And now a word from Granny Grammar…

In more than two years of blogging and reading blogs, I’ve learned something very important:

Some people just don’t have a freaking clue when it comes to certain grammar rules.

I can easily overlook spelling errors and typos, especially in the informal context of blogging. But some errors are so heinous, and repeated so often, they beg to be addressed. So. In the interest of the public at large and the crimes being committed against the English language with terrifying frequency, here are a few, basic grammar and usage rules.

Your and You’re:

You’re missing your favorite movie.

Your is a pronoun which shows possession, as in Is this your coat? or Your eyes are lovely. You’re is a contraction, a short form of the words you are, as in Are you sure you’re alright? and You’re in a lot of trouble, mister. Anytime you start to write (or type) the word you’re, stop and substitute the words you are. If your sentence still makes sense, you’re good.

There, Their and They’re

They’re looking over there for their mittens.

There is a place or a point; it is the opposite of here, as in There is the cafeteria or Is there more to this than meets the eye? Their is a plural pronoun which shows possession, as in Their car is in the shop. They’re is a contraction combining the words they and are, as in They’re [they are] going to the store. Again, substituting the words they are in your sentence can help you determine if usage of they’re is appropriate.

Two, Too and To

Two bears are too many to challenge.

Two is a number, as in I have two dogs. Too is used when the meaning is “in addition,” as in Paris and I attended the party. Nicole came along, too. OR when the meaning is “more than enough,” as in I’ve made too many trips to the pediatrician or Too many cooks spoil the stew. To is a preposition with many definitions (see link), and is generally used whenever two and too are inappropriate, as in We went to the mall and To what do I owe this pleasure? To is also used to anchor an infinitive (to plus a verb), as in To know him is to love him. (I’ll refrain from going on a rant about split infinitives.) (Okay, I can’t refrain completely. It’s Try not to split your infinitive, NOT Try to not split your infinitive. It’s awkward, and it HURTS ME, PEOPLE.)

A lot

A lot of cars were stuck in traffic.

My seventh grade English teacher said, “If you only remember one thing from this entire year, let it be this: A lot is TWO. WORDS. Not one.” Alot is not a word.

Would’ve, Could’ve, Should’ve

Perhaps the most horrific crime currently being committed against the English language is the tendency some folks have to substitute the word of for the word have or for contractions ending in -ve. When I read something like, “I was so mad, I could of screamed,” a little part of me dies. Would’ve. Could’ve. Should’ve. As in would have, could have, and should have. As in I would’ve picked you up at the airport, if I had known you were arriving today.

One last thing, folks…

Every time you write if I had of known (*shudder*), God kills a kitten.

~

Tune in next time, when we address Hillbilly Grammar, and the difference between SEEN and SAW!

How to brighten an otherwise dull work day

1. Play with a puppy during your lunch hour.

2. Repeat daily, as needed.

Note: It helps if the puppy is (a) irresistibly adorable and (b) so happy to see you that he nibbles your ear lobes and dances figure-eights around and through your ankles.

How to keep your two-year-old (and yourself) entertained while waiting in the exam room of the pediatrician’s office

1. Pack crayons and a coloring book in diaper bag/backpack.

2. Offer to color with your toddler.

3. Resign yourself to the fact that he is in charge of the crayons.

4. Which means he can, at his discretion, pull the crayon you’re using out of your hand.

5. Ask him politely for another color. Say “please.”

6. He’s really getting a kick out of this power trip. It’s a game now.

7. Make sure you don’t really give a flip how the picture turns out.

8. The joy is in the path, not the destination.

Advice from the Trenches

Never have more kids than you have hands.

…and we’d teach all the babies this tune *UPDATED*

(Credit where credit is due: This post was inspired by Circus Kelli’s CD list.)

