My poor boys have dragged this 24 hour flu bug out all week. Jack was sick Sunday night, but acted great all day Monday so I took him to school. I thought we must have been living right because no one else got sick. I was so very wrong, because Mitch turned poltergeist on us last night and threw up 9 times in 90 minutes. He's so confused about the whole thing, and acts like an old dog who can only puke if he's on the carpet. He won't keep his head over the bucket, and instead runs around the house yelling and looking for the worst possible place to lose it. Meanwhile, I'm chasing him with the bucket and I have to wrestle him to the floor and hold him still, which means that I changed my clothes 4 times in 90 minutes and Jordan changed his once as well. After the 90 minutes were over, it was like someone had flipped a switch, and my sweet little smiling boy came back. He was singing along with the radio by bedtime. I'm so grateful he got it all over and done with while we were still awake and didn't wait until three in the morning. He's a very considerate fellow. I'm thinking that in a few days I could be the next person in line for that bucket however, based on our friends experience. The Walker's have had the same bug, and I'm thinking that Evan got it at school with Jack because they were the first and they were sick within hours of each other. His little brother Ethan got it next, and currently their parents are busy dying on the couch. This does not give me hope for Jordan and I. We were violently exposed last night with our little Tasmanian Devil. I'm trying to plan ahead for the next few days, and I just realized that I'm entirely too busy to get sick, therefore I politely decline. Thank you, but no thank you. Do you think that will work, or should I do some sort of ritual with a chicken too?
The boys entertained themselves while I disinfected the house today by putting a blanket on the floor to cushion their landing when they jumped off the chair. I nixed that one, and put the dog pillow under the chair. I figure that if I can't stop them from performing a death defying act, I can at least teach them to put some thought into it. They took it one step further and brought all the couch cushions over to really make a soft landing. Smart boys. Can you picture it? A dog pillow and four giant cushions covering the living room floor, and yet somehow Mitch still couldn't seem to hit a soft spot. Every few minutes I'd hear a particularly solid thud followed by crying and the sound of his little feet running to find me. He'd look at me like I was supposed to make it better, so I'd rub his back and tell him that if it hurts, he probably shouldn't do it anymore and maybe he should go find something else to play with. He'd stomp back to the living room, only to repeat the entire process. He'd make a few weak jumps at first, but as soon as his confidence came back he'd get crazy and hit floor again. Finally Daddy came home and broke the cycle by putting the couch back together. Why didn't I think of that?
Friday, September 30, 2011
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Skinny Jeans
Today is a momentous occasion in the weight loss struggle: I am wearing jeans that have been bottom drawered since I got pregnant with Mitch! People who know how I cook will realize what a celebration this must be, because I use a lot of butter. Real butter. I don't think anything non-fat or even low-fat has ever entered my home. If it has, it certainly didn't remain so for very long, when I cook you gain weight just smelling what's in the oven. I've had visitors stop by, and three steps over the threshold they proclaim "Your house smells like butter." Why, thank you! When we get to the dairy section of the grocery store Jack automatically runs over and selects a package of butter to throw in the cart, and I automatically tell him he's a good boy. So you see, it's incredibly hard to lose weight when you are making cookies that tell you to 'melt a pound of butter in a skillet' (german sand cookies- melt in your mouth perfection). Yet, here I am! Ta-Da! Want to know how I celebrated? German Sand Cookies. Mmmmmmm. Want the recipe?
I can't believe how much Mitch is talking now. A lot of the time he is saying things that Jordan and I need a decoder ring to figure out, but sometimes we get lucky and realize that he just answered us! That's when we look at each other in amazement, gasp and completely freak him out with a jumping up and down screaming fit. If we don't scare him into silence, he should be ready for conversational English by Kindergarten. Yesterday he melted my heart when I realized that he was singing along with Buck Owens (don't judge me- it's Jordan's cd. Something's happened to him that only therapy will fix), so we listened to 'Stranger in Town' nine times in a row. Not what I envisioned his first sing-a-long to be, but I'll take what I can get at this point.
Today is a game day. I'm excited to see what The Warriors do on the field. Let's face it, I'm also wondering what they'll do off the field. It's so hard towards the end of each game to keep them all engaged, a couple of them spend time hanging on the net of the goal, one usually has his shirt over his head wandering blindly, and someone always sits down right where they are and refuses to participate any longer. Most of the time that last one is Jack. He's not afraid to just say "I all done". He will wave his hand at you like a Jedi when he says it, like he's trying to bend your mind into thinking it's okay to just ignore the lump on the center line of the field. It's too cute to get frustrated by, and so it works. He's been using it on me for years and now my mind is officially bent. But I'm in my skinny jeans!
I can't believe how much Mitch is talking now. A lot of the time he is saying things that Jordan and I need a decoder ring to figure out, but sometimes we get lucky and realize that he just answered us! That's when we look at each other in amazement, gasp and completely freak him out with a jumping up and down screaming fit. If we don't scare him into silence, he should be ready for conversational English by Kindergarten. Yesterday he melted my heart when I realized that he was singing along with Buck Owens (don't judge me- it's Jordan's cd. Something's happened to him that only therapy will fix), so we listened to 'Stranger in Town' nine times in a row. Not what I envisioned his first sing-a-long to be, but I'll take what I can get at this point.
Today is a game day. I'm excited to see what The Warriors do on the field. Let's face it, I'm also wondering what they'll do off the field. It's so hard towards the end of each game to keep them all engaged, a couple of them spend time hanging on the net of the goal, one usually has his shirt over his head wandering blindly, and someone always sits down right where they are and refuses to participate any longer. Most of the time that last one is Jack. He's not afraid to just say "I all done". He will wave his hand at you like a Jedi when he says it, like he's trying to bend your mind into thinking it's okay to just ignore the lump on the center line of the field. It's too cute to get frustrated by, and so it works. He's been using it on me for years and now my mind is officially bent. But I'm in my skinny jeans!
Friday, September 23, 2011
Dump truck
What does it say about me as a person that every time Jack shoves an entire pack of fruit snacks in his mouth I ask him to say dump truck? I know what it says about me as a parent, but am I a bad person as well to think it's funny to make an almost four year old curse? I don't do it all the time, just every once in awhile. "Hey buddy, say dump truck... Good boy." It it awful of me? Yes, and I'm sorry. But obviously not sorry enough to stop. I don't think I'll go to hell for that alone, but combined with the fact that I look forward to Monday's, Wednesday's and Friday's for the little thrill I get from watching the kids slip and fall on the wet, freshly mopped floors most likely ensures my reservation in the seventh circle. To be fair, they fall after I've asked them nicely, begged, scolded and flat out yelled at them to PLEASE sit on the couch and watch the cartoons until mommy is done. They don't. They run, skip and jump around my mop, like a wet floor Russian Roulette, practically asking for it. I can't help laughing, with an I-told-you-so-smugness that I'm not proud of, at the look on their faces when their little butts hit the floor. It happens three times a week, and it never fails to surprise them. And it never gets old for me. Should I feel bad about that? Probably. I do my part and warn them about the danger, I predict in my best mom voice that "You guys are going to fall if you aren't careful...", they aren't careful though, and that's the fun part. Maybe I need to get out more, find a hobby and seek entertainment in more appropriate forms. Or maybe I'll just pass out snacks and wait for Monday.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Building a cemetery
The first step in building your own cemetery (besides obtaining a body) is to collect sticks of various lengths and widths. The problem with living in a virtually treeless state is that it's impossible to find sticks, so we drove over an hour this morning to find the nearest trees in order to turn the front yard into our very own Halloween graveyard.
