Kids are so whiny! They can't take a pill for anything! They can't get the liquid down! They can't hold the thermometer in their mouths! They just caaannnn'tttt! After me telling her that she needed to take her capsule with food, I hear awful whining! I look over into the big, wide green eyes of my little blond haired daughter, Chelsi, holding up a huge, green grape in one hand and her pill in the other whining, "I can't get this down with this!" Yes, she was trying to take them together. A concrete thinker like her dad I moan silently!
Fastforward a bunch of years to my grandson, Lake, whining, "I can't get this down!" In utter irritation, Luke standing there listening, watching his mouth gaping open in mid whine, reaches over and flicks the pill down his throat! We hear gulp, swallow and it's gone!
It sure beats the tackling, straddling, two-parent approach, one parent squeezing the jaws while the other parent pours! I bet in this day and age of parents letting their children decide what is best for themselves, there are a lot of kids who never get their medicine!
Wednesday, August 13, 2014
Tuesday, July 22, 2014
Lucky Number Seven?
Okay, I love cats. Right? They are cuddly, soft and will play with my hair without my even asking which is heavenly to me. Two is the perfect number of cats to own. They can entertain each other when you are gone and need only one litter box.
As the number of cats grows, the satisfaction from them diminishes tenfold per extra cat! If you have one cat, it may go hunting occasionally, but if you keep it stuffed full of kibble there is not much motivation. However, if you have say seven cats, somebody is always getting the short end of the kibble stick and has to resort to it's primal urge to hunt. Everyone knows that cats, like hunter people, have to brag about what they successfully slaughter. I picture cats with their little iPhones taking pics and publishing them in the county paper alongside the hunter holding up his big bad deer that he was able to massacre as it trotted gleefully through the field. The bad thing about cats who are eating their hunted wild game is the stomach ache that follows and the puking attached to it. It makes me want to sing, "Doctor! Doctor! Ain't there nothin I can take to relieve this belly ache?"
So seven cats is way too many. Mrs. Brice's mice would be wiped out straight away. Even naming them becomes a chore. You start with Aslan, a majestic lion looking cat. Then it goes downhill from there, two black ones, Nestlee and Hershee! Really. . . Then there is the beautiful, fluffy stray that wanders up, Percy - AND HAS kittens! Persephony Blue Stripe is the one the grandkids talk us into keeping. So we are up to five. All of the cats are dutifully spayed and neutered except for Persephony who is a suspected hermaphrodite. No interest in running off, getting out of the house or going into heat. One day she is gone and that is where we got six and seven. I told the grandkids when they started naming them that they are already named - GONE and ALSO GONE! We have to find homes! NO IFS, ANDS or CATS!!!!!! Alas, we have Blueberry and Fritz. And while they are still nursing, OH NO!!!!!! Where is Persephony? She is galavanting around town, who knows where?! "Doctor! Doctor!"
You put the lime in the coconut, you drink 'em both together
Put the lime in the coconut, then you feel better
Put the lime in the coconut, drink 'em both up
Put the lime in the coconut, and call me in the morning
As the number of cats grows, the satisfaction from them diminishes tenfold per extra cat! If you have one cat, it may go hunting occasionally, but if you keep it stuffed full of kibble there is not much motivation. However, if you have say seven cats, somebody is always getting the short end of the kibble stick and has to resort to it's primal urge to hunt. Everyone knows that cats, like hunter people, have to brag about what they successfully slaughter. I picture cats with their little iPhones taking pics and publishing them in the county paper alongside the hunter holding up his big bad deer that he was able to massacre as it trotted gleefully through the field. The bad thing about cats who are eating their hunted wild game is the stomach ache that follows and the puking attached to it. It makes me want to sing, "Doctor! Doctor! Ain't there nothin I can take to relieve this belly ache?"
So seven cats is way too many. Mrs. Brice's mice would be wiped out straight away. Even naming them becomes a chore. You start with Aslan, a majestic lion looking cat. Then it goes downhill from there, two black ones, Nestlee and Hershee! Really. . . Then there is the beautiful, fluffy stray that wanders up, Percy - AND HAS kittens! Persephony Blue Stripe is the one the grandkids talk us into keeping. So we are up to five. All of the cats are dutifully spayed and neutered except for Persephony who is a suspected hermaphrodite. No interest in running off, getting out of the house or going into heat. One day she is gone and that is where we got six and seven. I told the grandkids when they started naming them that they are already named - GONE and ALSO GONE! We have to find homes! NO IFS, ANDS or CATS!!!!!! Alas, we have Blueberry and Fritz. And while they are still nursing, OH NO!!!!!! Where is Persephony? She is galavanting around town, who knows where?! "Doctor! Doctor!"
