Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Wow. Writer's block sucks.

I guess today's been relatively boring and mundane... even for me.  I was waiting for that one event that always occurs which would be worthy of a Facebook status update or could be filed away for later use as a torture device once a child reaches dating age.  Nothing like that happened today.

As usual, I was dragged out of bed by the sound of Hunter foraging for food he can't reach.  At some point during the predawn laundry routine Heather showed up at my elbow demanding that I yell at Hunter for waking up before she did. Steve left for work amid a chorus of "Bye Daddy, Love you!!" and an hour or so later Sarah got woken up by her siblings landing in heaps on her blankets and screeching "MOM SAID TO GET UP!"  (Hey... better her than me.)

Not long before lunchtime the contractor showed up to give me an estimate on spiffying up our gutters, followed by me calling Steve and doing my all out best to convince him how good an idea this would be. (Especially since *insert petulant wail here* I don't WANNA clean out the gutters!)

Lunchtime then the usual "I'm not tired! I don't wanna take a nap! I'm not *snore*".

Doc appointment for me.  Yay.  Another visit to a specialist who looks at all my test results that once again tell him there's absolutely no reason for me to be having any of the health issues I'm having.  Now I'm on Symbicort for the rest of my life.  *twitch*

Back home to finish the laundry and put a few more stitches into the project I'm working on now.  Cue that little alarm in my kids' heads that tell them I absolutely, positively MUST be disturbed RIGHT NOW!  And that traitorous feline that could have distracted them for a few seconds just teleported under the bed leaving a cloud of fur behind to settle on said project.  No catnip for her.

A few games of Candyland, several arguments over whose turn it really was, a couple of squabbles over who got to sit in which chair for how long, two migraine pills, and several earsplitting "MOOOOOMMMMMMYYYYYYY!!!!!"s later and it was time for the sudden realization that Steve was due home any minute and I still didn't have the freshly washed sheets back on the bed.  ... which had my cross stitch scattered all over it.   ... and two cats.   ... and some snacks.    ...that were half gone.   ...and the cats were licking their chops and looking suspiciously innocent.   *whimper*   (This could have something to do with why I can never resist the urge to sing "Cuz I'm the waddler, yeah, I'm the waddler... I lean a-left a-right, a-left, a-right...." whenever my cat saunters through a room.)

Dinner was leftovers from yesterday's BBQ.  Can someone please explain to me why it seems to be necessary to make enough food for the French Foreign Legion at every BBQ?  Even if there is a grand total of 8 people there?  Our poor refrigerator was burping and complaining of being stuffed before we got a third of the leftovers put away!  (By the way, I am NOT responsible for random avalanches that may occur when the fridge door is opened.)

Now that the day is over, I'm sitting here at the keyboard racking my brain for anything worth saying.  I'm coming up with zilch.  Zero.  Nada.  A big goose egg.  Nothing.  Writer's block at its worst.

And yet there's still a mile long page crammed full of babbling here.  Yeah.  I'm that good.


Monday, May 30, 2011

"Don't you dare make a mess!!!"

Six words.  Only half a dozen single syllable words that, when put together, have the potential to save someone's life.  Especially in this house.  Sadly, this phrase is also the least likely phrase to be heard or heeded.  Especially in this house.

Remember when I said that Sarah feels like Cinderella?  Let me explain... 