When I was pregnant with The Drama Queen (gasp!) nine years ago, Natalie Merchant appeared on the Rosie O’Donnell show, promoting the CD “For Our Children Too!”, a collection of children’s songs performed by big name artists, which benefits the Pediatric AIDS Foundation. Natalie Merchant sang her contribution to the CD, a waltz-like lullaby called “Come Take a Trip in My Airship.” I was so enamored with this song, I decided then and there that I MUST have that CD so I could learn that song and sing it to my baby. I had the CD within a week. The lyrics (Click on the link to sample the song on Amazon’s site.):

I once loved a sailor
Once, a sailor loved me
But he was not a sailor
Who sailed on the wide blue sea
He sailed in an airship
Sailed like a bird on a wing
And every evening at midnight
He would come to my window and sing

Come take a trip in my airship
Come sail away to the stars
We’ll travel to Venus
We’ll sail away to Mars
Noone will see while we’re kissing
Noone will know as we swoon
So come take a trip in my airship
And we’ll visit the man in the moon

One night, while sailing away from the crowds
We passed through the Milky White Way
While idly drifting, watching the clouds
He asked if I’d name the day
Just by the Dipper, I gave him my heart
The sun shone on our honeymoon
We swore to each we never would part
And we’d teach all the babies this tune

Come take a trip in my airship
Come sail away to the stars
We’ll travel to Venus
We’ll sail away to Mars
Noone will see while we’re kissing
Noone will know as we swoon
So come take a trip in my airship
And we’ll visit the man in the moon

I’ve mentioned this briefly before, but did you know if you sing the same one or two lullabies to a baby from the time he’s born (or in utero, even), that singing (or even humming) one of those songs will often have an almost instantaneous calming effect on the baby? It’s true. I’ve sung this song to all three of my children, though it worked best with Big Boy*. When he was younger, I could sing it from the driver’s seat of the car when he started fussing in the back seat, and he would calm down almost instantly, often going to sleep. This song will always make me think of rocking and cuddling my babies.

* Updated to add: “Come Take a Trip in My Airship” is Big Boy’s naptime lullaby. I sing “Brahm’s Lullaby” at bedtime. When Deputy Dad is on naptime/bedtime duty, I think he usually sings “The Dance”.

Public Service Announcement

Attention Men and Women of the General Public:

If I can actually COUNT YOUR FAT ROLLS through your clothes, YOUR SHIRT IS TOO DAMN TIGHT.

[Update 2-01-05: This entry is in NO WAY intended to imply that I do not have fat rolls, only that I do not offer them up for public display. I won't show you mine, if you don't show me yours, People.]

He Likes It! Hey Mikey!

Baby Boy had baby cereal for the first time last night. I had planned to wait until he was exactly six months old before starting solids; but our big boy was HUNGRY. He was no longer satisfied with only the contents of Mama’s boobs. He was also trying to eat Mama’s face, Daddy’s fingers, his sisters’ hair, his own fists, and anything else he could get in the vicinity of his mouth. And, since he turns six months next week anyway, we decided to go ahead and try the cereal.

Good grief, was Baby Boy excited! He’s been trying to eat our food for a while now (which is one of the signs that a baby’s ready to try solids, by the way), so he was happy to see the spoon coming at his face for a change. He ate every bite, and then tried to eat the bowl. Actually, he tried to eat the bowl BEFORE he had eaten all the cereal, because, as I said before, he tries to eat EVERYTHING he can get his little mitts on. (Takes after his Mama that way.)

So, I guess our baby has officially started solids now. Which will totally screw up things. ‘Cause, you know, one of the best things about a baby that’s exclusively breastfed is not having to mess with bottles or powders or bowls, or any other accoutrements that go along with formula-fed or food-eating babies. Not to mention what this will do to the whole diaper situation. Baby Boy typically poops once every four or five days, which is perfectly normal for a breastfed baby, and may I say very convenient. And breastmilk poop, although not necessarily pleasant - “pleasant poop” would have to be an oxymoron, don’t you think? - is certainly nothing like that slap-yo-Mama stench that escapes the bowels of formula-fed babies. (Now, let me pause here and say I am not, repeat, NOT, criticizing anyone for giving their baby formula. No nasty comments necessary. I’m simply expounding on the differences in the poopage of breastfed and formula-fed babies. I now return you to regular programming…) Starting solids is sure to change not only the frequency of said poopage, but also the odor/texture/consistency factors. I’m figuring he’ll either be constipated or will begin releasing noxious emissions on a daily basis. (Note: “emissions” didn’t sound quite right there, so I looked it up at Dictionary.com. Submit: “A substance discharged into the air, especially by an internal combustion engine.” Yep, that pretty much sums it up.)

So, score one for Gerber Rice Cereal and the advancement of baby bowel movements. And you know you can totally expect more posts about poop. Now there’s something to look forward to.