During the drive we listened to The Trading Post, which is a show on the local radio station where people call in to tell the DJ what they have available to sell to the listening public. It's so awful and boring it's great. At the beginning of the program you are thinking to yourself that you are not interested at all, but after a few minutes you are envisioning all the wonderful things you could do with a half gallon of yellow interior paint, a bucket of clothes pins, a screen door without a screen and a .22 rifle. The power of suggestion is very strong, and this show survives on that principle. You don't NEED an '87 Chevy carburetor kit, but now you desperately want one. Today I ended up wanting/needing a chandelier, which I repainted black in my mind and made it a Halloween decoration. I was so wrapped up in imagined renovations that I didn't write down the contact phone number, so it was all in my head which is just as well.
When we arrived at the nearest wooded area we pulled over on the side of the road because the turn off to the campground is still closed from the fires that happened there this summer. The sign naming which road we were parked next to was right in front of the car and when Jordan looked up he said "42F. Everybody remember where we parked." We are such city people.
Everyday I am amazed at the differences in personalities between the boys. Jack is cautious and organized, while Mitch is the very definition of pell-mell. Today the difference was in-your-face apparent when we got them out of the car in the canyon. Mitch immediately starts running through the trees, pulling off his clothes and screaming "Woo-hoo!" I'm not exaggerating at all, the term 'getting back to nature' apparently translates into 'streaking in the woods' for a two year old. It was like we had released him back into the wild and he couldn't wait to shed civilization forever. Meanwhile, Jack attempted to organize nature by collecting branches and rocks and sorting them into piles and lines. They both love getting dirty though (they are boys after all), so we spent the rest of the afternoon throwing rocks into the creek. When it was time to go, I felt like Marty Stouffer on an episode of Wild America trying to get Mitch back to the car. I could have used some leather gloves at the very least.
Another example of the boys personalities; on the way down the canyon Jordan took a curve a little fast and Jack cautioned "Whoa! Careful." while Mitch yelled "YEE-HAW!". He's never getting his driver's license. His wife can drive him around for all I care, but he's not to be trusted behind the wheel of a car. Or even a lawnmower. Ever. I'd give Jack the keys tomorrow.
We made a stop at a desert museum on the way home and saw the exhibits of snakes, turtles, etc. Since the boys had been good, we let them pick a reward from the toy section; Jack chose a 4 ft. plush snake and Mitch chose a bird that chirps when it's butt is squeezed. The boys held them and cherished them all the way home but when we stopped for lunch, they grabbed their silverware and immediately started autopsies on the poor things. I've never seen such fickle devotion as these two had for their supposedly beloved toys, and they instantly reminded me of that mean boy on Toy Story- what was his name? Sid? The one that operated on and amputated his toys. I reassured myself that surely my kids can't be that bad, but then I remembered that Sid's mom probably deluded herself with that same fantasy so I made a mental note to find a therapist as soon as possible. For me as well as them.
I love running naked in the woods days, because afterwards the kids basically put themselves in bed for their naps. When we got home, Jack took off his shoes and went straight to bed, waiting for me to tuck him in. When I came out of his room, I found Mitch standing next to the pack n play, holding his squishy bird. So while they were sleeping, Jordan and I assembled our crosses and made the cemetery. It looks great, and we had several people laugh and wave as they went by, so I'm pleased with the results of our efforts. If you have a dirt yard, I say you have to do what you can to make it work for you, and halloween is the only time of the year that things really go your way. I wonder what people would think if I left it up all year, though.
During the drive we listened to The Trading Post, which is a show on the local radio station where people call in to tell the DJ what they have available to sell to the listening public. It's so awful and boring it's great. At the beginning of the program you are thinking to yourself that you are not interested at all, but after a few minutes you are envisioning all the wonderful things you could do with a half gallon of yellow interior paint, a bucket of clothes pins, a screen door without a screen and a .22 rifle. The power of suggestion is very strong, and this show survives on that principle. You don't NEED an '87 Chevy carburetor kit, but now you desperately want one. Today I ended up wanting/needing a chandelier, which I repainted black in my mind and made it a Halloween decoration. I was so wrapped up in imagined renovations that I didn't write down the contact phone number, so it was all in my head which is just as well.
When we arrived at the nearest wooded area we pulled over on the side of the road because the turn off to the campground is still closed from the fires that happened there this summer. The sign naming which road we were parked next to was right in front of the car and when Jordan looked up he said "42F. Everybody remember where we parked." We are such city people.
Everyday I am amazed at the differences in personalities between the boys. Jack is cautious and organized, while Mitch is the very definition of pell-mell. Today the difference was in-your-face apparent when we got them out of the car in the canyon. Mitch immediately starts running through the trees, pulling off his clothes and screaming "Woo-hoo!" I'm not exaggerating at all, the term 'getting back to nature' apparently translates into 'streaking in the woods' for a two year old. It was like we had released him back into the wild and he couldn't wait to shed civilization forever. Meanwhile, Jack attempted to organize nature by collecting branches and rocks and sorting them into piles and lines. They both love getting dirty though (they are boys after all), so we spent the rest of the afternoon throwing rocks into the creek. When it was time to go, I felt like Marty Stouffer on an episode of Wild America trying to get Mitch back to the car. I could have used some leather gloves at the very least.
Another example of the boys personalities; on the way down the canyon Jordan took a curve a little fast and Jack cautioned "Whoa! Careful." while Mitch yelled "YEE-HAW!". He's never getting his driver's license. His wife can drive him around for all I care, but he's not to be trusted behind the wheel of a car. Or even a lawnmower. Ever. I'd give Jack the keys tomorrow.
We made a stop at a desert museum on the way home and saw the exhibits of snakes, turtles, etc. Since the boys had been good, we let them pick a reward from the toy section; Jack chose a 4 ft. plush snake and Mitch chose a bird that chirps when it's butt is squeezed. The boys held them and cherished them all the way home but when we stopped for lunch, they grabbed their silverware and immediately started autopsies on the poor things. I've never seen such fickle devotion as these two had for their supposedly beloved toys, and they instantly reminded me of that mean boy on Toy Story- what was his name? Sid? The one that operated on and amputated his toys. I reassured myself that surely my kids can't be that bad, but then I remembered that Sid's mom probably deluded herself with that same fantasy so I made a mental note to find a therapist as soon as possible. For me as well as them.
