First Grandbaby

Introducing my first grandchild--K's 'Mike' (AKA 'Floppy Sock') His class is studying measurement and as part of the unit, they each brought bags of rice equal to their own birthweight--in K's case a whopping 9 lbs. 4 0z. The rice was funneled into socks to create rice "babies." They have to care for the rice babies all week, and will receive a grade on Friday based on how clean and well kept their baby is. We did a similar assignment with sacks of flour when I was in school--only it was home economics in the 11th grade. I'm not sure what the social implications are for giving this assignment to eight and nine year olds, or what child care has to do with mastering measurement concepts, but....
At first, K was so proud to have the largest baby of third grade. Later, he decided it was a dubious distinction. He came dragging up the walk, the baby cradled in his arms:
K: Hey, Mom. My arms hurt from carrying Mike-Floppy-Sock. You have no idea how heavy he is.
Oh, no. I wouldn't know anything about that.
I offered to enroll Mike in my daycare. Provided K pay the $85 tuition for infants under 18 months. He decided to pass. It is just as well. I'm already at my maximum capacity. Of course, if the state licensing rep came by, I could stick Mike in the closet. All kidding aside, K takes very good care of his rice baby....thinking of things that I'm sure I would have had no clue about at his age. He retold this conversation from school:
Classmate: Why do you call your baby, "Floppy Sock?"
K: Um. Because it's a sock.
Classmate: Still, you should give it a real baby name. Then it would be like a real baby.
K: Uh, no, it wouldn't. Real babies cry. And poop. And you have to feed them every four hours. A sock is NOTHING like that.
Classmate: You should call him, 'Mike.'
K: O.K., if it makes you happy.
At home, though, he got more into it--asking to dress Mike from the newborn clothes in the shed. And strapping him into a bouncy seat. At one point, he shouted to me from the living room:
K: exasperated MOM! I've got baby trouble in here. M______[8 month old Sunnyside Kid] is trying to eat the CD's and Randy is playing with the radio knobs and I can't do anything about it, because I've got Mike in my arms...." It was his first Calgon-take-me-away moment.
He let Abby babysit for a few minutes while he looked for newborn clothes. She was holding him (properly, with head supported) and cooing at him, saying, "Hello, Mike. I'm your Nana."
Me: No. I'm his nana.
Abby: Then what am I? Oh! I'm his Aunt.
Me: Yes, you are his dad's sister, so you are his aunt.
Abby: Then who is the birthmom?
At this point, I don't really care if K completely flunks the assignment. The comic relief the rice filled sock has brought to our home is priceless. If you have the winter doldrums, you should buy a 10 pound sack of rice and fill an extra large sport sock, call it a baby, and give it to your kids. Talk about some cheap fun!
But the best of them all, was when K came in to the kitchen and with all seriousness stated, "There is just one thing that really dissappoints me." Wondering what on earth could have upset him, the master and I asked, "What's that?"
"That you weren't there for the birth."
That kid kills me.

Yo Hablo Espanol. And Yes, I Do Know Who The Father Is

I own a contract with the U.S. Postal service. Let me assure you that the postal system is as inept, backward, and overpriced as it seems. All of the jokes are true. They make the Russian bureaucracy look like a well oiled political machine. They send you a letter that states that they are going to send you a letter that will precede three forms that will stipulate the changes they are making pursuant to your contract. Notice the word CONTRACT. There seems to be a large amount of confusion regarding this word. A contract is a legally binding agreement in which two parties agree to certain terms for a specified length of time. Now the postal systems says that they have changed my contract?! Um, they can't do that.
But anyway, I did not feel like taking the U.S. Postal system to court over $120.00. Which is what it cost me to have the drug screens for myself, the master, and our relief driver. When it comes time to renew the contract, I will simply add the amount--along with ample padding to cover any other new additions--to my bid. Two can play at this little game.
So yesterday, I loaded up the van with the kiddos and hied myself to the workforce drug screening place to pay for the tests and make my deposit. I sternly warned the children that we were going into a place of business that was not used to having kids in it, that I regretted that they would have to wait with me but that I would get done as soon as possible, and they had better remain calm and quiet OR ELSE. When we stepped in to the waiting room, the kids eyed me suspiciously. There was a large banner pinned to the wall featuring children of all ages and races with the words "PARENTAGE TESTING--100% Accuracy." There was a leggo table and two bubblegum machines, and lots of Highlights lying around. I never thought of that particular market for a lab. I grinned sheepishly at the kids. Ooops. My mistake.
We took seats on the front row. There were four men dressed in the plant jumpers and a long line of Mexican laborers along the back. Raucous laughter from this latter sector erupted as soon as we came in to sight.
Mexican 1: in Spanish One, two, three, four, five...It is taking her a while to figure things out, no?
Mexican 2: in Spanish Maybe she just doesn't pay attention.
Mexican 3: in Spanish Someone should get that woman a calendar!
Of course, they never dreamed that I could understand them and they couldn't see my face turn a dull red. Then one of their amigos came out with his test verification and they lost interest in me. (following conversation in Spanish)
Amigo: Hey, Robert, where are you going now?
Robert: To the house.
Amigo: You aren't going to take the paper to the office?
Robert: No, I'm going to fax it.
Amigo: All right then, good by.
Robert: See you tomorrow.
For some reason this exchange attracted Abby's attention and after Robert had made his exit, she asked loudly, "Mommy, what did they say?" I turned to her and with an equally loud voice translated the conversation. Silence from the back row. I almost feel bad for them. Almost, but not quite.