Monday, April 30, 2007
Sunday, April 29, 2007
They smell like sunshine, they are sticky with sweat and they are filthy. They have imagined, they have run, they have jumped, swung and dug in the dirt. They have been children, without a care in the world.
Those are the days that I feel like I've done this mothering thing right.
Saturday, April 28, 2007
We needed a few things - famous last words, right? - so we went to Wal-Mart. The brand-spankin-new-even-I-probably-won't-get-a-cart-with-a-wobbly-wheel new one. They must have really upped their usage of the crazy gas they pump in there, because my children were at an all new level of crazy.
Fortunately, we've moved past the tantrum effects of the crazy gas and onto the "put on a show for all the people within 100 feet of us" stage. Cue the wild giggles, the crazy antics, falling down on the filthy floor, where I'm sure vomit was just cleaned up from, strange sound effects and beating ourselves on the head (them, not me, though I considered it). Oh, and burping. That's the newest one. They're almost old enough where I can walk away and pretend I don't know them and give them dirty "where are you're parents, and what planet are they from?" looks. But not old enough yet. However, they HAVE discovered that the more they yell "hey, mom, hey, mom, look at me" that it's really funny to watch mom turn every shade of red and then purple.
My mom always said that it was a mother's job to embarass their children. Clearly my children didn't get *that* memo.
On our second date, we had a belching contest. Really, it was a litmus test that I put him through to see if he could handle it. Not to see if he could win, because I knew he couldn't -- hello, he was raised with manners, and class - he was raised to say ma'am and sir -- certainly not belch in front of a girl on their second date! I, on the other hand, had few manners - but I'd embraced that, and knew that I needed a guy with manners, so that our children had half a chance, but that could also handle the fact that I had none.
I knew he was a keeper after that date.
Thursday, April 26, 2007
But seriously, the younger two folded, and then, we started cheating just to help the others get rid of their cards, so it would be over. If we would have timed it, it would have been a contender for the Guinness Book.
Maybe slap jack tomorrow.
Oh, yeah, this parenting thing is a fun ride.
2. I knew that I'd been known to say to my son, "watch what you're doing when you pee!" "don't look at me while you pee!" and "just where do you think the toilet is, young man?" But wow. Far too embarrassed to let anyone else see that. I'd have to clean it first, before she came.
3. It is on my list of jobs that I'd like to do, right after scooping elephant poo and scouring garbage dumpsters. I couldn't ask someone else to do a job that I would rather live in a box than do.
4. I'm just too cheap. Let's be honest - that's the real reason. At least the only one that I would have the hardest time getting over.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
But this one intrigued me - it's not something for nothing, I have to work for it! And it's one of my favorite blogs. Ever.
At the simple dollar he's giving away books. I love books. But, I need to tell you about a particular post of his that I liked and evoked a response from me. There were several to choose from, but my favorite was this:
The Money-Free Weekend
So, Trent, here goes. Forgive my inability to write.
When we were younger, we used to go on "no spending sprees" where we would only spend money absolutely necessary, usually when I was feeling poor. No, books weren't necessary, nor were shoes, clothing or craft projects. We'd go for a month or more, and when I thought of something that I really wanted, or would have ordinarily purchased without much thought, I'd write it on a list on the fridge. And usually, when the spree was over, I'd find that I didn't really want most of the things on the list. We did it several times, over the space of a couple of years.
I love the idea of not spending any money for an entire weekend. I love what it would teach my children. We could go hiking and bring a picnic, or for a bike ride, or play board games. We could cook together, using things that we already have, with the kids helping to plan the meal, with the only requirement being that they had to use what we already had in the house. We could work in the yard, because Lord knows, it could use some work. Library. Oh, the ideas keep coming!
What I like most about the idea is that all of the plans for this type of weekend involve time spent together as a family. Not going off and doing our own thing, not shopping or running never-ending errands that make me crabby. The errands can wait, or be skipped. We won't get time with our children back, and it can't be done another day. They are growing, fast (you should see their pants, all about three inches too short) and we won't get the time back.
