Is it feed a cold, or starve one? I can never remember, although I'm not sure it makes a difference since I've never been able to starve myself. Or even go a couple of hours without food, for that matter. Here I am with a stuffy nose, sore throat and a headache, but I'm wondering what we have to eat and wishing that McDonald's delivered. I suppose I should be grateful I don't weigh 500 pounds with how much bacon I cook with.
Do all children look at their mother like they've never seen her before and have absolutely no idea what language she is speaking, or am I the only one blessed with this frustration? It never happens when I announce that the chocolate cake is ready, or that it's time to go to the park to play. No, I only become unrecognizable when I ask them to not stand on the dining room table, or tell them to stop stuffing their mouths with fruit snacks and throwing themselves backward off the arm of the couch onto the cushions. That's when they look at me like I just crawled out from under a rock, speaking Swahili. Why am I the bad guy for trying to keep them alive? And why do they become so much more thrill seeking when I'm at my worst? They wait until I'm near death, then start moving furniture for greater distance on the jumps from couch to chair to ottoman. After spending the last 3 hours distracting them from death defying acts, I think I've convinced them to live another day. Right now they've got my exercise ball in the office and are hitting it back and forth with tennis rackets. I can live with that, and what's more- they can too.
Monday, August 29, 2011
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Being Neighborly
How awful am I that I fervently hope someone drops a piano on the neighbor's chihuahua? It might seem a little extreme, but I really don't want to take any chances on the yippy little nightmare surviving. It recently discovered that it can bark you see, and it does so from 10pm until 2am. Not with any sort of enthusiasm, but more with a sense of obligation- like there's absolutely no enjoyment in it for him, he's doing this for our benefit alone. The barking is so monotonous that you can tell time by it, and in fact I have. Count with me: Bark (one mississippi), bark (two mississippi), bark (three mississippi), bark... and when I get to sixty, the numbers on the bedside clock change. Keep that up for the next four hours every day for six days and you will be willing to help me with that piano. I had to take a nap with the kids today so that I can count barks again tonight. Jordan of course has slept through the barking metronome every night and has no idea that I'm plotting against Satan's minion. This way he can deny having any prior knowledge of my wrong doing, and can work on getting me released from prison. I'm hoping that temporary insanity will get me off, or justifiable peticide. Are chihuahuas really real, though? I've always had problems with believing they are living things. I look at them (but never in the eye) and they seem fake, or like little alien dolls in people's purses. What kind of dog allows that? And the way they shake uncontrollably like a ticking time bomb, freaks me out too. The whole thing is making me crazy, I'm a twitchy wreck when I lay down to sleep at night. And when he pauses for a few minutes, I get even more crazy because I KNOW he's going to start again, and the waiting is almost worse than the continuous barking. I'm afraid to go to bed tonight.
Friday, August 19, 2011
The week of WTH?
Jordan hurt his back last week, and 7 days later is still shuffle walking like an old man. In fact, Daniel Trujillo (he's Mitch's friend and he's 2) called Jordan "Grandpa" last night. Just calling it like he sees it, I guess.
Wednesday we found out that Jack's soccer coach bailed, and the entire team wasn't going to be able to play soccer this year if one of the parents didn't "step in". Since Jack has been sleeping in his cleats for over a month now, and little Shane was yelling across the parking lot to us as we pulled in, "Hey, Jack! We get to play soccer!", I HAD throw myself under the bus and 'volunteer' to be coach. I played soccer when I was in Jr. High, but was always made center forward because I wasn't able to follow the rules and could never remember where exactly I was supposed to stop (I've just never been a rule kind of person. The one time I played golf, I got so bored I decided that if I could drive backwards through the sprinklers in the golf cart without getting my hair wet, I didn't have to play the 9th hole.). But everyone seems okay with the idea of me being in charge of teaching their kids, so I suppose I'll just wing it until someone complains. I have a friend who is sending me a Soccer for Dummies book, and I'll cram as much as I can before practice next week so I can seem a little more professional. We had our first practice scheduled for yesterday, but I canceled it due to lightning on the field. Not a good idea to send our babies out as human lightning rods. So, in true Callie fashion- I invited everyone to our house for hot chocolate and snacks. Food is the one thing I'm comfortable with. "When in doubt, feed them" is my motto and it's never failed me yet.
