Friday I had an appointment with the College of Mathematics Dean at the University of Utah. I called the meeting to lodge my complaint against the GRE test. I figured that he would thank me for my concerns and shove me out the door and on my way.
However, he didn't. He gave me the option of taking another(!) math class to fulfill this requirement. He said that I'm not the first one to come in with this complaint and so they are working on a different set of graduation requirements that don't dock those of us who passed our classes but can't seem to pass the stupid GRE test.
This is good news...and bad. The good news is that in December I will finally be able to say that I have my bachelor's degree. The bad news is that I have to attend class through the latter stages of my pregnancy. There are about 100 different places I'd rather be than sitting in a classroom (most likely on a separate chair with no adjoining desk because of the hugeness of my belly) while I'm 9 months pregnant. But I guess, it's just retribution for not passing the test the first four times. I could wait another semester, but then I'd have to find a babysitter for two kids, so I think I'm just going to ante up the money and do it this semester. Hopefully, I'll get a professor who is a little more kind to the female population and will understand my plight--namely, there's no guarantee I will be at the final, so can I take it after the baby's born? Here's hoping that I make it the whole 9 months and then some--my due date is the week of finals. Nice.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Friday, June 13, 2008
Book Review Friday June 13, 2008
Book: Austenland
Author: Shannon Hales
Pages: 208
There is a group of women--I've met a few--who love Pride and Prejudice. I am not one of these women. I've tried. I really have. And granted it's been a few years, so maybe it's worth another shot. But a book that can then be made into a six hour movie where I can fall asleep three times, wake up and still know what's going on? Come on. But, I harbor no ill feelings toward these people. I can (kinda) understand the attraction.
So, I was a little hesitant to pick up Austenland at the library. But I was being pulled out the door by a three year old in search of the ice cream cone I promised if he'd behave and the book was sitting right there on the Readers Choice shelf, so I grabbed it. It was rated number one. More people enjoyed this book than any other book on the list (I'm not sure what else was on there, so I guess I can't judge based on that criteria).
And I did read it remarkably fast. Mostly because I found the whole premise of the book bizarre. Jane, a self-penned Pride and Prejudice obsessor (especially over Mr. Darcy), is sent to live out these wild dreams at an Austen-like "resort" in England when her great-aunt dies. At the door she surrenders all her modern conveniences and clothes and goes back in time to the Regent period for three weeks, where certain rules are expected to be followed.
Fellow guests include another American who tries to adopt a fake English accent and introduces herself as 20--though she's closer to 50 and another repeat client who has perfected the roleplaying to a tee. The place is crawling with actors to fill the different roles, including a "Mr. Darcy" himself.
Jane never does fully grasp the concept of the retreat and spends a lot of time wondering what exactly she's doing there. She does come to realize that the lifestyle is a lot more restricting than she prefers. The ending was a little melodramatic for me and I actually rolled my eyes the final few chapters. But it's what makes a good chic lit.
I thought overall the book was good, if not a little bizarre. Each chapter begins with a run down of an ex-boyfriend and what went wrong. You can see why Jane feels hopeless at this stage in her life. While I'm not really into Jane Austen, I think any Jane Austen fan would pick up a lot more out of the book then I did. I did recommend it to my mom because I wanted to get her opinion on it.
Author: Shannon Hales
Pages: 208
There is a group of women--I've met a few--who love Pride and Prejudice. I am not one of these women. I've tried. I really have. And granted it's been a few years, so maybe it's worth another shot. But a book that can then be made into a six hour movie where I can fall asleep three times, wake up and still know what's going on? Come on. But, I harbor no ill feelings toward these people. I can (kinda) understand the attraction.
So, I was a little hesitant to pick up Austenland at the library. But I was being pulled out the door by a three year old in search of the ice cream cone I promised if he'd behave and the book was sitting right there on the Readers Choice shelf, so I grabbed it. It was rated number one. More people enjoyed this book than any other book on the list (I'm not sure what else was on there, so I guess I can't judge based on that criteria).