But maybe we'll start on a weekend Dad's working. He'd be grouchy if he couldn't go out for lunch after church.
I scan for little babies first, because it's so heartbreaking. I love the elderly people who's loved ones put in a picture of them when they were young. Especially the really old military pictures.
I love reading the stories, about how people lived their lives and all the people who loved them. It's like a little token of respect, to me, to read what someone carefully crafted about the person that they loved so much.
And, because I'm morbid, I want to hear how they died. But, I guess it's how you lived that matters most, not how you died.
It makes you wonder, though, what your own obituary will say. Or, at least, it does me.
The oldest child said, "Mom, I thought the mailman was supposed to deliver the mail, even in inclement weather."
That kid is a dictionary and encyclopedia, wrapped in a sixty pound package.
Oh, yeah, and did you know, that technically, you could fit the entire population of the world into the state of Rhode Island? I didn't think so either, but was proven wrong by the same eight year old.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
We used to yell at the TV, when they'd interrupt NYPD Blue. I mean yell. Our roof could have been torn off our house, and we'd still be watching it. We wouldn't have moved. I promise. But yet, there was always bad weather on Tuesday nights. It never failed.
And, once the storm is over, they'll go on and on with stories from people who are so stunned they can't speak, because they are busy living the worst day of their lives. And with the pictures of flooding. Okay, we get it. Move on.
But, on a positive note, my vegetables are thoroughly watered. Thoroughly.
One year, before my sewing thing really got to the point it is now (read: ridiculously busy, feel guilty when I do anything but sew), I was short on extra cash, so I decided that I needed no more new projects, that I would simply finish ones that I have partly finished, or I had all the materials for.
Anyhow, I took a year and purchased no new projects. I allowed myself to purchase things that I needed in order to finish a project, like a zipper or final touches for a cross stich. I had more fun that year, crafting. It was fulfilling, it was so productive, and it was such a great way to save money! I'd already spent it! Just use it!
I made a list at the beginning, categorized by type of project. Because, as you know, different situations call for different projects. I think I had close to thirty projects on the list, about six or seven major projects.
I finished them all, save a queen sized quilt that I was handquilting. That I began right after I moved to Texas. In 1997. It's out of style now, so the motivation is minimal. Fortunately, it will come back in style, and I'll get it done. Back to the things I actually finished - I can't even remember them all.
I've recently been doing something similar, but mostly what I've been collecting is fabric and ideas. I LOVE remnants, so I've a large collection of smallish pieces of fabric. Fortunately, I do most of my sewing for smallish people. But, I made my little girl a nightgown and a dress (which she calls her fabric dress - she can't wrap her head around the fact that all dresses are made of fabric). I've got her a pair of pants in the pipeline, as well as matching PJ's for the boys. And some more matching shirts and dress for the little people, because nothing says "I love you" like matching clothes. I'd better start saving for therapy.
But I should get some other things finished first. Gah.
I remember one friend, when she first tried, would warn the whole room. "I'm about to start. I will probably have my whole shirt off before I'm finished. Leave now, if you can't handle it."
It's a mess. There's far too much boob, far too much milk and a little tiny baby. It hurts. I remember crying every time my little girl would latch on. I dreaded it.
So many moms quit right when it really gets easy, about six weeks. Oh, no, I want to say, don't stop now, this is the reward for all the work! No bottle to wash! No formula to mix! The baby will start sleeping through the night soon! Don't stop now - you've done all that work for nothing if you stop now!
I hate how easy the hospitals make it to quit - the ones here stress moms out SO much about the baby's weight gain that many moms start supplementing right away, which make it so easy to quit. Not to worry - the baby will gain plenty! I took a tiny six-pounder to twenty pounds in just four months!! It can be done!!
The formula companies send you formula "just in case" which means, "when you get too fed up, we'll make it easy for you to quit!"
