Weekends

Why can't weekends be relaxing? It seems as if the weekends are filled with run, run, run...clean, clean, clean...laundry, laundry, laundry... I wish I could take the weekend and do nothing. That's right, nothing. My selfish version of a weekend would be something like this. I could sleep until whenever I wanted to get up, instead of being woken up five times in 15 minutes until I get out of bed at 6:24 on a Saturday. Maybe even stay in bed, by myself, and read a book that doesn't have pictures. I could watch something other than Dora, Diego, Super Why, or Thomas. Eat something other than leftover mac and cheese or chicken nuggets. The unselfish version would include a trip to somewhere fun, lots of play-doh and paint, lots of books with pictures, hide and go seek, checkers...but no damned laundry and scrubbing of bathrooms.


Unfortunately, I must be productive. 7 loads of laundry done today, floors mopped, clothes put away, children fed, children clean, fights averted, boo-boos kissed.

Dear Child Sized Clotheshangers,

I would sincerely appreciate if you would stop planning mass escapes from my house. Thank You.
P.S. Please tell the patterned socks to return home as well.

2010

Christmas has come and gone. We had a wonderful Christmas. I really ...

Well, I thought I would have time to blog at 2am, but apparently JT could sense me doing it in his sleep. MOOOOOMMMMEEEEEEEEEEE. It seems his nose hurts, as does my own. Which is the real reason I am up at 2am.

I guess it will be February before I post Christmas pics.

What's in your drain?

Here's what was in mine.

Really.

$7 and some change, a rubber band, a lollipop stick, a band-aid, a baby sock, copious amounts of lint, an assortment of nails, screws, nuts and bolts...

Gross.

Really, really gross.

It all started with a flashing F21 on the display of the glorious piece of mechanical engineering that is my Kenmore He5t. (Shout out!) Then me going, 'well, F%$#!' and then turning to the magic of google to figure out WTH to do. If you are curious...

#1 Take the soaking wet clothes out of the machine #2 Manage to get the excess water out of the drum (fun times here) #3 Find the right tool to take off the front panel. FYI- it was not a phillips head but some wierd 6 sided thing that was not an allen wrench. #4 Manhandle the front off of the thing #5 Prepare for the "small gush of water" that will come when you unsccrew the cover. There was no exaggeration there. Perhaps they should have said "the gallons of water that will spew forth." Just a suggestion. #6 Clean it out (I hear that often thongs are found in it. he-he) #7 Put it all back together and pray it doesn't leak.

Mischief managed. It sounds like a jet taking off when it spins again. I forgot that it used to do this. I think this may become a 2ce a yer chore. Great.

However, I fear that I may have shot myself in the foot. In the last month I have also taken apart the drain under the kitchen sick to resolve a drainage issue. I have been much too handy. I am certain that I have forfieted all honey-dos for a while. Damn.

mommy guilt

I have been struggling with 'mommy guilt' lately.

I am sad that I have to work outside of my home. How I wish I could stay home with my babies. Unfortunately, working is something I must do. Insurance and a pay check are a must, but still... I just have a deep desire to be home. Probably it is one of those classic cases of 'you always want what you can't have.'

I came to this realization about a month ago. Someone asked my why in the world I do some of the things that I do. (I mostly use cloth diapers on Baby Boy, and I make all of his baby food.) I really think that it is because I can't be home. I have the need to do things for him beacuse I can't be there.

The guilt really started with JT. I knew he needed to be home with me. Dang, he really still does. Don't get me wrong; I adore his preschool. However, we had issues with his infant caregiver. I think part of the reason his gross motor skills were delayed was that he was allowed no freedom to move around. I am pretty sure he was cooped up in a playppen/bouncy seat/excersaucer except when I picked him up. I knew he needed to be somewhere else, but there was nowhere else for him to go. I had to choose the lesser of evils. Childcare is one of the horrible things about living somewhere rural. His preschool is wonderful. You know somewhere is good by the amount of teachers' kids there. I hazard to guess that 85% of the kis there are teachers' kids. We are a picky lot about our level of care, so that percentage says a lot about the place.

Baby Boy has the best care situation. My best friend watches him. He is her baby. He adores her and she adores him. Her kids dote on him. I just am sad because I am missing so much of his life. He spends more time with her than he does with me, and that just sucks.

Just had a melancholy mommy moment. Such is life.

The Crispness of Fall...Not

Aaaahhhhh... Halloween. The colorful leaves, the crisp air...the 84 degree high on Halloween. So goes the interesting southern Ga weather. The kids were mostly miserable, but it ended up being ok. The above picture is the whole crew before we headed out. The breeze was nice on the island, the bugs weren't bad. We had a great evening.

Baby boy was supossed to be a pea pod. However he would have been encapsulated in fleece. Not happening, unless we wanted a 10 month old with a heat stroke. Target to the rescue with a skeleton made out of thin cotton. Here he his, happy as a clam chewing on my Diet Coke.

and here he is when I tried to take it from him to get picture of his costume.

JT was an adorable Clifford. This was not the planned costume. We were going to borrow a hand-me-down costume from our friends. I ran into the children's consignment store to look for some jeans for The Wild Indian and they had all of their Halloween stuff on sale for 50% off. I grabbed it, thinking it would be fantastic for Storybook Character Day next year. $2.75!!!! It is at least a $50 costume. So here I am, feeling all proud of myself for finding something cool for a couple of years from now, and JT sees it... and wants it...now. After some cajoling that it is going to be too big, too hot, I finally break down and let him try it on. The damn thing fit... so he was Clifford.

The Wild Indian was costumed up as Horton. It took some serious bribery to convince him that he really did not want to be Mater from Cars for the third year in a row. He was Horton for Storybook Character Day, but was flat out refusing (and I mean stomping of feet, jumping up and down refusing) to be Horton for 'real' Halloween. At the above mentioned consignment store, I found a recycled Horton bag. I got it with a friend's daughter who loves elephants in mind. Jeez, it was $1. He saw it, and said, "Oh, is that for my Horton costme?" In my infinite wisdom, I said, "Why of course it is." So ... he was Horton. Sometimes things just work out the way you want them to... even though it wasn't your intention.

2 shoes does not = one pair

I knew it was gonna be a very BAAAADDDD day when The Wild Indian showed up at school with one navy and one black croc on. Let's just say the note wouldn't fit in the agenda space. it started with HE WAS OUT OF CONTROL TODAY and ended with ...making farting noises during afternoon storytime. Shoot me now.

But you have to admit that farting noises were hysterical when you were 5.

Well, they sort of still are. :)