M did in fact discover the answer to the mystery of the dishwasher child lock thanks to friend Google. While it may not know everything, it holds the key to many, many mysteries.
And in case anyone is curious or faces a similar situation themselves (hello Google searchers!), to unlock the child lock on a random, have no idea what model it is, KitchenAid dishwasher you need to hold down the Energy Saver Dry button for five seconds. Who know? Clearly not I.
Apparently we have a child lock on our dishwasher. I only realized this when I went to run it tonight and it blinked it's little red light at me in a scarily evil way. "HA! You only THINK you are going to wash the dishes in me! Silly, silly human."
For the life of us, we cannot figure out how to UNLOCK the child lock. Apparently it is ALSO an adult lock. If anyone out there has a similar dishwasher, and cares to share your expertise, my dishpan hands will thank you forever.
Last week I had my first parent/teacher conference ever. Because C has been with the same kids for the past two+ years, and he is one of three children actually progressing onto kindergarten next year, I went into the conference pretty sure what the teachers were going to say. "Wonderful kid, blah blah, smart, blah blah, no worries, blah blah." So I walked in, they handed my his report card to look over, and my jaw dropped to the floor.
"Do you have any questions Mrs. J-E?" the head teacher asked politely. I think I stared at her a bit blankly, as she started to speak in that soothing voice people use when they think someone is about to blow a gasket. "There is nothing we don't think a little time and maturity won't fix..." she trailed off.
"No, no, just give me a minute." I replied. "OK. What I am actually very curious about is this check mark right here, the one that says 'Can't follow directions.' Could you elaborate on that one please? Because really, that's a bit of a shocker. Does he really never follow directions that you give him?" You have to give me points, I was trying to sound nice and calm and, well, parental.
"Oh, no, well, it depends. Let me give you an example. Yesterday we were working on kindergarten readiness skills with C and Z and A. They sat at the table with us while the other kids played, and we had them doing worksheets. And we told them to work on page one. And next time I looked over, C was working on page three."
"Did he do pages one and two?" I queried, a little unsure whether we were talking about C finishing quickly, or about C not doing his work in order.
"Well, yes, but sometimes he doesn't. Sometimes we tell them to do page one and then he skips to whichever page looks the most interesting. But what we really want is for the children to all finish page one and then move onto page two when we tell them."
"OK. I'll have a conversation with him about that." Which I will, I swear. But I have to say, not so concerned about that as really, this means that he should do brilliantly on the standardized tests.
Then the real bomb dropped. "But our bigger concern is that C is socially immature," the teacher continued on. My jaw, if possible, scrapped the basement of the building. I blinked.
"He doesn't know how to play with the other children. He doesn't have any close friends, and he doesn't know how to break into others play appropriately." (I just might have whimpered right here.) "If he wants to play doctor, and the other children don't, then he won't compromise and play blocks, he'll just go play doctor by himself. Or, if the other children are playing blocks and he wants to, he'll hang back and not join in unless someone specifically asks him."
"Is he MEAN to the other children?" I asked, a little afraid of the answer, as I've seen how he plays with A.
"Oh, no. They all like him. He's just, well, he just seems to prefer the world of adults." She paused and looked at her watch. "Well, that's our time. Feel free to come back if you have additional questions..." and I was quickly ushered out the door.
I of course went into instant parent freak-out mode. My child, my wonderful child is not perfect. How does one react to that without the instant knee-jerk response of "You're nuts! My child is fabulous! Who really cares if he does page three before page one!" or "So he likes the world of adults! It will serve him well in later years! He will spend his life having to interact with adults!"
And then of course there was the quick morph into "Oh my GOD. My child is socially immature. He will never have friends. This explains why when I ask him who he plays with he shrugs and tells me about the bird he saw out the window. Should I get him into therapy? Do I actually need to schedule playdates?"
I waited to write about this until I had calmed down a bit, because it was one of those things that I really had to take a step back and think about. Of course my child isn't perfect. No one is perfect (that statement is brought to you by months of therapy). In the grand scheme of things, C's issues are minor. No one is questioning his ability to perform in kindergarten. The children all like him. He has some issues focusing on his work in an appropriate manner. He needs to learn to give other children a chance to answer the teacher's questions. All of that is manageable. But it still is hard to hear that your child is not as perfect as you think they are.