It's so hard at first. But it's so easy, once you get the hang of it. And your baby gets the hang of it. I was so unprepared when I started - I was so sure it was going to be easy. In fact, I never worried about how I was going to feed my baby. I just assumed I could and I would and went from there. I guess maybe I should have asked.
We went to get coffee together, intending to sit and conversate (like adults! unheard of!), but the place was packed, so we took our coffees and acted like the suburban adults that we are, who go nowhere between the hours of 9:00 am and 10:00 without their store-bought latte with a cutesy little insulator thingie. We ran errands that we had absolutely no need to run, but it was time together, talking like adults (!) and enjoying one another's company.
And, we went to the library. I was so pathetic at the library. It's been so long since I've been able to look at books without pictures that I don't even know where to begin. We browsed a long time. Sarge knew just where to go, just the books and authors he knew he wanted to read or not. I looked at non-fiction, I looked at fiction, I looked at romances, and inspirational fiction. I'm too old for romances. I'm likely to fall asleep over non-fiction. I haven't had enough strife in my life to identify with so many fictional characters - it seems so many revolve around the aftermath of the death of a child, and frankly, I just can't handle that. Or career women. Because I totally can't relate to that.
I guess, however, there are no stories of happily married women with (mostly) normal children. Because our lives are just not interesting enough to fill up a book. But that's not really a bad thing, now is it?
Monday, April 23, 2007
I did not rub heads with those people, nor did I even touch them. I didn't go in their rooms or hug their stuffed animals or even really have any contact with them, aside from casual, how-are-you sort of contact.
I itch. My head itches, my legs itch, my feet itch, my fingernails itch. Oh, how I hate the power of suggestion.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
This is the child who was baiting fish hooks at three. This is the child who BEGGED her father to stop the car next time he saw a prarie dog that had been hit by a car, then when he actually did, was absolutely fascinated and thrilled by it's guts. She still talks about this, and it was nearly a year ago. At summer camp, she was the only kid who wanted to feed the iguana the crickets. If she could have placed the cricket in it's mouth, I'm sure she would have.
In a perfect example of her dichotomous nature, she was carrying Cattie the green caterpillar in a sweet yellow teacup.
She made it all the way upstairs to her room with her smaller brother and shut the door, before I realized that there had been no production made about saying goodbye to cattie, and no wailing and gnashing of teeth about having to leave it outside. That's when I suspected that the caterpillar had to be upstairs. I called to her, only to receive no answer. That's when I *knew* the caterpillar was upstairs. I called again. She came down, knowing that she'd been caught, with the caterpillar in the teacup and returned outside, as she wasn't ready to say goodbye.
Of all my children, she will be the one with a toad in her pocket and a lizard in her hand.
When you start a new set of checks, you have to tear off like five pieces of advertising to get to the actual check.
I'm sure I can think of more, but I'm too annoyed right now.
Saturday, April 21, 2007
My kids are still little enough that I warn them when she's coming to our house. And they know it's me, because I really don't want them to develop any nightmare issues - that would be worse than a messy playroom. And, really, I use it as a reason to get them moving to clean up their toys. And to flush out the ones they really don't care about, because they are lazy enough to say "whatever" to a toy and not bother to clean it up.
She's actually only had to come once, but I've used her several times as a threat (oh, say, today) to get them to clean up their toys, just so I can please, please, please vacuum! And, if there's any random toys laying around, they are MINE!
Oh, and the toys that the attic snatcher got when I was little? We usually got them back, from the attic, of course, after a period of desperation and room-cleaning. But, once, much later after we'd moved, my sister and I discovered a box in the garage, brilliantly labelled "attic snatcher." There were toys in there that we hadn't seen for YEARS.
Friday, April 20, 2007
On this particular morning, I go to the oldest first and wake him. Upon his waking, he toots at me. Okay, fine, whatever, as long as you get yourself dressed.
I woke the middle one next. She aimed at me and giggled. Ugh, this is going to be a great morning.
I went to wake the baby - okay, he's not a baby, but he's my baby - and he really worked one up. They all about passed out from laughing so hard.