I love running naked in the woods days, because afterwards the kids basically put themselves in bed for their naps. When we got home, Jack took off his shoes and went straight to bed, waiting for me to tuck him in. When I came out of his room, I found Mitch standing next to the pack n play, holding his squishy bird. So while they were sleeping, Jordan and I assembled our crosses and made the cemetery. It looks great, and we had several people laugh and wave as they went by, so I'm pleased with the results of our efforts. If you have a dirt yard, I say you have to do what you can to make it work for you, and halloween is the only time of the year that things really go your way. I wonder what people would think if I left it up all year, though.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Horseshoes and all knowing Dad's
One of my random afternoon treats is to watch a movie that isn't animated with Jordan during the boys nap time. Today had just we settled down to our one and a half hours kid free bliss when we hear a crash, followed by another and two more by the time we burst through the bedroom door. The room is in complete disarray, and there's Mitch balanced on the arm of the chair, holding a horseshoe in his hand and looking surprised to see us. I guess he assumed that horseshoes was a silent game outside a 2 foot radius. Man, was he upset to be put back to bed. I think he would've got 3 on the next throw, but his parents are rude and uncaring. Not everyone has a baby who plays horseshoes at nap time, but as I recently had pointed out to me, not everyone keeps horseshoes in their bedroom. Point taken. I don't know why Jordan has a pile of horseshoes on his bookcase, they've been there for months and I've never questioned his collection, I just dust around it. So I guess I should blame myself. I look at them and see a pile of rusted metal. Jordan sees treasure, and Mitch sees Chinese throwing stars.
Because he had destroyed our room, the car keys were missing (they WERE on the ironing board, but since that was tipped over onto the bed, the keys ended up under some clothes under the chair- literally the last place I'd have thought they'd be) and Jack and I were late to soccer practice. We only got a 15 minute practice, and we have our first game on Thursday. I'm not at all concerned that none of the kids like the idea of only using one ball. Or the fact that no one can remember which direction they are aiming for to count for their team. Or that everyone keeps asking me to play sharks and minnows instead of plain old boring soccer. All of those things will be sorted out by the time November rolls around. We have games three times a week for the next six weeks (Does this seem a little excessive to anyone besides me?) and I'm sure that at the end of the season they will either have talent scouts on the sidelines or they will hate soccer forever. There is no middle ground when you are three years old. Jack is already burned out on the idea of sharing the ball, only to have some random kid run up and take it away. Instead, he spends his time sorting rocks and moving the cones. He also alternately raises and lowers his socks every five minutes, depending on climate and moods. Jordan worries that Jack isn't getting the idea of soccer. I've had to remind him that for the last three years of Jack's life we have drilled it into him to "SHARE!" and have followed up that directive by taking whatever he just swiped and giving it back to the other kid. Now we are yelling at him to get in there and "TAKE IT AWAY FROM HIM!". No wonder he stands mid-field with a look on his face that is part revulsion-part fear. He has no idea what happened to the people who raised him, and instead has to deal with this blood thirsty couple who LOOK like mom and dad, jumping up and down and screaming. Five minutes off the field and we are back to "You better share with your brother, or I'll take it away." I bet he's wondering where that sense of fairness goes when he puts on his funny shoes and tall socks. I can totally get where he's coming from when all he wants to do is put blades of grass down the inside of the orange cones. Sometimes that's all I want to do during practice too.
Mitch had the most frustrating drive home from school today. It's an hour drive and when I drive the kids alone on Jordan's work days, Mitch can get away with a lot more than when Daddy is driving because I am shorter and can't see him in the rearview mirror over my headrest. Mitch usually uses this opportunity to do quick double taps on Jack's arm with his fist, and still has plenty of time to turn huge, innocent blue eyes to me by the time I can glance over my shoulder to see what's going on. I know they are double taps by the distinct slapping sound, but I can never catch him the act. However, Daddy was onto him. Jordan was wearing his dark sunglasses while he was driving and he had the mirror tilted so he could see what Mitch was doing as he was doing it. Mitch couldn't figure out HOW Daddy knew what he was doing without looking behind him and it ticked him off. Jordan would say Mitch's name in his your-in-trouble voice just as he would make his move, and you could feel the frustration level rise in the car as the miles sped by. Just as we were pulling into town, Mitch forgot about his brother, took his sandals off and started chewing on them. Conversationally, Jordan started to tell him that mommy doesn't like it when he chews on his shoes, but as soon as he said his name, Mitch flipped out. He threw the shoe across the car with a growl-yell and hit the back of his head into his car seat. It seems he couldn't catch a break because Dad saw everything. Score: Parents; 3, kids; 152, 743.
Because he had destroyed our room, the car keys were missing (they WERE on the ironing board, but since that was tipped over onto the bed, the keys ended up under some clothes under the chair- literally the last place I'd have thought they'd be) and Jack and I were late to soccer practice. We only got a 15 minute practice, and we have our first game on Thursday. I'm not at all concerned that none of the kids like the idea of only using one ball. Or the fact that no one can remember which direction they are aiming for to count for their team. Or that everyone keeps asking me to play sharks and minnows instead of plain old boring soccer. All of those things will be sorted out by the time November rolls around. We have games three times a week for the next six weeks (Does this seem a little excessive to anyone besides me?) and I'm sure that at the end of the season they will either have talent scouts on the sidelines or they will hate soccer forever. There is no middle ground when you are three years old. Jack is already burned out on the idea of sharing the ball, only to have some random kid run up and take it away. Instead, he spends his time sorting rocks and moving the cones. He also alternately raises and lowers his socks every five minutes, depending on climate and moods. Jordan worries that Jack isn't getting the idea of soccer. I've had to remind him that for the last three years of Jack's life we have drilled it into him to "SHARE!" and have followed up that directive by taking whatever he just swiped and giving it back to the other kid. Now we are yelling at him to get in there and "TAKE IT AWAY FROM HIM!". No wonder he stands mid-field with a look on his face that is part revulsion-part fear. He has no idea what happened to the people who raised him, and instead has to deal with this blood thirsty couple who LOOK like mom and dad, jumping up and down and screaming. Five minutes off the field and we are back to "You better share with your brother, or I'll take it away." I bet he's wondering where that sense of fairness goes when he puts on his funny shoes and tall socks. I can totally get where he's coming from when all he wants to do is put blades of grass down the inside of the orange cones. Sometimes that's all I want to do during practice too.
