I had a rough parenting day today. One of my sons embarrassed me in front of friends by telling them that the bouncy party place they had taken us to was boring. Another brought home news of a bad behavior day at school for the second day in a row. And two were found to have cavities...again. Big ones that I can see without any dental training whatsoever.
The blows were spaced throughout the day so that they didn't hit all at once, but by the time the cavities came about I couldn't take any more and flipped out on the neglectful toothbrusher who happens to be a repeat offender. I wanted him to feel badly for the money he will cost us so close to Christmas when there really isn't money to spare. I wanted him to wish he had done better. I wanted him to feel horrible because I was feeling horrible.
When I was done letting Ethan have what I thought he was due I bathed the younger boys, brushed their teeth, and brushed the cavity-riddled ten-year-old boy's teeth because apparently I have to do that. Then I went to my bedroom to finish being furious. On my bed I found Ethan's wallet with a ten dollar bill, a handful of coins and a note that simply said, "yours". It was the last of the money Ethan had made from selling his Nook.
All the steam went out of me, all the muttered curse words vanished, and the absence of anger left me with just the simple feeling of defeat. Why is this so hard? How can I have been a mother for almost thirteen years and still have no clue how to do this right? Why can't I handle disappointment or anger or regret or humiliation without making them problems that consume me? Every time I get arrogant enough to think I have parenting figured out it slaps me with a hundred more things I don't know. How can my sons possibly survive this, let alone become the men I hope they'll be? How can they when I am not the mother I know I need to be?
And not one of today's three problems is the end of the world.
We have insurance, crappy insurance, but insurance nonetheless that will help offset the cost of Ethan's dental work. And a hundred or two dollars this close to Christmas hurts, but it doesn't hurt like not having the money to fix it at all would hurt.
Drew has been in school for three and a half months with only positive green behavior days until yesterday. It could have been orange or red, but it was yellow - the color of a kid who asked a sick friend if he was feeling better when he should have been quietly doing math. And my two-day yellow boy is getting two awards in school this month for being inclusive, not leaving anyone out. Why was I so angry about two days of yellow on a scale of green to red?
As for Trent and the "this is boring I want to go home" embarrassment - he's five. What can I do? He was hungry, not bored, so I guess I could teach him the difference between the two feelings and have a heart-to-heart about emotional eating. But letting him cry himself to sleep during his time out might have been a little harsh for an innocent five-year-old mistake.
These tiny little struggles amount to nothing in the long run. I won't even remember them in a month or a year. But what they have done, along with all the struggles of all the days that came before today, is reminded me of the mom I have always wanted to be but haven't yet figured out how to become. I hope someday my kids have that mom. And I hope I figure out how to be her before all they remember is the one they have now.
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
Do You Take This Woman To Be Your Lady Minister?
Cameron and I took a trip to Maryland during the last week of September. (It was incredibly well-timed considering that all Hell broke loose in DC just as we were leaving.) The main purpose of our visit was to attend Andrew's grandmother's 90th birthday party and his cousin's wedding. (Poor Andrew couldn't come, but I feel like he sent the best representation of the family.)
I will write about the birthday and sight-seeing and beach-going later, but I wanted to cover the wedding first since I've left people waiting for an explanation of events.
The night before the wedding we were having dinner at Aunt Heidi and Uncle Tim's house. (Tim's mac and cheese is da'bomb and may or may not have been a significant factor in my decision to make the trip.) Sometime before I broke Heidi's tortoise shell salad tong thingies from Haiti and sprayed salad dressing all over her kitchen there was some discussion going on between Aunt Holly and Jimmy Lee, (who I believe would be Andrew's second cousin or something once removed), about the possibility of the bride and groom needing him to pinch-hit for the reverend the next day - I guess Reverend Brenda was not a sure thing. And because I occasionally take joy in people's discomfort I began to make suggestions to Jim about how he ought to conduct the ceremony; take a page from The Princess Bride and talk about "mawwage is what bwings us togevah today" and "wuv, twu wuv", etc.
