While trying to get kids ready for bed last night, my efforts were met with the usual resistance. Milo and Willa were deep in play and Neva was engrossed in a book. But she overheard me telling Bob that I was having no luck getting them to listen.
When I next saw them, Milo was listening intently to Neva tell him all about cartilage in our noses, knees and ears. (Where that came from, I have no idea, but he was enthralled.) "Do you understand, Milo?" she asked.
"Ya!" he answered, nodding with great interest.
"See," Neva said as she turned to me, "he listens to me!"
"Okay, then," I countered. "You get him ready for bed."
Happy sweeping!
Kathleen Gunther
Editor, ContestHound.com
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Happy Birthday to Me!
Okay, I confess! I have a very bad habit of focussing on the negative side of things. I complain about the cold, miserable weather. The kids' poor behaviour. The straps on the car seats. The mess in the living room. I burnt the grilled cheese sandwiches. Again! I think if I were a cartoon character, the little red devil on my shoulder would be tying his rival to a railroad track.
But today, as I was waking up, my regular, "Is it morning already?!" attitude was abruptly halted by the vision of a blonde, cherub-faced little girl at my bedside. She thrust a folded piece of paper in my face.
"Happy Boteday, Mumma!" she smiled brightly.
My birthday is more than 6 months away, but I think for the sake of my sanity (and my family's!), I will celebrate it today anyway. Let's say a little angel told me to!
Happy sweeping!
Kathleen Gunther
Editor, ContestHound.com
But today, as I was waking up, my regular, "Is it morning already?!" attitude was abruptly halted by the vision of a blonde, cherub-faced little girl at my bedside. She thrust a folded piece of paper in my face.
"Happy Boteday, Mumma!" she smiled brightly.
My birthday is more than 6 months away, but I think for the sake of my sanity (and my family's!), I will celebrate it today anyway. Let's say a little angel told me to!
Happy sweeping!
Kathleen Gunther
Editor, ContestHound.com
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Bad Influence ...
Since mid-September, I've been coming down to Bob and Kathleen's every other day to work. The afternoons at the Gunther house are relatively quiet and peaceful, filled with the tapping of keys, cups of green tea, and the pure, unrivalled wit of myself and the Gunthers. Quiet and peaceful, that is, until around 4, when the kids come thumping through the front door. But I don't mind the distraction. In fact, I quite enjoy the company of Neva and Milo (Willa usually doesn't come home until after I've left), and I sometimes joke with my girlfriend that Milo is a bad influence on me. Whenever I say something immature enough to provoke a reproving glance, I can only shrug at my girlfriend, and say, "It's Milo's fault." She doesn't believe me, but the joke will usually get me off the hook for whatever inanity I've committed. The negative outcome, though, is that my girlfriend now sees me as a "big kid," which hasn't done my self-esteem any favours.
The other day, Milo came home from school and asked his mom if he could share a small bag of chips with me, as he often does. She told him he could, but only if he had some fruit. And so, Milo arrived at my desk with a bag of chips and two apples: one for me, one for him. Now that, as I later told my girlfriend, is what I call a good friend. Always inclusive, thinking of others. At least, sometimes.
Yesterday, as 5 o'clock slowly rolled around, and I started to get ready to leave, Milo invited me to stay a bit longer to play with him. We hadn't yet had a chance to wear our "invisible glasses," or eat our single serving bag of chips, and since I really didn't have anything planned for the evening, I gladly accepted my young friend's invitation. I put my shoes away, and we sat at the computer and watched a couple Nascar clips. But within a few moments, I removed my invisible glasses and migrated into Bob's office, to get some advice on a website I've recently launched (SouthernMostReview.com).
It didn't take long for Milo to follow me in, and he spent the next five minutes trying to grab our attention. To, as any good friend would, be inclusive. He handed us some magnetic darts, and encouraged us to throw them at the dartboard. Though Bob and I both played along, Milo could tell, I think, that we weren't really paying attention to the game. That our hearts weren't in it. We were taking too long between turns, and expressing very little excitement over the outcomes of our throws. And so, by about the third half-hearted toss, Milo collected the darts and put them in my hands. I was about to throw again, but he ordered me not to.
"Why not?" I asked.
Milo didn't answer my question. Instead he said, "Mike, you ... you can go now."
"I can throw?"