And I did read it remarkably fast. Mostly because I found the whole premise of the book bizarre. Jane, a self-penned Pride and Prejudice obsessor (especially over Mr. Darcy), is sent to live out these wild dreams at an Austen-like "resort" in England when her great-aunt dies. At the door she surrenders all her modern conveniences and clothes and goes back in time to the Regent period for three weeks, where certain rules are expected to be followed.
Fellow guests include another American who tries to adopt a fake English accent and introduces herself as 20--though she's closer to 50 and another repeat client who has perfected the roleplaying to a tee. The place is crawling with actors to fill the different roles, including a "Mr. Darcy" himself.
Jane never does fully grasp the concept of the retreat and spends a lot of time wondering what exactly she's doing there. She does come to realize that the lifestyle is a lot more restricting than she prefers. The ending was a little melodramatic for me and I actually rolled my eyes the final few chapters. But it's what makes a good chic lit.
I thought overall the book was good, if not a little bizarre. Each chapter begins with a run down of an ex-boyfriend and what went wrong. You can see why Jane feels hopeless at this stage in her life. While I'm not really into Jane Austen, I think any Jane Austen fan would pick up a lot more out of the book then I did. I did recommend it to my mom because I wanted to get her opinion on it.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Feeling a Little Resentful
I admit. I'm not perfect. I know, shocking. But I'm not even as close as I would sometimes like to think I am. Take yesterday for example.
Wade returns from work at 5:45ish, his usual time. It had been a particularly long day for some reason. I didn't feel like doing anything. Josh spent way too much time in front of the television. I spent way too much time idling by. You know, one of those days.
At 6:00, Wade gets his running clothes on and steps outside to "run up the hill". I have little idea of what this means, but he might as well have said that he was going to run around the block or run to Home Depot. I could feel a seed of resentment building in my chest nonetheless. I wish him well and go back to what I'd done all day--nothing. As the minutes tick by, I grow increasingly resentful. Not at Wade. He's just taking care of his body by exercising and this was the time he could best put it in his schedule for the day. I was growing resentful at myself, wallowing in my own self pity if you'd like.
It's been precisely six weeks since I've really gotten out and exercised. And it wasn't until yesterday that I realized why I exercised so religiously before that. It wasn't for the number on the scale--it hadn't really budged since the seven (7!) pounds I put on during our cruise in January (January!). It certainly wasn't because I enjoyed getting up at 5:45 in the morning. I fanatically exercised because it made me feel good. It gave me an hour a day just for myself, where I only concentrated on what I was doing at the moment. That hour of "me-time" carried me throughout the day, lifting me out of self-pity, keeping depression at bay. My house was cleaned by 9:00 am instead of 4:30 pm--if ever. I was showered and ready to tackle the rest of the day. I was more patient with Josh. I was more patient with Wade. I was more patient with myself. Tasks didn't pile up. It was a lovely time.
There's another (well, technically there's about 25 in the neighborhood) pregnant lady that lives nearby. She's about 2 months ahead of me. Three or four days a week she runs 5 miles at 6 am. She's been doing this for years--through all 4 of her pregnancies. I promised myself that I was going to be like her. I was going to fight the fatigue and exercise religiously like I've been doing for the last two years. When I was seven weeks pregnant, I hung up the running shoes and said it's too hard. 6:00 am aerobic classes continue without my (cheery) presence. Instead, I sleep in until 10 am. I mosey around, sometimes not even showering. I've become lazy. And depressed. And wallowing in self pity. Dreams of having nicely sculpted arms and legs and a nice toned butt when I show up to give birth in December--the nurses commenting on my muscle tone, the neighbors jealous because I'm the cutest pregnant lady they've ever seen, my prepregnancy pants fitting nicely as I leave the hospital with my new bundle of joy--are becoming mere fairy tales I'll tell my own daughter one day.
