The challenge in our house lately is trying to help Eli sail effortlessly into the world of reading. It is not nearly as effortless as I had hoped. Though I am literary genius, my teaching skills may not be as stunning.
We are have a pack of flashcards with short words on each card. The goal is that Eli will be able to identify the letters and then sound out each word. The problem is that he sees the first few letters then immediately starts guessing every word he has ever heard that that have that sound at the beginning or the end.
Here are a few examples from this morning:
The word - CAN
Eli: Ca..Ca... Cat!
Me: Close. Look at the last letter and try again.
Eli: Ca..Cat!
Me: No.
Eli: Ca.. Ca... Concubines! (He watches Mulan nearly every day)
Me: Hmmm. It's can. Let's try another word.
The word - DID
Eli: Da.. Da.. Dad!
Me: Almost. Try a soft "I" in the middle
Eli: Di@#! (I'll let you take your best guess at this. I think he must mean it like someone's name, because there is no way he's ever heard that word. But I didn't even try to investigate.)
Me: Ok, I think we are done for the day.
I know they work on Phonics every day at school. So far, I haven't been called into school for a special meeting, so maybe he saves all his gems for me. Or maybe his voice doesn't carry (if you live within a block of my house, you know how likely this is).
In the meantime, Marina is sitting next to us, tearing every page out of a book.
Woe is me.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Trouble in the Backseat
Some of the funniest things happen in my car. There are always great conversations, loud singing, and very often, a major spill. Luckily today, I was spared from mess but was greeted with a surprise instead.
On the way to drop off the recycling (our civic duty!), I realized that it was strangely quiet in the car. I turned around to check the backseat and found Eli deeply engrossed in a magazine. When I looked closer, I realized it was the Victoria's Secret Clearance catalog I received in the mail the day before.
Here is what I saw:
On the way to drop off the recycling (our civic duty!), I realized that it was strangely quiet in the car. I turned around to check the backseat and found Eli deeply engrossed in a magazine. When I looked closer, I realized it was the Victoria's Secret Clearance catalog I received in the mail the day before.
Here is what I saw:
Me: "Eli, what are you looking at?"
Eli: "A magazine."
Me: "What's in there?"
Eli: "Cover Girl make-up and girls in their underwear without any shirts on." (I can only guess that make-up comment came from a commercial of some kind)
Me: "Hmmm. I think those are bathing suits."
Eli: "Look at this page!"
(this is what he showed me)
Then he showed me the suit he had specifically picked out for me. I'm not sure if this is really going to work for me... maybe after I run the half-marathon.
I think it is time to clean out my car. Super-mom strikes again.
Monday, February 14, 2011
VD Wishes
HAPPY VD!
A.) That could stand for Valentine's Day.
B.) That could also stand for Vicious Diarrhea.
C.) That could even stand for Venereal Disease.
Which do you think I have the pleasure of being affected by? I'll leave it to your curiosity. But I'll give you a clue... it's not C.
A.) That could stand for Valentine's Day.
B.) That could also stand for Vicious Diarrhea.
C.) That could even stand for Venereal Disease.
Which do you think I have the pleasure of being affected by? I'll leave it to your curiosity. But I'll give you a clue... it's not C.
Fitness Freak
I happen to be someone who is constantly making dramatic comments and verbally committing to life-changing decisions at the snap of my fingers. One week it could be "I'm not going to drink pop anymore." (minutes later, I order a Diet Coke from McDonald's, where I am not supposed to eat - ever again). The next week, I might decide "I'm going to keep my house in pristine condition at all times" (if you've ever visited me, you may draw your own conclusions on the result of this). I may have grandiose notions but no time or inclination to carry them out.
This week's firm resolution is "I'm going to run a half-marathon".
After enough of these exaggerated, ridiculous statements, I have become the "girl who cried nonsense". No one believes I will stop drinking pop, clean up, or even have the energy to run out of my house if it was on fire. A half-marathon is like saying, "I'm going to go climb up the side of that water tower, jump off and land in some size two jeggings."
Nonetheless, I was motivated enough this evening to print off a pre-fab (not to be confused with pre-flab) training schedule. I envisioned myself running around town in my training (oddly enough, in my vision, I am always tan and much taller). Though, the Rocky soundtrack going on in my head came to an abrupt halt when I read that Day 1 required me to run 3 m. I first thought that meant three minutes. But then looking down on the chart, that would mean after 12 weeks, I would build up to running ten minutes - which is hardly half-marathon ready. Then it dawned on me... Monday running meant three miles! To me, that is as ludicrous as me waking up tomorrow and realizing that my Civic has magically morphed into a Lexis SUV. I am in no way exaggerating when I say it is very unlikely that I could even run for five minutes straight.
Suddenly my dreams of uber-fitness and an attractive tan came crashing down on me. Not only do I not have the stamina, but when in the world would I find the time to casually run ten miles? (this is assuming a miracle happens and I make it to Week 12). I get off work at 7:00 pm and immediately come home to put my kids to bed. So, in order to make my training a reality, I should then step outside at 8 pm, in the dark and run around for two hours.