One day I will learn that smart-ass comments usually lead to trouble.
So the day of the wedding we're hanging around in our dressy clothes, watching football with Tim, and waiting for the hour of departure...and then my phone rang. It was Heidi.
"Hello?"
"Hi, you have a job today."
"Oh, ok. What is it?"
"You're going to conduct the ceremony."
"Say again?"
"The reverend cancelled and we need you to officiate the wedding."
That was how I got the gig. I opened my mouth the night before and somehow put my name in the running for Honorary Reverend. It was all legit because the bride and groom had actually been married at the courthouse, (I think), the year before. So while this was the big to-do wedding with the flowers and dancing and all, the real deal was already done and so there was no requirement for legality. (Which, incidentally, should be a theme for all vacations.) Heidi emailed me the script, Tim printed it off with minimal teasing, which I meant to thank him for but forgot to do in my nervousness, and we hit the road.
I read the script over a couple of times in the car, and while I think that the Princess Bride priest actually had a better thing going, I was glad that I didn't have to come up with my own shpeal. I surely would have gotten flustered and made mention of wifely duties and toilet seats in the vows.
Thankfully, we got there early enough to do a dress rehearsal with a stand-in bride and groom. Next time I do this I'm going to pick a "groom" who is less enthused about getting to the "kiss the bride" part. Todd was very disruptive, but for once in his life he had the decency to not mention my cankles which, sadly, were on full-display, so I'll forgive him.
So then it was go time. There were people in the wedding party asking me where to stand and when to go, and I just shrugged my shoulders and told them I was clueless. We did the whole processional and the whole thing was over super fast.
When it came right down to it I wasn't nervous because I hadn't written the slightly weird ceremony, (had I had the time or opportunity I would have liked to put a more tasteful spin on it, but you can't have it all), and also because I was smart enough to know that everyone would be looking at the beautiful bride. No one notices the preacher or minister or whatever unless they really butcher the thing, so as long as I got through it I'd more or less go unnoticed.
After it was all said and done I attended the reception with most of the guests believing I was a progressive lady-minister. Admittedly, that was an odd feeling for a conservative Mormon girl, but the awkward explanations were worth the experience. I can't say that officiating a wedding was ever something I considered putting on my bucket list, but it's there now - crossed out with happy memories to go with it.
I will write about the birthday and sight-seeing and beach-going later, but I wanted to cover the wedding first since I've left people waiting for an explanation of events.
The night before the wedding we were having dinner at Aunt Heidi and Uncle Tim's house. (Tim's mac and cheese is da'bomb and may or may not have been a significant factor in my decision to make the trip.) Sometime before I broke Heidi's tortoise shell salad tong thingies from Haiti and sprayed salad dressing all over her kitchen there was some discussion going on between Aunt Holly and Jimmy Lee, (who I believe would be Andrew's second cousin or something once removed), about the possibility of the bride and groom needing him to pinch-hit for the reverend the next day - I guess Reverend Brenda was not a sure thing. And because I occasionally take joy in people's discomfort I began to make suggestions to Jim about how he ought to conduct the ceremony; take a page from The Princess Bride and talk about "mawwage is what bwings us togevah today" and "wuv, twu wuv", etc.
One day I will learn that smart-ass comments usually lead to trouble.
So the day of the wedding we're hanging around in our dressy clothes, watching football with Tim, and waiting for the hour of departure...and then my phone rang. It was Heidi.
"Hello?"
"Hi, you have a job today."
"Oh, ok. What is it?"
"You're going to conduct the ceremony."
"Say again?"
"The reverend cancelled and we need you to officiate the wedding."
That was how I got the gig. I opened my mouth the night before and somehow put my name in the running for Honorary Reverend. It was all legit because the bride and groom had actually been married at the courthouse, (I think), the year before. So while this was the big to-do wedding with the flowers and dancing and all, the real deal was already done and so there was no requirement for legality. (Which, incidentally, should be a theme for all vacations.) Heidi emailed me the script, Tim printed it off with minimal teasing, which I meant to thank him for but forgot to do in my nervousness, and we hit the road.
