As I write this post, I am sitting in a bounce house. No, don't worry, I'm not bouncing while writing. I am sitting in the parent observation section in the middle of the room, surrounded by bouncing plastic monstrosities.
Not sure how I feel about being considered a parent, although I don't mind being considered the responsible adult.
The lady I babysit for had some free visits, and it was too cold to play outside, so we bundled up and came here.
The door opened and I my eyes beheld a massive explosion of color and chaos.
We arrived just as the place opened. And when I say we, I mean the entire elementary school population of greater Greenville. And their parents. Or responsible adult.
The kids stowed their shoes in the little cubbies and ran into this magical plastic world, squealing with delight.
I sat down and began to observe.
The majority of children here are ages 4-7, although you are allowed to bounce until you are 10. There are a few ten year olds who are trying to pretend that they don't still love it here, and a few babies playing with toys on the floor, but most of the young patrons are running, frantic to get rid of all the post-school-pre-Christmas energy. Some are here for birthday parties, but most are here because their mother needed to get them out of the house.
Speaking of the mothers.
They are all tired. They sit on the plastic chairs, watching their children, drinking Diet Coke, and reading romance novels.
One is crying. She must be at a good part. UPDATE: I just got a look at her book. It is called "Finding the Dream." I'm sure it's a real thriller.
There are a few sets of grandparents reliving their childhood through their grandkids.
There is one middle aged couple holding hands and standing right next to their child, watching his every move.
I see one poor teenaged boy, probably dragged here by his mother, sitting alone and watching some basketball game on TV.
No, I don't know who's playing. I'm only 86% sure I got the right sport.
I don't know why, but I get the feeling that the most exciting thing any of these parents has done recently is sneaking in their own snacks, right past the college guy in a referee shirt at the front desk. Now that is what I call real skill.
Ok, I just had a mom ask me how old my kids are. I may need to get in the bounce house after all.
Friday, December 21, 2012
Monday, December 3, 2012
Remember, Remember the First of December
My family has many holiday traditions, starting with what we like to call, "December First"
We typically like to hold this occasion on December 1st.
You would think that with the high percentage of English teachers that make up the Yost/Stegall/ Hubbard clan that we would have come up with something more original by now. Unfortunately, we have not.
(We also like to call our weekly Sunday evening gathering, "Sunday Night." Go figure.)
Anyway, we have a party every year on the first of December. This annual tradition was started by my mother, aunt, and grandparents long before I was even thought of.
I don't think I'm supposed to end sentences with, "of." Oh well. All's fair in love and blogging.
The originally mission of December First was simple. Give each other gifts that can be used in the weeks preceding Christmas. I suppose my ancestors were tired of receiving holiday-esque gifts on Christmas day only to have to wait an entire year before putting them to use. Or they just liked having another excuse to spread Christmas cheer. Besides singing loud and clear, of course. Either way, our annual holiday kick-off celebration was begun.
I just love it when I am able to use sports in a semi-intelligible way.
For the past sixteen Christmases I have started off the season with my family's party. We have dinner, usually the last of the turkey made into my grandmother's amazing soup and cranberry Wensleydale cheese, open gifts, and then eat the Yost/Stegall/Hubbard TOP SECRET RECIPE Christmas Cranberry Cake.
It's so good I wish I could give you the recipe. But it's also so secret that I don't know it.
But this year, all that changed! Well, only one part of it changed, but when have I not been overly dramatic? No sense starting now!
This year we all kinda agreed that we had been given so, so much, and it was high time we shared with others. So instead of starting out the evening eating, we all met at Wally World to buy Christmas gifts for the ladies and gentlemen living in Miracle Hill facilities. The entire clan spread out all over the stores to fill shopping carts full of toys and soap and clothes and jewelry and balls and notebooks and just about anything else imaginable!
Yes, we got some strange, strange looks.
It was so great. Not the strange looks, I mean. but the whole shopping endeavor. Just wonderful. I am so incredibly blessed with absolutely everything I need, but there are so many people in my little Baptist, Republican, Southern community who aren't. And giving to them, especially around this happy season, was the best gift I could have received.
We typically like to hold this occasion on December 1st.
You would think that with the high percentage of English teachers that make up the Yost/Stegall/ Hubbard clan that we would have come up with something more original by now. Unfortunately, we have not.
(We also like to call our weekly Sunday evening gathering, "Sunday Night." Go figure.)
Anyway, we have a party every year on the first of December. This annual tradition was started by my mother, aunt, and grandparents long before I was even thought of.
I don't think I'm supposed to end sentences with, "of." Oh well. All's fair in love and blogging.
The originally mission of December First was simple. Give each other gifts that can be used in the weeks preceding Christmas. I suppose my ancestors were tired of receiving holiday-esque gifts on Christmas day only to have to wait an entire year before putting them to use. Or they just liked having another excuse to spread Christmas cheer. Besides singing loud and clear, of course. Either way, our annual holiday kick-off celebration was begun.
I just love it when I am able to use sports in a semi-intelligible way.
For the past sixteen Christmases I have started off the season with my family's party. We have dinner, usually the last of the turkey made into my grandmother's amazing soup and cranberry Wensleydale cheese, open gifts, and then eat the Yost/Stegall/Hubbard TOP SECRET RECIPE Christmas Cranberry Cake.
It's so good I wish I could give you the recipe. But it's also so secret that I don't know it.
But this year, all that changed! Well, only one part of it changed, but when have I not been overly dramatic? No sense starting now!
This year we all kinda agreed that we had been given so, so much, and it was high time we shared with others. So instead of starting out the evening eating, we all met at Wally World to buy Christmas gifts for the ladies and gentlemen living in Miracle Hill facilities. The entire clan spread out all over the stores to fill shopping carts full of toys and soap and clothes and jewelry and balls and notebooks and just about anything else imaginable!
Yes, we got some strange, strange looks.
It was so great. Not the strange looks, I mean. but the whole shopping endeavor. Just wonderful. I am so incredibly blessed with absolutely everything I need, but there are so many people in my little Baptist, Republican, Southern community who aren't. And giving to them, especially around this happy season, was the best gift I could have received.
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