"No. You can leave. You're not supposed to be here anyway."
I started to laugh. I couldn't help it. Milo often says some pretty funny things, but I could tell by the furrow in his brow that he wasn't kidding. So Bob intervened, tried to explain that he and I were involved in something, and needed a bit of time. But Milo wasn't having any of that.
"No," he said. "It's late. You were supposed to leave a long time ago. So you can go now, okay? You're not supposed to be here." And with that, Milo left the room.
Now, I may not be the shiniest toy in the toy box, but I know how to take a hint. I guess good friends don't just try to be inclusive. They also aren't afraid to let you know, by whatever means necessary, when you're no longer welcome. Needless to say, like being called a "big kid" by my girlfriend, being rejected by a friend 20 years my junior hasn't done my self-esteem any favours either.
Michael Murphy
Guest Writer and Heck of a Nice Guy, ContestHound.com
The other day, Milo came home from school and asked his mom if he could share a small bag of chips with me, as he often does. She told him he could, but only if he had some fruit. And so, Milo arrived at my desk with a bag of chips and two apples: one for me, one for him. Now that, as I later told my girlfriend, is what I call a good friend. Always inclusive, thinking of others. At least, sometimes.
Yesterday, as 5 o'clock slowly rolled around, and I started to get ready to leave, Milo invited me to stay a bit longer to play with him. We hadn't yet had a chance to wear our "invisible glasses," or eat our single serving bag of chips, and since I really didn't have anything planned for the evening, I gladly accepted my young friend's invitation. I put my shoes away, and we sat at the computer and watched a couple Nascar clips. But within a few moments, I removed my invisible glasses and migrated into Bob's office, to get some advice on a website I've recently launched (SouthernMostReview.com).
It didn't take long for Milo to follow me in, and he spent the next five minutes trying to grab our attention. To, as any good friend would, be inclusive. He handed us some magnetic darts, and encouraged us to throw them at the dartboard. Though Bob and I both played along, Milo could tell, I think, that we weren't really paying attention to the game. That our hearts weren't in it. We were taking too long between turns, and expressing very little excitement over the outcomes of our throws. And so, by about the third half-hearted toss, Milo collected the darts and put them in my hands. I was about to throw again, but he ordered me not to.
"Why not?" I asked.
Milo didn't answer my question. Instead he said, "Mike, you ... you can go now."
"I can throw?"
"No. You can leave. You're not supposed to be here anyway."
I started to laugh. I couldn't help it. Milo often says some pretty funny things, but I could tell by the furrow in his brow that he wasn't kidding. So Bob intervened, tried to explain that he and I were involved in something, and needed a bit of time. But Milo wasn't having any of that.
"No," he said. "It's late. You were supposed to leave a long time ago. So you can go now, okay? You're not supposed to be here." And with that, Milo left the room.
Now, I may not be the shiniest toy in the toy box, but I know how to take a hint. I guess good friends don't just try to be inclusive. They also aren't afraid to let you know, by whatever means necessary, when you're no longer welcome. Needless to say, like being called a "big kid" by my girlfriend, being rejected by a friend 20 years my junior hasn't done my self-esteem any favours either.
Michael Murphy
Guest Writer and Heck of a Nice Guy, ContestHound.com
Thursday, November 15, 2007
The Race for the Cup ... Part 2
Last week, I told you all about Milo's obsession with everything and anything NASCAR. (insert link to archives/blog here?) There are daily races throughout the house, posters in his bedroom, and incessant talk about cautions, pit stops and checkered flags. He even passed up a birthday party at a swimming pool a few weeks ago so he wouldn't miss the big race!
Although he cheers on many different cars, Milo has had one favourite driver from the start: Tony Stewart. Milo has a Tony Stewart poster, a Tony Stewart jigsaw puzzle, a Tony Stewart note pad and a special orange HotWheels car that is always Tony Stewart in his play races. His selection wasn't necessarily based on any knowledge of Tony's skill or long career, but because he drives the Home Depot care.
In last week's Sunday race, Tony Stewart was nearing the front of the pack as the race was coming to an end. This was the closest he'd been to winning in quite some time and at about 10 laps to go Milo was giddy with excitement, barely able to contain himself. I was in the kitchen when the race ended, but heard Milo suddenly start to cry. I ran to the to see if he was okay. He was sobbing in to Bob's arms.