Mitch had the most frustrating drive home from school today. It's an hour drive and when I drive the kids alone on Jordan's work days, Mitch can get away with a lot more than when Daddy is driving because I am shorter and can't see him in the rearview mirror over my headrest. Mitch usually uses this opportunity to do quick double taps on Jack's arm with his fist, and still has plenty of time to turn huge, innocent blue eyes to me by the time I can glance over my shoulder to see what's going on. I know they are double taps by the distinct slapping sound, but I can never catch him the act. However, Daddy was onto him. Jordan was wearing his dark sunglasses while he was driving and he had the mirror tilted so he could see what Mitch was doing as he was doing it. Mitch couldn't figure out HOW Daddy knew what he was doing without looking behind him and it ticked him off. Jordan would say Mitch's name in his your-in-trouble voice just as he would make his move, and you could feel the frustration level rise in the car as the miles sped by. Just as we were pulling into town, Mitch forgot about his brother, took his sandals off and started chewing on them. Conversationally, Jordan started to tell him that mommy doesn't like it when he chews on his shoes, but as soon as he said his name, Mitch flipped out. He threw the shoe across the car with a growl-yell and hit the back of his head into his car seat. It seems he couldn't catch a break because Dad saw everything. Score: Parents; 3, kids; 152, 743.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Parenting Re-cap
The last few days I've been thinking about all the things that I've done in the last four years. Things that I do now without blinking, but they would never have crossed my mind before I had little kids. Some of these things are precious and joyful, while some of them will make your skin crawl. Here are some of the highlights from the last few years. Actually, now that I think about it, most of this stuff happened this week.
1. Finding 1/4 c. blue dyed macaroni in the toe of my shoe.
2. Having midnight discussions with a two year old about why now is not the appropriate time to play with every toy that beeps.
3. Replaying the same 47 second intro to RIO for an hour and a half just to keep the savages happy.
4. Having to scrape poop out from under my fingernails after a particularly bad diaper.
5. Having to wipe my face with my sleeve after kisses.
6. Vacuuming the house with a colander on my head for reasons that are only clear to the two year old.
7. Wishing vehemently for the batteries to run down in that psychotic toy.
8. Scrambling to find fresh batteries and a screwdriver while one child runs in place, screaming and the other child writhes on the floor.
9. Having to dig through the toy box whenever I need to baste meat or bake muffins.
10. Having skinny, little arms wrap around my neck for an unexpected hug.
11. Staying up all night just to make sure they are still breathing.
12. Singing the intro to the backyardigans for 50 miles.
13. Having my body adorned with Hot Wheels at five in the morning, while telling myself that this counts as quality time.
14. Being peed, puked and pooped on, all in one day.
15. Hearing "I love you, Mommy." whispered in the dark when I tuck them in at night.
16. Delivering a spanking while saying something ridiculous like "Stop hitting your brother!".
17. Knowing each of the Wiggles names and what they did before making it big.
18. Wondering why I replaced the batteries in that psychotic toy.
19. Having chocolate chips thrown at me in the shower by a barking two year old.
20. Going to the store in 90 degree heat with a child wearing a cable knit sweater, shorts, rain boots and a fireman's hat while carrying a skull.
21. Taking a live cockroach out of the baby's mouth.
22. Smelling the wall to see if it's chocolate or poop.
23. Finding out it's poop.
24. Taking the phone away from the 3 year old, only to find that he's called my insurance company and changed my plan.
25. Getting nervous when it's quiet.
Speaking of which, I don't hear anything...
1. Finding 1/4 c. blue dyed macaroni in the toe of my shoe.
2. Having midnight discussions with a two year old about why now is not the appropriate time to play with every toy that beeps.
3. Replaying the same 47 second intro to RIO for an hour and a half just to keep the savages happy.
4. Having to scrape poop out from under my fingernails after a particularly bad diaper.
5. Having to wipe my face with my sleeve after kisses.
6. Vacuuming the house with a colander on my head for reasons that are only clear to the two year old.
7. Wishing vehemently for the batteries to run down in that psychotic toy.
8. Scrambling to find fresh batteries and a screwdriver while one child runs in place, screaming and the other child writhes on the floor.
9. Having to dig through the toy box whenever I need to baste meat or bake muffins.
10. Having skinny, little arms wrap around my neck for an unexpected hug.
11. Staying up all night just to make sure they are still breathing.
12. Singing the intro to the backyardigans for 50 miles.
13. Having my body adorned with Hot Wheels at five in the morning, while telling myself that this counts as quality time.
14. Being peed, puked and pooped on, all in one day.
15. Hearing "I love you, Mommy." whispered in the dark when I tuck them in at night.
16. Delivering a spanking while saying something ridiculous like "Stop hitting your brother!".
17. Knowing each of the Wiggles names and what they did before making it big.
18. Wondering why I replaced the batteries in that psychotic toy.
19. Having chocolate chips thrown at me in the shower by a barking two year old.
20. Going to the store in 90 degree heat with a child wearing a cable knit sweater, shorts, rain boots and a fireman's hat while carrying a skull.
21. Taking a live cockroach out of the baby's mouth.
22. Smelling the wall to see if it's chocolate or poop.
23. Finding out it's poop.
24. Taking the phone away from the 3 year old, only to find that he's called my insurance company and changed my plan.
25. Getting nervous when it's quiet.
Speaking of which, I don't hear anything...
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Post script
Jordan took my car this morning, so all the errands I talked about last night... didn't happen. Instead I spent 4 hours on the phone coordinating between everyone needing uniforms, delivering banners and missing keys. Now I'm sitting here listening to Mitch scream like the witch king of agmar (he's still got a fever) and wishing I was at soccer. I'm stressed wondering if it's going okay, and if I forgot to do something vital. There's not enough chocolate in the world right now, and I just realized that I've eaten half an apple pie today all by myself without my being fully cognizant of it. Great.
Friday, September 16, 2011
Fevers, drama, headaches and other good times.
Trying to get everything ready for tomorrow's opening ceremony for AYSO is going to send me into an early retirement. Jordan's going to have to put me into a home, where I can play bingo with the help of someone in a white coat while I drool on myself and laugh at nothing. I get a call this afternoon: "Hey, Callie? It's me, Bambo. You know, from soccer?". Right. Thanks for clarifying. I have so many Bambo's in my life, it sometimes gets hard to keep them all straight. Once we established his identity we got down to the business of soccer, or at least the behind the scenes of soccer. Apparently, Angelina's uniform finally came in (cutting it kind of close for tomorrow's activity) and erring on the side of caution, the company sent 13 uniforms for her. Better safe than sorry, right? What they lack in quality and timeliness, they make up for in sheer numbers. You want uniforms? Here's a case. I need to pick one of the uniform's up and get it to Angelina before noon. They sent my coach's shirt in the wrong color, and in a child's size medium. Yeah, I wish- try again, funny guy. We had a game scheduled for tomorrow, but no one knew what time it was supposed to be, since it was listed as TBA on the schedule. Well, no one announced it, so we canceled it. I'm actually really proud of this decision, it's one of the first rational things they've come up with this season. The banner that I was told to order was finished this afternoon but, for reasons that I will list later, I was unable to pick it up. Then Bambo informed me that I really don't HAVE to have the banner, but it would be nice. Thanks, buddy. You tell me after I fork over the money for it. Oh well, it's done and after I track it down in the morning we are going to display it with pride. Then I find out that the games that I was informed would all be on Saturday mornings are mostly on Tuesday and Thursday evenings. Thank you for letting me schedule things in my week before you tell me this. All the parents on my team are feeling the same way. I feel like such an idiot when I have to get hold of them all to say, "Oops! Sorry, they changed it again.". And the photographer who has a contract with AYSO was rude to me on the phone, so I complained and am using Tara Huish Photography instead, with Bambo's blessing. Except, when the other guy heard he lost business, he freaked out somewhat and started a voicemail stalking campaign asking me to please call him back to set up a time to take my team's picture. No thank you. You should have been nicer to me. This guy is apparently a big shot in the community, and knows EVERYONE. If he doesn't take your picture, you don't get it in the newspaper etc., and AYSO has been trying to figure out a way to get away from him for awhile now. The problem is, that he's so in touch with who's who in town, that he doesn't even need to bid on the AYSO contract anymore. They just hand it to him while grinding their teeth. And I've ticked him off. When I step on toes, I go for the biggest feet around.