Yesterday morning was a school day, so we got up early to drive the hour to drop Jack off at school. One mile outside of town our tire blows and since I was wearing a dress, Jordan had to be macho macho man and change the tire himself. I was flattered that he thought I was too pretty for manual labor, but I was incredibly frustrated with the stubborn fool. He can barely breathe without wincing, but was crawling around on the ground so I wouldn't get dirty. Bless his gallant heart. Then the canyon was closed to one lane of traffic for construction, and we almost ran out of gas while waiting for our turn to go. By the time we got Jack to school, he was only an hour and a half late, which I thought was pretty good all things considered. So we went to get a new tire while we waited for school to let out. Turns out we needed four, so there went the savings we had started for a trip to Utah for Christmas (sorry everyone). So along with the soccer practice turning into refreshments at my house, I felt blessed to still have all my hair by bedtime.
Today I tried to catch up on all the housework that I've abandoned this week and it took almost all day because I had little people helping me. For some reason, the boys took a dislike to the vacuum and with no communication between them that I could discern, they both ran to get plastic swords so they could beat the hell out of the vacuum as I went through the house. Every time I turned it off, they would step back for a breather, but as soon as it started up again, it was Olympic level Whack-a-mole. When I swept, Mitch stirred the dirt piles with the dustpan, and Jack washed the window with softscrub. I did have a very nice afternoon when my Aunt Linda came to visit with my cousin Bart and his lovely wife Carolina. Jordan didn't have as much fun, however because Bart is also his chiropractor and he tried to rip Jordan in half. Caro (who is a physical therapist) warned me that men usually say their backs hurt when they want to get out of something, and that I should keep an eye on Jordan to make sure he isn't milking it. She was totally kidding of course, but I'm starting to wonder....
Wednesday we found out that Jack's soccer coach bailed, and the entire team wasn't going to be able to play soccer this year if one of the parents didn't "step in". Since Jack has been sleeping in his cleats for over a month now, and little Shane was yelling across the parking lot to us as we pulled in, "Hey, Jack! We get to play soccer!", I HAD throw myself under the bus and 'volunteer' to be coach. I played soccer when I was in Jr. High, but was always made center forward because I wasn't able to follow the rules and could never remember where exactly I was supposed to stop (I've just never been a rule kind of person. The one time I played golf, I got so bored I decided that if I could drive backwards through the sprinklers in the golf cart without getting my hair wet, I didn't have to play the 9th hole.). But everyone seems okay with the idea of me being in charge of teaching their kids, so I suppose I'll just wing it until someone complains. I have a friend who is sending me a Soccer for Dummies book, and I'll cram as much as I can before practice next week so I can seem a little more professional. We had our first practice scheduled for yesterday, but I canceled it due to lightning on the field. Not a good idea to send our babies out as human lightning rods. So, in true Callie fashion- I invited everyone to our house for hot chocolate and snacks. Food is the one thing I'm comfortable with. "When in doubt, feed them" is my motto and it's never failed me yet.
Yesterday morning was a school day, so we got up early to drive the hour to drop Jack off at school. One mile outside of town our tire blows and since I was wearing a dress, Jordan had to be macho macho man and change the tire himself. I was flattered that he thought I was too pretty for manual labor, but I was incredibly frustrated with the stubborn fool. He can barely breathe without wincing, but was crawling around on the ground so I wouldn't get dirty. Bless his gallant heart. Then the canyon was closed to one lane of traffic for construction, and we almost ran out of gas while waiting for our turn to go. By the time we got Jack to school, he was only an hour and a half late, which I thought was pretty good all things considered. So we went to get a new tire while we waited for school to let out. Turns out we needed four, so there went the savings we had started for a trip to Utah for Christmas (sorry everyone). So along with the soccer practice turning into refreshments at my house, I felt blessed to still have all my hair by bedtime.
Today I tried to catch up on all the housework that I've abandoned this week and it took almost all day because I had little people helping me. For some reason, the boys took a dislike to the vacuum and with no communication between them that I could discern, they both ran to get plastic swords so they could beat the hell out of the vacuum as I went through the house. Every time I turned it off, they would step back for a breather, but as soon as it started up again, it was Olympic level Whack-a-mole. When I swept, Mitch stirred the dirt piles with the dustpan, and Jack washed the window with softscrub. I did have a very nice afternoon when my Aunt Linda came to visit with my cousin Bart and his lovely wife Carolina. Jordan didn't have as much fun, however because Bart is also his chiropractor and he tried to rip Jordan in half. Caro (who is a physical therapist) warned me that men usually say their backs hurt when they want to get out of something, and that I should keep an eye on Jordan to make sure he isn't milking it. She was totally kidding of course, but I'm starting to wonder....