I read the script over a couple of times in the car, and while I think that the Princess Bride priest actually had a better thing going, I was glad that I didn't have to come up with my own shpeal. I surely would have gotten flustered and made mention of wifely duties and toilet seats in the vows.
Thankfully, we got there early enough to do a dress rehearsal with a stand-in bride and groom. Next time I do this I'm going to pick a "groom" who is less enthused about getting to the "kiss the bride" part. Todd was very disruptive, but for once in his life he had the decency to not mention my cankles which, sadly, were on full-display, so I'll forgive him.
(The real thing)
When it came right down to it I wasn't nervous because I hadn't written the slightly weird ceremony, (had I had the time or opportunity I would have liked to put a more tasteful spin on it, but you can't have it all), and also because I was smart enough to know that everyone would be looking at the beautiful bride. No one notices the preacher or minister or whatever unless they really butcher the thing, so as long as I got through it I'd more or less go unnoticed.
After it was all said and done I attended the reception with most of the guests believing I was a progressive lady-minister. Admittedly, that was an odd feeling for a conservative Mormon girl, but the awkward explanations were worth the experience. I can't say that officiating a wedding was ever something I considered putting on my bucket list, but it's there now - crossed out with happy memories to go with it.
Thursday, June 6, 2013
Drewby-Dooby-Doo
I woke this morning to the sound of little boy chatter downstairs. I should have known that on his birthday I would not have to pry and beg Drew from his bed, but that he would be downstairs bouncing with anticipation long before my alarm clock set me to the work of breakfast and backpack searches.
Mom guilt forced me to fling my legs over the side of the bed and sit upright. I didn't want Drew to think he wasn't special enough to warrant his mother getting out of bed early to greet him on his special day. I descended to the living room and wished my six year old boy, who promised to stop growing when he reached seven, a happy birthday. I fitted him with his traditional birthday crown and then threw some chocolate chips into pancake batter. Tiny things, really, but a crown and chocolate chips tug the boy's cheeks into an even bigger toothless smile, and then it's on to presents.
He chose his own gifts this year. I think I like it that way better. No wishing for something you aren't going to get. And he ordered them from the internet so long ago that he forgot what they were until he opened them. A stuffed animal, a video game, and Pass the Pigs, which we played at our table when Andrew and I took Drew out to lunch after school. Drew won most of the time.
It's kind of tragic for me to see Drew reach this six year old milestone. His face is shedding the "little" in favor of being just "boy". He has more grown up opinions, fewer fears, and almost no inclination to sit on my lap. It's hard to see him need me less and want me even less than he needs me. He's growing up, and before much longer every trace of the munchkin with the cupie-doll face and the wildly unpredictable mouth will be gone. He'll be a smelly adolescent with adult teeth too big for his face and a larger arsenal of vocabulary for that unpredictable mouth.
But for now, I can probably squeeze a few more bedtime stories and goodnight kisses out of the boy. I will surely miss them when they're gone.
Mom guilt forced me to fling my legs over the side of the bed and sit upright. I didn't want Drew to think he wasn't special enough to warrant his mother getting out of bed early to greet him on his special day. I descended to the living room and wished my six year old boy, who promised to stop growing when he reached seven, a happy birthday. I fitted him with his traditional birthday crown and then threw some chocolate chips into pancake batter. Tiny things, really, but a crown and chocolate chips tug the boy's cheeks into an even bigger toothless smile, and then it's on to presents.
He chose his own gifts this year. I think I like it that way better. No wishing for something you aren't going to get. And he ordered them from the internet so long ago that he forgot what they were until he opened them. A stuffed animal, a video game, and Pass the Pigs, which we played at our table when Andrew and I took Drew out to lunch after school. Drew won most of the time.