"He's upset because Jimmie Johnson won the race," Bob told me.
"I wanted Tony Stewart to win!" he bawled.
Now, if that's not a loyal fan, I don't know what is!
Happy sweeping!
Kathleen Gunther
Editor, ContestHound.com
Although he cheers on many different cars, Milo has had one favourite driver from the start: Tony Stewart. Milo has a Tony Stewart poster, a Tony Stewart jigsaw puzzle, a Tony Stewart note pad and a special orange HotWheels car that is always Tony Stewart in his play races. His selection wasn't necessarily based on any knowledge of Tony's skill or long career, but because he drives the Home Depot care.
In last week's Sunday race, Tony Stewart was nearing the front of the pack as the race was coming to an end. This was the closest he'd been to winning in quite some time and at about 10 laps to go Milo was giddy with excitement, barely able to contain himself. I was in the kitchen when the race ended, but heard Milo suddenly start to cry. I ran to the to see if he was okay. He was sobbing in to Bob's arms.
"He's upset because Jimmie Johnson won the race," Bob told me.
"I wanted Tony Stewart to win!" he bawled.
Now, if that's not a loyal fan, I don't know what is!
Happy sweeping!
Kathleen Gunther
Editor, ContestHound.com
Thursday, November 08, 2007
Super Mom ...
I often wonder how my mother managed to raise all nine of us without losing her mind. There are 13 years separating me from my oldest sister, but only 8 1/2 years between the 8 oldest. That's a lot of clingy and whiny little people to minister to all at once. This week was the most recent time in my life when I was in awe of Mom and her inner strength.
The viruses that run rampant in elementary schools descended upon our house to wreak havoc this week. We’ve run the gamut from fever and congestion to, well, the more unpleasant of flu-like symptoms. I had both Milo and Neva home for three days with fever. I spent my days getting water, propping up pillows, warding off, taking temperatures, giving Tylenol and putting on movies. I’ve been awake through the wee hours 3 nights in a row blowing noses, giving more Tylenol, snuggling them back to sleep and, like last night, stripping beds and doing laundry.
Getting up to send Neva off to school this morning was not high on my priority list, yet I dragged myself out of bed (correction: Willa dragged me out of bed) and started the day. And that’s when I thought of Mom. She was always up before us; only once in my life do I remember her sleeping in. If she was ever sick, I don’t remember it. But she once had 8 kids at the same time with whooping cough. When chicken pox and measles hit, it was never isolated to one child. And I know I was a lot older than my kids were before I could hit the bucket!
But Mom always carried on – being sick is part of life and looking after sick kids is part of raising them. She still managed to get lunches made, laundry done and a hot homemade dinner on the table. (We never had take out in those days). So why do I struggle through the day, pining for my pillow and wishing someone else would cook tonight?
Well, maybe Mom did struggle, just not shamelessly as I do. And I’m sure she would rather have had a nap and ordered in pizza. I’ll never be a Super Mom, but next time I’m feeling tired because the kids were sick, I’ll think of my mother and draw from her strength, her endurance.
So, to Mom I say: Thank you for taking such great care of us, even when you really needed a break. And I’m sorry I threw up on you!
Happy sweeping!
Kathleen Gunther
Editor, ContestHound.com
The viruses that run rampant in elementary schools descended upon our house to wreak havoc this week. We’ve run the gamut from fever and congestion to, well, the more unpleasant of flu-like symptoms. I had both Milo and Neva home for three days with fever. I spent my days getting water, propping up pillows, warding off, taking temperatures, giving Tylenol and putting on movies. I’ve been awake through the wee hours 3 nights in a row blowing noses, giving more Tylenol, snuggling them back to sleep and, like last night, stripping beds and doing laundry.
Getting up to send Neva off to school this morning was not high on my priority list, yet I dragged myself out of bed (correction: Willa dragged me out of bed) and started the day. And that’s when I thought of Mom. She was always up before us; only once in my life do I remember her sleeping in. If she was ever sick, I don’t remember it. But she once had 8 kids at the same time with whooping cough. When chicken pox and measles hit, it was never isolated to one child. And I know I was a lot older than my kids were before I could hit the bucket!
But Mom always carried on – being sick is part of life and looking after sick kids is part of raising them. She still managed to get lunches made, laundry done and a hot homemade dinner on the table. (We never had take out in those days). So why do I struggle through the day, pining for my pillow and wishing someone else would cook tonight?