Hearing such things about your child is particularly hard, I think, when it resonates with your own experiences. Worrying that YOU caused them to have those issues is painful. Especially when you are still facing those issues yourself, and don't really have any good ideas on how to help them through it. Finishing your work too quickly? I can help with that. Bring a book and hide it on your lap. Other children don't want to play doctor right now? Broker a compromise where you play blocks first, then doctor. But other children aren't inviting you to play with them? You don't know how to make friends? I don't know how to help with that, or at least I don't know that my approach will really work well, given my lack of personal success in the area. And that hurts.
We have started clearing out the random stuff left at the old house in anticipation of the closing. In the back corner of the attic garage this morning I found a box of toys that has been packed up for almost a year. I also found the missing Scrabble game that M and I have been wondering about every Friday or Saturday night for a year as well, although clearly we never made it off the couch to actually LOOK for it.
When I brought the box into the playroom and opened it up, you would have thought I was the conquering hero. The TV went off and the kids descended upon the toys like they had never seen a toy before. M and I just sat there and shook our heads. "Who knew a bunch of broken matchbox cars and puzzles would be so exciting?" we muttered.
Clearly, there is actually something to this whole toy rotation thing...
I arrived home from C's weekly gab session with the lifeguard swim class to discover a flood in our basement. Yes, water is NOT our friend here at Chez J-E. Anywhoo, it appeared that the washer, which is virtually brand new in the grand scheme of home appliances over here, decided it didn't want to spin anymore. I mopped up the mess, and then noticed that not only had the washing machine not spun, but the sink into which the washer empties was clogged up.
"Great," I thought. "Now I need BOTH an appliance repair person AND a plumber. Plus, the only pair of jeans I own that don't have a hole in them are IN the damn washer." But then I remembered that there was a filter on the water pump that can get clogged, so I started to take the filter out, only to release yet another flood of water. At this point, I finally had the common sense to UNPLUG the pump before I got electrocuted. Go me!
Miraculously, once the filter was out the water quickly drained from the sink. I then decided to run the spin cycle on the washer again so I could describe to the appliance repair person exactly what happened. And to my surprise and joy, the spin cycle worked! Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I decided to just transfer the laundry into the dryer and forget about a second load of laundry. Plus, the dryer hasn't been working all that well and it has been taking hours for the clothes to dry.
And then, the third miracle of the day shone forth. As I was about to turn the dryer on, I noticed that the heat setting was on low instead of high. I vaguely remembered being proud of myself a few weeks ago when I remembered to turn the heat to low instead of shrinking whatever that delicate item needing to be dried might have been. Clearly, however, I didn't remember to turn the setting back to high when it was done.
So now that my sink is drained and my washer AND dryer are working, I am staring hopefully at the oven, hoping that lightning does indeed strike twice and I am shown why no matter what temperature I set it at, it defaults to 350 or so...because I'm greedy like that.
Today, eleven little space explores invaded our house to create some super duper astronaut bags,
search for moonrocks in a space capsule,
and of course, eat some birthday cake. In the process, they danced in Saturn's rings,
mashed pretzels into the rug, peed on the upstairs carpet, and slide gleefully across the living room floor into the corner of the wooden bench. Fortunately, no boo-boo pack was required.
All and all, a wonderful time was had by all under the age of seven, especially by the birthday boy.
May C remember this birthday party for years to come, because my nerves are shot and it may be the last party he gets...
My kids are currently obsessed with Maggie and the Ferocious Beast. All day long they play Maggie. A is generally the Beast, and crawls around with "goulashes" (otherwise known as rain boots) on her hands and feet. C is generally Maggie, as she comes up with the "big ideas." I am relegated to Hamilton, "because he cleans, Mom." I have offered to be the Beast on many occasion, as what could be more fun than crawling around the floor with goulashes on your hands, but have always been told that no, I MUST be Hamilton. Only A or C get to be the Beast.
When M got home tonight, A begged him to play Maggie with her. When he asked who he should be, she thought for a moment, and then exclaimed "Why the Beast of course!" I was somewhat offended. Is M that much more fun than I that HE can play the Beast but I can only play neurotic Hamilton?