It's kind of tragic for me to see Drew reach this six year old milestone. His face is shedding the "little" in favor of being just "boy". He has more grown up opinions, fewer fears, and almost no inclination to sit on my lap. It's hard to see him need me less and want me even less than he needs me. He's growing up, and before much longer every trace of the munchkin with the cupie-doll face and the wildly unpredictable mouth will be gone. He'll be a smelly adolescent with adult teeth too big for his face and a larger arsenal of vocabulary for that unpredictable mouth.
But for now, I can probably squeeze a few more bedtime stories and goodnight kisses out of the boy. I will surely miss them when they're gone.
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
Truth Will Out
It was my fault, really. I had told Cameron that he could look for his old Cub Scout Pinewood Derby car in his box of treasures in my closet, but when he failed to turn it up there, he continued to search other containers I had on the shelves and floor. Cameron knows the ugly truth about Santa and the Easter Bunny and has been sworn to secrecy. So when he stumbled upon my Rubbermaid hiding spot, he told Ethan "Do NOT look in that box!" What else could Ethan do but look?
Ethan is nine and a half years old, so I can't say that this revelation was unwelcome. Granted, Andrew and I are pretty good liars and obviously capable of getting a child to a fairly advanced age with their Santa belief firmly intact, but I was starting to wonder how a kid with street smarts like Ethan has could go so long without making the deductions that would clue him in to the biggest parent lie in the history of ever. I was honestly beginning to wonder if he was a little on the naive side. My concerns were not alleviated when immediately after the discovery of the Easter Bunny goods he asked, "So, is Santa real?" And when I answered in the negative, Ethan asked, "So where did you get the Nooks?"
Seriously? Did he think we made them like elves or something? I thought about telling him that I lifted them from Barnes and Noble while Dad distracted the sales associates with a fake heart attack over the latest Maxim magazine cover...but I just looked at Ethan like he was a bit dense and told him we bought them. Dude. We're not that poor. Well, not all the time, anyway.
Cameron and I talked to Ethan about being part of the secret and the magic of Christmas and how it's a big responsibility to make sure that other kids, especially his little brothers, do not find out about it because we don't want to rob them of the magic prematurely. I then sent the boys to bed to ponder the revelations of the evening.
I went downstairs to tell Andrew that we have another kid "in the know", and found it rather amusing that he was watching his favorite show - "Finding Bigfoot". I guess there are things that some people never figure out, even as adults. If anyone sees Andrew watching this show, please don't tell him that Bigfoot isn't real. I wouldn't want to spoil that wonder for him.
Thursday, January 24, 2013
How the Xbox Changed My Life
It isn't a great secret that I hate video games. I loathe them with a hatred that is nearly indescribable. But just for the sake of trying, let's pretend that video games are called Yvette, and then watch the following clip and you will have an idea of what I mean.
You with me now?
I hate video games. And because of that, we own a Nintendo 64 and a Playstation 2 - two of the most outdated machines you can have - and I have been known to ground the children from them for months at a time and just once to throw the PS2 in a fit of rage. I'm not proud of that, but there it is.
So when my husband and I, along with two of our kids, walked into a Game Stop the other day I can't really say what kind of insanity or evil demon had taken possession of me, but a string of words came out of my mouth that I swear I thought I would never utter.
"Why don't we get an Xbox?"
Yep. That's what I heard myself say. And I didn't have to say it twice before Andrew was on board and the cursed thing was being scanned at the register.
Buyer's remorse is something that I experience with a fair amount of frequency, and this was no exception. All the way home I kept thinking, "What have I done? What have I done??" But then this weird kind of elation came over me, like a beautiful sunrise, and I began to understand the amount of power that I held in that enormous bag on my lap.
Rules were quickly established as to when the Xbox could be played, a system was put into place for the boys to earn their playing time. The rules and the system were implemented on the first day, and the change that has come over my four children is astounding. Not to mention the cleanliness of the house.
First, the boys are never allowed to play unless their rooms are clean, their chores are done and their schoolwork/homework is completed. And then they are awarded ten minutes of playing time per requirement. (Ten minutes for homework, ten for chores, ten for a clean room.)