What on earth have I done to deserve being farted at by three different little people first thing in the morning??
We live in one of those neighborhoods that has a reputation for being filled with children, like in a you-can't-throw-a-rock-and-not-hit-one kind of ways. Like, if I didn't have children I would shudder to think about living here. We live a hop, skip and a jump from an elementary school, so close that I'm embarassed to drive there - it takes about the same amount of time to drive as it does to walk there. It's close. I was shocked to find that the number of elementary age children, not including my own, who's houses we could see, could be counted on two fingers. There are lots of babies and kids younger than elementary age, and heaps of houses full of people with no children. Not what I had hoped for, at all.
However, I've persevered - gotten involved, spent time outside with my kids, riding bikes, which tends to draw other people outside. We've gone to birthday parties, field trips, school functions, and PTA meetings, all in the hopes of meeting friends for all of us. And, so we have.
We've had three playdates this week, two of which included all of us. Like, real, honest-to-goodness let the kids play upstairs/outside while the moms chat about mom stuff. And I loved it. And the oldest went to a friend's house one afternoon and hung out there for several hours. And we're all going to a birthday party tonight, again with the kids playing and moms talking thing.
So, my prayers really have been answered. But here's the problem. I'm tired. I want to be in my house for an afternoon with just me and my kids. Clean laundry is nearly unheard of (Thank goodness the weather has been such that pants AND shorts have been options this week, otherwise there would have been underwear-clad children at school, and we wouldn't have to worry about having friends anymore). Honestly, it's been crazy around here with all the friends and playing and mom-talking. And then the next problem is that it makes me feel really guilty that I'm acting all ungrateful for our newfound fun and friends.
But the plan is, for Saturday, while Dad's at work, to not leave the house, to get up late, to wear pajamas into the afternoon. I'm sure that the children that I remember as perfect angels will be back to arguing with each other, and I'll be wishing for another knock at the door.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
I have the joy of having one of those jobs that give people something that they want, it's a bit of a luxury, and it's often something that they feel is out of reach.
So, when I deliver a set of curtains and hang it, the satisfaction of a clients happy face is worth all the stress that my job also gives me. I can transform a room in a few short hours. Usually the client and I have chosen a style together, then they've gone shopping for just the right fabric. Then I make their curtains. It takes me a long time - I have a lot of curtains to make - so sometimes they've even forgotten what their fabric looks like (!) and so they have a pleasant surprise. And then, I put it all together. What a joy.
Sometimes, things go wrong, the curtains need to come back to my workroom for a little tweaking. Disappointing, but the nature of the business, I think. Only rarely, is there a client who in entirely unhappy. In fact, I can count them on one hand, in eight years of doing this. It breaks my heart when that happens, and it breaks my spirit some, too, because what I do is also who I am.
But, when someone grins and tells me how much they love their curtains, my heart is lifted, and I love my job.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
The shock on their faces when I picked was unforgettable. My favorite was their dad. My husband is the person on this earth that I love most. "But, mommy," their pitiful faces asked, "what about us?" "Oh, I love the three of you next, but daddy is my favorite"
They were devastated for a while, but I think they've gotten used to it, and they are okay with it. They are next, but without my favorite friend in the whole world, I'm not as good a mother or woman. He makes me better, and our friendship is priceless.
I love you, Sarge.
I actually don't like admitting that too often, because the looks of horror I get are hard to take. But, now that my children have all lived through it, it's a little easier to admit. I know, I know, all their diapers told me to put them on their backs, and so did the doctor, and so did the two parenting books I actually read.
I tried. I really did, but my first one couldn't sleep like that. And then I couldn't sleep. And, quite honestly, I decided that the exhaustion was far more dangerous than putting him on his belly to sleep. And he had a mattress that was like a block of wood, and no blankets or stuffed animals, and I did everything else I was supposed to. But he slept like a champ on his belly.
I didn't hold out nearly as long with the second, because I had all that residual exhaustion left over from the 2 1/2 year old. And with the third, I may have tried for a day or two, but not much longer, because, well, there were three of them at that point, and no one had even had a fourth birthday by the time he'd come around.