You put the lime in the coconut, you drink 'em both together
Put the lime in the coconut, then you feel better
Put the lime in the coconut, drink 'em both up
Put the lime in the coconut, and call me in the morning
Willy NIlly
My sister and I are on the quest to improve ourselves, our lives and to increase creativity and productivity. During one of our laughing, cracking up conversations about how to free our inner child which in turn would free up the creative parts of our brains, I suggested finger painting. My Dad went to a workshop for counselors years ago and had finger painted. He reported that this activity would pan out in the creative genre. Nanc suggested that we do some activities differently than the way we normally do. She said that sometimes that releases a block. We decided to load the dishwasher differently. We also agreed to finger paint. And I also added that I would load my grocery cart differently than normally since she had already done that.
Okay, willy nilly is not in my vocabulary except under the pretext of yelling, "You don't just do something willy nilly!" or the also yelling, "What the heck! Are you just trying to do that willy nilly?" Both negative. Both against the grain.
The first task I undertook was to load the grocery cart "willy nilly." Oh, wow! I discovered that I am not only VERY particular about loading my cart, but I also have grocery cart pride. I realized that when I just threw something in the basket, I would look around and see if anyone had seen me. Then as I passed other neatly arranged carts, I would hang my head in shame because of the mess my cart was in. I quickly made it through the grocery, through the check out, loading my bags neatly and far from willy nilly and exited the store vowing that was a once and only once challenge!
My second task was to load the dishwasher willy nilly. Okay! There is a right way of loading a dishwasher. No offense, Sharon, you and your playful inner child do it wrong. Everything is supposed to be in neat little rows with like items, all forks in the same carriage slot, glasses tall to short, glass to plastic. Seriously. There is only one right way. To do it any other way, for me, is work. Work, work, work. I had to concentrate on every item to make sure I put each one in willy nilly. It took me three, maybe four, times as long to load the dishwasher. What's with that? Okay that task completed.
The third task was to finger paint. I decided to do it with my grandchildren on Thursday; however, I had a change of heart when I realized pretty quickly that I wasn't going to be able to let even a finger on the hand of my inner child out to play if I was supervising kids with finger paint at the same time. So I finger painted by myself on Wednesday. I loved it. I made the prettiest picture, everything in it's place, not artistic in the least, for the first one. Then I let ago a little at a time until I was able to get both hands in it, getting up to my elbows, my nose may have even been stuck where it didn't belong a time or two. I was a mess.
I don't know if I freed my inner child any, but I learned a couple of things. I still don't do willy nilly in areas where I am very organized and have learned the best way to do something. But I love to get messy, too. We will have to see as the blogs continue, if they continue, how creative I become, right?
On two side notes: I finger painted on Thursday with my grandkids and it bugged me when they weren't getting messy enough and then I had a heart attack when they did! Also, my husband, Jerry William, says he's not sure he likes the way I use WILLY nilly negatively all the time. He thinks it's offensive. Good grief.
Okay, willy nilly is not in my vocabulary except under the pretext of yelling, "You don't just do something willy nilly!" or the also yelling, "What the heck! Are you just trying to do that willy nilly?" Both negative. Both against the grain.
The first task I undertook was to load the grocery cart "willy nilly." Oh, wow! I discovered that I am not only VERY particular about loading my cart, but I also have grocery cart pride. I realized that when I just threw something in the basket, I would look around and see if anyone had seen me. Then as I passed other neatly arranged carts, I would hang my head in shame because of the mess my cart was in. I quickly made it through the grocery, through the check out, loading my bags neatly and far from willy nilly and exited the store vowing that was a once and only once challenge!
My second task was to load the dishwasher willy nilly. Okay! There is a right way of loading a dishwasher. No offense, Sharon, you and your playful inner child do it wrong. Everything is supposed to be in neat little rows with like items, all forks in the same carriage slot, glasses tall to short, glass to plastic. Seriously. There is only one right way. To do it any other way, for me, is work. Work, work, work. I had to concentrate on every item to make sure I put each one in willy nilly. It took me three, maybe four, times as long to load the dishwasher. What's with that? Okay that task completed.
The third task was to finger paint. I decided to do it with my grandchildren on Thursday; however, I had a change of heart when I realized pretty quickly that I wasn't going to be able to let even a finger on the hand of my inner child out to play if I was supervising kids with finger paint at the same time. So I finger painted by myself on Wednesday. I loved it. I made the prettiest picture, everything in it's place, not artistic in the least, for the first one. Then I let ago a little at a time until I was able to get both hands in it, getting up to my elbows, my nose may have even been stuck where it didn't belong a time or two. I was a mess.
On two side notes: I finger painted on Thursday with my grandkids and it bugged me when they weren't getting messy enough and then I had a heart attack when they did! Also, my husband, Jerry William, says he's not sure he likes the way I use WILLY nilly negatively all the time. He thinks it's offensive. Good grief.
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