Second, I have the right to take away minutes for bad behavior or sub-standard work. I've done it twice already, and it is a beautiful thing.
Finally, the kids may earn extra minutes by doing extra work around the house. This is the best part. My van is getting cleaned tomorrow.
What have the results of this plan been? Oh, sweet joy, allow me to share!
Cameron has finished all of his online schoolwork by one in the afternoon every day. He has yet to notice or mention the fact that I've been putting extra lessons in since Tuesday. His chores happen immediately after lunch and I never have to ask him to do them. In addition to his other chores he has done three loads of laundry this week, done the lunch dishes, folded clothes, swept the floor, helped the little kids with their chores, made dinner and vacuumed - all without being asked!
Ethan has resumed his old habit of doing homework, which had disappeared over the last month. He has been kind to his brothers and offered to do extra work.
Drew has decided that he'd rather play with his friend across the street than work to earn dumb old video games. This is the best triumph of all and I hope it lasts!
And finally - Trent has consented to doing the homework that his speech pathologist gives him, which basically means talking with a popsicle stick holding his tongue down and he hates it. But he's practiced more this week than he ever has before, and pretty soon he'll be saying lick and truck and snack without any popsicle stick required.
So as long as the boys continue to be obsessed with the object of my deepest abhorrence, I think we can consider this a win-win. In the meantime I am completely stumped at what to do while I sit on my arse and watch my kids work. So I'm currently playing 12 different games of Words With Friends, eating a lot of cookies and obsessively watching An Idiot Abroad. I may need to start a weight-loss blog soon. Until then, I plan on letting the kids earn ten extra minutes if they vacuum all the cookie crumbs off my chest during the commercials.
You with me now?
I hate video games. And because of that, we own a Nintendo 64 and a Playstation 2 - two of the most outdated machines you can have - and I have been known to ground the children from them for months at a time and just once to throw the PS2 in a fit of rage. I'm not proud of that, but there it is.
So when my husband and I, along with two of our kids, walked into a Game Stop the other day I can't really say what kind of insanity or evil demon had taken possession of me, but a string of words came out of my mouth that I swear I thought I would never utter.
"Why don't we get an Xbox?"
Yep. That's what I heard myself say. And I didn't have to say it twice before Andrew was on board and the cursed thing was being scanned at the register.
Buyer's remorse is something that I experience with a fair amount of frequency, and this was no exception. All the way home I kept thinking, "What have I done? What have I done??" But then this weird kind of elation came over me, like a beautiful sunrise, and I began to understand the amount of power that I held in that enormous bag on my lap.
Rules were quickly established as to when the Xbox could be played, a system was put into place for the boys to earn their playing time. The rules and the system were implemented on the first day, and the change that has come over my four children is astounding. Not to mention the cleanliness of the house.
First, the boys are never allowed to play unless their rooms are clean, their chores are done and their schoolwork/homework is completed. And then they are awarded ten minutes of playing time per requirement. (Ten minutes for homework, ten for chores, ten for a clean room.)
Second, I have the right to take away minutes for bad behavior or sub-standard work. I've done it twice already, and it is a beautiful thing.
Finally, the kids may earn extra minutes by doing extra work around the house. This is the best part. My van is getting cleaned tomorrow.
What have the results of this plan been? Oh, sweet joy, allow me to share!
Cameron has finished all of his online schoolwork by one in the afternoon every day. He has yet to notice or mention the fact that I've been putting extra lessons in since Tuesday. His chores happen immediately after lunch and I never have to ask him to do them. In addition to his other chores he has done three loads of laundry this week, done the lunch dishes, folded clothes, swept the floor, helped the little kids with their chores, made dinner and vacuumed - all without being asked!
Ethan has resumed his old habit of doing homework, which had disappeared over the last month. He has been kind to his brothers and offered to do extra work.
Drew has decided that he'd rather play with his friend across the street than work to earn dumb old video games. This is the best triumph of all and I hope it lasts!