See, I have this little problem.  It seems that society expects families to live in neat, reasonably organized, clean, unstinky, and otherwise sorta safe domiciles.  Since Steve works his oh-so-sexy-and-nice-to-watch butt --- *cough*  ahem.
Since Steve has a job and I don't, I feel it's my responsibility to keep Hazmat and local demolition crews from eyeing our home as long as possible.  So I roll out of bed at a completely obnoxious hour every morning to intercept my youngest before his hunting trip through the kitchen can turn into a search and rescue operation.  I occupy Hunter by giving him a bowl of cereal and while he's happily using his spoon to simulate depth charges in the milk, I head upstairs to systematically remove all of the toys, stuffed animals, books, blankets, blocks, dolls, and assorted articles of clothing that always seem to migrate under cover of darkness into my younger daughter's bed. 
Once I've completed my daily archaeological excursion and get through enough layers to uncover Heather, she gets rousted in a most unceremonious manner and I bolt back downstairs in time to mop up the aftermath of Hunter's one-man Battleship game.  About this time Heather is ready to be fed and while she's carefully picking through her cereal to only get the "good" ones, I follow her trail of I'm-gonna-play-with-all-of-these-today all the way back up to her room, picking each one up along the way.

Wash, rinse, repeat til bedtime.

Yeah... a perfectly standard, run of the mill, ordinary day for anyone with children too young for school.  Now add in a preteen who is convinced that she shouldn't be expected to do anything that even smells like manual labor of any kind.  Wait!  Not done yet.  Add in a worn out, cranky Mom who just cleaned up her 418th mess of the day.  Throw in a bit of PMS.  And last, but definitely not least... add in a pair of shoes, backpack, jacket, and every bit of mud between the school bus and the front door. 


Find a fallout shelter and crawl under it.

After an eruption that I can say with confidence would have given Vesuvius a run for its money, the settled upon punishment was that Sarah would clean the house top to bottom without help. Every room. By herself. No one would say a word to her or bother her, but she would under complete restriction until the task was finished.  And until the last room had been cleaned, she was also responsible to maintain any rooms she'd already cleaned.
Long story short, she put off doing anything until school let out and being grounded actually started to ... in her words ... suck.  She sat down and made a checklist of each room with a checkbox for her to sign off and another for Dad to sign off if he approved of the cleaning.
To give her credit, it took her two days and the house looks amazing and Heather and Hunter were very excited to learn that Sarah had found their floor again after it had vanished awhile ago.  So they finished up their dinner a short time ago and set off on a race up to their room.

"Don't you dare make a mess!!!"

I turned slowly, with my mouth hanging open, to gape in shock at my daughter as that one phrase thundered up the stairs after the littles.  She had her hands on her hips, a perfect crease running down the center of her forehead, and an expression that would have made Freddy Krueger check himself.

I'm so proud I could cry.


This could be dangerous.....

Okay, so I gave in and finally started a blog.  Those who know me at all are now rolling their eyes and hoping for a longterm power outage.  Those who have a sick sense of humor are likely cackling to themselves and waiting for the inevitable slow motion train wreck that usually follows any decision I make.

Those who know me AND have a sick sense of humor are making popcorn and waiting for the entertainment to begin.....

It's still relatively early in the day so my life hasn't yet had much opportunity to prove that God has an amazing sense of humor.  Guess you're stuck getting to know the cast.....

The husband, dad, and long-suffering head of the household.  He's probably the only one of us who would survive longer than an hour without electricity and plumbing.  He's a hard-worker, got a heart of gold, never met a stranger, can't be bothered with getting sick or injured, and always puts everyone else around him higher on his priority list than himself. 

The preteen.  O M G!  Like, everything is a crisis.  She is Cinderella reincarnated because she has chores to do and when her Prince Charming comes and rescues her from this dungeon she's never going to let us visit the castle. Ever!  Except for her little brother and sister.  She might let them visit.  When the stables need to be cleaned.

She's four.  She thinks she's in charge.  Don't need to say much more than that.

He's three.  He knows better.  Even less needs to be said....

Me.  I'm the one in charge of this zoo while Steve is busy keeping the bills paid.  Which probably explains the total chaos that ensues on a daily basis.  Since anyone who reads this is probably going to get to know me MUCH better than they'd like, I won't waste anymore space here on introductions.


...something downstairs just made a rather loud crash followed by smaller crashes that I'm fairly certain indicates a need for either a lot of glue or Steve's wallet and a trip to the store.