Well, maybe Mom did struggle, just not shamelessly as I do. And I’m sure she would rather have had a nap and ordered in pizza. I’ll never be a Super Mom, but next time I’m feeling tired because the kids were sick, I’ll think of my mother and draw from her strength, her endurance.
So, to Mom I say: Thank you for taking such great care of us, even when you really needed a break. And I’m sorry I threw up on you!
Happy sweeping!
Kathleen Gunther
Editor, ContestHound.com
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
The Race for the Cup ...
The cars are lined up on the track. Excitement rises as the drivers await the Grand Marshall's highly-anticipated go-ahead: "Gentlemen, start your engines!"
The pace car leads the competitors through the green flag and the race begins! Tony Stewart is in the lead with Jeff Burton and Jimmie Johnson close behind. Only two laps into the race, there's a crash. A caution is called and the yellow flag comes out. The pace car leads the slowing racers around the track while the commentator describes the scene:
"There were three cars. First it went like, neeeaow. And this guy slipped and put on the breaks, both into Jamie McMurray, you know, the 17 car. Carl Edwards spinned and now they're in the pits."
Oh, wait! Did you think this was a NASCAR race? No, this is MASCAR: Milo's Association for Stock Car Auto Racing and the track has been my five-year-old’s 50 or so Hot Wheels cars lined up in an oval throughout the apartment. The race location changes daily -- from dining room floor to laundry room floor to kitchen floor. Some days he's racing the Nextel Cup Series, other days the Busch Series.
Milo has become totally engrossed with Nascar since he started watching it this spring with Bob. He knows the "little" race (the Busch series) is usually on Saturdays and the "big" race (the Nextel Cup Series) on Sundays. He knows the meaning of almost all the different coloured flags, the names and car numbers of at least a dozen of the drivers and is beginning to understand the mechanics of driving. He even has special race clothes that he wears only on Sundays.
And as Milo describes the end of the race, with full-body enthuisasm: "When it’s last lap, it is the white flag. And when somebody wins, it’s a checkered flag. Jimmie Johnson is on the left, Matt Kenseth on the right. Jimmie Johnson went on the bottom of the racetrack, it’s his last chance, and, neeeaow, then flew up ahead. And Jimmie Johnson took the checkered flag and his third career win!"
I don’t think it could be more exciting than that, even if the details are a little mixed up!
Happy sweeping!
Kathleen Gunther
Editor, ContestHound.com
The pace car leads the competitors through the green flag and the race begins! Tony Stewart is in the lead with Jeff Burton and Jimmie Johnson close behind. Only two laps into the race, there's a crash. A caution is called and the yellow flag comes out. The pace car leads the slowing racers around the track while the commentator describes the scene:
"There were three cars. First it went like, neeeaow. And this guy slipped and put on the breaks, both into Jamie McMurray, you know, the 17 car. Carl Edwards spinned and now they're in the pits."
Oh, wait! Did you think this was a NASCAR race? No, this is MASCAR: Milo's Association for Stock Car Auto Racing and the track has been my five-year-old’s 50 or so Hot Wheels cars lined up in an oval throughout the apartment. The race location changes daily -- from dining room floor to laundry room floor to kitchen floor. Some days he's racing the Nextel Cup Series, other days the Busch Series.
Milo has become totally engrossed with Nascar since he started watching it this spring with Bob. He knows the "little" race (the Busch series) is usually on Saturdays and the "big" race (the Nextel Cup Series) on Sundays. He knows the meaning of almost all the different coloured flags, the names and car numbers of at least a dozen of the drivers and is beginning to understand the mechanics of driving. He even has special race clothes that he wears only on Sundays.
And as Milo describes the end of the race, with full-body enthuisasm: "When it’s last lap, it is the white flag. And when somebody wins, it’s a checkered flag. Jimmie Johnson is on the left, Matt Kenseth on the right. Jimmie Johnson went on the bottom of the racetrack, it’s his last chance, and, neeeaow, then flew up ahead. And Jimmie Johnson took the checkered flag and his third career win!"
I don’t think it could be more exciting than that, even if the details are a little mixed up!
Happy sweeping!
Kathleen Gunther
Editor, ContestHound.com
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