I wish. It is snowing as I type. Sigh. Apparently burying my head in the sand like an ostrich didn't work so well. I think we can at least get out and get through our morning, it sounds like the worst of the snow isn't going to get here until the afternoon....
As A is scaling a climbing structure labeled for 5 to 9 year olds...
7 ish- year old boy: "How old ARE you?"
A (staring him down): "I'm not going to tell you. I don't KNOW you."
And she scooted right past him and headed down the highest, most twisty slide on the playground.
7ish-year old boy: "Are you sure she should be here?"
Chichimama (with a shrug): "You saw her climb, what do you think?"
7ish-year old boy: "I've just never seen a baby who could climb..."
I'm not just dancing because it is spring (although that makes me dance as well). I am dancing because I just found a local Community Supported Agriculture group and the pick up location is four blocks away. Happy happy happy am I! If you are interested in joining a CSA group, go here and do a search. But hurry, I got one of the last shares at ours!
Today marked an annual tradition at Chez J-E, spring cleaning. No, not of the house (shame on you for even THINKING that), but of the outdoor toys and paraphernalia. Because spending three hours outdoors in early spring is JUST what the doctor ordered for those suffering from sinus issues. Ahem.
Anyway, for the past few days the kids have been playing outside with all of the shovels and pails and golf clubs and trucks and balls that encompass our slightly eccentric collection of toys that live in the great outdoors. And every day, I look at the filth and think "I really need to clean those." And then I think "Next fall, I must remember to clean the toys at the END of the season and then store them IN the garage instead of leaving them strewn all over the lawn and deck for squirrels to play with, because really, it would be SO much easier to just open up the garage on the first nice day and have clean toys." And THEN I sit there and ponder why our lawn is such a squirrel magnet and forget all about the toys that need to be cleaned.
But it was finally nice enough today that I got inspired and decided that instead of sitting in the window contemplating the filthy toys, I would join the kids outdoors with a bucket of sudsy water and a box of Mr. Clean Magic Erasers. And so I began to scrub. And scrub, and scrub some more.
Of course, once I got going, the kids decided that they were done outside and headed inside to wreak havoc in the playroom and wave out the window every few minutes "Mom! It isn't sparkly shiny yet! Keep scrubbing!" They are so helpful, my kids. But then I realized that it was kind of nice and peaceful out there all by myself, and if I just ignored the fact that every indoor toy in the house was being assembled into a "gigantic contraption of amazing proportions," I was actually having a lovely afternoon, sinuses and all.
Since I was having such a peaceful afternoon cleaning, I started scrubbing the outdoor toy box, the windows, and the folding chairs. I even thought really hard about starting in on the picnic table and chairs, but then remembered that oxyclean spray had done wonders on the chairs last year, so continuing would require a run to the grocery store. And I wasn't THAT inspired to continue scrubbing. Thus ended the annual spring cleaning day.
So come, play in our backyard! The toys are clean! A few are verging on sparkly shiny! You can even sit on a clean folding chair! But please, don't use the bathroom, OK? Better if you just go at home...
Dear Sinuses,
I know not why you hate me so. I thought we had finally reached a truce this winter, I made sure to drink lots of tea, I tried to sleep in a more upright position, and I indulged you with steam treatments on a regular basis. You rewarded me (so I thought) by remaining somewhat clear and allowing me to breathe through at least one nostril at a time. I could live with that. I wasn't asking for perfection.
But this morning when I woke up, Left Eye and Teeth registered a formal complaint. It seems that overnight you decided that your working conditions left something to be desired, and you made your displeasure known. Was it the new tea I tried yesterday? I know it wasn't what we were used to, but I thought Tastebuds might want some variety. Or is it the fact that I commented on how well-behaved you have been? I was just trying to pay you a compliment.
Whatever I did to upset you, I deeply, deeply apologize. Please let me make it up to you, just let me know what you need. I truly hope we can resolve this misunderstanding before the trees start blooming.
Sincerely,
Chichimama
For some reason I found this article fascinating. I include the link with apologizes to Undercover Angel, who is battling the louse (of the head variety) as I type...
I can't go back to work, I can't even manage to keep my kids dressed in clothes that fit them. A came up to me this morning after getting dressed an announced: "Mommy, these clothes are too small on me. I tried on every pair of pants in my drawer and they are all too small." And, indeed, I looked and all of her pants are capri length at best. How did I miss this one? It is not like she grew three inches overnight. C, when asked, admitted the same thing. "But that's OK mommy, they don't really hurt my tummy that much."