And finally - Trent has consented to doing the homework that his speech pathologist gives him, which basically means talking with a popsicle stick holding his tongue down and he hates it. But he's practiced more this week than he ever has before, and pretty soon he'll be saying lick and truck and snack without any popsicle stick required.
So as long as the boys continue to be obsessed with the object of my deepest abhorrence, I think we can consider this a win-win. In the meantime I am completely stumped at what to do while I sit on my arse and watch my kids work. So I'm currently playing 12 different games of Words With Friends, eating a lot of cookies and obsessively watching An Idiot Abroad. I may need to start a weight-loss blog soon. Until then, I plan on letting the kids earn ten extra minutes if they vacuum all the cookie crumbs off my chest during the commercials.
Thursday, January 17, 2013
Five Question Friday
Today I'm going back to Mamma M's good ol' Five Question Friday. I'm not going to link up on her blog, but here's the link to her blog in case you'd like to follow along. I kinda liked the questions this week, so here we go...
1. If you were going to be stuck on a deserted island, which 5 books, movies, people and foods would you take along?
This one is so easy.
Books:
1. The Winter of Our Discontent, because it's my favorite.
2. A Tale of Two Cities, because then I might actually force myself to get through it.
3. Little Women, because I've never read it and always thought I should.
4. A box set of Roald Dahl books, and yes that counts as 1.
5. Twenties Girl, because it's my favorite no-brainer fun read.
Movies:
1. Finding Neverland
2. Little Miss Sunshine
3. Much Ado About Nothing
4. Moulin Rouge (good to sing and dance along with - an important tool when bored on said island)
5. Disney's Meet the Robinsons. I can't explain that.
People:
It would be cheating to say that I'd bring my five guys. So I'll make that against the rules. Also, I want to say Oprah and four more people who hate Oprah because DANG, would that be fun? But I won't do that either. I'm going to say it can't be any family members or friends because this way it's far more interesting.
1. John Krasinski; he's funny and sarcastic in a way that reminds me of my uncle David, and I always enjoy talking to him. Also, Mr. Krasinski isn't terrible to look at.
2. Any person with an English accent because English accents make everything more funny or more civilized, whichever the situation calls for.
3. Alton Brown because he would know how to feed us all.
4. Dean Martin to sing to me. Us. Whatever.
5. Ellen Page. She seems alright, and she might be more crass than me, making me appear to be more ladylike and such. Plus, she's good looking and can be the one to populate the island if such a need arose. I'm kinda done with that nonsense.
Foods:
(Assuming there are fruits and wild game available on the island)
1. Ding Dongs. I know, they don't exist anymore. Still counts.
2. Fried chicken.
3. Dr. Pepper
4. Reese's cereal (milk included)
5. Peaches. Just in case there are none on said island.
4. What's the temperature where you are?
Mid-Forties for highs, low thirties for lows...chilly in the bedroom. Only kidding. Just seemed too boring a question.
5. Are you a winter/spring/fall/summer person?
I hate the cold, so I'm going to go with anything but winter. I find fabulous inspiration in all other seasons. Spring is lovely for cleaning, summer is fabulous for outings, fall is great for packing on weight for those long, cold winter months.
Alrighty. That's all for today. Have a lovely Friday, World.
1. If you were going to be stuck on a deserted island, which 5 books, movies, people and foods would you take along?
This one is so easy.
Books:
1. The Winter of Our Discontent, because it's my favorite.
2. A Tale of Two Cities, because then I might actually force myself to get through it.
3. Little Women, because I've never read it and always thought I should.
4. A box set of Roald Dahl books, and yes that counts as 1.
5. Twenties Girl, because it's my favorite no-brainer fun read.
Movies:
1. Finding Neverland
2. Little Miss Sunshine
3. Much Ado About Nothing
4. Moulin Rouge (good to sing and dance along with - an important tool when bored on said island)
5. Disney's Meet the Robinsons. I can't explain that.
People:
It would be cheating to say that I'd bring my five guys. So I'll make that against the rules. Also, I want to say Oprah and four more people who hate Oprah because DANG, would that be fun? But I won't do that either. I'm going to say it can't be any family members or friends because this way it's far more interesting.
