Megan was a super happy toddler but she did have her moments when the temper would flare. When she was around two years old, she began using a phrase that we couldn't translate. Whenever she would get really, really angry, she would stomp her foot, slap her hand down and stammer "I'm...I'm...I'm organizing my tenna-structor!" It was very dramatic and appeared to be completely out of nowhere. She would only say it when she was really angry at us. We had to hide our giggles b/c it was so darn funny to hear her say something so absurd. For months we tried to translate and/or find the source of her quote. We tried different variations on the phrase, with the theory that she was mispronouncing a word.
One day we were watching her Pooh movie. It wasn't her favorite movie but we watched it on occasion. Suddenly, there on the screen was Rabbit, angry at Pooh & friends, stomping his foot, slapping his hand and stammering "I'm constructing my turnip extractor!". Apparently Pooh & friends had greatly interfered with the construction of this so-called turnip extractor and Rabbit was really, really angry. I immediately jumped up and yelled to anyone who would listen that I had finally, after all these months, translated Megan's phrase!
But it was too late.
"Organizing my tenna-structor" was here to stay. It now defined our anger and frustration at a situation. Burn supper? Spill your drink? Forget something important? That might be enough to make anyone organize their tenna-structor.
Today, I organized my tenna-structor when someone hacked my blog and posted spam on the comments. If it happens again, I will have to eliminate Anonymous comments. So in the future, if you try to post anonymously, it may not accept it.
So tell me what makes you organize your tenna-structor?
Monday, November 23, 2009
Sunday, November 15, 2009
I can't think of a title for this one...
...so I'll just tell you what happened.
My profession requires I attend classes every year to keep up with my certification. I decided to attend one in St. Louis this week. I had registered just days before; when I asked on the phone if the course was full, the lady said "Oh, no, we have no limits! We register as many as we can!" The topic was Sensory Processing Disorder. This topic is not only helpful for my job, but I also happen to have a daughter with that diagnosis. I was looking forward to learning new information that might be useful.
When I walked in the room, 50% of the chairs were facing the back of the room. The hotel had put chairs on both sides of the tables, thus resulting in only half of the participants facing the speaker. Remember the "No limit" policy they mentioned? They weren't kidding. I was given a chair in the back corner of the room, with no table to sit at but I thought, at least I can see the speaker. When the speaker arrived, he said No worries, you won't need to see me at all today, there's no Powerpoint, there's no reason to look at me, we're just gonna read from the manual! That was my first clue that I picked a bad course. Clue #2 came when he said All questions have to be asked during the breaks.
I considered leaving but I knew that I wouldn't be able to count the hours, so I would be forced to attend yet another course. So I stayed. I played on my Blackberry, posted on Facebook, texted, whatever I could do to pass the time.
At lunch, I decided to eat in the hotel restaurant. I sat with 3 women I didn't know. I felt like I was in the Twilight Zone. One woman disagreed with every word that came out of my mouth. Another woman responded to each comment with something along the lines of "I"m breastfeeding" or "I need to pump", or "My breasts are really full". I mentioned that my daughter has Sensory Processing Disorder and the other woman waved me away with Oh, we all have sensory issues! When the meal ended and I said I needed a piece of chocolate, they all looked at me like I said I just crapped my pants.
So I found a hotel employee who informed me that the hotel did not have a gift shop but I could find chocolate in the laundry room.
Before lunch, the speaker had ranted on and on about how artificial and processed foods are destroying our children's minds. When I returned from lunch, the hotel had placed packages of artificially sweetened and overprocessed cookies on the tables for us to snack on. I would have raised my hand to comment on it, but remembered he told us Sorry, no questions or comments except at break time. So I ate the fake cookies and the laundry room chocolate.
The afternoon dragged on. I sat in bewilderment when he spent 15 min talking about the side effects of fluorescent bulbs in our schools. He suggested we ask the schools to replace the bulbs with floor lamps. He droned on and on about his research and his publications and his theories.
I finally walked out, 45 min early and shortly after he made a joke about someone being bipolar. If you know me, you know I find no humor in anyone being bipolar.
Of course, now that it's over, I'm glad I stayed. I got my 6 credit hours. I got a day off from work.
And had some squeaky clean chocolate.
My profession requires I attend classes every year to keep up with my certification. I decided to attend one in St. Louis this week. I had registered just days before; when I asked on the phone if the course was full, the lady said "Oh, no, we have no limits! We register as many as we can!" The topic was Sensory Processing Disorder. This topic is not only helpful for my job, but I also happen to have a daughter with that diagnosis. I was looking forward to learning new information that might be useful.
