking just one class and paying for it out of pocket. So I knew that, if I was to get no financial aid, I could at least take one class. Not a big consolation, but something.
I went online to my UWNet thingy. It said, "As of right now you have no awards." So I took that at face value.
Next day I call the financial aid office to find out about my shit and it's too early. I did call at like 9:05, and they open at 9, so I figured I had to give those lazy non-parent people working in that office some time to come in and sit down and get their shit together. By the time I had time to call again, after taking both kids to the park and putting them down for naps, it was like 3 p.m.
The guy on the phone was like, "Ok, it says here that you have no awards at this time. So let me just make that happen for you...." This was the precise moment of relief.
"Make what happen?" I said after a brief, surprised, and suspiciously delighted pause.
And he was all, "Dude man totally time for the money to reign down on you [sic]."
I'm totally getting money, but it hadn't been processed yet, or whatever. SUCCESS! I think I'll start off going half-time. Two classes. Three would be too fucking crazy, what with the child care and all that. At least I don't have a paying job to worry about.
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