1. John Krasinski; he's funny and sarcastic in a way that reminds me of my uncle David, and I always enjoy talking to him. Also, Mr. Krasinski isn't terrible to look at.
2. Any person with an English accent because English accents make everything more funny or more civilized, whichever the situation calls for.
3. Alton Brown because he would know how to feed us all.
4. Dean Martin to sing to me. Us. Whatever.
5. Ellen Page. She seems alright, and she might be more crass than me, making me appear to be more ladylike and such. Plus, she's good looking and can be the one to populate the island if such a need arose. I'm kinda done with that nonsense.
Foods:
(Assuming there are fruits and wild game available on the island)
1. Ding Dongs. I know, they don't exist anymore. Still counts.
2. Fried chicken.
3. Dr. Pepper
4. Reese's cereal (milk included)
5. Peaches. Just in case there are none on said island.
2. What is your thought on year round school?
We've done both traditional and year round. I have to say that it is nice to have several weeks off to break up the school year. The only way I don't prefer year round is when the elementary schools are year round and the high schools are not. We gotta have all our kids on the same schedule. And since no high school or middle/Jr. high school is year-round - traditional wins out.
3.
What is your most embarrassing potty story? (Can't be one of your kids'
potty stories either!) Hee Hee! This cracks me up and stems from a
HILARIOUS twitter conversation...
Honestly - how do you choose? Please see side-bar label titled "Potty Humor". One of the most embarrassing, however, happened recently in a Target restroom and would be far too graphic to share. Suffice it to say that I wouldn't be surprised if they called in forensic specialists after I left.4. What's the temperature where you are?
Mid-Forties for highs, low thirties for lows...chilly in the bedroom. Only kidding. Just seemed too boring a question.
5. Are you a winter/spring/fall/summer person?
I hate the cold, so I'm going to go with anything but winter. I find fabulous inspiration in all other seasons. Spring is lovely for cleaning, summer is fabulous for outings, fall is great for packing on weight for those long, cold winter months.
Alrighty. That's all for today. Have a lovely Friday, World.
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
Discussion of My Viruses
I spent the first three days of the week in bed sick with a wicked cold that was perhaps amplified by the arrival of a new mattress. Who can stay out of bed when staying in it feels like heaven? I may or may not have allowed myself to feel more sick in order to stay in the nice, new bed. But the cold has now retreated into the realm of average viral discomfort and today I had to leave the bed behind and accomplish something.
Today's accomplishments were many, but the best was going to Costco and only spending one hundred and eleven dollars. I would imagine that not many people possess that amount of self control. Small victories.
Prior to venturing outdoors and hitting the shopping scene today I had to make the journey downstairs to survey the damage caused by three days of Mom In Bed. It was fairly extensive, but nothing that can't be repaired within a 24 hour window. The most disconcerting side effect of my self-prescribed bed-rest was my children's mental status. It didn't take long for them to learn to do without Mom's help or supervision and they quickly regressed to a primitive, feeble-minded sort of existence. Allow me to paint for you a picture of what I found when I descended from my shower and make-up application around noon today...
I stepped over two coats, three pairs of shoes, several crunchy leaves, one pencil and a bullet strung on a necklace and entered the kitchen where Drew was vacantly eating a microwaved corn dog and Trent was licking ketchup off of a plate, (presumably because his corn dog had already been devoured, leaving an excess of condiment), and in front of each boy was a portable DVD player. One child was watching Napoleon Dynamite and the other, Cars 2. Simultaneously. With the volume on each machine plenty loud. Cameron was at the table with his head bent over his Nook letting his own lunch get cold while he cleaned poop off of the zebras in his virtual zoo. Toys and clothes were strung about the living room as though every family member had been changing their pants and starting wars between dinosaurs and Avengers in front of the TV all week. Dishes had spilled out of the sink and made their way to a windowsill behind the couch where they were competing with empty Mt. Dew cans for a view of the backyard. So really, it wasn't too bad. I can knock out that kind of mess in less than an hour. It was the glazed-expression, ketchup-licking, double-feature action that was primarily worrying me. So I'm glad that I got out of bed today before things progressed to the kids figuring out how to watch episodes of reality TV on cable.