** This blog was momentarily interrupted by some violent cat vomit sounds coming from the kitchen that required my investigation.**
Picking up where I left off... But then again, the reasons for taking up such a challenge have come back to knock on my brain. At the present, I do no kind of physical activity. If at some point, an attacker was trying to chase me down and murder me, I would only be able to run away for approximately 30 seconds before I would have to stop and vomit, and then immediately after get killed. This would make me really mad. If I had properly trained, my assailant would have to run after me for 13 miles before I would be overcome.
So, in an effort to get healthy, get tan (this really doesn't correlate, but let me live in a fantasy world), and avoid getting murdered, I'm going to continue on in my foolish goal. I am training for a half-marathon! Tomorrow, I am going to either run 3 minutes or 3 miles.
Perhaps, I will update you on my progress in the future. Maybe you'll see me on the cover of Shape magazine. Or if I decide not to follow through, I will never mention this again...
Here is a recent picture of me running 13 miles (hopefully this girl doesn't see her picture on here and try to kick my buttocks. She could for sure outrun me and then kill me):
This week's firm resolution is "I'm going to run a half-marathon".
After enough of these exaggerated, ridiculous statements, I have become the "girl who cried nonsense". No one believes I will stop drinking pop, clean up, or even have the energy to run out of my house if it was on fire. A half-marathon is like saying, "I'm going to go climb up the side of that water tower, jump off and land in some size two jeggings."
Nonetheless, I was motivated enough this evening to print off a pre-fab (not to be confused with pre-flab) training schedule. I envisioned myself running around town in my training (oddly enough, in my vision, I am always tan and much taller). Though, the Rocky soundtrack going on in my head came to an abrupt halt when I read that Day 1 required me to run 3 m. I first thought that meant three minutes. But then looking down on the chart, that would mean after 12 weeks, I would build up to running ten minutes - which is hardly half-marathon ready. Then it dawned on me... Monday running meant three miles! To me, that is as ludicrous as me waking up tomorrow and realizing that my Civic has magically morphed into a Lexis SUV. I am in no way exaggerating when I say it is very unlikely that I could even run for five minutes straight.
Suddenly my dreams of uber-fitness and an attractive tan came crashing down on me. Not only do I not have the stamina, but when in the world would I find the time to casually run ten miles? (this is assuming a miracle happens and I make it to Week 12). I get off work at 7:00 pm and immediately come home to put my kids to bed. So, in order to make my training a reality, I should then step outside at 8 pm, in the dark and run around for two hours.
** This blog was momentarily interrupted by some violent cat vomit sounds coming from the kitchen that required my investigation.**
Picking up where I left off... But then again, the reasons for taking up such a challenge have come back to knock on my brain. At the present, I do no kind of physical activity. If at some point, an attacker was trying to chase me down and murder me, I would only be able to run away for approximately 30 seconds before I would have to stop and vomit, and then immediately after get killed. This would make me really mad. If I had properly trained, my assailant would have to run after me for 13 miles before I would be overcome.
So, in an effort to get healthy, get tan (this really doesn't correlate, but let me live in a fantasy world), and avoid getting murdered, I'm going to continue on in my foolish goal. I am training for a half-marathon! Tomorrow, I am going to either run 3 minutes or 3 miles.
Perhaps, I will update you on my progress in the future. Maybe you'll see me on the cover of Shape magazine. Or if I decide not to follow through, I will never mention this again...
Here is a recent picture of me running 13 miles (hopefully this girl doesn't see her picture on here and try to kick my buttocks. She could for sure outrun me and then kill me):
Sunday, February 6, 2011
I Believe the Children are the Future
"One false move and the baby gets it!"
Should I feel apprehensive about the fact that my son only wants to play the villain in all his imaginary action scenes? Hmm.
I'll let you know if he gets kicked out of his preschool class for cussing and hitting someone with his fake sword while claiming he's Pharaoh.
On a positive note: he's also very interested in bugs these days and has a book that shows hundreds of them. So he's been going around diagnosing and treating us all for tape worm and carpet beetles. At least that will come in handy when we have a mysterious infestation in our house and we need someone to identify the source.
In other news, it turns out that Marina is the polar opposite of her brother. While we never had to worry about him opening cabinets or breaking things, we can't even blink without having Marina emptying the contents of our kitchen. She has also torn pages out of the majority of her books. I thought someone told me girls are supposed to be easier than boys when they are young. Once again, I've been misinformed. Here she is showing me that nap time was upon us.
On a positive note for Marina: she's showing signs of being quite affectionate and maternal. Clearly she gets this from me...
Until next time, this has been your Clinton children update and warning to those who are still considering reading my how-to parenting book.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Snow Day
Today there is a major blizzard outside. We are not even halfway through it but I snapped some pictures of our current situation. Our cars are partially buried and our good looking patio furniture is in the middle of a drift. I tried to get out and go to work several hours ago, only to have to turn around a few blocks away when a car jack-knifed in front of me, blocking traffic.
Tia Ariana and Eli are working on building a castle. Please note Eli's fabulous choice of shirt for today. It is the same one we bought from a thrift shop for our joke Christmas card. He regularly chooses to wear it for its comfort. No, he is not wearing lipstick, just uncomfortably chapped lips.
Also, yes, that is a wig sitting on our printer behind Ariana's grim expression.
Snow, snow, snow! (Imagine I'm singing that song from White Christmas)...
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