All of this needs to be straightened out by noon tomorrow, and the boys have chosen today to get sicker than sick. Jack's chest makes a death rattle when he coughs, and Mitch has a fever of 102 with Tylenol. He's laying on my lap right now, just whimpering. After I failed at apple butter, I got caught up with the kids as they got worse and I didn't go pick up the banner in time, so I've got to go in the morning after I get the uniform. Jordan has to work tomorrow until 2, so I have no one to watch the boys during the opening ceremony and I'll have to ask for an assistant coach. I really hate that. I hate the idea of dumping this historic mess on someone in the eleventh hour, and just saying "Good luck, let me know how it goes!" Heather is fabulous, though and volunteered before I really had to ask. Since she's the one I've been venting to about the day to day screw ups, she's already apprised of the situation and is still game to cover for me. That's friendship, right there.
All of this needs to be straightened out by noon tomorrow, and the boys have chosen today to get sicker than sick. Jack's chest makes a death rattle when he coughs, and Mitch has a fever of 102 with Tylenol. He's laying on my lap right now, just whimpering. After I failed at apple butter, I got caught up with the kids as they got worse and I didn't go pick up the banner in time, so I've got to go in the morning after I get the uniform. Jordan has to work tomorrow until 2, so I have no one to watch the boys during the opening ceremony and I'll have to ask for an assistant coach. I really hate that. I hate the idea of dumping this historic mess on someone in the eleventh hour, and just saying "Good luck, let me know how it goes!" Heather is fabulous, though and volunteered before I really had to ask. Since she's the one I've been venting to about the day to day screw ups, she's already apprised of the situation and is still game to cover for me. That's friendship, right there.
Wasted time, apples and lotion
The apple butter was an epic failure. I've very rarely made anything so tragically awful that I immediately throw it in the garbage, but that's what happened. The recipe seemed like it should have been good, I just don't understand what went wrong. Or maybe this recipe was for apple butter that tasted like you had a mouthful of cinnamon sticks and cloves. My tongue went numb with the first bite, and no amount of apples and sugar added made any kind of a difference. I pretty much doubled the recipe trying to get the spices to mellow out, and it's still gross. Everyone told me "Oh! Apple butter is so easy! You'll love it." It's not easy, and I don't love it. I feel lied to.
The apple pie is sitting on the counter, cooling and waiting until after dinner, and I keep looking at it with nervousness whenever I go in the kitchen. That's the problem with making something horrible, you start second guessing yourself. Did I remember to put sugar in the pie? Did I accidentally add to much salt? Should I just go to McDonald's and order 4 for $2?
Since I spent 6 hours in the kitchen this morning, the rest of the house was left as the kid zone and I'm paying for it now. There are crushed graham crackers in the carpet, cinnamon toast crunch under the couch and apple cores in the toy box. That last one makes me anxious. Jack collected the apple cores this morning from the counter as I was peeling and chopping, and I thought he threw them away (I even remember praising him, but distractedly. 'Oh what a good boy you are to help me! Thank you!' I'm such a sucker). I look back now and wonder why in the world would I think that he'd not see them as treasure to hoard? What if that's not the only place he hid them? A week from now I'll be blogging about the wretched stink coming from the air intake vents in the bedroom.
Since I spent 6 hours in the kitchen this morning, the rest of the house was left as the kid zone and I'm paying for it now. There are crushed graham crackers in the carpet, cinnamon toast crunch under the couch and apple cores in the toy box. That last one makes me anxious. Jack collected the apple cores this morning from the counter as I was peeling and chopping, and I thought he threw them away (I even remember praising him, but distractedly. 'Oh what a good boy you are to help me! Thank you!' I'm such a sucker). I look back now and wonder why in the world would I think that he'd not see them as treasure to hoard? What if that's not the only place he hid them? A week from now I'll be blogging about the wretched stink coming from the air intake vents in the bedroom.
Mitch was supposed to be napping, but I heard clinking noises coming from my room. Clinking is never a good sound when Mitch is involved, so I ran in there to find that he had moisturized my dresser and everything on it. Jewelry box, perfume bottles, framed photos, etc. His face is glowing with a youthful radiance that can only be had for $20 a bottle and 2 year old pores. Trying to wrestle him back into the pac n play was like trying to catch a greased pig at the fair, only without the judges ( I like to believe I would've got a high score if it had been judged. He's still alive, after all). I tried to salvage as much as I could by rubbing my face on his leg and arms that were thick with lotion, but it wasn't worth it because he smelled like an old apple and wet dog. An hour later and I'm sitting at the computer getting wiffs of Ivan, and thinking that it's been days since he was even in the house- how can the baby smell like him? Are boys really made of puppy dog tails? I thought it was just a cute poem, but Mitch is proving it a scientific possibility.
I think I'm going to pretend that today didn't happen. I'm going to clean up all evidence of it's disasters, and start again tomorrow with a fresh attitude, a new recipe and a baby with unbelievably baby-soft skin. Unless the pie is fantastic. Then I'll eat pie and call it good. I can always BUY apple butter, right?
I think I'm going to pretend that today didn't happen. I'm going to clean up all evidence of it's disasters, and start again tomorrow with a fresh attitude, a new recipe and a baby with unbelievably baby-soft skin. Unless the pie is fantastic. Then I'll eat pie and call it good. I can always BUY apple butter, right?