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Blogging
Here I am, finally getting around to actually writing something on my blog that was set up almost 2 years ago. It hasn't been procrastination that has kept me from joining the millions already pouring their heart out to whomever is internet capable. To tell the truth, I lost the whole blog immediately after setting it up, and it took another year to find it again. I couldn't remember where I had left it on the worldwide web, but I counted myself lucky since the car keys, kids and wallet were still present and accounted for. Once I found it again, it took another 7 months to start thinking that I might want to look into doing something with it. Everyone tells me I need to be writing down the things that the kids do and say, so that I'll remember it years later. If you were paying attention earlier you'll have a pretty good idea what my memory is like these days, so I'm in agreement that steps need to be taken now to preserve their childhood.
I've already made the decision to keep things real and not sugarcoat life in the Everett household. We are not PG. Not even PG-13 most days. If we were a reality show, we'd be on cable after 11pm. But if I'm going to be documenting for prosperity, I'm going to be brutally honest. The kids may disagree with me, when their therapist pins all of life's problems onto Great Aunt Linda reading about their episode of finger painting with poo, but we'll deal with that as it comes up. Or we'll change therapists. So consider this your warning, this blog is not for the squeamish or faint of heart.
Jack has started pre-school and soccer this year, and it's bittersweet for Jordan and me. It's heart wrenching to send him off on his very first independent life experience, but it's wonderful and gratifying that we have raised someone who is confident in himself and us (he knows we will come back for him, and it's not a permanent situation), despite his communication issues. The first day was a trauma for us as parents, and I had to warn Jordan that he should tone down the stalker attitude, or someone was going to call the police about the creepy-weird guy crouched in the bushes under the window at the pre-school. It's going to be so embarrassing for Jack when dad is still doing it in ten years.
Mitch is loving time alone with mommy while Jack furthers himself, and he gets mad at having to share me with his brother after school. He acts like Jack is a traitor, and doesn't deserve to get hugged after deserting me (I do kind of feel deserted, Jack could at least act like he's going to miss me.). Mitch is also testing to see just how far he can push me before I snap for good. It's been close a couple of times, but I can still remember my name most days, and I definitely remember all three of his after saying them all day.
After spending thirty minutes writing this (it would have been less, but I had to pause to pick pizza out of the rug, and stop Jack from sneaking up behind Mitch and pulling his feet out from under him so that Mitch landed on his face), I'm not sure how often I will be back to update until I get into the swing of things, so hang in there kitten.
I've already made the decision to keep things real and not sugarcoat life in the Everett household. We are not PG. Not even PG-13 most days. If we were a reality show, we'd be on cable after 11pm. But if I'm going to be documenting for prosperity, I'm going to be brutally honest. The kids may disagree with me, when their therapist pins all of life's problems onto Great Aunt Linda reading about their episode of finger painting with poo, but we'll deal with that as it comes up. Or we'll change therapists. So consider this your warning, this blog is not for the squeamish or faint of heart.
Jack has started pre-school and soccer this year, and it's bittersweet for Jordan and me. It's heart wrenching to send him off on his very first independent life experience, but it's wonderful and gratifying that we have raised someone who is confident in himself and us (he knows we will come back for him, and it's not a permanent situation), despite his communication issues. The first day was a trauma for us as parents, and I had to warn Jordan that he should tone down the stalker attitude, or someone was going to call the police about the creepy-weird guy crouched in the bushes under the window at the pre-school. It's going to be so embarrassing for Jack when dad is still doing it in ten years.
Mitch is loving time alone with mommy while Jack furthers himself, and he gets mad at having to share me with his brother after school. He acts like Jack is a traitor, and doesn't deserve to get hugged after deserting me (I do kind of feel deserted, Jack could at least act like he's going to miss me.). Mitch is also testing to see just how far he can push me before I snap for good. It's been close a couple of times, but I can still remember my name most days, and I definitely remember all three of his after saying them all day.
After spending thirty minutes writing this (it would have been less, but I had to pause to pick pizza out of the rug, and stop Jack from sneaking up behind Mitch and pulling his feet out from under him so that Mitch landed on his face), I'm not sure how often I will be back to update until I get into the swing of things, so hang in there kitten.
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