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.
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