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
An apple a day
After Jack used his cold, wet fingers to pry open my eyelid this morning at 6:30, it was kind of difficult to get back to sleep. So I pondered the question he had asked upon my waking. What are we going to do today? Jordan and I decided that a trip to Apple Annie's was in order, and off we went. I've been wanting to try my hand at apple butter, so we went to the orchard side of the complex and had a fantastic time picking our own apples. Jack was all about riding in the wagon as long as we were willing to pull it, while Mitch used the apple picker as a lacrosse stick. He'd pick up an old, rotten apple from the ground and put it into the basket, then turn and hurl it onto Jack, who would put it in the bucket. Then Jordan or I would take it out of the bucket when they weren't looking. Teamwork. The morning went by so quickly but obviously we worked up an appetite, because guess who ate his very first apple today? Jack picked a Rome Beauty right off the tree and ate it without me begging, bribing or coercing him! This is the first time he has ate fruit willingly and with full knowledge. I've been pureeing fruit and sneaking it into foods for over a year now just so he can get the vitamins, and I had almost given up on his ever coming around. I took a thousand pictures, thinking that it was probably a one time deal and we'd never see this moment again but he surprised me by asking Jordan if he could have another to eat in the car for the drive home. Mitch also discovered how great apples were, and after Jordan gave him a ripe apple and took the brown, squishy one away (Jord gagged the entire time), he was a very happy kid and he ate the entire apple. Do you understand that I mean he ate the core, seeds and stem? The entire apple. Down the hatch. And another one in the car on the way home. I looked back in time to see him push the last bite of core into his mouth and when I told Jordan, he gagged again. Sometimes it's fun to see how many times the kids can gross their dad out in a single outing. Speaking of which, here's a friendly tip to those of you thinking of getting your kids to eat apples for the first time: Do not give them carte blanche with a bushel of apples before a long car ride. And for heaven's sake, don't feed them cheese curds during said car ride. Not unless you like riding with the windows down. I think Jack started to get a belly ache, because he didn't finish one of his apples, and after I threw it out the window he tried to spit the bite he had in his mouth out the window too. He realized immediately that Jim Croce knew what he was talking about when it came right back into his face and all over the inside of the door. He's heard the song, but some things you just have to find out for yourself. He hadn't spit all of it into the wind however, so I had the distinct pleasure of having chewed up apple drooled into my hand. When I showed it to Jordan, you'll never guess what he did.
I know now that I am not cut out for a life of crime. I just don't have the physical endurance it takes to live on that kind of edge. I made a snake wreath the other day, using spray paint for the finishing touch and my pointer finger hasn't been the same since. I've got tagger's finger (I think it's a cousin to tennis elbow). If my finger can't handle a single can of spray paint, there's no way I could work my way down the side of a train in a night. How do they do it?
Because I am currently engaged in an activity that makes watching the children turn into just keeping an eye on the children, Mitch has recognized an opportunity and has stolen another apple. He's standing here next to me with obvious and extreme gas, and lets everyone know to hold their breath by yelling "EEWWWWWW!" There are no words for this moment in motherhood. I was so happy they were eating fruit...
I know now that I am not cut out for a life of crime. I just don't have the physical endurance it takes to live on that kind of edge. I made a snake wreath the other day, using spray paint for the finishing touch and my pointer finger hasn't been the same since. I've got tagger's finger (I think it's a cousin to tennis elbow). If my finger can't handle a single can of spray paint, there's no way I could work my way down the side of a train in a night. How do they do it?
Because I am currently engaged in an activity that makes watching the children turn into just keeping an eye on the children, Mitch has recognized an opportunity and has stolen another apple. He's standing here next to me with obvious and extreme gas, and lets everyone know to hold their breath by yelling "EEWWWWWW!" There are no words for this moment in motherhood. I was so happy they were eating fruit...
Friday, September 9, 2011
Three going on insane
I feel as though Jack and my relationship would be so much stronger if I were just made aware of the rules of engagement. There are so many situations that go awry because I've done something incorrectly for his three year old sensibility. Case in point: Yesterday, on the way to to school, Jack asked me "Where da cool bus?". That's 'where is the school bus' for all you non preschooler speakers. We usually pass a few on our hour long commutes, and he looks forward to the sightings. He didn't just ask it once or twice, however. No, he asked it continuously for 23 miles with hardly a breath in all that time. I can honestly tell you that I've never been so relieved to see a blasted school bus when one came into view and I exclaimed with delight, "JACK! There's a school bus!" Apparently there was a protocol that I didn't follow because he started to cry and said "Mommy, NOOOOO!" What? What in heaven's name did I do wrong? If he didn't want me to point it out, why, why, WHY did he ask me where it was for 23 MILES???? After I apologized and he calmed himself down, there was this awkward silence in the car that was broken only by Kenny Chesney boasting of his farm equipment's sex appeal. We ended up passing another school bus a few minutes later, and it caused my heart rate to speed up and my mind to race. Do I point out the obvious, or should I act like I don't see it? I decided to play it safe and go with the ignorance is bliss plan, and I didn't say anything at all. I knew within seconds of it's passing that this was the wrong coarse of action, because Jack said "MOOOOM! Da cool bus!". I chanced a look in the rearview mirror and saw his huge brown eyes filled with hurt and betrayal. They seemed to ask so much- how could I NOT have seen the school bus? Didn't I love him in the least? These are the moments in motherhood that really need a manual. What are the rules, and how can I get a copy? Is it too much to ask for them to be consistent in their insanity, or do I have to wait until he is five for that?
Today he has discovered that he has a hangy-down thing in the back of his throat, and he's certain he's only got moments left to live. All day, every half hour, he comes running and yelling with panic in his voice for me to check for mutations. After I reassure him that all is normal, he looks at me as though I've done nothing but lie to him his entire life and goes to the bathroom to look for himself. A few times I've heard the sound of a cat with a hair ball caught in it's throat, followed by the sound of Mitch's laughter. Since we don't have a cat, I can only assume he's trying to remove said hangy-down thing in the operating amphitheater of the bathroom. And why should I be concerned? If I were to remove a hangy-down thing, there's no better O.R. nurse I'd rather have than Mitch. Cool under pressure, that's Mitch.
Today he has discovered that he has a hangy-down thing in the back of his throat, and he's certain he's only got moments left to live. All day, every half hour, he comes running and yelling with panic in his voice for me to check for mutations. After I reassure him that all is normal, he looks at me as though I've done nothing but lie to him his entire life and goes to the bathroom to look for himself. A few times I've heard the sound of a cat with a hair ball caught in it's throat, followed by the sound of Mitch's laughter. Since we don't have a cat, I can only assume he's trying to remove said hangy-down thing in the operating amphitheater of the bathroom. And why should I be concerned? If I were to remove a hangy-down thing, there's no better O.R. nurse I'd rather have than Mitch. Cool under pressure, that's Mitch.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Good ideas... maybe.
Note: The bed is REALLY high after you put it on risers. I know this because I fell out of bed last night for the second time since I put them in. Have you ever stepped off a curb or step that you weren't expecting? You know the feeling you get that makes your mouth go dry and drops your stomach into your knees to turn them to rubber all in the time it takes you to think "Oh sh*t"? Try that at two in the morning when you are half asleep, but literally rolling out of bed to go to the bathroom. I'm not used to the floor being so far away and by the time my body remembers, I'm crumpled in heap trying to figure out what happened. This is one of the times that I'm grateful that Jordan is such a sound sleeper, because I think that casual would be a little hard to pull off at this point. I'm hoping that I'll get used to it eventually and that my body will learn how to repel with my eyes closed.