So here's my resolution. I'm going to start today. I'm going to do an hour of exercise every day, no matter how tired or sick or lazy I'm feeling. Some days, it may be just walking. Other days, I'd like to fit in a run and some weight lifting. Maybe still others, a hike or swimming. And I found the most motivating factor when I was training for my marathon was to keep a blog. I'm not sure that a lot of people read it--probably just one or two--but it was nice to have it out there so I could reference back as well as keep myself accountable.
So as not to bore the rest of everyone else, I've started a new blog at www.pregodiaries.blogspot.com where I will be chronicaling my exercising during pregnancy. It will be frank and honest--a look at how exercise really shapes my life, during pregnancy and postpartum.
Wade returns from work at 5:45ish, his usual time. It had been a particularly long day for some reason. I didn't feel like doing anything. Josh spent way too much time in front of the television. I spent way too much time idling by. You know, one of those days.
At 6:00, Wade gets his running clothes on and steps outside to "run up the hill". I have little idea of what this means, but he might as well have said that he was going to run around the block or run to Home Depot. I could feel a seed of resentment building in my chest nonetheless. I wish him well and go back to what I'd done all day--nothing. As the minutes tick by, I grow increasingly resentful. Not at Wade. He's just taking care of his body by exercising and this was the time he could best put it in his schedule for the day. I was growing resentful at myself, wallowing in my own self pity if you'd like.
It's been precisely six weeks since I've really gotten out and exercised. And it wasn't until yesterday that I realized why I exercised so religiously before that. It wasn't for the number on the scale--it hadn't really budged since the seven (7!) pounds I put on during our cruise in January (January!). It certainly wasn't because I enjoyed getting up at 5:45 in the morning. I fanatically exercised because it made me feel good. It gave me an hour a day just for myself, where I only concentrated on what I was doing at the moment. That hour of "me-time" carried me throughout the day, lifting me out of self-pity, keeping depression at bay. My house was cleaned by 9:00 am instead of 4:30 pm--if ever. I was showered and ready to tackle the rest of the day. I was more patient with Josh. I was more patient with Wade. I was more patient with myself. Tasks didn't pile up. It was a lovely time.
There's another (well, technically there's about 25 in the neighborhood) pregnant lady that lives nearby. She's about 2 months ahead of me. Three or four days a week she runs 5 miles at 6 am. She's been doing this for years--through all 4 of her pregnancies. I promised myself that I was going to be like her. I was going to fight the fatigue and exercise religiously like I've been doing for the last two years. When I was seven weeks pregnant, I hung up the running shoes and said it's too hard. 6:00 am aerobic classes continue without my (cheery) presence. Instead, I sleep in until 10 am. I mosey around, sometimes not even showering. I've become lazy. And depressed. And wallowing in self pity. Dreams of having nicely sculpted arms and legs and a nice toned butt when I show up to give birth in December--the nurses commenting on my muscle tone, the neighbors jealous because I'm the cutest pregnant lady they've ever seen, my prepregnancy pants fitting nicely as I leave the hospital with my new bundle of joy--are becoming mere fairy tales I'll tell my own daughter one day.
So here's my resolution. I'm going to start today. I'm going to do an hour of exercise every day, no matter how tired or sick or lazy I'm feeling. Some days, it may be just walking. Other days, I'd like to fit in a run and some weight lifting. Maybe still others, a hike or swimming. And I found the most motivating factor when I was training for my marathon was to keep a blog. I'm not sure that a lot of people read it--probably just one or two--but it was nice to have it out there so I could reference back as well as keep myself accountable.
So as not to bore the rest of everyone else, I've started a new blog at www.pregodiaries.blogspot.com where I will be chronicaling my exercising during pregnancy. It will be frank and honest--a look at how exercise really shapes my life, during pregnancy and postpartum.