So, there you have it. I'll start a therapy fund right alongside that college fund, because there are plenty more of those confessions. Oh, and I'll get this one out of the way now: they all eat french fries, and probably all ate them before their first birthdays. You can pick your chin off the floor, now, thankyouverymuch.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Anyhow, I found myself tearing up while watching the convocation, later when talking with a friend about it, again later when talking with my husband about it. I found myself welling up when I went to go pick up little ones from school, knowing that there were others who couldn't hug their children, even though they aren't little anymore. Heck, I found myself trying not to cry while watching dancing with the stars, and I'm trying not to now.
They used to call me waterworks. No one can cry alone, when I'm around. I'm always game to join in. Not even on TV - they cry and I'm right there with them. It's a gift, I tell you.
I'll have to think of brighter things, in between prayers. Like, maybe, my tiny crush on Jimmy Kimmel.
Monday, April 16, 2007
I feel so sad, so unbelievably sad, for those who's defining moments are painful. They are the moments that you have to tell strangers before they can become your friends, that you have to relive each time you tell them. Those are moments that keep you distant from others, who might become your friends, just so you can avoid the pain, but really just prolonging the pain and isolation.
Recently, a woman in our community was attacked. Like the kind of attack that will make you scared to do normal things, like, oh, I don't know, LIVE. She was so unbelievably strong, as she was left for dead, but survived, and I feel she will be instrumental in finding this creature that has hurt her and others before her. I admire her so much, I admire her will to live. But, I worry about her life after the news goes away, and the physical scars heal, and friends either decide to stick by her side or are too horrified and scared to stay her friend.
I am so sad, that before she can marry someone, she'll have to relive this moment, and worry whether the man will stay or go. I am so sad, that she will have to tell her children, when they are old enough. I am so sad, that she will have to return to the scene of the crime, choosing whether she will stay or pack up and find a new place to live. I am so sad that she will have to return to her job and suffer through the well meaning looks and questions, and that people will be nervous to speak to her.
I don't pity her. She doesn't deserve my pity - she's a far stronger woman than I. I just feel sad that her life has changed, not by any choices that she made, and that she will never be the same again. My life has only changed because of choices that I made, and I am only happy to share the memories I have of those life-changing moments. I hate that everyone is not as lucky as I am.
But, as soon as she left, I started tidying my house like mad. Like picking up socks and shoes, and other things that had been laying in the hallway for a week, but I hadn't bothered to move. Why do I not do those things before someone knocks on my door? We live in the kind of neighborhood where you might have unexpected guests, and the kind of neighborhood where everyone has a housekeeper and a nanny and keeps their house immaculate, but then apologizes for the mess. But no one except me has the giant mess, and I should know that someone could come to my door and be invited in and expect to have a place to sit, without having to brush the crumbs off first.
My four year old has a woop. He named it when he was about fifteen months old, in fact it was one of his first words, we just didn't know what it meant. It is a burp cloth that I applied some cute ricrac to. There were two at one time, but the "red woop" got washed with some red clothes and was no longer acceptable, as it was not white with red stripes on it. Then there was just the "orange woop," but that one has some serious issues, and is a little out of favor. I had made a replacement red woop, but it was unacceptable, until the orange one was left at Granny's, and it was a week before it returned to us, but then it didn't smell right, so I took my time washing it, in the hopes that he'd lose interest. He didn't.
The first time I remember NEEDING the woop was when we were in the emergency room when he was about nine months old (most of my memories of his baby-hood involve the hospital or doctor, incidentally) and he was exhausted. It was just me and the three children, as daddy was at work. We'd been there for hours, and he was getting really tired, but I was wearing a black shirt, and each time he'd put his thumb to his mouth and grab for my shirt, he'd see the color and turn away and cry. It was enough to make me cry (I've cried a lot in emergency rooms, quite honestly, usually involving stress and exhaustion). That's when I thought to myself that I'd never leave home without that thing.