Jack had a really hard day today. I feel for him, because I've been there, but I'm also jealous because he got to cry all day when he felt like it, but on my worst days I feel as though I have to try to be brave and hold it in. It might be healthier his way, however. I mean, he cries and moves on to the next thing that doesn't go his way, while I get upset, internalize it and add it and the next disappointment to the pile of things I'm still trying to process emotionally. I'll end up crying eventually, but by then I'm not really sure what it is that I'm crying over since I'm officially distraught and overwhelmed. Maybe we all would be less stressed and happier if everyone had mini tantrums as things happen, rather than holding onto them for a "more appropriate time". Or maybe I just want a get out jail free card if ever I do find myself rolling on the ground kicking and wailing with a snotty face because someone told me I had to get dressed. I think I'll play it by ear.
And the drama continues on the field. Today was our first scrimmage against another team and no fewer than four people cried, myself included. We were against five year olds, which normally wouldn't be such a difference, but these kids have been playing for YEARS, literally. They are two years ahead of my little three year olds, and our team had a very hard time dealing emotionally with other people taking the ball away from them. Darling Angelina was all lined up for a sweet goal, and someone helped her kick the ball into the net. Despair, grief, anguish- all crossed her little face because she didn't get do it herself, someone stole her moment and she ran off the field in tears to be consoled by mom. At least she was on the field. Jack spent the entire practice standing on the sidelines shaking with emotion and nonstop tears because I made him come to practice. To be fair, he also cried because we didn't drive in the Mater (Jordan's truck), because I dropped him at school, I picked him up from school, I drove him home and made him take a nap. The entire day was just too much for the guy, and he tapped out of participating in life right there and then. After practice we drove to the head coach's house so I could pick up our team's uniforms. I have five small people on my team, and they gave me four uniforms, no one else noticed the math thing didn't add up on this? I failed math (not going to say how many times), and I figured it out right away. Apparently, Angelina's uniform is missing and hopefully if we order it now, it'll be here in time for the first game. Bambo (yes, his name really is Bambo) also said that they never got a size for Jack. They didn't know what to order, so they ordered the largest small they had for him, which is two sizes too big. I wonder why I drove to the park in July and had Jack try on uniforms then if they weren't going to write it down. I also found out that one of the dates for a fundraiser that I have a major role in (this wasn't in the original job description), is on the day that I scheduled Jack's birthday party. I have seventeen kids under the age of three planning on being at my house the same time that I'm supposed to be at the park raising money for things I didn't know I need. People told me that I'd be great at this coaching thing, that I'd love it and have a blast. I don't feel like I'm doing all that great, but I do look forward to getting on the field, running and cheering with the kids, and I think that as the Warriors (we finally agreed on a name), we are certainly living up to our name. Against all odds, we are having fun.
Jack had a really hard day today. I feel for him, because I've been there, but I'm also jealous because he got to cry all day when he felt like it, but on my worst days I feel as though I have to try to be brave and hold it in. It might be healthier his way, however. I mean, he cries and moves on to the next thing that doesn't go his way, while I get upset, internalize it and add it and the next disappointment to the pile of things I'm still trying to process emotionally. I'll end up crying eventually, but by then I'm not really sure what it is that I'm crying over since I'm officially distraught and overwhelmed. Maybe we all would be less stressed and happier if everyone had mini tantrums as things happen, rather than holding onto them for a "more appropriate time". Or maybe I just want a get out jail free card if ever I do find myself rolling on the ground kicking and wailing with a snotty face because someone told me I had to get dressed. I think I'll play it by ear.
And the drama continues on the field. Today was our first scrimmage against another team and no fewer than four people cried, myself included. We were against five year olds, which normally wouldn't be such a difference, but these kids have been playing for YEARS, literally. They are two years ahead of my little three year olds, and our team had a very hard time dealing emotionally with other people taking the ball away from them. Darling Angelina was all lined up for a sweet goal, and someone helped her kick the ball into the net. Despair, grief, anguish- all crossed her little face because she didn't get do it herself, someone stole her moment and she ran off the field in tears to be consoled by mom. At least she was on the field. Jack spent the entire practice standing on the sidelines shaking with emotion and nonstop tears because I made him come to practice. To be fair, he also cried because we didn't drive in the Mater (Jordan's truck), because I dropped him at school, I picked him up from school, I drove him home and made him take a nap. The entire day was just too much for the guy, and he tapped out of participating in life right there and then. After practice we drove to the head coach's house so I could pick up our team's uniforms. I have five small people on my team, and they gave me four uniforms, no one else noticed the math thing didn't add up on this? I failed math (not going to say how many times), and I figured it out right away. Apparently, Angelina's uniform is missing and hopefully if we order it now, it'll be here in time for the first game. Bambo (yes, his name really is Bambo) also said that they never got a size for Jack. They didn't know what to order, so they ordered the largest small they had for him, which is two sizes too big. I wonder why I drove to the park in July and had Jack try on uniforms then if they weren't going to write it down. I also found out that one of the dates for a fundraiser that I have a major role in (this wasn't in the original job description), is on the day that I scheduled Jack's birthday party. I have seventeen kids under the age of three planning on being at my house the same time that I'm supposed to be at the park raising money for things I didn't know I need. People told me that I'd be great at this coaching thing, that I'd love it and have a blast. I don't feel like I'm doing all that great, but I do look forward to getting on the field, running and cheering with the kids, and I think that as the Warriors (we finally agreed on a name), we are certainly living up to our name. Against all odds, we are having fun.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Karate Kid
I have a baby ninja. Not everyone can say that, but then again not everyone has a two year old that climbs things just to jump off yelling "Hiya!". He also has some pretty amazing kicks that he's perfecting as well as dancing by wiggling his bum and doing straight arm karate chops, all while yelling "Hiya!" of course. I want to look into the place here that teaches karate and see what they say about age limits. He's obviously a natural. We all know how much Mitch loves villains of any kind, but now when he sees them I can't tell wether he thinks he is one, or he's fighting them off. Either way, it's equal parts nerve wracking and adorable, which leaves me worried and delighted at the same time. He's also ninja fast. When I'm coaching Jack's team at soccer practice I'll look around and he's right beside me, two minutes later I'll look again and he is all the way across the field taking some other kid's ball. Does he come back when I call him? No. He does not. He makes me run to him. I had no idea that I ran funny, but apparently I do since it's all he can do to stand up straight because he's laughing so hard watching me. It's pretty bad when a two year old can make you worried that you run like a duck. I don't though. Do I?