Really the worst part of this whole sickness ordeal was/is not the mess downstairs or the lost days of productive work that could have been done, or the coughing until I gagged, or even the mush-minded children...it's the cold sore. Seems that every 5 months, or every time I get sick, whichever comes first, I get a cold sore. I hate them more than the fact that Drew has watched Napoleon Dynamite so many times that he is actually starting to adopt some of Napoleon's mannerisms. And with every itch and ooze of my upper lip I can't help but wonder who the hell gave me this disease? I've had them since I was four and no one in my family gets them, so it's likely that I encountered the offender at the home of my then part-time babysitter. But I'd still like a name so I could curse the person as needed. But I would imagine that a lot of people who have herpes have to spend every flare-up wondering who gave them the disease, and at least mine isn't down south, so I shouldn't complain. Things could always be worse.
Anyway - here's to good health. Hope you all have avoided this season's viruses.
Today's accomplishments were many, but the best was going to Costco and only spending one hundred and eleven dollars. I would imagine that not many people possess that amount of self control. Small victories.
Prior to venturing outdoors and hitting the shopping scene today I had to make the journey downstairs to survey the damage caused by three days of Mom In Bed. It was fairly extensive, but nothing that can't be repaired within a 24 hour window. The most disconcerting side effect of my self-prescribed bed-rest was my children's mental status. It didn't take long for them to learn to do without Mom's help or supervision and they quickly regressed to a primitive, feeble-minded sort of existence. Allow me to paint for you a picture of what I found when I descended from my shower and make-up application around noon today...
I stepped over two coats, three pairs of shoes, several crunchy leaves, one pencil and a bullet strung on a necklace and entered the kitchen where Drew was vacantly eating a microwaved corn dog and Trent was licking ketchup off of a plate, (presumably because his corn dog had already been devoured, leaving an excess of condiment), and in front of each boy was a portable DVD player. One child was watching Napoleon Dynamite and the other, Cars 2. Simultaneously. With the volume on each machine plenty loud. Cameron was at the table with his head bent over his Nook letting his own lunch get cold while he cleaned poop off of the zebras in his virtual zoo. Toys and clothes were strung about the living room as though every family member had been changing their pants and starting wars between dinosaurs and Avengers in front of the TV all week. Dishes had spilled out of the sink and made their way to a windowsill behind the couch where they were competing with empty Mt. Dew cans for a view of the backyard. So really, it wasn't too bad. I can knock out that kind of mess in less than an hour. It was the glazed-expression, ketchup-licking, double-feature action that was primarily worrying me. So I'm glad that I got out of bed today before things progressed to the kids figuring out how to watch episodes of reality TV on cable.
Really the worst part of this whole sickness ordeal was/is not the mess downstairs or the lost days of productive work that could have been done, or the coughing until I gagged, or even the mush-minded children...it's the cold sore. Seems that every 5 months, or every time I get sick, whichever comes first, I get a cold sore. I hate them more than the fact that Drew has watched Napoleon Dynamite so many times that he is actually starting to adopt some of Napoleon's mannerisms. And with every itch and ooze of my upper lip I can't help but wonder who the hell gave me this disease? I've had them since I was four and no one in my family gets them, so it's likely that I encountered the offender at the home of my then part-time babysitter. But I'd still like a name so I could curse the person as needed. But I would imagine that a lot of people who have herpes have to spend every flare-up wondering who gave them the disease, and at least mine isn't down south, so I shouldn't complain. Things could always be worse.
Anyway - here's to good health. Hope you all have avoided this season's viruses.
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