When I walked in the room, 50% of the chairs were facing the back of the room. The hotel had put chairs on both sides of the tables, thus resulting in only half of the participants facing the speaker. Remember the "No limit" policy they mentioned? They weren't kidding. I was given a chair in the back corner of the room, with no table to sit at but I thought, at least I can see the speaker. When the speaker arrived, he said No worries, you won't need to see me at all today, there's no Powerpoint, there's no reason to look at me, we're just gonna read from the manual! That was my first clue that I picked a bad course. Clue #2 came when he said All questions have to be asked during the breaks.
I considered leaving but I knew that I wouldn't be able to count the hours, so I would be forced to attend yet another course. So I stayed. I played on my Blackberry, posted on Facebook, texted, whatever I could do to pass the time.
At lunch, I decided to eat in the hotel restaurant. I sat with 3 women I didn't know. I felt like I was in the Twilight Zone. One woman disagreed with every word that came out of my mouth. Another woman responded to each comment with something along the lines of "I"m breastfeeding" or "I need to pump", or "My breasts are really full". I mentioned that my daughter has Sensory Processing Disorder and the other woman waved me away with Oh, we all have sensory issues! When the meal ended and I said I needed a piece of chocolate, they all looked at me like I said I just crapped my pants.
So I found a hotel employee who informed me that the hotel did not have a gift shop but I could find chocolate in the laundry room.
Before lunch, the speaker had ranted on and on about how artificial and processed foods are destroying our children's minds. When I returned from lunch, the hotel had placed packages of artificially sweetened and overprocessed cookies on the tables for us to snack on. I would have raised my hand to comment on it, but remembered he told us Sorry, no questions or comments except at break time. So I ate the fake cookies and the laundry room chocolate.
The afternoon dragged on. I sat in bewilderment when he spent 15 min talking about the side effects of fluorescent bulbs in our schools. He suggested we ask the schools to replace the bulbs with floor lamps. He droned on and on about his research and his publications and his theories.
I finally walked out, 45 min early and shortly after he made a joke about someone being bipolar. If you know me, you know I find no humor in anyone being bipolar.
Of course, now that it's over, I'm glad I stayed. I got my 6 credit hours. I got a day off from work.
And had some squeaky clean chocolate.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Cheez-its Love Me...This I Know
As a mom/speech therapist, it's very important to me that my kids talk correctly. When they were little, I always listened carefully to their words and if they pronounced something incorrectly, I always provided a correct model for them. Neither of my girls could ever pronounce "crayon" and still today they say "crown" and it drives me crazy! We tried for months to teach Megan how to say "iron". She pronounced it "i-run". I tried not to be the speech Nazi but for goodness sake...if my kids couldn't talk, what kind of speech therapist was I?
When Megan was very small, there were 2 things (among many) that she really loved- Jesus and Cheez-its. Unfortunately, we were unable to discriminate between the 2 words. She could often be found standing at the pantry, asking for Jesus....please can I have a bowl of Jesus...I'm so hungry for Jesus. On Sundays, she would sing "Cheez-its Love Me, this I know" and she often professed to having Cheez-its in her heart.
Last night Scott and I did something we don't normally do. I started an argument and we fought in front of the kids. I was very angry about something and I really let loose. Luckily, it was brief and when it was over, Emily came into the office and asked me if I needed a hug. She leaned in and said "Mommy, I know why you and Daddy were fighting." My mind began to race. Had she really understood what we were talking about? So I said "Really?" She said "Yes, Mommy. I know that Daddy was talking to someone on the phone and he pronounced his words wrong."
All I could do was nod my head and say "Yes, you're right".
And if I'd had a bowl of Jesus, I would have thrown it at your Daddy's head.
When Megan was very small, there were 2 things (among many) that she really loved- Jesus and Cheez-its. Unfortunately, we were unable to discriminate between the 2 words. She could often be found standing at the pantry, asking for Jesus....please can I have a bowl of Jesus...I'm so hungry for Jesus. On Sundays, she would sing "Cheez-its Love Me, this I know" and she often professed to having Cheez-its in her heart.
Last night Scott and I did something we don't normally do. I started an argument and we fought in front of the kids. I was very angry about something and I really let loose. Luckily, it was brief and when it was over, Emily came into the office and asked me if I needed a hug. She leaned in and said "Mommy, I know why you and Daddy were fighting." My mind began to race. Had she really understood what we were talking about? So I said "Really?" She said "Yes, Mommy. I know that Daddy was talking to someone on the phone and he pronounced his words wrong."
All I could do was nod my head and say "Yes, you're right".
And if I'd had a bowl of Jesus, I would have thrown it at your Daddy's head.
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