Friday, June 6, 2008
Book Review Friday June 6, 2008
Book: Marley and Me
Author: John Grogan
Pages: 290
Rarely do I read a book twice. I have my favorite books, but I like to read them and move on, reflecting back on the lessons I learn. However, I made an exception for this book.
I first "read" this book last year, about this time of the year when I was training for a marathon. It was a grueling task that I had a hard time escaping from using music so I took to downloading books on my ipod and listening while I was out on my long runs. I had a system; they had to be nonfiction books easy to float in and out of. Marley and Me was a perfect fit. Even now, having just read it for real, I still relive those moments last summer when it was just me, my sneakers, and my ipod out on the road.
I was amazed at how much I don't remember of the book. I guess I zoned in and out a lot more than I realized. So really, it was very much like reading it for the first time...maybe a sequel where bits and pieces you remember from the book before.
What begins as a story of a man and his dog is really outlining the journey we all take in life. Grogan and his new bride, set off to add a puppy to their household. A big puppy. One that will grow to be big and sweet and cuddly. And they find all these characteristics--and more--in Marley, a Labrador Retriever.
Soon, Marley has taken over their home, their time, their resources, and their lives. He's grown enormous and has a terrible time in thunderstorms. When the Grogans encounter a particularly unhappy period of time, Marley is there to lick their wounds. He's fiercely loyal, uncharacteristically happy, the epitome of what all dogs--and humans for that matter--should be like.
I instantly fell for Marley because of the dog I had growing up, Baron. Baron was a Golden Retriever with giantism. To say he was huge would be an understatement. He was enormous. And the best friend any gal could ever have. He was the sweetest, most gentle, kindest soul to ever grace this Earth, man or creature. He never snapped, he never bit, he never even so much as growled in your direction. He was perpetually happy and lazy and loyal, living out his days in the sun off the back porch. The two dogs--Marley and Baron--were alike in so many ways, I couldn't help but spend time reliving those years with Baron.
There is no shocking suprise when it's determined that it's Marley's time to go. The way Grogan describes this experience chokes me up still. I remember, quite vividly, the day we had to put Baron down nearly 15 years ago. It's hard to say goodbye to a member of your family, even if it's just a dog. They become a part of who you are and what you become.
I love Grogan's writing style. It's smart without being pretentious and the way he wraps words together is purely magical. I was as entranced with the book reading it as I was listening to it on my ipod. I would definitely recommend this to all dog lovers as a must read. I hear there's even a movie in the making. I'll be first in line when that comes out.
Author: John Grogan
Pages: 290
Rarely do I read a book twice. I have my favorite books, but I like to read them and move on, reflecting back on the lessons I learn. However, I made an exception for this book.
I first "read" this book last year, about this time of the year when I was training for a marathon. It was a grueling task that I had a hard time escaping from using music so I took to downloading books on my ipod and listening while I was out on my long runs. I had a system; they had to be nonfiction books easy to float in and out of. Marley and Me was a perfect fit. Even now, having just read it for real, I still relive those moments last summer when it was just me, my sneakers, and my ipod out on the road.
I was amazed at how much I don't remember of the book. I guess I zoned in and out a lot more than I realized. So really, it was very much like reading it for the first time...maybe a sequel where bits and pieces you remember from the book before.
What begins as a story of a man and his dog is really outlining the journey we all take in life. Grogan and his new bride, set off to add a puppy to their household. A big puppy. One that will grow to be big and sweet and cuddly. And they find all these characteristics--and more--in Marley, a Labrador Retriever.
Soon, Marley has taken over their home, their time, their resources, and their lives. He's grown enormous and has a terrible time in thunderstorms. When the Grogans encounter a particularly unhappy period of time, Marley is there to lick their wounds. He's fiercely loyal, uncharacteristically happy, the epitome of what all dogs--and humans for that matter--should be like.