I bet you anything the kids shoes are too small too. Because I tried to remember the last time I took them to the shoe store and couldn't, which is never a good sign.
A job. I think I am applying for a job. (Good morning honey, I would have called you but you know, the time zone thing...). I'm spinning around my kitchen in a tizzy, trying to figure out how one goes about doing such things since it has been eight years since I did my last job search. How do I do this? Did I bother to update my resume before I left my old job? I bet I didn't. A cover letter. I am pretty sure I need one of those too.
It's not a big job, only a 12-15 hours a week, work from home most of the time, position. Which is, well, perfect. A way to ease back into the world of paid employment. A job that I am, on paper at least, well qualified for. Responsibilities that line up with my former ones. An organization that does advocacy in an area that is somewhat interesting to me, but will send M screaming up a wall in a conservative rage.
A job. I think I am applying for a job.
Not So Little Sister tagged me for this one a while back. As did Boogiemum I think... A little embarrassing that I can come up with so many weird things about me, since I did this one about a year ago too, but hey, it makes me unique, right?
1) I believe in frequent pedicures, but never remember to cut my finger nails until my kids remind me. I think it stems from years of being a nail biter and not having to worry about cutting them. Now that I don't bite my nails, I forget that they do in fact grow...
2) I hate to cook the same meal twice. There are a few repeats in our menus (chili, enchilada casserole, quiche) but in general, I cook something different every night.
3) I only drink chardonnay in the winter and sauvignon blanc in the summer. If you try to serve me a chardonnay in July, I'll drink it, but it won't make me very happy. This time of year is a challenge. I end up keeping a bottle of both on hand, and which one gets opened depends on the temperature.
4) I hate to make left turns into traffic while driving. I try very hard to figure out how to get around without making a left turn. Which is why I love the jug handle. Love. Them.
5) I drink a diet soda almost every morning. I know, it grosses me out too. But I can't drink caffeinated coffee or tea because it sets off my heart palpitations. I can, however, handle the amount of caffeine in a Diet Coke, and it gives me enough pep to get the kids dressed and the beds made.
6) Walmart scares me. It really does. But yet, I can happily spend hours in Target. Are they that different? Not really. But yet, one causes me to have a panic attack and the other makes me do a happy dance. I can't explain it.
I won't tag anyone, but if you missed this one somehow, feel free to join in!
Landismom tagged me for this one (and yes, I know I still owe you a meme too Not So Little Sister...).
Name your five favorite things about feminism, and tag five other people.
1) The fact that I can vote. The ability to vote is one of the most underutilized vehicles for change in this country.
2) The fact that I can chose to be married, or chose not to be. Clearly, I chose to be married, but if I hadn't found "Mr. Right," I still could have owned property, gotten a job, and adopted a child.
3) The fact that I could get a high quality education without having to fight for it. My grandmother was one of the first female doctors, and I will always remember her stories of how she was treated in medical school.
4) The fact that I can wear a dress, high heels and makeup or yoga pants, a tee shirt and sneakers and either choice is acceptable.
5) The fact that (for the moment) my body is my own, and I can choose what to do with it.
I'll tag the last five people who commented on my blog: Steph, Undercover Angel, Gina, Beach Mama and Kristy. But everyone should feel free to join in and play...
like finding out your former apartment in the city you love is worth almost three times what you sold it for. Especially right after you sell the house you bought after selling said apartment for less than you paid for it.
We never, ever, should have left the city. With that kind of profit we could have afforded private school. Green grass is soooo over-rated.
OK, I know I have a bunch of opinionated readers, so I need you to weigh in! I am supposed to be knitting a baby cardigan for the church auction. I wanted it to be a gender neutral color to appeal to the most bidders, but not a boring yellow, or a white that we all know will get stained and ruined within hours. So I went with an orange,
but now that I am knitting it up, it is looking more salmon, and I am not so sure it is very gender neutral any more.
In my stash, I have enough of this Jaegar Roma yarn
to make the sweater. Unlike the Cashsoft above, however, it is not machine washable.
Before I get any further invested, what do you think?