Fast forward a year or so, and we were in the emergency room again, but this time, I'd left in such a hurry (a baby turning blue will do that to you) that I forgot it. Things had calmed some, but we were still instructed to spend the night. That's when I got a little desperate and begged my husband to call our friends to come over to watch the other sleeping little ones and bring me that woop. Seriously, not desperate for a toothbrush or a change of clothes, those were secondary, but BRING ME THAT WOOP!
One time he dropped it in a store. We left the store, went to a few other stores, then when we got to the car, he realized it was GONE. We went back to each store, retraced our steps in each one, finally returning to the first store, when we had to ask the teenaged cashier, "um, have you seen a filthy rag with orange stripes and some marker on it?" Indeed he had, and he produced it from under the counter and handed it to us as if it were toxic waste. Grateful AND embarassed!
Recently, he allowed me to wash it. Anyone who's ever had a blankie will know that washing this thing that takes hours to get back to smelling properly of snot and drool and a little bit of Apple Jacks knows what a huge sacrifice this was for him. Too bad after the washing machine was finished, something upset him and he NEEDED his woop. I tried, to no avail, to explain that it was wet and that it needed to go in the dryer. He snatched it out of my hands, while transferring it to the dryer and tried, desperately, to use his woop while he sucked his thumb, but it was so wet that it just made things worse. He hid it from me, I cajoled, he cried, then finally, after I promised that it would only take as long as "one Diego" (because that's a unit of time in four-year-old) and it would be ready for him.
Anyhow, it's currently lost. Fortunately, the pediatrician just a had a man-to-man sit down with him about sucking his thumb, so he's thinking he can go without. He went three nights without his woop, and we made such a to-do about it, and he was so proud of himself, but then last night, he decided that the old orange woop would have to do, he was desperate. He clearly gets his willpower from his mother. After three days on a diet, last Halloween's leftover's look pretty good to me.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Also, when we were building the house and they painted the bathroom, I almost cried, because it looked like someone had thrown baby food peas all over the walls. The builder even felt so bad for me that he offered to have the painters come back and repaint it the same color as the rest of the house.
But, I sucked it up, because that was the color that I had chosen and started decorating. I am now in love with that bathroom. I found the fabric for the curtain forever ago, but was looking for just the right fringe. And I found it. You can't tell from the picture, but the colors are the same as the walls and the fabric, with a little golden brown thrown in for good measure. And, the little acorns look like little turds, but if you can just wrap your mind around the fact that they are little acorns, it helps.
Now, if only I could try to stop hating the big fat cushy towels that I treated myself to, and stop using the old ratty thin ones, I could really feel like I lived in luxury!
She says, "well, it does only happen every four years."
Everyone needs someone in their life that will tell them the truth, whether they want to hear it or not.
The first was when we were newlyweds. I had all the new fancy kitchen equipment, I had cookbooks that I studied, and I had the time an inclination to try new flavors. So, I thought, that any recipe that made it to a book that included chicken, paprika, canned tomatoes, cinnamon and dark chocolate had to be good. I mean, really, if those ridiculous flavors were put together and people actually cooked it and liked it, then it had to be amazing, right?
I'm not sure I'd ever been so wrong about anything. I had the blender going, the chicken cooking, stirring, chopping, can-opening. Then my new husband came downstairs and asked, "what's that smell?" And not in the "oh, wow, I can't wait to eat that yummy thing," but more of the "oh my gosh, what has died in our kitchen and how long ago was it?" way. I was crushed - I'd spent at least an hour working on this dinner that I'd shopped for and prepared for. But, at that moment, I had to admit that it really smelled awful. So bad that I'd already opened the window in the kitchen, but still was hopeful that it was going to get better. My sweet husband informed me that he would take me out to eat that night, and that he'd take care of disposing of the meal in the *outside* trash can. And that we should clean up before we go. And that we should leave the window open while we were gone.