I instantly fell for Marley because of the dog I had growing up, Baron. Baron was a Golden Retriever with giantism. To say he was huge would be an understatement. He was enormous. And the best friend any gal could ever have. He was the sweetest, most gentle, kindest soul to ever grace this Earth, man or creature. He never snapped, he never bit, he never even so much as growled in your direction. He was perpetually happy and lazy and loyal, living out his days in the sun off the back porch. The two dogs--Marley and Baron--were alike in so many ways, I couldn't help but spend time reliving those years with Baron.
There is no shocking suprise when it's determined that it's Marley's time to go. The way Grogan describes this experience chokes me up still. I remember, quite vividly, the day we had to put Baron down nearly 15 years ago. It's hard to say goodbye to a member of your family, even if it's just a dog. They become a part of who you are and what you become.
I love Grogan's writing style. It's smart without being pretentious and the way he wraps words together is purely magical. I was as entranced with the book reading it as I was listening to it on my ipod. I would definitely recommend this to all dog lovers as a must read. I hear there's even a movie in the making. I'll be first in line when that comes out.
Softball Update
As it turns out, I'm really bad at softball. I think part of the problem is that there just isn't enough going on to hold me rapt for the entire time, but yet there's enough going on that I can't just sit out in left field picking my nose either.
Last night was our second game of the season. I finally understand why no one wants to be the person who orchestrates this whole affair. It's a nightmare. People commit to being on the team, then don't show up. One couple, who I talked to a mere 8 hours before the start of the game never even showed. Didn't call, didn't get a substitute, nothing. Just didn't come. Pisses me off. I certainly wouldn't have told the substitutes of another couple to bring their 3 young children because there would always be two people in the dugout if I knew that this other couple wasn't coming. I just don't get it. I understand things come up. But, a phone call? It's the courteous--and adult--thing to do. I knew that this was going to happen with this particular couple and I was hesitant to invite them on the team, but someone else got to them first. Arrrrrgh. Next year, if people want to play softball, they can manage the team themselves.
Back to my original complaint though. I'm no good at softball. I can hardly hit the ball. I can't catch to save my life and my arm is weak. Lack of these three essentials do not render a good softball player. While I enjoy being outside with my husband and friends doing something active, I'm an embarassment to the team. I can actually feel one guy roll his eyes at me.
"I'm sorry." I want to yell at him. "All the girls who played softball at my high school were lesbians. That's why I never tried out." That and the game is somewhat boring. And I'm not very good. But I keep my mouth shut for good reason. His wife played softball in high school.
So last night, we were up 11-2. I thought we were doing pretty good. But the other team managed to sniff out our weak spot--namely the 5 1/2 month pregnant lady in right field--and they scored 11 runs in one inning. We never could rebound and the final inning they scored another 4 to put them at 17. I went to the scorekeepers box to get the final score so we could know how bad we were doing and the lady tried to soothe me over by saying "You guys are really starting to come together and look good." As in we didn't drop the ball nearly as many times towards the end of the game as we did at the beginning.
I tried making pathetic excuses like "it's been two weeks since we played" and "our regulars aren't here today." The reality was that we just didn't play good. We had some good moments, but for the most part we just bumbled the ball and swung at horrible pitches.
Last night was our second game of the season. I finally understand why no one wants to be the person who orchestrates this whole affair. It's a nightmare. People commit to being on the team, then don't show up. One couple, who I talked to a mere 8 hours before the start of the game never even showed. Didn't call, didn't get a substitute, nothing. Just didn't come. Pisses me off. I certainly wouldn't have told the substitutes of another couple to bring their 3 young children because there would always be two people in the dugout if I knew that this other couple wasn't coming. I just don't get it. I understand things come up. But, a phone call? It's the courteous--and adult--thing to do. I knew that this was going to happen with this particular couple and I was hesitant to invite them on the team, but someone else got to them first. Arrrrrgh. Next year, if people want to play softball, they can manage the team themselves.
Back to my original complaint though. I'm no good at softball. I can hardly hit the ball. I can't catch to save my life and my arm is weak. Lack of these three essentials do not render a good softball player. While I enjoy being outside with my husband and friends doing something active, I'm an embarassment to the team. I can actually feel one guy roll his eyes at me.