The neighbor's chihuahua was strangely silent last night, but I still had trouble sleeping. At first I woke up because it was quiet. Too quiet. I found myself a teensy bit concerned for the little freak, which led to getting angry with myself for not being strong with the whole idea of peticide. I'm so weak. After I'm awake, it takes a long time for me to get back to sleep because I'm unable to turn my brain off. I start thinking things like "When I wake up I need to remember to ___" or "Tomorrow I need to call ___" and it snowballs from there. By 3:15 I was pondering the differences in the words Caribbean and carabiner, and thought I was being completely rational when I got the idea to lift the bed onto risers today while Jordan was at work. Let me just take a moment to assure everyone that I am fine. I will eventually regain the use of my left arm and someday I hope to be able speak without stuttering. The bed looks awesome however, and I have a lot more storage space underneath with the added benefit of the kids not being able to climb up by themselves anymore. No more monkeys jumping on the bed with soccer cleats.
Pre-School for Jack is going splendidly, and he is still thrilled to go. I hope he never loses that love of learning, and we are doing everything possible to ensure he keeps it. His teacher says that he hugs her all the time and calls her honey, which is the highest praise from him. She'll correct him and he will say "Okay, honey.". I love it that he loves her, it tells me that he's comfortable there and will listen to her. During picture day, while they were doing the class pictures he kept checking on her to make sure she was having fun, it was very sweet. He gave me a thumbs up, then smiled at her to see if she saw his mom. He did really well with following direction, but he had issues with keeping his hands down for the picture. Have you seen Talladega Nights? The part when Will Ferrell is in the interview and he doesn't know what to do with his hands right now... Jack was having the same problem. Miss Gloria kept reaching over and gently pulling his arms down to his sides, and very slowly Jack would bring them back up and just hold them next to his face with a deer in the headlights look. The individual pictures were a lot more successful, and they even took Mitch's picture so that we could have them match. That was an exercise in futility if ever there was one. Half of the pictures that the photographer took were of Mitch barely in the frame. I stood next to his chair and would grab him as he tried to make his escape and plop him back down. Just that quickly the guy would snap a picture, only to have an image of a laughing, running baby. We finally got one that has him relatively stationary and everyone agreed that that was the best we could ask for. I'm anxious to get them back, I kind of think we should've asked the photographer to choose the best one of Mitch barely in the frame, since that is how we normally see him. He is so not the sit still on a chair kind of kid, and it's false advertising to put up a picture displaying that of him. People are going to get the wrong idea.
We are stuck at home today, which I'd not mind normally, but I had plans for a fun afternoon with the boys. They are showing the movie Rio at the recreation center here, and having kids crafts as well as lunch and snacks. I thought it would be a fun diversion and a way to get out of the house, but still stay in Douglas. But Jordan's truck wouldn't start this morning and he had to take my car to work since I wasn't about to get the kids up at 4:30 am to drive him myself. Call me crazy, but I had just fallen back to sleep at four and wasn't willing to give that up. Then I tried to let my friend know that I wasn't going to be joining her, only to find out that she's in the hospital having kidney stones and won't be going either. I have another friend who is getting ready to have a liver transplant, another friend whose husband was in an accident at work and had to have surgery on his leg to put it back together, and my sister Cindi is waiting to find out if she needs surgery on her heart. Was it a full moon last week? It feels like an overwhelming rash of medical emergencies. My heart and thoughts are with them all, and I wish there was more I could do to help them. For now, if I can remember what day it is and take people their meals on time, I will consider myself helpful.
The neighbor's chihuahua was strangely silent last night, but I still had trouble sleeping. At first I woke up because it was quiet. Too quiet. I found myself a teensy bit concerned for the little freak, which led to getting angry with myself for not being strong with the whole idea of peticide. I'm so weak. After I'm awake, it takes a long time for me to get back to sleep because I'm unable to turn my brain off. I start thinking things like "When I wake up I need to remember to ___" or "Tomorrow I need to call ___" and it snowballs from there. By 3:15 I was pondering the differences in the words Caribbean and carabiner, and thought I was being completely rational when I got the idea to lift the bed onto risers today while Jordan was at work. Let me just take a moment to assure everyone that I am fine. I will eventually regain the use of my left arm and someday I hope to be able speak without stuttering. The bed looks awesome however, and I have a lot more storage space underneath with the added benefit of the kids not being able to climb up by themselves anymore. No more monkeys jumping on the bed with soccer cleats.
Pre-School for Jack is going splendidly, and he is still thrilled to go. I hope he never loses that love of learning, and we are doing everything possible to ensure he keeps it. His teacher says that he hugs her all the time and calls her honey, which is the highest praise from him. She'll correct him and he will say "Okay, honey.". I love it that he loves her, it tells me that he's comfortable there and will listen to her. During picture day, while they were doing the class pictures he kept checking on her to make sure she was having fun, it was very sweet. He gave me a thumbs up, then smiled at her to see if she saw his mom. He did really well with following direction, but he had issues with keeping his hands down for the picture. Have you seen Talladega Nights? The part when Will Ferrell is in the interview and he doesn't know what to do with his hands right now... Jack was having the same problem. Miss Gloria kept reaching over and gently pulling his arms down to his sides, and very slowly Jack would bring them back up and just hold them next to his face with a deer in the headlights look. The individual pictures were a lot more successful, and they even took Mitch's picture so that we could have them match. That was an exercise in futility if ever there was one. Half of the pictures that the photographer took were of Mitch barely in the frame. I stood next to his chair and would grab him as he tried to make his escape and plop him back down. Just that quickly the guy would snap a picture, only to have an image of a laughing, running baby. We finally got one that has him relatively stationary and everyone agreed that that was the best we could ask for. I'm anxious to get them back, I kind of think we should've asked the photographer to choose the best one of Mitch barely in the frame, since that is how we normally see him. He is so not the sit still on a chair kind of kid, and it's false advertising to put up a picture displaying that of him. People are going to get the wrong idea.
We are stuck at home today, which I'd not mind normally, but I had plans for a fun afternoon with the boys. They are showing the movie Rio at the recreation center here, and having kids crafts as well as lunch and snacks. I thought it would be a fun diversion and a way to get out of the house, but still stay in Douglas. But Jordan's truck wouldn't start this morning and he had to take my car to work since I wasn't about to get the kids up at 4:30 am to drive him myself. Call me crazy, but I had just fallen back to sleep at four and wasn't willing to give that up. Then I tried to let my friend know that I wasn't going to be joining her, only to find out that she's in the hospital having kidney stones and won't be going either. I have another friend who is getting ready to have a liver transplant, another friend whose husband was in an accident at work and had to have surgery on his leg to put it back together, and my sister Cindi is waiting to find out if she needs surgery on her heart. Was it a full moon last week? It feels like an overwhelming rash of medical emergencies. My heart and thoughts are with them all, and I wish there was more I could do to help them. For now, if I can remember what day it is and take people their meals on time, I will consider myself helpful.
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