We still laugh about that meal, and compare bad meals to my famous chicken mole. But I think we might have a runner-up. This one's a little closer in time to the last one, so I'm not quite ready to laugh about it. But I made a brisket. 'Cause we've lived in Texas now a long time, and I've still not made a brisket.
This was a brisket that was done in the oven, which apparently, was my first mistake. And, there were cans of tomatoes, which again, was another mistake. And I cooked it for a really long time and added potatoes and there was a lot of seasoning. But, my children balked when it was placed on their plates. My husband took a bite and then pushed his plate away, saying he was glad he wasn't all that hungry. The middle child ate all her meat, but she really wanted a cupcake for dessert, so she was willing to eat just about anything to get that cupcake.
Again, my sweet husband helped me remove the evidence from the kitchen and appreciated my effort, just not the results of my effort. I was thankful that we had a really yummy cake from his aunt to eat for dinner. I was thankful that I hadn't made the recipe as I'd intended days earlier for my in-laws, because my father-in-law wouldn't have been as gracious as my husband. In fact, we laughed, and said the he would have found an excuse to "go to the store" and then would have gone to Sonic and eaten a meal there.
Oh, yeah, and it was his birthday dinner, too. That man is a prize. He ate cake for his birthday dinner and didn't even complain. Okay, neither did I - that cake was really, really good. I'd like some for breakfast, too.
Saturday, April 14, 2007
"Oh," I said, "the tooth fairy. I guess I don't know, then."
Recently, though, the laundry fairy's been a little bit slacker-ish, and so the children have been invited to the laundry fairy's lair to find their clothes, which they think is hysterical. In fact, one morning, the eldest was directed to the lair, and the middle one was VERY angry that her clothing had been brought to her and decided that she WOULD NOT wear those clothes that day, that she needed something else that was not in her bedroom. So she giggled down to the lair.
Unfortunately, the lair is also where I sleep, so the clothing has to be removed every evening before bed, deposited back into the baskets on the floor, then in the morning they are thrown back on to the bed. I've used more energy moving the laundry than I would have had I just folded the darn stuff in the first place. And now, I'm on another round of laundry, not having put away the first round. Oh, I hate being behind on laundry.
Now, if only I could find a toilet scrubbing fairy. 'Cause Lord knows I'm not it.
Friday, April 13, 2007
It's so hard to discipline your children when they are funny.
My ten year old dog is wearing a T-shirt. And she's not even embarrassed. I think that's the part that makes me the saddest. She's got skin issues and she won't stop chewing and scratching her skin, so I thought that covering it might help. It does, but I thought she'd be a little more bothered by the shirt. She's not.
When it comes time to put it on, she doesn't run away. In fact, she sits quietly and lifts up her paws when asked. You'd think that my dog was well trained, but she's really not. She jumps on new people when they come in my door, she scratches the back door when she wants in, and she'll even bark when there's not room for her on the couch. But she'll sit patiently while I put her T-shirt on and then wear it around like she's a little purse dog wearing a swanky sweater.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
I hate it. He's just so not himself, even though they are his eyes looking at me, and his sweet trusting face, looking to mine for consolation. He's a bright boy, but when he's sleepwalking, he's not. He's confused, doesn't understand me and he needs to be treated so differently.
Once I get him back into his bed, he always calms when he's wrapped in his blanket. His breaths slow down, he stops crying. And he never remembers in the morning. He thinks I'm joking, but then says he thinks it's cool that he walks around when he's asleep. Yeah, they'll think it's cool when he's in college and they can make him do crazy stuff in the dorms. I can't wait.
We went to the petting zoo for a field trip for the school today. Cute idea, right? Except that when you're looking at those cute little potbellied pigs, you're right next to the sausage making plant. It's a little disturbing!
Good news, though, I didn't have to wipe anyone's nose, only got a little snot on me, and the only slobber that I had to touch was from the longhorn. AND, no one threw up on the bus, much to my little one's chagrin.
As my kids get older, the more grossed out I am by all the bodily fluids these creatures emit. Maybe it's because I'm not knee deep in them anymore, and can really step back and see all of the glory.