"I'm sorry." I want to yell at him. "All the girls who played softball at my high school were lesbians. That's why I never tried out." That and the game is somewhat boring. And I'm not very good. But I keep my mouth shut for good reason. His wife played softball in high school.
So last night, we were up 11-2. I thought we were doing pretty good. But the other team managed to sniff out our weak spot--namely the 5 1/2 month pregnant lady in right field--and they scored 11 runs in one inning. We never could rebound and the final inning they scored another 4 to put them at 17. I went to the scorekeepers box to get the final score so we could know how bad we were doing and the lady tried to soothe me over by saying "You guys are really starting to come together and look good." As in we didn't drop the ball nearly as many times towards the end of the game as we did at the beginning.
I tried making pathetic excuses like "it's been two weeks since we played" and "our regulars aren't here today." The reality was that we just didn't play good. We had some good moments, but for the most part we just bumbled the ball and swung at horrible pitches.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Five Reasons I'm "Special"
1. I do the Salt Lake Tribune online crossword puzzle everyday. There's a timer so you can see how fast you complete it. The best part about it is that it will put all incorrect letters in red. This way, you know when a word is wrong. This habit in and of itself is not special. What makes this particular habit special is that for the past three months, I've been tracking my times in an excel spreadsheet. I was hoping that over time I would see that I was consistently getting faster. But, after reviewing my times, I can tell that it's just very random, depending on how hard the puzzle was that day. Also, by reviewing my times, I fully understand what it means to be a geek.
2. I watch Dateline and 48 Hours with an almost obsessive zeal. I love these shows. My favorite anchor is Keith Morrison. His voice is definitely the best and I actually get little goosebumps when he starts in on the mystery. My obsessive watching causes some panic in my everyday life, however. For instance, I was trying to call a friend, who lives alone and is 64. Twice, her phone picked up and then nothing. So I jumped in the car and drove down to see if everything was okay. I'm not sure what I would've done had I shown up and everything wasn't okay, but I think I'm bordering on paranoid.
3. For the first three months of Josh's life, I ate a six pound bag of gummy bears a week. To this day, I have to physically make myself walk past the gummy bear aisle at the store. I'm not entirely sure what made me stop eating them in bulk, but I still love them.
4. I own a pair of kick-butt red high heels that are totally out of my style comfort level. When I wear them, I always get these double-takes at church because it's totally not what people expect me to wear. I like keeping people on their toes. The shoes are hideously uncomfortable.
5. I have a multitude of theories for different phenomenon in life. For example, I like to ask the question "what age do you see yourself at?" I think that everyone sees themselves at a different age then they really are. My theory is that you see yourself at the age you were when you were the happiest and everything seemed to fall into place. Some people haven't reached that point yet, and they kind of look at me crazy. They'll understand in a few years.
2. I watch Dateline and 48 Hours with an almost obsessive zeal. I love these shows. My favorite anchor is Keith Morrison. His voice is definitely the best and I actually get little goosebumps when he starts in on the mystery. My obsessive watching causes some panic in my everyday life, however. For instance, I was trying to call a friend, who lives alone and is 64. Twice, her phone picked up and then nothing. So I jumped in the car and drove down to see if everything was okay. I'm not sure what I would've done had I shown up and everything wasn't okay, but I think I'm bordering on paranoid.
3. For the first three months of Josh's life, I ate a six pound bag of gummy bears a week. To this day, I have to physically make myself walk past the gummy bear aisle at the store. I'm not entirely sure what made me stop eating them in bulk, but I still love them.
4. I own a pair of kick-butt red high heels that are totally out of my style comfort level. When I wear them, I always get these double-takes at church because it's totally not what people expect me to wear. I like keeping people on their toes. The shoes are hideously uncomfortable.
