z: Daddy says you don’t like the song Cheer Up Sleepy Jean
me: I don’t
z: [ hums a few bars ]
z: he says your sisters used to sing it to you cuz you are grumpy in the morning
z: [ more singing with lyrics ]
z: why? If you’re grumpy then, cheer up sleepy jean
So enlightening to hear my daughter tell stories to me about my childhood. I do, I hate that song. For many reasons. One, I hate monkeys. Two, I hate The Monkeys ( too perky and profit driven ) . Three, I don’t support any campaign by happy morning people to uplift and motivate us grumpy morning people. I’ve always been a grumpy morning person, as well as my self-admitted grumpy youngest and grumpy eldest. We are dragons. We don’t greet the morning with a smile. I would wake up in the morning as a young teen and I remember my mother telling a visitor, ” don’t talk to her. she just grunts at you. you won’t understand. ”
But, after that conversation with my little dragon, I started to think about their future conversations about *their* childhood. As I’ve only done this parenting thing once and most of it loaded on the younger side of those kiddies, at no point did I think about the stories they will tell. The parenting books, the parenting friends, the internet parenty things focus on what that child will be, will do, without a chapter on … well, when your child does this, they may talk about or blog about their life from their perspective.
My little dragon re-blogged a story about my childhood to me. I had to read it because she was streaming live without a pause button. Now, I’m wondering what stories my children will have when they grow older and pull stories from their life to relay comedy or tragedy or a barrier they had to emotionally overcome. These kids … they are made of people.
and for you, I leave with this gem … I’m sure I’ve bitched about this shitty song before … but here you go again. As a rule, with song assignments, you MUST listen all the way to the end. It’s the way we roll here on the farm.
First, check out that herd! Glorious. Normally we are on fire warming the house because winter is coming. … but not this year. Too warm. Though, I have maintained the “warm room” in case we suddenly drop below double digits.
A mother friend of mine ( three kids, nobel gal ) and I had an exchange. I forgot something or stumbled and told her, “baby head” because sometimes with so many lives to raise, you forget things. Simple things, like the price per kilo of the beef you are selling. And she told me this, which I hold dear to my heart, ” don’t worry, when the youngest turns six … you get your head back.” … or something like that. WHAT?! I get my head back? For some reason, I thought I was supposed to get my head back when they turn three or four. SIX? Are you serious?
Now, I’ve had my head on pretty well, but I must admit, as my youngest turns six in a week, I’m firing on all cylinders. WAIT! We can do this! and then this! Why haven’t we done that?! Clear as day. Only partially the way through raising people, lots of experience with the bubbles. Now trending the tweens and teens. … Baby Head is a thing of the past. Now, we need to get these kiddies to be good people.
The summer is so long, say the French. Yeah, same in America. But we love it. And today, the free fun sleep-in fun is over. Back to work. Me too. We do a lot of work, but, I tend to grab an hour or two to blob or an hour to sleep in. That is a thing of the past. As of 6:00am tomorrow, we are scheduled.
So much to catch up on. So much to report.
Preemptive shots of my dragon. She’s melting down because I took a photo of her on Daddy’s tractor. I saw her having fun, thought I’d grab a moment. and this is what I got.
Sure, she looks cute here and there, but the absolute howl at those horrible parents , okay mamaparazzi … ferget about it. I say, ” look, lady you go be cute and we’ll have nothing to do with it.”
peer review of this blog post:
z: uuuuuh. don’t put a photo when I’m angry … put a photo when I’m happy
( photo by Lucy )
So cute and full of energy and absolutely no idea what is going on in the world other than, “WHAT’S FOR LUNCH!!!” or “CAN I HAVE A COOKIE?!?!” Those kids of ours. I’ve always been a mother of young children, but I’m starting to feel like the lady who doesn’t worry about sleeping through the night. Or, the lady who isn’t constantly following a waddler. I’m not sure what to do with myself. Well, I do actually, but it’s such a long list of hard work. … trying to …
but they are growing old enough to run part of the fambly. They cook. They ( don’t ) clean. They entertain themselves. They tell jokes like their father.
A friend of ours visited us when we first started this farm. She took one look and said, “oh! I remember that. Glad I’m not there.heh. heh.” She said it with joy. Her kids are all grown up and moved on and part of society. She meant, it was great, but wouldn’t want to do it all again right now. Hard work. It is. It’s hard work. It’s rewarding work. Always challenging. Never bored.
So, Spring soon, the tomatoes are coming. Can’t wait!
Resident teen and ex-British Public School Girl was given Brent’s favorite cookbook of the year, “School Dinners.”
She picked Cowboy Casserole. Dominated by baked beans, this sausage-y, potato, tomato, onion sludge faired well in the Curtis household.
Seeing as the Hot Bowl of Food was edible, the head chef has authorised future trials with teen cook and School Dinners book.
I found an old chalkboard. Wrote out today’s menu. Minty asks me everyday and every hour what’s for breakfast/lunch/gouter/dinner? So I posted it on the found chalkboard.
What’s “gouter,” you ask? ( pronounced “goo-tay”). It’s a 4pm snack they do here in France. Usually it’s a bit of bread with some chocolate of some description or yogurt or apple sauce. I can never remember how to spell it, so I call it “G-tay.”
Zelie saw the menu, saw that Snicker bar was for gouter and wasn’t impressed. You see lunch was up next. She wanted gouter now. “No,” I say, “lunch first.” Then, she erased the menu. Except for gouter. Checkmate.