This is not a drill

Deputy Dad and I married young. We couldn’t even drink legally, but we got married and began our attempt at being grown-ups. A few years and two children later, we decided to become full-fledged adults and buy our first home.

Next on the list: a dog. We must have a family pet to leave in the backyard, untrained and unattended, preferably a LARGE dog who will leave huge piles of LARGE doggie poo all over the yard and will knock over the children with his attempts at LARGE doggie affection.

What’s next, you ask? Why, ANOTHER dog, of course! Because the first one is much too LARGE for the children to really enjoy. We must get a smaller dog to leave in the backyard, untrained and unattended, preferably one that is bouncy and spring-loaded and hyperactive, one that jumps up and down screaming “Look at me! Look at me!” like a three-year old with ADHD, and will knock over the children with his attempts at small doggie affection.

Now, you’d think that since we had taken such care to leave these dogs, untrained and unattended, in our backyard; and because we had worked so hard to grow them into the obnoxious, jumping-on-people-and-knocking-down-children dogs that they are, you’d think that the dogs themselves would be responsible homeowners. Not so.

Apparently, one or both dogs got drunk and passed out last night, while smoking in bed, which we ALL know you are NOT supposed to do; I mean, dammit, they post it on the back of EVERY hotel room door, DO NOT SMOKE IN BED, for crying out loud. But these irresponsible and drunken dogs did NOT heed the warnings of hotel rooms everywhere, and so we had a fire in our backyard last night.

Now, let me repeat that for those of you not paying attention….we had a F.I.R.E.(!!!) in our backyard last night. The phone rang about 3:30 this morning, and the police dispatcher is like, “ummm….[Deputy Dad]? What’s your address? Well, ummm, you’ve got a fire in your backyard.” And Deputy Dad and I are all “Holy Shit!” And I’m running around without my glasses on trying to find the fire extinguisher (which, Thank God in Heaven, was conveniently right there in the garage, right there in plain sight, right outside the back door, right where I could find it in my half-asleep state and without my glasses.), and Deputy Dad got the fire almost put out before the fire extinguisher ran out. (Did you know a fire extinguisher can actually run out in the middle of a fire?! WHAT are the manufacturers thinking??) And then two city police officers showed up, one of whom, thank heavens, had a fire extinguisher in his patrol car. And then the fire department showed up, and it was all I could do to keep from batting my eyelashes and sighing, My hero.

So. Everyone’s fine. The house is…okay. The brick was singed, and the eaves had gotten so hot that the paint had started bubbling. If the fire had burned for just a few more minutes, it probably would’ve caught the eaves (my HOUSE!) on fire.

And the closest window to the fire was, of course, Baby Boy’s room (my BABY!). I shudder to think what could’ve happened. (This is me, shuddering.) I could already smell a little smoke in his room, so he spent the rest of the night in Mommy and Daddy’s room.

Whew. What a night. Deputy Dad and I are exhausted this morning, ’cause, seriously, how can you go back to sleep after something like that? And Baby Boy’s tired, too, ’cause he just doesn’t sleep as well if he’s not in his OWN bed. And the girls? Well-rested and up bright and early this morning. They slept through the whole darned thing. They wouldn’t know anything about the ordeal if we hadn’t told them about it this morning. Which is good. They would’ve completely FREAKED OUT if they had awakened to all the commotion.

So here’s my Public Service Announcement for today: People, when the fire department says you should have smoke detectors in every room, on every floor, they are so not kidding. We currently have only one (ONE!) smoke detector in the entire house, and it’s in the hallway, outside all the bedrooms. If the house had caught fire, the smoke would have had to fill Baby Boy’s room and filter out under the door to reach the smoke detector; and by then……my poor baby……(This is me, shuddering again.)

So, thank God for the police department and the fire department, and for our back-fence NEIGHBOR’S DOG, who alerted our NEIGHBOR to the fire, so that our NEIGHBOR called the fire department. Thank God for our neighbor. Because, as it turns out, our dogs ARE completely and totally useless. They will bark incessantly at squirrels, birds, and non-existent boogey men. But if their doghouses are burning to the ground, in huge, flaming flames? Nothing. No barking. No panicking. No alerting the humans to the danger, danger, DANGER! Nothing. Zero. Zilch. Nada. Ungrateful mongrels. (Warning: tasteless pun ahead.) They are SO fired.