5. I have a multitude of theories for different phenomenon in life. For example, I like to ask the question "what age do you see yourself at?" I think that everyone sees themselves at a different age then they really are. My theory is that you see yourself at the age you were when you were the happiest and everything seemed to fall into place. Some people haven't reached that point yet, and they kind of look at me crazy. They'll understand in a few years.
Monday, June 2, 2008
Five Reasons My Kid is "Special"
1. He dreams of becoming a bird. Like the cats you see in cartoons, he runs from window to window chasing them. If he's outside he chases them throughout the yard. There's always that look of disappointment on his face when they wisely fly out the grasp of his three year old hands. But he's not detered. He pleads incessantly for us to catch one. I'm not sure where this obsession came from. I think it may have stemmed from when the next door neighbor started keeping homing pigeons in his yard. The other day I caught him opening the sliding door so he could chase the bird inside. That's all I need inside my house. So far, I have yet to meet another bird-obsessed three year old.
2. He doesn't know his colors...but, he does now the name of every Cars car that matches said color. "What color shirt is daddy wearing?" "Lightening McQueen" (red), "What kind of kool-aid should we have for dinner?" "Chick" (green), "What color is the cup?" "Leak Less" (yellow). Where in the movie is Leak Less and how does my three year old know him? I think it's a little bizarre. The doctor thinks it's actually quite smart.
3. He's actually pretty good on Mario Kart for the Wii. He can keep up with the best of them as long as he's not otherwise distracted. I've seen him come in first in a couple of races. Not bad for a kid who can't read.
4. Instead of me reading him a goodnight story, he "reads" me a story. It's the same one every night. I think it might be about a pig and there's some ducks (surprise, surprise) in it. It lasts about 30 seconds and then he kisses me goodnight and tells me to leave his room. Then he proceeds to spend the next 45 minutes reading the same story over and over to himself.
5. We've taught him that he must wear his helmet whenever he rides his bike. He's the only kid in the neighborhood group that wears a helmet consistently. This was, surprisingly, not a difficult thing to teach him. However, once we go outside, say at 11:00 am, he puts on his helmet and wears it until we come back inside, say 5:00 pm. My kid is the one jumping on the tramp, sliding down the slide, swinging on the swings, playing ball, all with his helmet on. I think it kind of makes him look "special". I'm sure the other parents have different terms for it. We'll see who's left laughing when all the other kids have head injuries from falling off the tramp and my kid bounces right back up thanks to his trusty helmet.
2. He doesn't know his colors...but, he does now the name of every Cars car that matches said color. "What color shirt is daddy wearing?" "Lightening McQueen" (red), "What kind of kool-aid should we have for dinner?" "Chick" (green), "What color is the cup?" "Leak Less" (yellow). Where in the movie is Leak Less and how does my three year old know him? I think it's a little bizarre. The doctor thinks it's actually quite smart.
3. He's actually pretty good on Mario Kart for the Wii. He can keep up with the best of them as long as he's not otherwise distracted. I've seen him come in first in a couple of races. Not bad for a kid who can't read.
4. Instead of me reading him a goodnight story, he "reads" me a story. It's the same one every night. I think it might be about a pig and there's some ducks (surprise, surprise) in it. It lasts about 30 seconds and then he kisses me goodnight and tells me to leave his room. Then he proceeds to spend the next 45 minutes reading the same story over and over to himself.
5. We've taught him that he must wear his helmet whenever he rides his bike. He's the only kid in the neighborhood group that wears a helmet consistently. This was, surprisingly, not a difficult thing to teach him. However, once we go outside, say at 11:00 am, he puts on his helmet and wears it until we come back inside, say 5:00 pm. My kid is the one jumping on the tramp, sliding down the slide, swinging on the swings, playing ball, all with his helmet on. I think it kind of makes him look "special". I'm sure the other parents have different terms for it. We'll see who's left laughing when all the other kids have head injuries from falling off the tramp and my kid bounces right back up thanks to his trusty helmet.
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